Bettine bowed like the others; she thought she ought. The Queen paced slowly, diverted herself for a look at Essex, and a slow nod at Anne. "Well."
"My daughter," said Anne. "The first Elizabeth."
"Indeed," said the Queen. "And Marc, good evening. Marc, how do you fare? And the young princes. Quite a stir, my dear, indeed quite a stir you've made. I have my spies; no need to reiterate."
"I'm not dying," she said. "You're all mistaken. I've told them I'm not dying. I'm going back to Richard."
The Queen looked at Essex, offered her hand. Essex kissed it, held it, smiled wryly. "Didn't you once say something of the kind?" asked the Queen.
"He did," said Anne. "It was, after all, your mistake, daughter."
"At the time," said Elizabeth. "But it was very stupid of you, Robert, to have relied on old lovers as messengers."
Essex shrugged, smiled again. "If not that year, the next. We were doomed to disagree."
"Of course," Elizabeth said. "There's love and there's power; and we all three wanted that, didn't we? And you . ." Again that burning look turned on Bettine. "What sort are you? Not a holder. A seeker after power?"
"Neither one. I'm the Lord Mayor's girl and I'm going home."
"The Lord Mayor's girl." Elizabeth snorted. "The Lord Mayor's girl. I have spies, I tell you; all London's haunted. I've asked questions. The fellow gulled you, this Tom Ash. Ah, he himself is nothing; he works for others. He needs the numbers, that's all, for which he's paid. And with that list in others' hands your precious Lord Mayor's in dire trouble. Revolution, my dear, the fall of princes. Are you so blind? Your Lord Mayor's none so secure, tyrant that he is. . . if not this group of men, this year, then others, next. They'll have him; London town's never cared for despots, crowned or plain. Not even in its old age has it grown soft-witted. Just patient."
"I don't want to hear any of it. Tom loved me, that's all. Whatever he's involved in. . ." Elizabeth laughed. "I was born to power. Was it accident? Ask my mother here what she paid. Ask Robert here what he paid to try for mine, and how I held it all the same. . . no hard feelings, none. But do you think your Lord Mayor gained his by accident? You move in dark waters, with your eyes shut. You've wanted power all your life, and you thought there was an easy way. But you don't have it, because you don't understand what you want. If they gave you all of London on a platter, you'd see only the baubles. You'd look for some other hands to put the real power in; you're helpless. You've trained all your life to be, I'll warrant. I know the type. Bettine. What name is that? Abbreviated and diminished. E-liz-a-bethis our name, in fine round tones. You're tall; you try to seem otherwise. You dress to please everyone else; I pleased Elizabeth, and others copied me. If I was fond, it was that I liked men, but by all reason, I never handed my crown to one, no. However painful the decision. . . however many the self-serving ministers urging me this way and that, I did my own thinking; yes, Essex, even with you. Of course I'd hesitate, of course let the ministers urge me, of course I'd grieve—I'm not unhuman—but at the same time they could seem heartless and I merciful. And the deed got done, didn't it, Robert?"
"Indeed," he said.
"You were one of my favorites; much as you did, I always liked you; loved you, of course, but liked you, and there weren't as many of those. And you, Mother, another of the breed. But this modern bearer of my name—you have none of it, no backbone at all."
"I'm not in your class," Bettine said. "It's not fair."
"Whine and whimper. You're a born victim. I could make you a queen and you'd be a dead one in a fortnight."
"I just want to be comfortable and I want to be happy."
"Well, look at you."
"I will be again. I'm not going to be dead; I'm going to get out of this."
"Ah. You want, want, want; never look to see how things are. You spend all your life reacting to what others do. Ever thought about getting in the first stroke? No, of course not. I'm Elizabeth. You're just Bettine."
"I wasn't born with your advantages."
Elizabeth laughed. "I was a bastard. . . pardon me, Mother. And what were you? Why aren't youthe Mayor? Ever wonder that?"
Bettine turned away, lips trembling.
"Look at me," said the Queen.
She did so, not wanting to. But the voice was commanding.
"Why did you?"
"What?"
"Look at me."
"You asked."
"Do you do everything people ask? You're everyone's victim, that's all. The Mayor's girl. You choose to be, no getting out of it. You choose, even by choosing not to choose. You'll go back and you'll give His Honor what he wants, and you'll go back to your apartment. . . maybe."
"What do you mean maybe?"
"Think, my girl, think. Girl you are; you've spent your whole majority trying to be nothing. I think you may achieve it."
"There's the Thames," said Essex.
"It's not what they take from you," said Anne, "it's what you give up."
"The water," said Edward, "is awfully cold, so I've heard."
"What do you know? You didn't have any life."
"But I did," said the boy, his eyes dancing. "I had my years. . . like you said, when the sun was very good."
"I had a pony," said Richard. "Boys don't, now."
"Be proud," said Elizabeth.
"I know something about you," Bettine said. "You got old and you had no family and no children, and I'm sure pride was cold comfort then."
Elizabeth smiled. "I hate to disillusion you, my dear, but I washappy. Ah, I shed a few tears, who doesn't in a lifetime? But I had exactly what I chose; and what I traded I knew I traded. I did precisely as I wanted. Not always the story book I would have had it, but for all that, within my circumstances, precisely as I chose, for all my life to its end. I lived and I was curious; there was nothing I thought foreign to me. I saw more of the world in a glance than you've wondered about lifelong. I was ahead of my times, never caught by the outrageously unanticipated; but your whole life's an accident, isn't it, little Elizabeth?"
"Bettine,"she said, setting her chin. "My nameis Bettine."
"Good," laughed the Queen, slapping her skirted thigh. "Excellent. Go onthinking; and straighten your back, woman. Look at the eyes. Always look at the eyes."
The Queen vanished in a little thunderclap, and Essex swore and Anne patted his arm. "She was never comfortable," Anne said. "I would have brought her up with gentler manners."
"If I'd been your son—" said Essex.
"If," said Anne.
"They'll all be disturbed downstairs," said young Edward. "They are, when she comes through." They faded. . . all but Marc.
"They don't change my mind," said Bettine. "The Queen was rude."
"No," said Marc. "Queens aren't. She's just what she is."
"Rude," she repeated, still smarting.
"Be what you are," said Marc, "I'll go. It's your moment."
"Marc?" She reached after him, forgetting. Touched nothing. She was alone then, and it was too quiet. She would have wanted Marc to stay. Marc understood fear.
Be what she was. She laughed sorrowfully, wiped at her eyes, and went to the bath to begin to be beautiful, looked at eyes which had puffed and which were habitually reddened from want of sleep. And from crying. She found herself crying now, and did not know why, except maybe at the sight of Bettine Maunfry as she was, little slim hands that had never done anything and a face which was all sex and a voice that no one would ever obey or take seriously. . . just for games, was Bettine. In all this great place which had held desperate criminals and fallen queens and heroes and lords, just Bettine, who was going to do the practical thing and turn in Tom who had never loved her, but only wanted something.