Page 23 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)
Late autumn of 1588 was an incredible social whirl for those who followed the court of Elizabeth Tudor. Capping the season, on November 17, the queen left Somerset House in a state procession for St. Paul’s. The great parade was headed by palace officials, followed by London’s aldermen and judges all done up in their finest clothes. Next came the Lancaster, York, Somerset, and Richmond heralds introducing the dukes, marquesses, earls, and viscounts. It was among these that Lord Southwood and his brother-in-law, the Scots Earl of BrocCairn, mingled.
Then came the lord treasurer of England, William Cecil, Lord Burghley, in his fur-trimmed black velvet gown, his heavy gold chain of office about his neck. With him was the lord chancellor of England, Sir Christopher Hatton, resplendent himself in black velvet with gold lace, his own badge of office shining in the November daylight. These two worthies were followed by the archbishop of Canterbury, John Whitcliff, the archbishop of York, the French ambassador, the lord mayor of London, and the nobleman chosen to carry the Sword of State, who was surrounded by the sergeants-at-arms.
Finally came the queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners , and at last Elizabeth Tudor herself, riding in her open chariot with its canopy sporting waving white plumes, and gilded crown resplendent. The queen was magnificent in a cloth-of-silver gown embroidered with tiny diamonds and pearls so that she glittered with the slightest movement in the cold lemon-colored light. The sleeves of the gown as well as the hem and the overskirt were trimmed in purest white ermine. She wore no cloak, but beneath her voluminous skirts her ladies had insisted upon her wearing flannel petticoats and a fur-lined underblouse. Upon her head was a fiery red wig topped by a sparkling diamond, pearl, and sapphire crown. The crowds on Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill went wild with shouting. She was their Bess.
Arriving at the west door of St. Paul’s Cathedral, the queen stepped out of her chariot and entered the great church. Once inside, she knelt in the aisle to pray silently. Then she was led to her place of honor in the choir where the litany was chanted to her. The great Armada victory was graciously attributed to the winds and the tides sent to aid a just English cause by a beneficent God. No mention was made of the valiant English seamen who, though low on rations and ammunition, had by their sheer courage and skill wrought this miracle. Lord Howard, the lord admiral, listening to the pious prelates and their chanting, thought it was ironic that the English survivors of the great victory had been paid their wages by the crown only when he had finally threatened to take the money from his own pocket. As it was, he had had to go among the English coastal villages begging shelter for many of the wounded seamen who otherwise would have been left in the streets, for now that the danger was past, the people were quick to forget.
Crowded into a pew with some dozen people, Velvet and her sister, the Countess of Alcester, and their sister-in-law, the Countess of Lynmouth, shifted uncomfortably and wondered if their gowns would be ruined in the crush. The entire day was to be one great fête. After they left St. Paul’s they would return to Whitehall where there would be jousting in the tiltyard, followed by feasting and dancing. On the morrow Velvet’s officially sanctioned English wedding to Alex was to take place, this ceremony to be performed by the archbishop himself. Velvet smiled to herself as she once again wished her parents here, but this time for a far different reason. How Adam and Skye would laugh, seeing the delicious humor in all these many weddings, Velvet thought.
At last the ceremony of thanksgiving was finished, and the queen left St. Paul’s for her return to Whitehall Palace. The court began to file out behind her in one enormous, if somewhat confused procession, as they made their way down Ludgate Hill. The day that had begun bright and clear was now, as the afternoon wore on, growing gray and cloudy, and there was a sharp wind off the river. It was not cold enough for snow, but rain was a very distinct possibility.
“I hope the rain holds off long enough for the jousting,”
said Velvet, for she had never seen this type of entertainment.
“Unless it pours they’ll joust,”
remarked Willow.
“In the rain?”
Velvet exclaimed.
“The spectator seats in the tiltyard are covered,”
said Angel. “And the queen loves the sport. There was no time for such frivolity this past summer with the Spanish threat.”
“Thank God that’s over and done with!”
was Willow’s brisk reply. “The Spanish will think twice before they come at us again. I far prefer peace for my children. I should not like to think I was raising Henry, Francis, and Adam for cannon fodder! Then, too, if there continues to be all these wars there will be no suitable husbands for Cecily and Gabrielle.”
“Or for Elsbeth, Catherine, or Cecily,”
replied Angel.
Willow’s amber eyes grew warm with her approval. “You like Robin’s girls, don’t you?” she said.
“How could I not like them!”
Angel cried. “They are such adorable little creatures, and, Willow, you will never guess! They call me Mama!”
“It means that they’ve taken to you,”
Willow replied. “They’ll never remember Alison as they were far too young when she died, though they’ll, of course, be told you’re only their stepmother. Yes, they’re young enough for you to train in your own ways, but remember to spare not the rod else they be spoilt.”
Velvet smiled to herself as she listened to her oldest sister who only a short while ago had been so suspicious of Angel’s motives for marrying Robin. And Angel! What had happened to that wordly-wise and impudent royal ward? Velvet’s smile broadened. Willow and Angel were two of a kind. They were family-oriented, loving, strong women who would always put husband and children first and foremost above all. Velvet admired them though she didn’t think that she would ever be like them. How strange, she thought, that she, the youngest of all her mother’s children, should be the most like her in spirit. She would have liked to have shared that new knowledge with Skye, too.
They finally reached Whitehall where, to their vast relief, Angel told them that she and Robin had a small apartment where they could go to refresh themselves and repair any damages done to their coifs and gowns. When they reached it, Jane, Angel’s tiring woman, hurried to fetch warm water so that they might bathe their hands and faces. Then she helped them to redo their hair and brushed their gowns free of wrinkles and dust.
Each woman was wearing a gown of velvet as it was far too cool to wear silk outdoors now. They looked like rare gems in their colorful dresses: Willow in a deep ruby red, Angel in a magnificent sapphire, and Velvet in a rich amethyst color. Refreshed by the pleasant golden wine that Jane offered them, they refastened their fur-lined cloaks, which matched their gowns, and prepared to find their way to the tiltyard for the jousting. There they would meet their husbands, and all of them had been invited to sit near the queen.
To their intense embarrassment Elizabeth Tudor was already there when they arrived, but with a gracious wave of her hand she overlooked their tardiness. “The crowds were mighty,”
she remarked, offering them the excuse, and they nodded and agreed with her. The queen gazed briefly at them, then noted, “You’re a pretty trio of jewels, I vow.”
“Your Majesty is too kind,”
said Willow, smiling.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Willow,”
she said, “if you were a man you’d be the perfect courtier. It amazes me each time I remember who your mother is.”
“My mother,”
said Willow, “has ever been Your Majesty’s loyal servant.”
“Only, my dear, when it suited her,”
said the queen, laughing, “but I have no quarrel with my dear Skye. Perhaps the reason we have always chafed at each other is that we are basically alike. What have you heard from her of late? When may we expect her back in England? I am anxious to learn if her voyage has been successful.”
“There has been no word of late, Your Majesty, which in itself is unusual, for Mama usually keeps a ready line of communication open between herself and London. We only know what she wrote last. From that letter we expect they will be home in the spring.”
The queen nodded, then said softly as if to herself, “It is vital that she succeed!”
Then she fixed her glance on Angel. “Tell me, my lady Southwood, is married life all that you envisioned it would be? Are you happy?”
“Aye, madame! My lord husband is the kindest and most loving of men. I can never repay Your Majesty for allowing me to be his wife.”
Angel’s beautiful face was radiant with her happiness.
“You are very fortunate then, my little Angel, for it is not always so. Is the rumor true that you’re already with child?”
“I believe it is so, madame.”
“In that, too, you are fortunate,”
the queen remarked.
“We should name it after Your Majesty, but we already have an Elsbeth.”
The queen’s laughter was a sharp bark. “Nay, my lady Southwood! ’Twill be a boy, I am certain, and you should name it Geoffrey after your husband’s father! There was a man now! I hope your son will be his like!”
“I shall tell Robin that Your Majesty wishes it,”
responded Angel sweetly.
The queen now turned her gaze to the tiltyard. The joust was one of her favorite forms of entertainment, as it had been her father’s. Greenwich, Hampton Court, and Whitehall all had tiltyards. There were three styles of jousting. The first was the Tilts, where horsemen used blunted spears. The second was called the Tourney in which they used swords. The third form of the joust was called the Barriers, and here the opponents fought on foot, alternating between pike and sword. Mock jousting was often the highlight of banquet entertainment and court masques.
Since jousting was the only other type of organized sport in Tudor England apart from archery contests, many came to watch the pageants. A seat in the stands could be had for twelve pence. A courtier not invited to the queen’s box had to fend for himself. Thus it was that many a nobleman and his lady found themselves sharing space with the London public.
The champions, each wearing his own distinctive color, brought their horses into the arena to the sound of trumpets, and the pageant was begun. The servants of those jousting were also dressed in colorful garb, some like savages, some like ancient Britons with long hair hanging to their girdles, and others wore horses’ manes. Some of the knights entered the arena first in carriages, their horses made to look like unicorns with finely wrought, twisted gold horns centered upon their foreheads. Others had their vehicles drawn by blackamoors garbed in balloonlike scarlet pantaloons and cloth-of-gold turbans. The proudest of the knights arrived already in full shining silver armor upon their own spirited and beautiful horses, proudly showing off their mounts’ skills.
Each knight with his servant, upon reaching the barrier, stopped at the foot of the staircase leading to the queen’s box. The servant, in pompous attire of his master’s special pattern would climb the steps and offer the queen a little speech in well-composed verse or a silly jest that would make her and her ladies and guests laugh. When the speech was ended, the queen was presented with a costly gift in the name of his lord, and Elizabeth then gave her permission for the knight to take part in the tournament. When all the knights had presented themselves thusly to the queen, the jousting began.
Among the knights this day was the Earl of Lynmouth, the Earl of BrocCairn, and the Earl of Alcester. Although Willow fussed noisily about her husband’s taking part in the sport— “James must remember that he is no longer a boy!”—she was, in truth, very proud, for he carried her colors, midnight blue and silver silks. He was to ride with Lord Southwood while Alex had been paired with Sir Walter Ralegh.
The tournament began, and two by two the knights rode against each other, breaking their lances across a beam. Gradually the two hundred or so men taking part in the tilting were weeded out until only four were left. The Earl of Essex rode with the Earl of Oxford against the Earl of BrocCairn and Sir Walter Ralegh. Essex carried Elizabeth Tudor’s favor upon his lance, the bright green and white ribbons blowing in the wind. He looked supremely confident for he fully expected to win.
Alex carried Velvet’s favor, silver and scarlet ribbons. He was also confident, for he felt he rode for the honor of Scotland. He didn’t particularly like Robert Devereux, still suspecting him of taking more than a brotherly interest in Velvet. Essex and Ralegh, though companions during the Armada crisis, had once again become enemies, for each was jealous of the other’s influence with the queen. Alex decided that he could not have had a better tournament partner than Ralegh.
Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford, looked at his opponents and said to Essex, “That wild Scot fights well, and so does Ralegh. We will not have an easy victory, Robert.”
Essex looked down the field. “Strange,”
he drawled, “I think we will. ’Tis only luck and Ralegh’s skill that have brought the Highland savage this far. They will be easy pickings, Ned. My word on it!”
A few minutes later the Earl of Essex’s handsome face registered pure surprise and shock as he saw that his lance was broken and the queen’s colors dumped rudely onto the ground. Oxford’s lance had also suffered an unkind fate due to Ralegh’s skill. The Earl of BrocCairn and Sir Walter Ralegh were declared the champions of the joust that day. They would present their shields adorned with their mottoed emblems to be hung in the Shield Gallery, which was situated by the Thames.
Alex and Sir Walter knelt before the queen to receive the victor’s prize, which this day turned out to be emeralds, one to each gentleman. “You may rise now, my brave gallants. ’Twas a battle well fought! Very well fought!”
“For you, madame,”
replied Ralegh, and Elizabeth smiled.
“The cask of Malmsey is well appreciated, Wat-er,”
she said, “but you, Lord Gordon! What a fine gift you have presented me with. What breed are the dogs your wicked-looking servant gave me? I have not seen their like before.”
“They are dogs of my own breeding, madame. Good hunting setters. I have given ye a pair, male and female, should ye wish to breed them yerself. They are excellent in heavy cover and retrieve well, especially woodcock and grouse.”
“I like their coloring, the black and tan,”
said the queen. “I have no others like them. If they do well in the hunt I shall expect you to send me another pair, for you owe me that, having stolen my godchild and compromised her honor.”
She eyed him archly.
“They are yers, madame, and Velvet is well worth the price,”
came his quick answer.
“Humph.”
The queen snorted. “I do not know what I shall say to Lord and Lady de Marisco when they return home in the spring. I have failed in my duties as godmother, and all due to your impatience, my lord!”
“I shall accept full responsibility, madame, and ye need have no feelings of guilt, for did ye not send after us posthaste? Ye did yer duty as I see it.”
“But I was not quick enough, was I, my lord?”
“Madame, accept my apology,”
Alex said sincerely. “I admit to allowing my temper to overrule my common sense and thereby placed Yer Majesty in a compromising position. For that I beg yer forgiveness, but I love Velvet so deeply that I could not wait …”
He shrugged helplessly.
“Damn me, but you are an honest man, Alexander Gordon! You’ve spoken fairly and plainly to me, which few would do for fear of me. I like you! You have my forgiveness, but you must give me your word that after tomorrow’s ceremony with the archbishop you will remain in England until my godchild’s parents do return. I know that you long to return to your own home, but this I must insist upon. Skye O’Malley is protective, nay, she is a veritable lioness where her children are concerned. The last time I fought with her over a matter involving one of her children she pricked me sorely. Her sting is too sharp for me to tolerate at this time in my life.”
Alex laughed. “Strange,”
he said. “I have met my mother-in-law only one time, at the time of my betrothal to Velvet. I remember her as a beautiful woman and a gracious hostess. Yet everything I have heard about her indicates that she is a warrior of the fiercest temperament. But ye have my word, madame. Neither Velvet nor I shall leave England until after we have been properly reunited with her parents in the spring.”
On the following day, November 18, 1588, Velvet and Alex were married one last time in the same chapel at Greenwich where Skye had married Geoffrey Southwood. When the queen had learned during the tournament at Whitehall that the gown the bride would wear was the same one in which Skye had wed the Angel Earl , nothing would do but that the ceremony be in the same place. This necessitated a quick move by the entire court downriver to Greenwich, which was the queen’s favorite palace. There at half past four o’clock in the afternoon Velvet and Alex stood before John Whitcliff, the archbishop of Canterbury, and were wed legally and lawfully for a fourth and final time.
Afterwards there was another wedding feast, this one with a wonderful wedding cake complete with a spun-sugar bride and groom atop it. Then there was a marvelous masque in which members of the court took part along with Christopher Marlowe and his company of players.
Afterwards Marlowe managed to corner Velvet, who eyed him warily. The actor-playwright laughed wickedly at her.
“Tell me, my beauty, have you kept your ideals of love, or did you marry him because you were forced to it? If it is the latter then I hope I may offer you a bit of comfort now.”
He grinned at her.
“I love my husband, you arrogant buffoon!”
she snapped back at him. “Now let me pass, or I swear I’ll set the dogs on you!”
Marlowe laughed uproariously. “Jesu, you’re a hot piece! I’m sorry you’ll not accept my offer, sweetheart. I’m sure both of us would benefit by the experience.”
Nonetheless, he stepped aside to allow her by.
Velvet and Alex were now forced to remain at court, which, fortunately, due to the onset of winter stayed in the Greenwich and London area. Robin had turned over their mother’s house on the Strand to his sister and her new husband. Greenwood, he knew, was to have been part of Velvet’s wedding settlement, and although he would have been happy to have the newlyweds in Lynmouth House with him and Angel, he knew the couple needed their privacy. Besides, he and his own bride were far more compatible it seemed to him. Any slight thing was apt to set Velvet and her husband to battling. Robin, like his uncle, Lord Bliss, was a man who appreciated his quiet.
On December fifth Velvet and Alex gave their first small party, a family affair to celebrate Angel’s eighteenth birthday. The young countess of Lynmouth was now quite certain that she was expecting a child in the springtime, and Robin treated his wife as if she were made of delicate crystal instead of flesh and blood.
Angel bloomed beneath this treatment and even happily confided to Velvet, “Robin was so right! I have learned to love him! I love him so much that I cannot imagine what life would be without him!”
Velvet’s own heart warmed at Angel’s words. She loved her brother dearly and was glad of his happiness. “When do you think the babe is due?”
she asked.
“Sometime in the ninth month of our marriage,”
Angel answered with a charming blush. Then she lowered her voice. “It must have happened on our wedding night. I only wish you the same good fortune, dearest Velvet. You will stand godmother to our son, won’t you?”
“You’re certain ’tis a lad you carry?”
teased Velvet.
“Oh, yes!”
Angel said positively. “I am most certain!”
Velvet laughed merrily, and Alex asked, “What is it, my love?”
“I cannot help but think of the surprises awaiting Mama upon her return. Our marriage, and a new grandchild from a daughter-in-law she doesn’t even know she has. She will not go away and leave us soon again!”
Since All Hallows’ Eve on the last day of October, London had been celebrating the winter holidays. There had been St. Martin’s Day with its traditional roast goose, St. Catherine’s Day to celebrate the end of the apple harvest, the queen’s Armada thanksgiving, and St. Clement’s Day, and December hadn’t even begun. A Lord of Misrule had been appointed for every Inn of the Court in London, for every wealthy nobleman’s house, and at the Tudor court itself. When Angel’s birthday came as well it seemed as if every day was a feast or a festival of some kind with good food, wine, and merriment of every description.
Since it was to be the first Christmas that the two newly wedded couples had ever celebrated together it was decided that Christmas EVe would be held at Greenwood, and on Christmas Day they would adjourn across the garden to Lynmouth House. The servants employed at Greenwood decorated the house joyously, for it had been many years since one of the family had been in residence on this holiday. Some of the retainers had been there since the time when Skye had lived at Greenwood, others were their children. Happily they had hung the holly and the ivy, the bay and the laurel, in the hall of Greenwood.
The Yule log had been sent from Queen’s Malvern , but Velvet and Alex’s invitation to Dame Cecily had been refused, for, she claimed, she was too old to make the trip, and, besides, her joints would ache with the damp cold from the river.
Velvet thought differently. She is a sentimental old lady. She wants us to have our first Christmas together by ourselves and, besides, I suspect she doesn’t want to leave the servants alone without their Christmas, for the holidays at Queen’s Malvern have always been celebrated gaily.
The Yule log was dragged into the hall by the male servants, but even some of the women came boldly forward to help. The fireplace was banked in greens, and upon the mantel great candles in enormous silver holders flickered at their mates on the sideboards and tables. The log was pushed and pulled with much good-natured groaning and grunting into the center of the room. Then each member of the household, master and servants all, were invited to sit on it while singing a song to ward off any evil spirits that would prevent the log from burning. When each person in the room from Alex down to the little potboy had had a turn, ale was served to everyone and they toasted a merry Christmas along with a happy New Year.
The log was then rolled into the great fireplace, and the kindling carefully set about it. Alex took a brand and, handing it to Velvet, said, “ ’Tis yer house, madame. A woman is keeper of the hearth and home. It is therefore up to ye to light our first Christmas fire.”
Their eyes met and in his she could already see a fire burning.
Taking the brand from him, she smiled a slow smile. “May it be the first of many fires, my lord!”
And then she thrust the brand into the kindling where it caught with a sharp snap.
Within minutes the Yule log was crackling brightly, and as the first orange flames shot up the chimney, the doors to Greenwood were opened to all who would come to share Christmas Eve with the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn. Yule dough and cakes, and bowls of steaming hot frumenty swimming in creamy milk and sweetened with a sugar loaf were served. Musicians hired for the celebration began to play upon pipe and reed, drum and tabor, and soon everyone was singing carols. It was one of the few times of the year that master and servant sat at the same board and ate and drank together.
Curiosity had brought a number of the villagers from Chiswick-on-Strand into Greenwood’s hall that night. They well remembered Velvet’s generous mother and were eager to see her daughter and to find out if that generosity had been passed on to the child.
Velvet did not disappoint them. The men were all presented with a purse containing six silver pieces; the women with a colorful bolt of cloth; and the children with little bags of brightly colored sugar candy. The poor who entered the hall that night all departed with full bellies, warm cloaks and slippers, and a purse apiece. The health of the lord and lady of Greenwood was drunk again and again.
At midnight the church bells all over England began to ring, a symbol to the devil that Christ was born and Satan was vanquished.
It had been a long evening. The villagers departed to their homes and the servants to their beds for a short rest before they must be up again to see to the running of the house. The two young couples walked through the gardens that separated Greenwood from Lynmouth House. Velvet, Robin, and Alex each carried in their arms one of Robin’s little daughters who had been brought up from Devon for the holiday season. Since it was not advisable that Angel travel in her condition, she had sent for her three young stepdaughters rather than leave them alone in the care of the servants at Lynmouth Castle.
Angel was proving to be a doting mother. She remembered too well her own motherless childhood, and she intended that Elsbeth, Cecily, and Catherine should have a loving and caring mother in her. This new side of her sister-in-law was proving to be a revelation to Velvet, for she herself felt no such maternal longings. In time she and Alex would have children, and she would love them, but not yet.
On the terrace of Lynmouth House servants materialized to take the children, and Velvet and Alex bid Angel and Robin a good night.
As they walked back across the garden, their hands entwined, Alex spoke with longing. “They’re bonny wee lasses, aren’t they?”