The Quality of Mercy. Faye Kellerman
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most humble gratitude for allowing me the pleasure of serving Your Most Holy—”
“Good, good, enough blather,” the Queen interrupted. “Now go.”
“Come, Rebecca.”
“The girl stays.”
“Madam, I—”
“The girl stays,” repeated the Queen. “Did you not hear me the first time, Dr. Lopez?”
“Absolutely, madam. It’s just that such an honor you have bestowed upon her … I am speechless.”
“Would it were so.” The Queen pointed to the door. “Be gone!”
Roderigo bowed and tried to meet Rebecca’s eyes. But hers were fixed on the brown-spotted flesh topping the Queen’s hands. He had no choice but to leave. As he stepped out into the Privy Chambers, his body was shaking uncontrollably.
Rebecca proceeded from rubbing hands to rubbing the neck and face. Though Her Majesty’s body had been prey to the ravages of time, her face still retained remarkable smoothness of skin, wrinkle-free except for small lines around the eyes and lips. Her cheeks were dry and rosy, a deeper blush than usual due to fever. She moaned softly under Rebecca’s touch.
“What say you of my condition?”
“Excuse a lowly girl’s ignorance, Your Grace, but I am not qualified to answer your question lest I err in my appraisal and cause ill to come to you. I’d rather die myself.”
“Answer it anyway,” Elizabeth commanded.
“If Your Grace insists, I’d say that madam is heavy with choler. Your skin is hot and dry. The phlegm that Your Grace spits is a sign of recovery being moist and cool. Madam must drink. Pints and pints of clear cistern water mixed with aqua vitae. It will bring on more phlegm and keep the humors in balance.”
“Your hands are so young.” Elizabeth held them to her cheek.
“Do they cool you, madam?”
“Indeed they do.”
“Then I shall keep them on your face all night whilst you sleep.”
Elizabeth smiled. “If thy hands are cool and bring relief to thy Queen, how much more so thy body.” She rang for one of her ladies-in-waiting. The girl who entered the chamber this time was young, thin, and pockmarked from recent disease.
“Undress the girl,” the Queen ordered.
Rebecca froze.
“Go on, little goose.” Elizabeth pushed Rebecca upward. “Stand up and allow yourself to be served.”
On wobbly feet, Rebecca rose. She felt the points of her sleeve being loosened, her bodice coming undone. Off they dropped to the floor, followed by her skirt—a velvet puddle around her ankles. Trembling, she stood in her chemise and stockings.
Elizabeth smacked her dry lips. “Continue,” she said to her attendant.
Rebecca felt her knees nearly cave in.
Off came her undergarments until she was naked, her body lithe and silky, a feast for Elizabeth’s gleaming eye. The woman looked as lecherous as Dunstan. Bile rose in Rebecca’s throat.
“You may go,” the Queen said, dismissing her maid. “Come here, Rebecca. The raw air causes you to shiver.”
With no other alternative, Rebecca forced a smile and obeyed the command.
“Such lovely teeth,” Elizabeth remarked. She held open her coverlets, and Rebecca slid under them. “Smile for me again.”
Rebecca smiled. The old woman’s breath smelled of ale and garlic.
“Lovely, lovely teeth.”
“I would give them to madam, if I could,” Rebecca said softly.
“You really are a dear girl, aren’t you.” Elizabeth ordered Rebecca to turn over, then pressed her sagging belly against the smooth arch of the young girl’s back, grinding her hipbone into a firm buttock. Her arms embraced Rebecca, her hands cupped full, soft breasts. She lowered her left hand and tucked it between Rebecca’s legs, a finger poking up into the internal folds of her womb. Ah, to be young again. The girl’s body was so lovely, so cool. She closed her eyes. “Are you comfortable?”
“If it is so for madam.”
“Madam is quite content.”
“Then I am as well,” Rebecca replied.
“Go to sleep,” Elizabeth said.
Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and prayed she wouldn’t cry out her revulsion in the night.
The coach bounced slowly as it maneuvered through London’s streets, thick with people. Multitudes of human bodies, Roderigo thought, clogging up the roads, scaring the horses. In this traffic it would take at least an hour to reach his home in Holborn. And the noise was fierce. The shouts of the mongers, the banging of hammers, the clang of clashing swords, and the bells ringing endlessly, announcing births, deaths, christenings. He was getting a headache and was out of extract of thistle. Such was his luck of late.
He glanced at Rebecca, head down, sitting stoically, not saying a word since they’d left the great palace of Whitehall. He was waiting for her to speak, to confide in him about what had happened, but the girl remained fixed in her silence. And her silence only made the horrible noises outside seem louder.
“Enough of your game of handy-dandy, Becca. Open your hands and expose me your nut.”
“Pardon?”
“What happened with the Queen? What did Her Grace say to you? She did speak to you, did she not?”
“Aye.”
“What did she say?”
“Did she not tell you?” Rebecca asked.
“Would I be asking you if Her Majesty were loquacious?” Roderigo snapped. “The Queen said nothing to me, except to complain about her health.” Roderigo kept his voice very low. With all the street noise, it was unlikely that the coachman could catch even a wisp of their conversation. But one could not be too careful in these troubled times. “Tell me what transpired.”
Rebecca hesitated, then whispered, “Her Grace extended me an invitation to become a maid of honor.”
Roderigo smiled. “This is better than I could have hoped for.” The smile widened into an open grin. “How much information you’ll be privy to, daughter. How much you’ll be able to tell me! What a weapon you shall be. Essex’s lust for war is well tempered by his lust for the fairer sex. A coy smile in his direction, Becca, and he’ll be mush. You’ll pierce his nose with your feminine wiles and lead him anywhere. He’ll confide in you, tell you things. And then you can tell me things!” He hugged her tightly. “My daughter, words can’t express how proud I feel.”
Rebecca said nothing.
“Becca, do your ears shut to your father’s words?”
“I heard them.”
“Even in our moment of triumph you’re infuriating.” Roderigo shook his head, fought off creeping anger. “If you remain as immobile as stone, so be it. When are you to leave for court?”
She remained silent.
“Becca, when are you to arrive at court?”
“I refused the offer.” Rebecca turned to face her father and blanched at the anger she saw. He was scarlet with fury. Her body began to tremble.
“I …” She swallowed, tried to bring moisture into her parched throat. “I told Her Grace how pleased I was that such a proposal was bestowed to me. But I spoke to the Queen of my grandam, how much the old woman relies on my care—”
Roderigo