To Ruin A Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court by Fiona Buckley Page A
Authors: Fiona Buckley
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II’s queen. She invented courtly love. Noble ladies had pretend lovers who swooned over them and sang songs and wrote poems to their beautiful eyes and their hard hearts and presented them with dead hares as well, I expect.”
I dredged my memory for more recollections of the history lessons I had shared with my cousins. I could dimly recall hearing about Eleanor of Aquitaine, although not about courtly love. Our tutor had probably regarded that as either too frivolous for his pupils orelse improper. But it was obvious enough what Mattie meant. In this castle, which was run like an imitation palace, Lady Thomasine was queen of an inner court and her son took it all as normal.
Conversation had begun, and was promisingly political. Mortimer had started to talk about Mary Stuart of Scotland and the current speculation over her marriage plans. An English noblewoman called Lady Lennox, who was descended from a sister of Henry VIII and was, thus, a cousin to both Mary and Elizabeth (Elizabeth detested her), was reportedly interested in promoting her son, Henry Darnley, as a bridegroom for Mary. It would be a powerful alliance in the eyes of those who considered Elizabeth to be illegitimate and, therefore, not entitled to the throne.
“The sooner our good queen is married and with a son, the better,” Sir Philip remarked. “A secure succession would steady people’s minds. She must herself be aware of that.” Rob observed that the future peace and happiness of England depended on Elizabeth’s choosing the right husband and over that, she would have to exercise care. Lady Thomasine said that everyone hoped the queen wouldn’t marry Robin Dudley, her Master of Horse, but that it looked less likely now, since the rumors had been circulating for years and nothing had come of it.
“I believe it has even been said that last year she offered his hand to Mary Stuart of Scotland,” she added.
I agreed that this rumor had reached me in France, but evidently nothing had come of that, either. I agreed too that it had probably never been seriously meant andwas no doubt nothing but a political ploy, perhaps to distract Mary Stuart from thoughts of Henry Darnley. I sipped my wine but found it uncomfortably strong. There was water on the table as well and I would do best, I thought, to drink that instead. Such strong wine might well have the desired effect on Philip, though, if only I could get him to overindulge in it.
I then discovered what I ought to have realized before, which is that a host at his own table is in control of it and drinks or doesn’t drink whatever he pleases. You can’t very well say such things as: “Do try this wine, Sir Philip. It’s a great favorite of ours. It comes from such and such a vineyard in such and such a province of France,” because it’s his wine in the first place and he presumably knows where it comes from and what it tastes like. You can admire the wine and hope that he will take extra to keep you company; you can perhaps push a flagon invitingly toward him; but that’s as far as you can go.
I did my best but Mortimer drank very little. In fact, he remarked as the meal progressed that he would have estate business to deal with later on and needed a clear head.
“Two of my tenants are behind with their rent and I’ve summoned them to explain why. They’d best be convincing,” he added with an ominous grin, “or I’ll have them hung in chains, in the middle of the courtyard.” He actually leaned forward to point through the window at the courtyard. “So no more wine, thank you, mistress.” He set aside the flagon of canary which I had edged encouragingly within his reach.
Well, if I couldn’t get him fuddled, I could stillcarry out his mother’s suggestion about asking artless questions. “You sound,” I said, “as though you almost wish you really could hang them in chains for not paying the rent. A little drastic, surely? Do you really want such power?”
The answer
I dredged my memory for more recollections of the history lessons I had shared with my cousins. I could dimly recall hearing about Eleanor of Aquitaine, although not about courtly love. Our tutor had probably regarded that as either too frivolous for his pupils orelse improper. But it was obvious enough what Mattie meant. In this castle, which was run like an imitation palace, Lady Thomasine was queen of an inner court and her son took it all as normal.
Conversation had begun, and was promisingly political. Mortimer had started to talk about Mary Stuart of Scotland and the current speculation over her marriage plans. An English noblewoman called Lady Lennox, who was descended from a sister of Henry VIII and was, thus, a cousin to both Mary and Elizabeth (Elizabeth detested her), was reportedly interested in promoting her son, Henry Darnley, as a bridegroom for Mary. It would be a powerful alliance in the eyes of those who considered Elizabeth to be illegitimate and, therefore, not entitled to the throne.
“The sooner our good queen is married and with a son, the better,” Sir Philip remarked. “A secure succession would steady people’s minds. She must herself be aware of that.” Rob observed that the future peace and happiness of England depended on Elizabeth’s choosing the right husband and over that, she would have to exercise care. Lady Thomasine said that everyone hoped the queen wouldn’t marry Robin Dudley, her Master of Horse, but that it looked less likely now, since the rumors had been circulating for years and nothing had come of it.
“I believe it has even been said that last year she offered his hand to Mary Stuart of Scotland,” she added.
I agreed that this rumor had reached me in France, but evidently nothing had come of that, either. I agreed too that it had probably never been seriously meant andwas no doubt nothing but a political ploy, perhaps to distract Mary Stuart from thoughts of Henry Darnley. I sipped my wine but found it uncomfortably strong. There was water on the table as well and I would do best, I thought, to drink that instead. Such strong wine might well have the desired effect on Philip, though, if only I could get him to overindulge in it.
I then discovered what I ought to have realized before, which is that a host at his own table is in control of it and drinks or doesn’t drink whatever he pleases. You can’t very well say such things as: “Do try this wine, Sir Philip. It’s a great favorite of ours. It comes from such and such a vineyard in such and such a province of France,” because it’s his wine in the first place and he presumably knows where it comes from and what it tastes like. You can admire the wine and hope that he will take extra to keep you company; you can perhaps push a flagon invitingly toward him; but that’s as far as you can go.
I did my best but Mortimer drank very little. In fact, he remarked as the meal progressed that he would have estate business to deal with later on and needed a clear head.
“Two of my tenants are behind with their rent and I’ve summoned them to explain why. They’d best be convincing,” he added with an ominous grin, “or I’ll have them hung in chains, in the middle of the courtyard.” He actually leaned forward to point through the window at the courtyard. “So no more wine, thank you, mistress.” He set aside the flagon of canary which I had edged encouragingly within his reach.
Well, if I couldn’t get him fuddled, I could stillcarry out his mother’s suggestion about asking artless questions. “You sound,” I said, “as though you almost wish you really could hang them in chains for not paying the rent. A little drastic, surely? Do you really want such power?”
The answer
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