The Lady Elizabeth (23 page)

There was a soft knock. The Queen put her head around the door.

“How are you feeling, my lord? Can I get you anything?”

He managed a weak smile. She was a good woman, and he had not been much of a husband to her. Doubtless after he had left this world she would marry Tom Seymour. Well, good luck to her. She deserved a proper man in her bed: He himself could not have had a more devoted wife or nurse, but that had been—mostly—all that had been between them. Although he was damned if he was going to allow that rogue Seymour to be anywhere near the regency council.

“A cup of wine, if you please, Kate,” he said, content just to watch her moving about the room, doing his bidding. She looked very trim in her crimson gown. She thought he knew nothing of her secret conversion to the Lutheran faith, he reflected. Well, let her be. Let them all be. Kate, Hertford, Archbishop Cranmer, John Dudley, Coxe, Cheke, Ascham…heretics all. They would do well under the new regime. But not yet…not yet.

“It’s going to be a sorry Christmas, Kate,” he said, taking the cup from her. “There’ll not be many disports for you and my children, with me lying here and everyone tiptoeing around as if I’ve died already.”

Katherine winced.

“Nay, Sweetheart, I but jested,” Henry assured her, then sighed. “I’ve a mind to close the court to visitors. There’ll be no revelry this year.”

“I will keep you company, my Husband,” she said, patting his hand. “We’ll have some quiet revelry in private. You can beat me at cards, as usual—”

“No, Katherine,” Henry cut in. “Tomorrow, you, Mary, and Elizabeth will go to Greenwich and keep Christmas there in proper fashion. Edward can travel to Ashridge. I don’t want him mingling with lots of people. He might catch something, with all these winter chills that are going about.”

“But my lord,” the Queen protested, “I would stay with you.”

“It’s only for the festive season,” he told her. “No, no arguments! It is my will, and you are bound to obey me. Now go, make ready. I would sleep a little. I will see my children before they leave.”

They stood before him, two slim girls and a child. The fruits, he reflected, of his six marriages. For a moment, it was as if Katherine, Anne, and Jane were in their places: pious Katherine, with her unshakable, irritating devotion; the witch, with her mocking, alluring smile; and sweet, pale Jane, who had given her all to provide him with his heir.

The images faded. He was wandering in his mind, he knew. Sometimes it seemed as if the past and the present were one. He opened his eyes again, saw Mary, with that same needy and pathetic expression her mother had worn, inscrutable Elizabeth, watching him warily, and the fair, pale boy, his son. He suddenly realized he might never see any of them again.

“Come here, Edward,” the King commanded. The child stepped forward, reluctant to go too near the bed. He had never seen his father laid low like this, and he was clearly appalled at the sight—and the smell.

“You are to go to Ashridge for Christmas,” Henry told him. “I daresay Dr. Coxe and Dr. Cheke will devise some seasonal games for you. Be a good boy, and make merry—it is my wish.”

“Yes, sir,” said Edward meekly. His woeful expression was anything but merry.

Henry beckoned to his daughters, who drew nearer.

“You will both go with the Queen to Greenwich,” he croaked.

“No!” Elizabeth cried before she could stop herself.

“Please, sir,” Mary faltered, “let us stay with you.”

Her father shook his head.

“This is no place for you, my daughters, and besides, I need to rest. I have not been well, as you know. I will summon you back when I am recovered, never fear.”

Elizabeth did fear. She realized that her father was very ill and might never recover; there was a good chance she might never see him again. But she could not say as much, for it was treason to predict the death of the King. Instead, she knelt with her brother and sister to receive his blessing.

“May God have you all in His keeping,” Henry intoned. “Follow God’s word, and set a virtuous example to all. Now farewell, and I wish you a safe journey.”

Edward bowed formally. Mary bent her head as she curtsied, praying Henry would not notice her weeping. But Elizabeth stepped boldly forward, leaned over the diseased body lying in the bed, and kissed her father tenderly on his forehead.

“It will be my constant prayer that God will soon restore you to health, sir,” she said.

Henry looked up at her. There were tears in his blue eyes.

“Look after your little brother,” he murmured, “and your good stepmother.”

Then he waved them all away.

CHAPTER
11

1547

E
lizabeth gazed through the tall, latticed windows at the boats on the Thames and the distant spires of London, looking like stark gray fingers pointing up to the leaden January sky. She then turned back to her book while surreptitiously nibbling on a piece of gilded marchpane left over from Twelfth Night. When Master Grindal entered, she swallowed it quickly.

“Madam, you are to leave for Enfield at once,” he told her.

“Enfield?” Elizabeth echoed. “Why?”

“No reason was given,” the tutor said. “But I imagine that you are summoned once more to share the Prince’s lessons. Mistress Astley is already gathering your things.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to thud. Why the urgency? Could this mean that her father was better and that life was reverting to normal? Surely the King would not send her away if he were dying?

Throughout the long, cold journey, she puzzled and fretted. Kat, seated beside her in the chariot, sensed her inner tension and knew better than to probe, instead keeping their conversation light.

“I shall be glad of a good fire when we get there,” she said. “I like Enfield. It might be a small house, but it’s warm and so beautifully decorated. We shall be comfortable there.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly.

When they arrived, it was late afternoon and already nearly dark. Torches, flickering wildly in the wind, lit their progress into the house, and Elizabeth had hardly entered the great hall when, to her surprise, the Prince’s Chamberlain appeared out of the dimness and requested her immediate repair to the presence chamber.

“Is His Highness my brother here already?” she asked, suspecting that her being summoned here had nothing to do with lessons.

“He arrived earlier today, madam,” the Chamberlain informed her.

Elizabeth’s sense of foreboding increased, and she found herself trembling. Resolutely, she constrained herself to calmness, and divesting herself of her cloak, she straightened her hood, smoothed her skirts, and proceeded with measured steps into the presence chamber, chin held high.

There, standing beside the empty throne on the dais, stood the Prince, looking as perturbed as she herself felt, and with him was his uncle the Lord Hertford. Two other gentlemen—privy councillors, she guessed—were in the room, as well as several household officers and servants.

As Elizabeth made her obeisance to the Prince, Lord Hertford and the two gentlemen bowed to her.

“You are welcome, my Lady Elizabeth,” Hertford said quietly.

As she walked toward the dais, Elizabeth, thoroughly frightened now, braced herself for the worst.

The Earl swallowed and cleared his throat.

“It is my heavy duty to announce to you both the death of the late King your father,” he said, his face a mask of sorrow.

Then he fell to his knees.

“Sire, allow me to be the first to render homage and fealty to his successor, King Edward the Sixth. The King is dead—long live the King!” So saying, he took Edward’s hand and kissed it.

For answer, the boy burst into sobs. Elizabeth, stunned into silence by the terrible news, could hardly take it in, but her brother’s distress was all too visible, and impulsively she folded her arms around him and then found herself crying helplessly. At the sight of the weeping children, even the servants began sniffing and dabbing their eyes, while Lord Hertford gulped and blinked rapidly.

She would never see her father again, Elizabeth realized, nevermore hear that high, imperious voice or thrill to him calling her Bessy. The world would never be the same. It was too much to bear. The shoulder of Edward’s surcoat was soaked with her tears; they seemed to flow from a bottomless well, and she could not stop them. She was motherless, fatherless, an orphan. She wanted her father, as long ago she had wanted her mother…She felt her heart breaking.

Edward was weeping piteously, and more copiously than at any other time in his life. Hertford, watching him and his sister, became concerned.

“Calm yourselves, Sire, madam,” he urged, then, when they heeded him not, ventured to enfold both heaving bodies in his arms, and held them there until they were still.

At length, Edward broke away and stepped toward the empty throne. He regarded it solemnly for a moment, the tears still wet on his cheeks, then slowly sat down on it with a dignity far beyond his nine years. Elizabeth, blowing her nose into her kerchief, watched him for a moment, then collected her thoughts. Her brother was now King of England. She must not forget to pay the honor due to him. Shuddering still from the onslaught of her misery, she sank into a deep curtsy.

And suddenly, it occurred to her that another, more subtle, change had taken place in her life. Edward was the King now, she the subject. Never again would their lives be the same.

CHAPTER
12

1547

W
ith Henry’s passing, Elizabeth sensed that her childhood was over and that she must begin to look out for herself in this strange and threatening adult world. She knew that without Henry to safeguard her interests, she was very much on her own, for she guessed she would have little part to play in the schemes of the Seymours, and suspected that she and her sister Mary would soon be marginalized in the rush to seize control of the young King and the government.

She could not rely on the Queen, she realized. Katherine had borne no sons to the late monarch, and so could wield no further influence in public affairs. And anyway, Katherine would be grieving, and should not be expected to concern herself with Elizabeth’s troubles. No, she must depend on herself and use her wits to survive.

Thus resolved, she strove for that inner tranquillity that facilitated prayer. Her father, she realized, with an insight born of burgeoning maturity, would have need of her prayers.

After the lords of the council had sworn fealty to King Edward, Lord Hertford, who had ignored his dead master’s wishes and set himself up as head of that council, wasted no time in preparing to depart for London so that plans could be made for the late King’s funeral and the new King’s coronation.

“Am I not to go too, my lord?” Elizabeth asked him. Hertford shook his head.

“I regret, my lady, that his late Majesty expressly asked that none of his children attend his obsequies. And as the King is unmarried, the presence of ladies at the coronation would not be appropriate. I am sorry.”