The Queen's Lies by Oliver Clements

Author:Oliver Clements
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria/Leopoldo & Co.
Published: 2024-08-13T00:00:00+00:00

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PART | THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tutbury Castle, Staffordshire, November 1985

When the weather has been clement enough, and her legs have not been too painful, Queen Mary has on more than one occasion ignored her own ladies and favored instead Jane Frommond’s arm for her very slow turn of the castle bailey. They walk with Cache-Cache at her side, and as often as not the queen seeks Frommond’s advice as to how she should address her son on a matter in which no woman can possibly have any experience.

Today is one of those days.

“He is badly advised,” the queen tells Frommond again, dropping the royal we when she is out of the Presence Room, and out of earshot. “I feel certain of it, and if I could but get word to him, then I am sure he would see sense.”

Queen Mary is wonderfully unsubtle in her hints, and it is very obvious how much she would like Frommond to use her privileged position as one of Queen Elizabeth’s women rather than Queen Mary’s to send this message, but before she can spell this out in plain terms, Sir Amyas Paulet emerges from his house on the other side of the bailey and comes stamping in his proprietorial way toward them.

“A hard man,” Queen Mary observes as he approaches, “and ignorant of the pain we mothers must endure.”

Yes, yes, Frommond thinks. Mothers.

“Which is why,” the queen continues, “I am training Cache-Cache to bite off his bollocks.”

Frommond cannot stop herself laughing aloud, which Sir Amyas Paulet takes as being at his expense, and she cannot help retain her smile when Cache-Cache, smaller than most cats, growls at him. Sir Amyas doesn’t like the dog—no one does, really, except Queen Mary—and stands on his dignity, but his barber has nicked his neck this morning, and there is a spot of blood on his collar.

He greets Queen Mary formally, comments on the weather—“passing fair for this time of year, though the days wear short”—and then tells Frommond she is sent two letters, which he ostentatiously produces folded flat from his doublet. It is unkind of him, of course, and Mary watches hawklike, a spot of color on each cheek, as Frommond takes them.

“I will save them for later,” Frommond says, meaning to spare her.

Queen Mary is about to say something—Open them now!—but she feigns disinterest and asks Paulet if she might be permitted to take her caroche and visit the village, for she says her coachman has seen a poor beggar woman with no smock, and since she has smocks aplenty, she might take her one or two, for why should she need so many, when she is locked up so, with none to admire them?

Which Frommond thinks is a good question, but Paulet is having none of it, and tells her that the laws of the realm already provide for the adequate relief of the poor.

“No man need want for anything save by cause of his own lewdness.”

Mary is unconvinced.

“You fear lest by giving

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