The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(47)
“I think, Your Grace, that such a paragon of a son can hardly exist. We are all human, after all, and thus flawed.”
No one could ever accuse Stephen Courtenay of stupidity. With a huff, Mary complained, “But the bond between mother and son is sacred and should not be lightly tampered with.”
There was a thoughtful pause, then Stephen ventured to address her real unease. “I am sorry that His Majesty displeases you when he writes.”
It was no great conjecture, for all Mary’s legitimate post came through the hands of the Earl of Shrewsbury and his men. And yes, her temper was being increasingly tried by James’s lukewarm attempts at affection. But this last letter had struck a blow that outdid in bitterness almost every other blow of her life.
“Do you know what my most unfilial son has written to me?” She asked it rhetorically; if Shrewsbury and his men were reading her letters, they were too polite to openly admit it. “He says that as I am kept captive, he has no choice but to disassociate his sovereignty with mine and must decline to treat me as other than Queen Mother.”
Stephen held his silence long enough for Mary to feel the prick of a single tear in one eye. She swallowed it down sternly. Self-pity would get her nowhere.
“That is unkind, Your Majesty. I should be sorry to cause such pain to my mother. But you must consider his youth, and that his companions since infancy have been those most opposed to you.”
It was more generous than she’d expected, and she extended her hand for Stephen to take. “Thank you,” she said. “Trust me, I know who my real enemies are and I shall not forget to add to their sins the charge of subverting my son’s love for me.”
She had already done so, writing a furious letter to Elizabeth against the boy who had transferred his traitorous affections to that bastard queen. Without him, I am and shall be of right, as long as I live, his Queen and Sovereign…but without me, he is too insignificant to think of soaring. I refuse the claim of Queen Mother, for I do not acknowledge one; failing our association, there is no King of Scotland, nor any Queen but me.
She had once thought to include James in the Nightingale plans, but now her wisdom in not doing so had been borne out. Soon she would have all the power she desired to take back Scotland and punish the son who had so traitorously abandoned her.
—
“No fresh concerns?” Elizabeth asked Walsingham. The two of them were closeted alone in her study early the morning after her return to Hampton Court. Last night’s reception had gone late, but Elizabeth had withdrawn after only two hours and left the younger members of court to entertain themselves. Might as well allow Anne a modicum of freedom.
“About Mary Stuart and Nightingale?” Walsingham responded to her question. “No, nothing new. That doesn’t mean I am not still sufficiently worried to press you to restrict her liberties further.”
“How much further do you suggest? Shall I bring her to London and confine her to the Tower? That is certain to send every Catholic in my realm into open revolt. And the last thing I need these next weeks is a further weapon for Philip to use against me.”
“It would not be provocative to increase the security around Tutbury. And keep her from riding out for the duration of the Spanish visit.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Honestly, Walsingham, do you expect my cousin to once again make a dash for freedom on the back of a horse? She may be a fine rider but she is no longer an especially young woman”—Elizabeth ignored the twinge that reminded her Mary was nine years younger than herself—“and she is always accompanied by at least a dozen armed men. Including Stephen Courtenay. You sent him there; do you believe he is at all likely to turn traitor now? Surely Mary’s charms are not still so great that she could twist that particular young man to treason.”
“It is the things we have not considered that worry me, Your Majesty. One cannot protect against a blow one has not anticipated.”
“Well, then, set your imagination loose and bring me your possible anticipations and I shall consider them. For now, our first concern is Spain and getting out of this marriage with as much advantage to England as possible.”
“Do you think you can persuade Philip to intervene with the pope against the Jesuit mission to England?”
“I mean to try. But I was thinking more of Anne’s future. Philip can cause trouble while he is in England. I do not want to be maneuvered into concessions that he can use against me or her later.”
“How serious are you about matching Her Royal Highness to James of Scotland?”
Elizabeth waved a hand, as though that thorny issue could be solved simply. “I am very serious about making Philip nervous. We shall see which worries him more—a Protestant king or a Protestant English noble. I suppose Anne gave a good performance last night after I left?”
She was certain of it, for Anne had done very well in the earlier hours while her mother was in attendance. She had been seated with Brandon Dudley at dinner, and despite her protests behind closed doors, had acquitted herself with dazzling charm and smiles to turn any man’s head. It had unaccountably pleased Elizabeth that Brandon had remained steady and, perhaps, even cynical about the entire affair. Very much as his uncle Robert would have.
“If her performance was intended to flit from eligible noble to eligible noble, then she did well enough. Until she landed on Christopher Courtenay shortly after your departure. They did not separate for the remainder of the evening.”