“Then I pray you continue to do so.”
“But I have finished, my lord.”
He came toward her slowly, aware that her agitation was increasing. “What is it, Pinto?” He caught her chin in his hands and looked into her eyes. “I like it not that you should mistrust me. I like it not that you should run away when I appear, and cast those fearful glances at me when you think I do not see.”
“But, my lord …”
He bent his head swiftly and kissed her. He was almost as astonished as she was, and for a moment he sensed a deep pleasure.
She twisted free and ran from the room. He was smiling as he watched her. How foolish he had been to think that she hated him. She was after all a woman.
Poor Pinto! She covered her feelings for him under a veil of mistrust and suspicion. There was no need for her to fear. Her virtue was safe from him.
When Amy came riding home and found him there she was almost hysterical with delight.
“But Robert, why did you not send a message!” she cried, throwing herself at him. “I’ve missed hours of your company, and you will be running away ere long, I doubt not.”
He was charming as he knew so well how to be. “It is wonderful to be home,” he said, “away from the garish Court.”
“You speak as though you do not like it there.”
“How can I when it keeps me from you … and home?”
She could not keep her hands from caressing him. She pouted and said that she had heard rumors.
“Rumors of what?”
“It is said that the Queen greatly favors you.”
“The Queen is just. She remembers those who were her friends in adversity.”
“Yes. But they say you are a special favorite.”
“It is just talk.”
Later he rode with her through the estates; he must see the new lambs and watch the sowing of the oats and beans; he feigned delight in these things and congratulated himself that he had escaped from them forever.
He could not keep the knowledge from her that this was a flying visit.
“No … no, no!” she protested.
He thought her a pampered girl. It was due to her being her father’s heiress and living with grown-up half-brothers and half-sisters—the pet of them all. He must have been mad to marry her.
“Alas, my love, I am on a mission for the Queen. I must go back and prepare myself for the ordeal of the Coronation.”
“Why cannot I go, Robert?”
“It is impossible.”
“But other lords have their wives at Court.”
“Only if they have posts in the Queen’s household.”
“Could I not be a lady-in-waiting?”
“That will come, Amy. But give me time. The Queen has scarce been on the throne a month, and even if she does favor me now as you have heard, I cannot ask too much of her.”
“Would it be asking too much of her to give your wife a place at Court?”
He could smile ironically at that. “I am sure it would, Amy.”
“But, Robert, something will have to be done. I cannot stay here for months and months while you are away from me.”
“I will come to see you, Amy, whenever it is possible. You may depend on that. My duties as Master of the Queen’s Horse keep me occupied. I think I may earn the Queen’s displeasure for absenting myself so long.”
“I am afraid of the Queen, Robert.”
“You are wise to be so. She would be angry if she knew you were detaining me here.”
“And mayhap send you to the Tower! Oh, Robert, shall I ever be able to come to Court?”
He soothed her with gentle words and caresses and plans for the future. Yet how glad he was when he could ride away from Norfolk to London and the Queen!
The day before her Coronation Elizabeth rode through the City that she might receive the loving greetings of her people.
She had gone by water from Westminster Palace to the Tower several days before that Saturday fixed for the ceremonial parade; and she left the Tower on the Saturday in her chariot—a beautiful and regal figure in her crimson velvet. She was not quite twenty-six years of age, yet she looked younger than she had when she had made the journey along the Thames for the Tower on that mournful Palm Sunday four years before.
There were, for her delight, pageants and ceremonies similar to those which had been prepared for her sister Mary, yet how different was the feeling of the crowd! London had welcomed Mary, but Mary was coldly formal. Not so Elizabeth. She was certainly a dazzling sight in velvet and jewels, but she belonged to the people as Mary never could. All during that day she was anxious to show them that she thought of them as they thought of her, that her one wish was to please them as they wished to honor her.
“God save Your Grace!” they cried.
And she replied: “May God save you all!”
Even the poor brought flowers to her. Those about her would have held them back, but Elizabeth would not allow this to be done. She must smile on all; she must speak to them, however humble they were; and the flowers of her poorer subjects were those which she insisted on keeping in her chariot.
She knew that she had the people with her. She, though so young, was wise; and her greatest delight was in the outward signs of her people’s love.
She smiled as she passed the Spread Eagle in Gracechurch Street, for across that street was an arch on which was depicted a pageant concerning the Queen’s ancestors: Her grandparents, Elizabeth of York and Henry the Seventh; her father, Henry the Eighth; and there was a picture of a beautiful and spritely lady to whom no reference had been made for many years: the Queen’s mother, Anne Boleyn. Nothing could have pleased Elizabeth more.
Then there were pageants in Cornhill and the Chepe; and Elizabeth had some apt remarks to make concerning each of them. She would have the citizens know that she was no mere spectator; she was one of them. Her smiles were for all—for the aldermen and the members of the City’s guilds, for the governors and scholars of Christ’s Hospital, one of whom made a speech to which she listened with grave attention.
Most significant of all was her encounter with the two old men who sat at the Little Conduit in Cheapside, one with his scythe and his hourglass, representing Time. Time was her friend; she had always said so. And the other represented Truth; he gave her a Bible in English; and all those about her noticed with what fervency she took this holy book and kissed it.
She listened to the singing of the song which told her of her subjects’ wishes:
“… our hope is sure
That into error’s place thou wilt the truth restore …”
And as she listened she held the Bible against her breast and raised her eyes; and when the people cheered and called blessings on her, she cried: “Be ye assured I will stand your good Queen!”
And so she went to Whitehall; and the next day to the Abbey for the crowning. The dream had come true. Hers was the anointing; in her hands were placed the orb and the scepter; and the voices echoed about her: “Yea, yea, yea. God save Queen Elizabeth!”
There was one duty which, Elizabeth was assured by her councillors, she must not evade. The country would not be completely happy until there was a royal nursery at the palace and the son of Elizabeth was born.
“Marry!” was the urgent advice. “And the sooner the better.”
In spite of a coquettishly expressed love of the virgin state, Elizabeth was by no means unwilling to consider suitors; and as there was no better partie in the world than the Queen of England, there were many to compete for her hand.
In the meantime she was making her future policy clearer.
She had discreetly declared to the Protestant countries her desire to return England to the Reformed Faith; and at the same time, as she had no desire to offend France and Spain, she let it be known that she intended to allow her subjects freedom of thought in religious matters.