Free Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I by Sandra Byrd

it was in the same ink found on the forepaper she’d written upon. One of these, in the Epistle of Paul to the Ephesians, struck me:
    For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the savior of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.
    I plucked from the seed of my memory Her Majesty saying that it was monstrous that the head should take direction from the feet. Should she marry, the example of her sister, common practice, and Holy Writ all declared that she would no longer be head, something she knew very well.
    As for my own marriage, there seemed to have been no progress on the matter and little interest except from William and myself.
    “I cannot continue to live in limbo,” I said to him. “I do not know what I am or who I am or where my place is. Your . . . Lady Anne Bourchier, she could have a long and robust life.” At that I noted that one of his servants flicked her eye toward me, unusually, and briefly.
    I didn’t wish ill upon Lady Anne, but I wished to have my own situation resolved.
    “I will take it up again with the council,” William promised. “It was not so difficult to set aside a false marriage last time, when I married Elisabeth Brooke. But I need to win new champions to our side, and that takes time.”
    “By when?” I asked softly, but wearily, sensitive to the fact that this troubled him, too, but needing an answer.
    “Within a year.”

FIVE

    Years of Our Lord: 1567, 1568
    The Palace of Whitehall
    Windsor Castle
    Hampton Court Palace
    A t the new year the queen’s principal councilor, William Cecil, had drawn up a memorandum titled Certain Cautions for the Queen’s Apparel and Diet and circulated it among courtiers and ladies. The document suggested ways in which Elizabeth could guard against being poisoned. In it, he spoke against accepting gifts from strangers, which I found odd, as all gifts that came to Her Majesty were entrusted to Lady Knollys, and warned of perfume or scented gloves appointed for Her Majesty’s savor. That concerned me, as I knew better than most how vulnerable the queen was to using sweet scents to avoid rank ones. She’d insisted upon rose water in the palace privys for years.
    I was a welcomed maid of honor and the queen treated me with politeness, though she kept me at some distance. This wasfrustrating, as the others followed her lead. It pained me to admit that it was exactly as Princess Cecelia had predicted: I was daughter to no one, sister to no one, as yet wife to no one, mother to no one, and apparently friend only to Anne Dudley and William. I missed the companionship of my sisters and of Bridget. I longed to rectify that and had been seeking a manner in which I might make myself even more valuable to the queen. The queen often appointed me to sew new taffeta into the gowns she wished remodeled so she could pass them along to her ladies and maids, or even the underprivileged, but I wanted to be more helpful. And personal.
    After the queen had left for a meeting with her councilors, I approached Mistress Blanche with what I hoped was a wonderful idea that would help me please the queen and earn friends. “I wonder if I might offer my assistance in helping blend perfumes and pomanders,” I said, my voice trembling a little with hope and the fear of being told no. “In light of Cecil’s concerns, I could provide sweet-smelling respite for the queen while protecting her person from harmful fumes given as gifts.” I waited and held my breath till she answered.
    “That is a splendid idea, Lady Helena,” Blanche said. “I shall instruct Mrs. Morgaynne to provide you with whatever herbs and oils you need, and you may also select plants from any of Her Majesty’s gardens.”
    “Thank you!” I said, reaching over to hug her, and she laughed lightly before shrugging me off. Within the week I had prepared some herbal blends and