“We will build a new life for ourselves,” he promised. “You and I and Hester will rusticate here in Somerset, far from the royal court, free of intrigue and in no danger.”

The year of our Lord fifteen hundred and fifty-five, spent at Kelston and Catherine’s Court, was the happiest of my entire life.












48

Catherine’s Court, March 1556

I went to stand beside Jack as he stared up at the night sky. The comet was there again, as it had been all week. It looked like a star with the long tail and many people were frightened by it.

“Is it an omen?” I asked.

“Some believe comets foreshadow future events, but whether those events are good or evil, who can tell?” Then he laughed.

“What amuses you?”

“If this comet augurs well for the future, then perhaps it is time I returned to London.”

“If you think you can ingratiate yourself to Queen Mary, you are much mistaken. She will be too suspicious of your motives to allow you anywhere near her.”

Even in Somerset we’d heard rumors of yet another plot against the queen. I imagined Her Grace’s councilors would look askance at anyone new arrived at court, especially someone like Jack, who had twice before been arrested because he’d had ties to enemies of the Crown. That nothing had ever been proven against him would matter little.

He followed my thoughts without difficulty and answered the question I had not dared ask. “I have had no dealings with any conspirators, nor do I have seditious books or papers in my possession.”

Failure to conform to the teachings of the Church of Rome was as dangerous in Queen Mary’s England as fomenting rebellion. Those who clung to the church King Henry had established soon found themselves in gaol. If they would not recant, they were burned at the stake for heretics. Many people had fled into exile, vowing to remain abroad until Elizabeth succeeded to the throne.

So long as the queen and her Spanish husband did not produce a child of their own, Mary’s half sister remained her heir. Our hope that Elizabeth Tudor would eventually reign, restoring the New Religion to England, was one of several things about which Jack and I were in perfect agreement. Our opinions on other matters diverged. I opposed his return to Stepney.

“Why go there when you have no hope of being given a place at court?” I asked.

“But to be seen to hover on the fringes, supporting the queen,” he argued, “can do me no harm. And to have you and Hester with me in Stepney would provide most excellent proof of my sincerity.”

“And when you are not at court?” I was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. “Will you stay with us there?”

He grinned unrepentantly at me. “Part of the time. Then again, it is but a short ride to Hatfield.” Princess Elizabeth, after a long incarceration at Woodstock, had been allowed to return to her own house.

“Hatfield is at least twenty miles from Stepney.”

“I can ride that distance in one day.”

“To see the princess? Or is that just an excuse to visit your muse?”

“But that’s the beauty of it!” he exclaimed. “To all those who have read my poetry, it will seem that I go there to see Mistress Markham. No one will suspect that I carry messages of support to Elizabeth Tudor.”

The smug satisfaction in his voice made me want to strike him.

“How many people do you suppose have read your poems, since they have never been published?”

“Rumor is enough to carry out the ruse. The ruse of the muse.” He chuckled, delighted with his own cleverness.

“Rumor will not call her your muse, Jack. Everyone will think you have abandoned me for your mistress.”

His smile turned to a frown. “I will remind them of Surrey and Fair Geraldine.” At my blank look, he laughed again. “Have you never read the poem the earl wrote to Elizabeth Fitzgerald? She was a child at the time. He felt sorry for her, alone at court and blighted by her Irish father’s treason. The verses singing her praises were intended to remind men of her noble heritage and help her to a good marriage.”

“So you wrote poetry to Mistress Markham only to help her find a husband?” The words were so sweetly said that honey should have dripped from my lips.

Jack lapped them up. “I wish her well, as I do all of the ladies who serve the princess or have served her in the past.”

I knew better. As they had in the Tower, his features softened whenever he spoke of Isabella Markham. She was more than a muse to him. More than a young woman he sought to help to a marriage with someone else. He desired her. If he had not committed adultery in the flesh, he had most assuredly sinned in his thoughts about her.

It is always better to face the truth than to deceive one’s self, even when the truth is so painful that it hurts to take the next breath.

We left for Stepney within the fortnight.












49

Stepney, August 1556

It was some five months later that the summer fevers came. I fell ill, so ill that I feared I would die. To be so near to death forced me to think about my life and whether I would have done anything differently. I decided that I would not, but as I began to recover, it worried me that my daughter lived in total ignorance of her connection to the royal family, even more so than I had for so many years.

Ignorance is never wise.

I had no desire to claim a royal inheritance. It was far too dangerous. I wanted to be John Malte’s bastard rather than the king’s and I had fought to back that claim with legal documents. But since both Queen Mary and Princess Elizabeth knew the truth, I no longer believed I could protect my daughter by keeping her uninformed.

I quarreled with Jack about telling her my story. He forbade it. That ended the discussion for a time. I felt too weak to argue further. But as the weeks passed and I did not regain my former good health, my sense of urgency grew stronger. When fortune presented me with an opportunity, I took it, and so began my tale.












50

Catherine’s Court, November 1556

There was silence in the hall. The portraits on the walls looked down on Hester Harington and her mother, seated side by side on a padded settle before the hearth. Audrey had her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, holding her close.

She had told Hester everything now, Audrey thought, all except the reason they were presently rusticating in Somerset. Her daughter appeared to be mulling over what she’d learned. Physically spent, mentally exhausted, Audrey could not think of anything more to say. Had she convinced Hester to keep silent about her royal blood? The girl was so young. Did she truly understand the danger?

A voice spoke from behind them. “It is very late. You both should be in bed.”

Hester abruptly disentangled herself and ran to greet her father. Jack hugged her tightly in return, then gave her a little push in the direction of her bedchamber. She made a face, but she went.

“I wish she would obey me as readily as she does you,” Audrey murmured.

Jack said nothing.

“I’ve told her everything. It will be up to you to guide what she does with that knowledge.”

He frowned. “What do you mean? You are her mother.”

Audrey rose slowly, attempting to compensate for the dizziness she knew would come. The spells did not pass as quickly as they once had. By the time she felt steady enough to take a step, Jack was at her side, his face ashen.

“There are learned physicians in London. We could return there.”

“My fate is in God’s hands. Have we not been taught that, Jack, by both the New Religion and the old?”

In his face she saw the confirmation of her fears. She had never fully recovered from the fevers of the summer just past. She grew weaker with each passing day, not stronger. She might have weeks left, perhaps even months, but her days were numbered.

Jack helped her from the hall. Slowly, they made their way toward Hester’s chamber. By the time they reached her bedside, she was already soundly sleeping, one hand curled under her cheek.

Audrey smiled. She had finished what she’d set out to do. For better or worse, with or without her mother’s presence, Hester would not have to go searching for the truth. She knew what her royal inheritance was and she knew why it was better to make no claim to it.

A glance at her husband reassured Audrey. That Jack would remarry when she was gone seemed certain. No doubt he’d wed his muse. But his feelings for Hester would never change. As they stood together, looking down at the sleeping child, his eyes were full of his love for their daughter.












NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR


Although this is a work of fiction, all the characters except Edith, Mistress Yerdeley, and Dionysus Petre the dancing master are based on real people. You will find mini-biographies of some of them in the next section. These may also contain spoilers.

Many of the things Audrey experiences really happened, although she may not have been present when they did. We do not know exactly when she died or where, but there was an outbreak of fever in the summer of 1556 and many who were ill then but survived were carried off by a second outbreak that took place during the winter of 1556–57.

The names Audrey and Hester may strike readers as unusual for the times. Audrey was a nickname for Ethelreda (don’t ask me how, but I’m told there is a linguistic explanation). Many girls were named after this English saint who lived in East Anglia from 630 to 679. It has been suggested that Audrey was named for her because she was born on St. Ethelreda’s Day, June 23. As for Hester, I think it likely that something happened circa 1548 to call attention to Queen Esther’s story in the Bible, perhaps the publication of a popular version of the tale. In addition to Hester Harington, there were at least two other Hesters born at about that same time, Hester Saltonstall and Hester Pinckney.