Free To Shield the Queen by Fiona Buckley Page A

told her, and assured Dudley that my maid could accompany us, if he could supply us both with mounts.
    “I think you should also have a manservant of your own,” he said. “You should have proper status if you are to be a personal attendant on Lady Dudley. I’ll pick someone out for you.”
    I instantly thought: John Wilton! I could afford his services now, and for the foreseeable future too. I explained. I didn’t know precisely where John was, but his sister Alice, with whom I had stayed on my brief visit to Sussex, would probably know. So might Bridget, since John had said he would watch over her and Meg.
    Dudley agreed. Despite his wish for haste, we had to leave a day or two for a courier to go ahead and announce our impending arrival and there was just time to send to Sussex. Bristow, a smart young fellow who regularly rode round the countryside on Dudley’s errands, set off, carrying with him some money for Bridget and some lengths of bleached linen, woollen cloths of blue and grey, and some rose-coloured damask from which she could fashion new clothes for herself and Meg. He was back in two days with John and also with an endearing note from Bridget.
    Gerald and I had chosen Meg’s nurse because she was kind and wholesome and experienced with children. She was the eldest daughter of one of the Blanchard tenants and had ten younger brothers and sisters. Few people are perfect, though, and Bridget had two drawbacks. One was that none of her family washed very often. We overcame that by being stern in unison until we had convinced her that although we were good humoured and would feed her well and wouldn’t hit her, we meant it when we said that she must wash all over at least once a fortnight, and wash Meg, too.
The other drawback was that although she could read and write a little, it was a very little. That hadn’t mattered at first, but when I came to court, I had worried about it. I would need to send instructions to her, and I would want to receive reports.
    However, she had managed. I read the letter several times over, blessing it as a physical link between myself and the Sussex cottage where my child lived.

I got your letter, Mam, and vicar here helped me read it. I’m makin shift to write this myself. I am plantin the gardin like you sed, Mam, an heve got hens. They are sittin and I hope to hev chiks. Meg is well and arstin for you offen. Yrs respeckfully, Bridget.
    I sighed over that letter, longing unbearably to be with them both, aching for my daughter, who was asking after me, but I must turn my mind towards Oxfordshire.
    I was very, very glad to see John; at the sight of his plain, trustworthy face and his spiky hair, a little of my bygone happiness seemed to live again.
    “You leave tomorrow,” Dudley told us.
    • • •
    On the afternoon before we left, I walked in the park with the queen, along with various other ladies and courtiers, for until my actual departure I was still on duty. We were joined by Bishop de Quadra, the Spanish ambassador. His short, black-clad figure found its way to my side, apparently by intent.
    “Mistress Blanchard, may I speak with you?” De Quadra had talked to me before, casually, during the many hours which the whole court spent standing about in anterooms and galleries in attendance on Elizabeth. His English was clumsy but he spoke French and so did I. He spoke French to me now. “I hear,” he said, “that you are bound for Cumnor Place tomorrow, to reassure Lady Dudley that although her life may be in danger from disease, it is not in danger from assassins.”
“Yes, that is so,” I said.
    “For your sake,” said de Quadra, “I hope that what you intend to tell her is the truth.”
    “What?”
    My face showed my amazement. De Quadra considered me thoughtfully, his own olive-skinned features expressionless. “I believe,” he said, “that your husband was no friend to my master King Philip. Possibly, therefore, you distrust me, but in fact, I