she is commanded by God to rule. Cecil acknowledges her primacy. Whether she likes it or not, she is set above everyone—even men—by God Himself. What else can she do?”
“She could rule under a man’s instruction,” she says simply. “She should have found a prince or a king or even a nobleman who could be trusted with the good of the country and married him, and made him King of England.”
“There was no one…,” I begin defensively.
She makes a little gesture with her hand. “There were dozens,” she says. “There still are. She has just got rid of the Hapsburg courtier, has she not? In France we heard all about them. We even sent our own candidates. Everyone believed that she would find a man that she could trust with the throne and then England would be safe. He would rule and make treaties with other brother kings. Treaties that could be based on the word of an honorable man, not on the changeable views of a woman, and then she could have conceived sons to come after him. What could be more natural and right? Why would any woman not do that?”
I hesitate. I cannot disagree. It is what we all thought would happen. It is what Queen Mary Tudor, Elizabeth’s half sister, tried to do, obedient to her wisest advisors. It is what this Scots queen did. It is what Parliament went down on their knees to beg Elizabeth to do. It is what everyone hopes will happen even now, praying that it is not too late for Elizabeth to have a baby boy. How should a woman rule on her own? How did Elizabeth dare such a thing? And if she does, if she continues on this unnatural course, how shall she secure her succession? Very soon it will be too late. She will be too old to have a child. And however great the achievement of a reign, what is the use of a barren throne? What use is a legacy if there is no one to inherit? What will become of us if she leaves the kingdom in turmoil? What becomes of us Protestant subjects under a Papist heir? What of the value of my property then?
“You are a much-married woman, are you not?” The queen peeps at me.
I laugh. “The earl is my fourth husband, God bless and keep him,” I say. “I have been so unlucky to be widowed three times. Three good men I have loved and lost, and mourned each one.”
“So you, of all people, cannot believe that a woman is best left alone, living alone, with only her fortune, and neither husband nor children nor home?”
In truth, I cannot. I do not. “For me, there was no choice. I had no fortune. I had to marry for the good of my family and for my own future. My first husband died when we were both children and left me with a small dowry. My second husband was good to me and taught me how to run a household and left me his estate. My third husband even more so. He left me his houses and all his lands entirely to me, in my own name, so that I could be a fit wife to the earl, Shrewsbury, who has given me my title and greater wealth than I could ever have dreamed of when I was nothing more than the daughter of a poor widow at Hardwick.”
“And children?” she prompts me.
“I have borne eight,” I say proudly. “And God has been good to me and I have six still living. My oldest daughter, Frances, has a babe in arms; they called her Bessie for me. I am a grandmother as well as a mother. And I expect to have more grandchildren.”
She nods. “Then you must think as I do, that a woman who makes herself a barren spinster is flying in the face of God and her own nature, and cannot prosper.”
I do think this, but I am damned if I would say it to her. “I think the Queen of England must do as she prefers,” I declare boldly. “And not all husbands are good husbands.”
I am speaking at random, but I score such a hit at her that she falls silent and then to my horror I see that she has looked away from her sewing and there are tears in her eyes.
“I did not mean to offend you,” she says quietly. “I know full well that not