Book Review: Queen Elizabeth's Daughter
/Keeping Up with the TudorsQueen Elizabeth's Daughter
A house made of red bricks and standing on a little hill, meadows and forests surrounding it, a slate pathway leading to the front door. A woman. Herself? The woman seemed older, yet there was definitely something familiar about her. The woman grew clearer and it was, indeed, herself. Then, dismounting a fine steed, a man. His face? His face? He turned and Mary could see him. Pale green-blue eyes and a somber countenance – Sir John! He embraced the woman and kissed her – a long kiss of possession.
The“Sir John" here is the kindly, widowed rural knight John Skydemore, whose quiet masculinity and appealing nature have caught Mary's romantic imagination – certainly far more than has the vain and brutal Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, who's the Queen's choice of husband for her most cherished ward. Absent its various petticoated perturbations, that simple romantic conflict is the heart of Queen Elizabeth's Daughter, and it can lead to some fairly unbelievably modern-sounding exchanges between Mary and the strident, opinionated queen, who's too smart to be unaware of the direction of Mary's affections and is happy to encourage them - to a point:
"I thought as much. I see how you look at Sir John Skydemore – and how you blush when he is near. No, say nothing. I know what I know. And I would say to you, enjoy the man! Spend time with him, dance with him, walk with him in the dusk – just do not think to marry him! For you shall never marry him! He is not fine enough for you, dear Fawn. He is no earl, no prince. You are free to delight in his company. But keep your virtue!” said the queen.Mary lifted her head."I intend to keep my virtue, Your Majesty. But I will not play with Sir John as if he were a toy. As for marriage, I think I should have a say in what man I shall marry – I do not wish to wed some stranger from a faraway land. I would rather follow my own inclinations – as does Your Majesty," said Mary.
At which point, in actual Tudor history, the Queen would have bolted up from her chair, beaten young Mary soundly about the head and neck, thrashed her out of her skirts, and banished her to some drafty Surrey stable for a year or two. Which is why we have Tudor fiction, to supply the butter and sunlight to a past that more seldom had them than we like to recall. There's scarcely a more buttery or sunlit practitioner of Tudor fiction working today than Barnhill (there will be readers who lament such a fact, but I rejoice in it), and she has this remarkable conversation end in quite a different way:
"Ha! I do not follow my own inclinations – would that I could! And you do not have any say in your marriage rights – you are mine to command. You must trust in my love for you, child. I would not set you with someone who would be unkind to you. No, I will search for a man who will love you and be able to maintain you in a fine way – you shall be a great lady," said the queen.
Mary's course to whatever kind of great lady she'll become isn't easy for her to live, but thanks to Barnill, it's remarkably easy to read. Another Tudor court girl gets her best imaginable balladeer.
