Mary turned a suddenly stony gaze upon him. Cecil caught up his words as though finishing the sentence for him: “—For your own beauty is reflected in her, through her great love for you.”
Standing behind the Queen, he raised his eyes to the ceiling in eloquent resignation over Verney’s gaucherie and gave the abashed young man a warning look.
Wyatt carried on the good work swiftly and neatly.
“God grant us all such grace! … Your Majesty,” with a masterly change of subject, “is it true the King of France had ships ready to put to sea?”
“He did,” Mary responded grimly.
“France? Why?” asked Elizabeth.
“Our throne,” Mary said in a sonorous tone, “was threat-
ened not only from within our land, but from our enemies across the sea. France has in his care our cousin, Mary Stuart.” “The Scottish Princess?” Elizabeth queried on a puzzled note.
“Aye. And there’s been a plot afoot in France,” Mary’s voice roughened, “to set our crown upon that moppet’s head.” “Why,” exploded Elizabeth, “if she set foot ashore in England, I’d see her damned!” She swept up the room again, carried on a wave of indignation. “God shrivel up her blood! Let her keep Scotland and starve there.”
She was at the other end of the room now, her back unceremoniously turned to Mary, who sat following her vehement movements with approval and a certain indulgent amusement.
“She knows this throne is ours!” Elizabeth ejaculated. And at those words, Mary’s face stiffened and her eyes grew alert.
“A Tudor throne!” Elizabeth fumed with an unmistakable echo of her father’s manner. “And left by him—to us! …” “Bess!” Mary’s voice was the crack of a whip. Elizabeth turned, came to her. The three men stood motionless, their eyes discreetly withdrawn.
“Bess, there is no need to be so hot,” Mary told her sharply.
“I have the throne.” Her resonant voice was thunderous. “And you will help me keep it, by being true to us, and our true subject, until that day when this, our power, shall pass to our rightful heir…
Mary was making full and emphatic use of the royal plural. “So keep your spirits schooled to the place I grant you,”
she wound up, addressing, not a Princess of the reigning house, but a troublesome younger sister.
Elizabeth listened, her eyes on Mary’s darkly flushing face. Her own color did not change. She looked as though Mary had suddenly cuffed her before the three courtiers…
Mary herself perceived it. And also, perhaps, that she had failed somewhat in her new dignity… She said with a brisk change of tone, “And now—tomorrow is a great day. I have set aside these hours for rest and prayer. Tomorrow, early, we set forth for London and will proceed there to the Tower, from whence we shall go to our Coronation.” Her voice shook unexpectedly on the momentous word. She caught a breath, and attempted a small, meaningless laugh.
“Bess,” Mary was placating now, “I have given word that your men who came in armor shall take it off. This is a peaceful entry.” She smiled and nodded indulgently to the girl, adding almost coaxingly, “But I will have them dressed to do you honor, be well assured. And yourself too.”
Elizabeth responded instantly and warmly, smiling at her sister.
“Then will you see what dress I have had made?”
“Indeed so!” Mary assented indulgently. “Cecil, tell one of her women to bring it here,” as Elizabeth herself went flying to the door. It was a rebuke, or at least an admonition; impetuous girls might go running to display a gown, Princesses did not. …
It was also a slight but significant assertion of Mary’s new state. There were two lesser gentlemen in the room, one of
them a young man scarcely older than a page, but she sent the Secretary of the Council to find a waiting woman…
Elizabeth murmured a few words to him as he passed her on his way out, and Cecil bent his head.
“Now, gentlemen,” Mary announced, “I give you leave to go, and in your hearts prepare you for tomorrow.”
Vemey answered, “I thank Your Majesty. There is no doubt what feasting there will be, for it has begun already, aye, and the drinking tool”
“Then keep you from it,” Mary told him with one of those sudden darkling changes of face and manner which were a disastrous bewilderment to all who had to deal with her. “And get you to prayer, that you may better know the meaning of tomorrow.”
Verney looked completely crestfallen. He had spoken like an excited schoolboy and now looked like one who had just been birched…
“I—I only meant, Your Majesty—”
“Francis!” Wyatt stopped him. And to Mary, with a bow, “Your Majesty.”
He went out with the young man, almost pushing him from the room, and Francis’ penetrating voice could be distinguished as the door closed, “God’s mercy! I did but speak in my joy of this day. …”
Elizabeth smiled as she heard. But Mary seemed wrapped in dark discontent of a sudden.
“It troubles me to see this profligacy,” she said.
“Oh Mary! They’re young! Their hearts are full! This feasting and drinking is but an overflow of it, to show you
i
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their love. Accept it, for ’twill make them love you better,” Elizabeth pleaded engagingly and earnestly.
“I shall better teach them how to love God,” Mary returned sternly. “God has been too long shut out from here.”
“But is no longer,” Elizabeth comforted. She went out to the balcony, and as she moved away from that dark face and those suddenly dilated eyes, Elizabeth felt a twinge of impatience and of something more than impatience… My faith! I had forgot how she could veer from west to biting east all in a minute … and how a less-than-nothing would send her off into one of her black tempers… Kate said she was k woman sick in mind … pray God such sickness finds good medicine in being happy now. It’s strange, though: passing strange! Mary was always one to love a reveling or a feast and to go fine and bedecked for it…
She called from the balcony to her sister as she had called to Verney: “Look how the sun shines here to make the whole world hot with joy! Oh Mary—come—look! This is the bravest sight I’ve ever seen!
“Look! There goes Peter—Peter Carew! Peter, look up—”
“Bess, are you mad?” Mary exclaimed harshly.
“Had you forgotten him? Peter Carew—” Elizabeth repeated gaily.
“Come here to me,” Mary commanded.
Elizabeth came from the balcony, lifting her skirts to clear the floor in her hurry, and stood before her sister, bewilderment and a touch of fright in her face.
“Do you think you can shout out and display yourself thus
to every follower of your Queen? Do you know what it is to be the Queen’s sister?”
“In truth, I erred in calling you so unproperly,” Elizabeth admitted with readiness. “Pardon it, I pray you? I am beside myself with joy for you — and for the moment I did too warmly forget the Queen in the sister…”
“That’s little — and as warmly forgiven,” Mary answered, moved in spite of herself by Elizabeth’s rejoicing and by her impetuous way with herself. “But it is of the Queen’s sister I would remind you, child. I know you honor me, but you must honor your own self because of me.”
“Must I deny old friends on that count?”
Mary made a gesture of exasperation and hopelessness.
“Oh Bess, how can I teach you? Come, let me look in your heart and see how truly you are chastened. Do you know how I have prayed for you in your chastisement? What wrong Thomas Seymour did you, he has paid well for… But I pray it touched you only to make you come closer to God.” The light and the exultant happiness had vanished from Elizabeth’s face. It was a pale mask again and the eyes suddenly watchful.