Queen Elizabeth's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

the Tower, the guns booming and the trumpets blaring. The bells rang constantly as the procession snaked its way through the narrow streets. Peasants threw sweet herbs in my path and children sang songs. The litter stopped at my command so I could receive the gifts from my people—an apple, a bit of fine cloth, flowers. I looked each person in the eye and I can still hear their cries of “God Save the Queen!” and “God Bless Elizabeth” ringing over the cobbles. Washerwomen and apothecaries, boatswains and carters, porters and merchants—all of London jammed the streets to see me, hoping I might favor them with a smile. So long ago and I was young.
    And Mary, sweet Mary—you brought her to me while Robin and I were selecting the materials for coronation clothes and all the festivities of that day. Robin said I would empty the coffers before I was crowned; I told him how the people were taken and held by pompous shows. Then he said he knew how I had longed for such luxuries, as if I desired to please myself more than my people. He raised my ire then as he does now. I still feel the touch of his hand upon my cheek as he told me my beauty would shine forth even if I were dressed in filthy rags. How I blushed for him. By the saints, I shall blush for him no more.
    Then, there you were, Parry, holding Mary by the hand, the girl’s black hair and large dark eyes setting her apart from most of the children I’d seen on the London streets, children with golden curls and pale eyes. She walked so slowly toward me, I could sense how terrified she was. Her eyes were wide and she could not stop gazing at me, at my jewels … and when she curtsied to me, just like a grown-up woman, I smiled at her. I couldn’t stop myself from holding out my arms to her and she ran into them just as if I’d been her own mother. You told me then of how her parents had died within days of each other, the sweats, you thought. Her brother, Sir Ralph, had inherited, but he was asking for Mary’s marriage rights. I was ready to give him what he wanted, so busy was I with preparations. But later that night, when you brought her to me, the little thing sobbing her heart out, I made the mistake of putting her in my bed. She took my fingers in her pudgy hands and began to trace each nail, rubbing me over and over again. For whatever reason, the action seemed to calm her and she fell asleep, curled up beside me.
    Ha! After that, wild horses could not have dragged her from me! We have raised her up, Parry, together. And we shall see she makes a good marriage. I will not allow her to throw herself away on some ruffian like Tom Wotton!

 
    Five
    June 1569
    Most of the torches had been dimmed for the sleeping ladies in the queen’s bedchamber, but large candelabra gave off flickers of light that played against the tapestries on the walls. Mary fidgeted in her nightgown, fingering the gathers at her neck. She could feel the raised threads—blackwork, the queen’s favorite form of stitchery, and done by the queen’s own hand. Such a style had been a favorite of Elizabeth’s father, Bluff King Hal, but was somewhat out of fashion with the younger set at court. However, Elizabeth excelled at those tiny stitches and continued to create smocks and gowns for her favorites. Mary had been a favorite for as long as she could remember. But after tonight … after tonight … she could not allow herself to think about that.
    Mary dreaded the confrontation to come. The queen’s dark moods of late were the talk of the court. No one was immune from her lashing tongue. Indeed, Mary had seen Her Majesty strike serving girls when they spilled ale or wine onto the table. Once, she witnessed the queen pull the hair of Mistress Eleanor because Mistress Eleanor had outwitted the queen at primero. While Mary had observed the queen’s temper for more than ten years, she knew Her Majesty’s inner rage grew worse with each passing day. Since Kat Ashley’s death, the queen