After the lady-in-waiting closed the door behind Rodney, Elizabeth looked up at Robin.
“Robin, I have startling news for you.”
“Oh no! The rabbit died!”
“No!” Bessie was shocked that Robin would even think she might be pregnant, not at this stage of her life. Her first impulse was to bop him over the head, but decided slapstick was not appropriate for this serious complication in English/Spanish diplomatic relations. “Clarence Flippertigibbit is alive.”
“I thought he had gone down with the Aquamarine Pigeon,” Robin mumbled, halfway to himself. He looked at Elizabeth. “So what’s he been up to?”
“Poor choice of words.” The Queen sometimes chose a most inappropriate confidante. “Let me phrase it this way. He’s been sniffing out a conspiracy.”
“Where?”
She rolled her eyes. “Another poor choice of words.”
“You have me thoroughly confused.” Robin shook his graying head.
Running her fingers through his hair, she said, “My dear Robin, you stay thoroughly confused all the time.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes turned an endearing shade of hurt puppy dog.
“That’s one of your many engaging qualities that I love.”
Robin swooped her up in his arms. For an old codger, he still possessed quite admirable strength. “You always know what to say to cheer me up.”
(Editor’s note: At this time Robin headed to the royal bed. To avoid the images of two old people engaging in behavior unbecoming for English twilight, the author will jump forward fifteen or twenty minutes when the aging paramours are again properly attired.)
“I don’t know why you won’t marry me,” Robin said in a saucy insouciance as he sprawled across the bed.
Elizabeth had just removed her wig of brilliant red hair. She turned to smile at him, completely comfortable displaying her sparse, gray coiffure. “And you become king? I love England too much to allow that.”
“Why must you always hurt my feelings?” He sat up, now completely out of the mood.
“Don’t be hurt,” she said gently as she walked to him. “Just accept it as a fact of life.”
“And what fact is that?” he asked.
“You will never own the throne of England,” she paused to caress his face, “But you will always own the heart of the queen of England.”
Robin popped right back into the mood, stood and took Elizabeth into his arms. “If I can’t rule from the throne, maybe I can do something else on the throne.”
Bessie had an accomplished regal yet naughty giggle. “Oh, Robin, you scamp!”
***
Mistress Alice Wrenn, like the proper English maiden she was, had already retired, suitably snuggled under satin sheets. When she heard the doorknob creak, she sat up, pulling the covers to her delicate porcelain-like chin. As the door opened, she squinted to make out the figure entering her bedroom. When she recognized the intruder was Clarence, she gasped.
“A ghost!”
He leapt to her side before her petite body collapsed in a swoon. “Alice, my love! It’s all right! I’m not a spectral being! I’m flesh and blood!”
She quickly recovered and planted a wet kiss on his lips. “Hmm, and what flesh and blood,” she murmured.
“Your flesh ain’t so bad either.”
(Author’s note: extensive research into the family history revealed Flippertigibbit men, while dashingly brave and courageous in clothing choices, often slipped into lower forms of the English language when sexually aroused. This is all conjecture, of course, because Flippertigibbit is a fictitious family.)
“Oh Clarence.” She ran her slender fingers through his dark curly hair. “I’m so glad you didn’t drown when the Aquamarine Pigeon sank.”
“Yes, all those swimming lessons at Eton.”
“Thank goodness for Eton.”
They resumed their passionate kissing for a few moments until Clarence remembered he was a proper Elizabethan hero and stopped. “My main concern, while breast stroking my way to the nearest shores, was your reaction to the news of the ship’s demise.”
“I fainted.”
“I presumed you would.”
“I should have known you would have survived. You were always very good at the breast stroke.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Where did you come ashore?”
Clarence stood and walked away. “I—I don’t think the queen would want me to tell.”
“Then how did you return to England?” She followed him across the room.
“I can’t tell you that either.”
For a small woman, Alice’s tone turned dangerously suspicious. “I suppose you can’t tell me how you made your way into the palace?”
“That’s right, my dear.” Clarence took her hands and raised them so he could tenderly kiss them, but she yanked her pinkies from his grasp.
“I never thought you’d keep anything from me.” She stomped her tiny foot and turned away.
“It’s for England, Alice,” he pleaded plaintively.
In a quick change of heart, Alice ran to Clarence and threw herself into his arms. “In that case, I forgive you.”
They engaged in a lively round of tongue wrestling before Clarence came up for air.
“The next few weeks are going to be crucial for our island kingdom, my dear, and you must trust me if our people are to survive.”
“Are you going to put me in mortal danger?” Her tiny sparkling eyes crinkled.
“Yes.” Clarence was extremely hesitant in his reply because he was well familiar with Alice’s penchant for swooning. And, as though on cue, she began to fall limp. “Don’t faint! Please!”
Alice regained her composure with a surprising aplomb. “Since you asked politely.”
“You’re so considerate.” Those modest words rolled off Clarence’s tongue with such potent earthiness they bordered on impropriety.
“And you’re so brave and handsome and articulate,” she replied with lewd undertones to the last adjective that one might suspect she was referring to a meaning far different from academia. After another kiss, Alice giggled, “I have a naughty idea.”
Clarence cocked his head and smiled inquisitively.
***
Maria knelt by the altar in the palace chapel, surrounded by flickering candlelight. Her hands were clasped in fervent prayer. She began in a most appropriate Spanish.
“Dear Father, help me in my hour of need. My loyalties are torn. Am I disloyal to King Philip?” Her answer to her own question came out in proper English. “A tyrant deserves no loyalty.” Her Spanish side retorted, “But what of the land of your birth?” A sensuous smile sneaked upon her lips and in tones of pure French passion, she asked, “And what of love? That handsome Englishman takes my breath away.” Her praying hands balled up in a fist of determination. “You must conquer him!” she announced with Teutonic authority. Her head tilted in a Spanish flair. “And who will conquer England?” Pure English patriotism washed over her. “No one will conquer England!”
The four-way debate going on in Maria’s beautiful head dissolved as she heard steps coming up behind her. She turned to see Rodney, and her heart melted once again.
“Miss deHorenhausen, I’m so happy I found you,” he said, bowing deeply.
“I’m glad you found me too, Monsier Broadshoulders.”
Rodney laughed in embarrassment with a tinge of awkwardness. “It seems so funny calling each other by our last names.”
“I don’t mind if we switch to first names,” she offered in proper English as she extended her hand.
“You may call me Rodney.” His lips quivered as they touched her fingertips.
“My names are Maria Fleurette Hortense Hildegarde. Take your choice.”
“To show I hold no hard feelings against your scum-sucking king, I shall call you by your Spanish name Maria.”
Her dark eyes sparkled. “Gracias.”
“What?” Rodney wrinkled his massive brow.
“That’s Spanish for thank you.”
“Oh.” He helped her to her feet and stood so close that they could feel each other’s breath. “You’re welcome, Maria.”
She did not retreat. In her most aggressive German accent she asked, “I understand you are a great warrior.”
“I feel defenseless when faced by your beauty.” His eyes clouded over with passion.
“You also have a great command of the English language,” she observed in a clipped British tone.
Rodney displayed a crooked smile, tinged in irony. “Usually it has command of me. But in your presence the words seem to flow easily.”
“I am flattered,” she murmured, still most properly English.
His arms crept around her waist. “A great urge is coming over me to take you in my arms and kiss you passionately.”
“The quarter of me from France says you should follow your urges.”
“And what does the rest of you say?
“Take your opportunity to conquer,” her Teutonic side grunted.
“Really?”
“Si.”
“And what is the word from the English sector?”
Maria jumped into his arms. “Tally ho!” She launched a frontal assault on his mouth.
Between kisses Rodney murmured, “I’ve never been in love before.”
She held his cheeks in his palms and suggested like a true Frenchie, “If we’re lucky, once will be enough.”
“I just love the way you talk.” Rodney then launched his own incursion into her mouth.
Maria purred like a Parisian pussy. “”Let’s get comfortable.”
Rodney’s eyes lit with an idea, which did not occur often. “My father once told me of something he did when the old King Henry was laid up with gout.”
“How intriguing.” She was as curious as a lady-in-waiting hanging around Elizabeth’s back door.