The Fugitive Queen Read Free

from the perils of childbirth. He was a widower and hadn’t spent his widowhood like a monk, which meant that he had had every chance of siring children yet he had never succeeded in doing so. With him, I could be fairly sure that I would not have to face pregnancy again. He was also a decent, honest man, interested in chess and gardens, an uncomplicated Protestant, and a trustworthy subject of the queen. Life as Hugh’s wife might be dull, I thought, but it would be quiet. I was glad to settle for that. I could do without excitement. I could even do without happiness, as long as I could have some peace.
    I hoped that we would make a good partnership. I would retire from court and conspiracy alike. Hugh and I would live together in amity, dividing our time between our two homes, my Withysham in Sussex and his Hawkswood in Surrey. I would educate my daughter, cultivate my herb garden, enjoy the society of my recently acquired woman companion Sybil Jester; let Fran and Roger enjoy each other’s society, too. They were married, though Fran was still usually known as Dale, out of habit.
    And so, in businesslike fashion, I ceased to be Ursula Blanchard, and became instead Mistress Hugh Stannard and if, for a while, I secretly grieved for Matthew, and cried in private because I had not been with him to comfort him at the end as once I had comforted Gerald, I only did so when I was alone.
    And time erodes sorrow. Presently, my private fits of weeping ceased. Then I found that I had entered into more happiness than I would ever have believed possible. Hugh’s lovemaking, if not frequent, was perfectly satisfactory, and his temperament was a pleasing mixture of the competent and the generous. He took a kindly interest in Meg and it was Hugh who achieved what I had not, and found a tutor, Dr. Lambert, who could teach her Greek as well as Latin. I was especially pleased, as I wished to study Greek and to improve my own Latin. Then, in the third year of our marriage, he was perfectly ready to welcome Penelope Mason, the daughter of my former acquaintance Ann Mason, into our home.
    This pleased me, too. Years ago, I had uncovered a conspiracy that was brewing in the Mason household although the Masons themselves were not involved. It was an unpleasant business, though, and keeping up any kind of friendship with the family seemed impossible afterward. Ann Mason’s letter delighted me.
    I was less delighted however when, after Pen had been with us for a month and I was exchanging messages with the court, prior to taking her there, Hugh observed that romantically speaking, she was susceptible. “You should urge the matter of her court appointment on,” he said to me, “and get her away from here. I think she’s falling for the tutor.”
    â€œFor Lambert ?” I said in astonishment. Dr. Henry Lambert was about Hugh’s own age and his hair was already completely silver. “He’s too old to interest a young girl, surely!” I said.
    â€œDon’t you believe it,” said Hugh. “He’s a fine-looking man, and since Pen is studying Greek with you and Meg, she sees him every day. It won’t do. Even if he were younger, it wouldn’t do. He has no property beyond a cottage in the town of Guildford. And he’s Protestant. Her mother wouldn’t like that.” Hugh had Catholic relatives and was tolerant of their creed. “Get her to court and under the eye of the queen, fast. ”
    I did as he said. My happiness with Hugh was based as much as anything on his reliability. He was a clearheaded man and I trusted his judgment. It wasn’t Hugh’s fault that Pen’s sojourn at court was less than successful. I certainly didn’t blame him for that.
    In all our life together, Hugh and I only quarreled once and that was for the most improbable of reasons.
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    Pen had only been at court for two months, when the letter came