whom all our lives and fortunes depend. May God continue to preserve her.
Yours sincerely,
Sir Walter Ralegh
Chapter 13
Bold Dreams
S ir Walter’s amorous letter set my cheeks on fire. I cannot imagine wearing a deerskin about my waist. What gives men such thoughts?
I hid the letter among the others tied in the wrinkled handkerchief. I had stopped thinking of it as the queen’s handkerchief, or even Ralegh’s. It was mine, a token of his love. The queen had Sir Walter’s loyalty, but his heart was given to me. Mine was the memory of his kiss, his hands touching my hair and face. And mine was the knowledge of his secret ambition to rule Virginia himself.
How hard it was to keep this all within me! Not to betray, by a slipped word or letter carelessly laid, that I loved Sir Walter. No doubt everyone thought my happiness resulted from being in the queen’s graces again. Anne, however, was still out of favor and aggrieved because of it.
“It’s not fair that Elizabeth should forgive you and not me,” she complained one day as we sat in the gallery with our embroidery. “I have served her longer, and we are cousins.” She stabbed at the cloth with her needle.
“But she is the queen’s Cat,” Frances said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Don’t you know you can throw a cat from a wall and she will always land on her feet?”
“What are you jealous of, Frances?” Emme said. “You have the queen’s ear.”
“Yes, and I’ll wager you have shared more confidences than any of Walsingham’s spies,” I said. “Whatever you disapprove of, you cannot help but reveal.”
Anne turned to Frances. “Was it you who turned the queen against Thomas Graham?” she accused.
Frances did not even look up from her needlework. “Why do you blame me? Do you think she didn’t know about you and Graham already? Anyone with eyes could see you were in love with him.”
“Just be warned,” said Anne, her eyes flashing. “If either of you dares to take a lover, I will tell the queen and see that you suffer as I do!”
“Catherine is the one you ought to watch,” said Frances coolly. “She is often distracted, and I have heard her reciting poetry when she is alone. She must be thinking of a secret love.”
I felt my pulse quicken. Again I wondered what Frances knew about Sir Walter and me. But I would not bear her smug teasing.
“Don’t bother to watch Frances,” I said to Anne. “No man will ever fall in love with her.” I tossed aside my needlework and left the gallery.
Later I complained to Emme, “I am weary of these games we play with each other.”
“You could endure them before you fell in love with Sir Walter,” she said.
“Hush! I am not in love with him,” I lied. “He only helped me write some verses for the queen.”
Emme shook her head. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, to a friend who knows you well.”
“Do Frances and Anne suspect?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” Emme said. “But you must be more discreet and hide your feelings. Sir Walter is the queen’s favorite, and she would be most angry to learn of your love.”
“But it is so unfair!” I burst out. “He is half her age. She will never marry him or anyone else. Why shouldn’t I be free to love whom I will? Why shouldn’t Anne marry Graham? Are you content to let the queen rule your feelings?”
Emme shrugged. “That is the way of our world.”
“When you are in love, you will not be so sanguine.”
“I have thought about this,” said Emme. “I will let the queen choose my husband, and then I will choose whom to love. It may be my husband, or it may be another. For once a woman is married, the queen can no longer rule her heart.”
I regarded Emme with astonishment. I wished I could be as practical and sure of myself. She was a sturdy bark navigating the rough waters of the queen’s court, while I was a shallow wherry, always in danger of capsizing.
That summer the queen was peevish, prone to
Yours sincerely,
Sir Walter Ralegh
Chapter 13
Bold Dreams
S ir Walter’s amorous letter set my cheeks on fire. I cannot imagine wearing a deerskin about my waist. What gives men such thoughts?
I hid the letter among the others tied in the wrinkled handkerchief. I had stopped thinking of it as the queen’s handkerchief, or even Ralegh’s. It was mine, a token of his love. The queen had Sir Walter’s loyalty, but his heart was given to me. Mine was the memory of his kiss, his hands touching my hair and face. And mine was the knowledge of his secret ambition to rule Virginia himself.
How hard it was to keep this all within me! Not to betray, by a slipped word or letter carelessly laid, that I loved Sir Walter. No doubt everyone thought my happiness resulted from being in the queen’s graces again. Anne, however, was still out of favor and aggrieved because of it.
“It’s not fair that Elizabeth should forgive you and not me,” she complained one day as we sat in the gallery with our embroidery. “I have served her longer, and we are cousins.” She stabbed at the cloth with her needle.
“But she is the queen’s Cat,” Frances said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Don’t you know you can throw a cat from a wall and she will always land on her feet?”
“What are you jealous of, Frances?” Emme said. “You have the queen’s ear.”
“Yes, and I’ll wager you have shared more confidences than any of Walsingham’s spies,” I said. “Whatever you disapprove of, you cannot help but reveal.”
Anne turned to Frances. “Was it you who turned the queen against Thomas Graham?” she accused.
Frances did not even look up from her needlework. “Why do you blame me? Do you think she didn’t know about you and Graham already? Anyone with eyes could see you were in love with him.”
“Just be warned,” said Anne, her eyes flashing. “If either of you dares to take a lover, I will tell the queen and see that you suffer as I do!”
“Catherine is the one you ought to watch,” said Frances coolly. “She is often distracted, and I have heard her reciting poetry when she is alone. She must be thinking of a secret love.”
I felt my pulse quicken. Again I wondered what Frances knew about Sir Walter and me. But I would not bear her smug teasing.
“Don’t bother to watch Frances,” I said to Anne. “No man will ever fall in love with her.” I tossed aside my needlework and left the gallery.
Later I complained to Emme, “I am weary of these games we play with each other.”
“You could endure them before you fell in love with Sir Walter,” she said.
“Hush! I am not in love with him,” I lied. “He only helped me write some verses for the queen.”
Emme shook her head. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, to a friend who knows you well.”
“Do Frances and Anne suspect?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” Emme said. “But you must be more discreet and hide your feelings. Sir Walter is the queen’s favorite, and she would be most angry to learn of your love.”
“But it is so unfair!” I burst out. “He is half her age. She will never marry him or anyone else. Why shouldn’t I be free to love whom I will? Why shouldn’t Anne marry Graham? Are you content to let the queen rule your feelings?”
Emme shrugged. “That is the way of our world.”
“When you are in love, you will not be so sanguine.”
“I have thought about this,” said Emme. “I will let the queen choose my husband, and then I will choose whom to love. It may be my husband, or it may be another. For once a woman is married, the queen can no longer rule her heart.”
I regarded Emme with astonishment. I wished I could be as practical and sure of myself. She was a sturdy bark navigating the rough waters of the queen’s court, while I was a shallow wherry, always in danger of capsizing.
That summer the queen was peevish, prone to
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