The Spymaster's Daughter by Jeane Westin Read Free Book Online Page B

somewhat angry that Robert Pauley had been nowhere in evidence when she had needed him that morning. He had left flowers for her rooms, but no explanation for his absence, no by-your-leave. She did not know what to make of such behavior in a servant who obviously did not think or act likeone. Perhaps she had been too friendly in the carriage, as Aunt Jennet had warned. She determined not to make that mistake again.
    Frances took a deep breath and composed her face, knowing it would not do to scowl at Queen Elizabeth.
    The royal antechamber with its gilt ceiling was hung high with rich arras tapestries portraying unicorn hunting scenes. On one end wall hung a huge portrait of the queen’s father, Henry VIII, displaying his monstrous codpiece and powerful thighs. On another wall hung a scene of the queen’s ancestors, fading into dim history all the way back to Adam and Eve. That would mean that she, Frances Walsingham Sidney, was a quite distant cousin of the queen, since her father’s historians had paid for a similar pedigree, as had many English gentlemen.
    The overwarm antechamber was full of the queen’s gentleman pensioners and hopeful petitioners, sweating perfume. No wonder it was said the queen held a pomander to her nose and rarely set it aside.
    In some near chamber the boys of the Chapel Royal choir sang in their high, clear voices, casting the net of God’s approval over the queen’s morning activities.
    Frances paused to listen at the huge double doors leading to the inner royal chamber, and gathered her breath to think through her next steps.
    The doors swung open and the guard announced, “Lady Sidney, Your Majesty.”
    Elizabeth, crowned and wearing a magnificent white satin gown laden with pearls of every size and luminous hue, sat at a large writing table facing Frances. The Earl of Leicester and Mr. Secretary Walsingham stood by the queen with armfuls of dispatches and warrants for her to sign with the goose quill she had in hand.
    Though Frances kept her eyes half cast down, she could see that the great Gloriana was no longer young. Her skin was lightened with egg white, vinegar, and white lead, the application she called her Mask of Youth. She had outlived many who had startedher reign with her, yet her eyes were as bright as the diamonds she wore, her legs strong and her wit stronger.
    Frances knew she was in a
presence
, and the others who sought the queen’s favor knew the same; even Frances’s father looked subdued.
    By his worried glance, it was obvious to Frances that he feared his daughter might trip on her new wooden heels and sprawl before the queen in a quite undignified heap, to his shame.
    That made Frances even more determined to show herself graceful.
    The queen looked up with interest and waved Frances forward.
    â€œAh, yes…‘My true love hath my heart, and I have his,’” said the queen, quoting from Philip’s verses. Her Majesty’s gaze was turned to Leicester, still her favorite, though gray showed in his dark beard and his doublet stretched tight across a thickening waist. Still, in the earl Frances could see the remnants of the splendid youth whom the queen must have known and must yet see.
    Frances took a deep breath and quoted the next line of Philip’s poem, which he’d probably last whispered into Lady Rich’s pink ear. “‘By just exchange one for the other given…’ Your gracious Majesty,” she said in a voice to carry across the inner chamber. If there was gossip about Phillip and Lady Rich in the court, Frances would step out in front of it, though that might be difficult. Lady Rich was the Earl of Essex’s sister and he was Elizabeth’s new favorite.
    Waved forward by the squinting queen, who everyone knew was shortsighted, Frances flawlessly performed three deep curtsies as ordained by court protocol, to her father’s obvious relief. She saw the lines of care briefly