The Hawk and the Dove (32 page)

“Were you like this before?” he demanded.

She nodded mutely, totally embarrassed by the awful miasma that arose from her. “Please leave me,” she begged.

“Of course I won’t leave you. You think I can’t cope with seasickness?” he scoffed. He tore the soiled sheets from the berth and made up the bunk afresh. Then, as gently as he would help a child, he washed her all over
and put one of his clean shirts on her, then lifted her into the clean bed. He brought her watered wine and dry biscuit and urged her to put something in her stomach.

A sip and a nibble brought on another attack of violent vomiting, and patiently he began his chores all over again. He did everything in his power to make her more comfortable. He found a fresh-smelling eau de cologne to bathe her forehead and sprinkled a few drops upon her pillows. He massaged her knotted stomach and held her in strong, gentle arms while she retched anew. He tended her as if she were a baby, feeding, washing, changing, and when she quieted he held her hand and hummed a lullaby until she slept.

When she protested at her own nastiness he calmly replied, “Didn’t you nurse me in my need?” He must have left the ship in the baron’s capable hands, because as far as she knew he never left their cabin for three days. On the fourth, when she was slightly recovered, yet still pale and shaky, he carried her on deck for some fresh air, and while she was up there he had the cabin stripped and scrubbed to erase the lingering smell of vomit. His unending kindness had a peculiar effect upon her. She began to brood because she didn’t want to be his mistress any longer, she wanted to be his wife.

Sabre was much relieved when they sighted England and at last she was able to shake off the queer mood that had settled over her. She preferred him in the guise of sinner rather than saint. After all, how could she avenge herself upon a saint?

The queen and all England were jubilant at the sea victory of Cadiz. This was a time for heroes, a time when the queen and her council had needed a great show of strength against the enemies who threatened from every direction.

Elizabeth was far too shrewd not to make the most of the fortunate turn of events, and she conveniently forgot she had forbidden them to carry out their mission. The outcry of Vice-Admiral Borough and the Navy were quickly and effectively silenced as she gave England the heroes they craved, to be feted at every turn.

The tales of entering Cadiz, taking thirty-seven vessels, and setting fire to the Spanish ships, were told, retold, and embellished. England had singed the beard of King Philip of Spain and there was much rejoicing. In her heart of hearts it had always secretly delighted Elizabeth to see her subjects sail impudently into waters Spain had claimed, and now she need keep it secret no longer.

Crowds flocked to the seaports to see England’s renowned ships, such as the
Merchant Royal
the
Rainbow,
and the
Elizabeth Bonaventure,
but the ships that got the most attention and would go down in the history books, when those were written, were the privately owned vessels, such as Drake’s
Golden Hind
and Devonport’s
Defiant.

That spring turned out to be the most frantic, gaudy time of Elizabeth’s reign. Masques, mummeries, plays, games, entertainments, balls, and banquets filled the days and nights of the courtiers, and court was
the
place to be. The queen kept Devonport at her side, and as always the
whims of the queen were law. Court life became one long pageant in which everyone wore costumes, and these became more elaborate with each passing day. Fortunes were spent on clothes and jewels and upon entertainments to outdo those attended the day before.

Sabre visited Walsingham House the day after she returned to court. She was full of her great adventure and bursting to tell Frances, yet her friend seemed preoccupied and had news of her own to impart. “Frances, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said! Something happened while I was gone—tell me.”

“Oh, Sabre, so much has happened, but you must swear to keep my secrets,” said Frances very seriously.

“I swear! Now, tell me!” urged Sabre.

“The queen was invited to sup at Essex House and at last Robin got her promise that he could present Penelope. I helped her pick out the most exquisite necklace for the queen. Late the next night Robin stormed in here angrier than I’ve ever seen anyone in my life! The queen had gone back on her word and ordered Penelope to keep to her room. She and Essex had a terrible row where he almost struck her. He swore he would be revenged upon her. Sabre, he wanted to strike out and hurt her … so he wed me that night.”

“You’re the countess of Essex?” cried Sabre happily.

“Hush, Sabre, ’tis a secret,” warned Frances.

“Oh, that is the most marvelous piece of news I’ve ever heard! What a sweet revenge upon the old witch! Oh, I would pay a fortune to see her face when she eventually hears of it!” said Sabre, laughing with joy.

“Mary and Joseph, don’t say that,” begged Frances, alarmed.

“Why do you look so worried, Frances? Your secret is
safe, and if anyone found out, none would dare to tell the queen.”

Frances hesitated. “I think … I think … I’m with child.”

“Oh, Lord, are you sure?” asked Sabre.

“Oh, I’ve counted and counted until I’m dizzy. I know I’ve missed one menstrual flow … and there are other signs. Don’t forget I’ve already had a child, so I know the signs.”

“What signs?” asked Sabre blankly.

“My breasts are sore and—and I’m running to the garderobe to pass water every five minutes.”

Sabre was stunned, because she’d been feeling exactly the same lately.

“And of course,” Frances added, “I’ve been vomiting.”

“Vomiting?” cried Sabre, alarmed now.

“What is it?” asked Frances breathlessly.

“Oh, your morning sickness reminded me of how seasick I’ve been.”

“Morning sickness is such a misnomer. The nausea comes any time of day when you are carrying a child.”

“Does it?” asked Sabre, wanting to know all the morbid details.

When she returned to Greenwich she frantically tried to count the days since her last flow, but for the life of her she could not fix the date in her mind. It certainly seemed a long time since, now that she had begun to really think about it. She deliberately pushed the thought away from her, as her hand caressed one of her breasts, which felt particularly tender. Her imagination was working overtime, she scolded herself, yet the faint apprehension lingered and lingered in the back of her mind.

The queen ordered a new gown for an entertainment at
Burghley’s fabulous Theobalds. It was a most regal creation of purple velvet slashed to show amethyst silk encrusted with crystals and pearls. As soon as Sabre saw the dressmakers giving Elizabeth her final fitting for the gown, she knew she would have it duplicated for the masquerade ball they were throwing at Thames View. None had ever dared to chose the costume of a queen, let alone this queen, but the more Sabre thought about it, the more taken she was with the unique idea. She knew the queen had an abundance of amethyst and pearl jewelry to match the gown, and she had a small crown lined in purple velvet, encrusted with diamonds, pearls, and amethysts of varying shades of purple which she would undoubtedly decide to wear with the gown. Sabre had everything copied, down to the lilac satin shoes and the lilac fan.

In the beginning she consulted with Shane about the ball, but since he agreed to indulge her every whim concerning the party, she just went ahead on her own, completing the arrangements.

She brilliantly decided to hold it the same date as the Theobald entertainment, knowing all the interesting people would come to hers and all the old dullards would go to Theobalds. Invitations went out to Essex and Frances, Anthony and Francis Bacon, both secretaries to Essex, Penelope Rich and Charles Blount, Dorothy Devereux and the man with whom she had just eloped, Thomas Perrot. Sabre even invited Essex’s mother, Lettice, although she did not include Leicester on the invitation. Also invited were the countess of Hardwick, Lady Leigh-ton, Katherine and Philadelphia Carey, Bess Throckmorton and her lover Sir Walter Raleigh, as well as many of Shane’s unmarried friends, such as Lord Mountjoy,
Fulke-Greville, and the banker Sir Thomas Gresham, reported to be the richest man in London, and who had just built the Royal Exchange.

All the queen’s maids-of-honor were invited with the understanding that they would be excused if they were coerced into attending the queen at Theobalds at the last moment. Theobalds was indeed a magnificent three-story house, with four square towers and four courtyards. Its hall boasted a fountain that jetted to the ceiling with red or white wine and contained many curious rooms. One was filled with clocks all set to chime at the same precise moment; another was painted to represent the sky, with clouds, planets, and stars in the design of the zodiac. It had a clockwork mechanism in the ceiling that allowed the sun to set, the moon to rise, and the stars to twinkle off and on in the most curious manner. There was a glassed-in gallery that depicted all the rulers of Christendom, along with appropriate costumes and scenes from history. The dreadful drawback of Theobalds was the cramped quarters where the courtiers and ladies were expected to sleep three and four to a bed—with the sexes separated, of course. Another drawback was its distance. They could only go by river as far as Whitehall; then they must travel through the Strand, up Drury Lane into Holborn, along Kingsgate Street, and then on the road now named Theobalds Road. By comparison, how pleasantly simple it was to sail the short distance from Greenwich to Thames View.

Sabre had spared no expense in food, wine, and extra servants. She even had a Hawkhurst vessel bring a whole shipload of early-blooming flowers from France. The freesia, iris, and scented stocks filled the whole house with their fragrance. Sabre spent two days with her hair
in curling rags to simulate the tight curls of one of the queen’s wigs, and while attending the queen’s wardrobe the day of the masquerade, she wore a dainty lace cap to cover her tortured hair.

Sabre helped Kate Ashford lay out the queen’s new outfit—into which she would change before leaving for Theobalds—and, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, finally escaped, telling Kate she would see her that evening at Thames View.

Sabre had told Shane that she preferred him as the queen’s Sea God for their masquerade, so he simply chose one of his elegant court costumes and was just choosing his rings when Sabre came in from her dressing room.

His mouth fell open at the sight of her. “God’s death, I thought it was the queen!” he exclaimed. “Darling, do you think it wise to mock her in this fashion?”

“Wise? When did I ever do anything that was wise?” she asked, laughing. She was delighted by his reaction. “I look just like her when I put on my mask,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

“What about these?” he asked with a leer, cupping her beautiful breasts.

“I can’t do anything about them. I’m a woman, not a little boy.”

“You’d better get that wig and crown back early tomorrow before she misses them, young lady,” he warned.

“I would have you know, sir, that this is my own hair I’ve tortured into such an ugly fashion, and the crown is mine—paid for by a certain gentleman admirer.”

He groaned aloud at her extravagance and bent to place a kiss upon the delicious swell of her breast. She slapped him with her fan and said in Elizabeth’s voice,
“Have done! Have done! Don’t defile the queen’s most precious person.
Peste!
Those musicians should have been here hours ago. Shane, you don’t think Mason will botch up the fireworks display, do you?” she asked worriedly, lapsing into her own voice.

“Stop fussing. A party is supposed to be a treat, not a treatment,” he teased. “More planning has gone into this than the Cadiz operation.”

“Pugh!” she said, and walked rapidly from the room. After she left he shook his head in wonder at her. She was the sauciest wench on earth, and he wouldn’t trade her for all the gold in Christendom.

Every single guest who arrived made a hurried obeisance to her until she whisked off her mask to their astonished relief, and she joined them in peals of laughter. She held herself ramrod straight, spoke, moved, and thought as the queen, and easily succeeded in being the center of attention. When a gentleman would whisper that she had never looked more beautiful she mimicked the queen and replied, “You tell more lies than the pope’s epitaph.”

When Essex, with the beauteous Frances on his arm, kissed Sabre’s fingers, she waggled her rings under his nose. “See, I’ve mirrors on my rings just like Bess for when we play post and pair later in the card room.” He appreciated the humor, for the queen had cheated him out of thousands with her damned mirrored rings.

Kate Ashford wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, as she marveled over each identical detail of Sabre’s costume. “They won’t look the same tomorrow, Kate,” said Sabre outrageously, “for hers will be covered with sweat stains.”

Devonport watched Sabre indulgently as the men flirted and danced her off her feet. Each was eager to
dally with “Her Majesty” and try for liberties that she only ever permitted to Essex, Leicester, and Devonport. A black-bearded Spaniard turned out to be Matthew. He kept his distance from Shane, but spent an inordinate amount of time at Sabre’s elbow.

Elizabeth had chosen her courtiers for Theobalds, and these included Leicester and Drake, Anne Cecil and her husband Lord Oxford, Sir Christopher Hatton, her lord chancellor. Since Lord Norris had entertained her at Rycote and Lord Montagu at Cowdray, she invited them to escort her to Theobalds by way of returning their hospitality, and saw nothing pecunious in doing so. For ladies she had the duchess of Suffolk, the countess of Warwick, Lady Hastings, Lady Hatton, and Lady Chandos. For maids she took Elizabeth Southwell and, much to the girl’s disgust, Mary Howard.

The queen’s barge had just been refurbished with new awnings and freshly painted with the Tudor colors and her pages and maids held up the purple velvet train of her new gown as she climbed aboard. She graciously greeted her old bargemaster, George, who had served as the head rower on the royal barge for many years and knew the Thames better than any man in London. Everything went smoothly until there was a sudden holdup and the queen’s barge slowed to almost a stop. Impatiently she was on her feet in a trice. There, in front of her, blocking her path, was a most sumptuous barge of scarlet and gold. She recognized it instantly as belonging to her hated archrival, Lettice. She swept up to George and shouted, “Command them to give way in the name of the queen! Damned impudence,” she fumed, angry that Lettice’s
barge was such a showy piece with its scarlet-liveried rowers.