The Lady Elizabeth (44 page)

“But the Lady Mary and yourself both come before her,” Kat pointed out, looking puzzled.

“And we are both bastards, and in law, strictly speaking, we cannot inherit. Only that Act of Parliament, the work of our father, stands between us and the House of Suffolk.” Elizabeth got up and began pacing up and down. “A king’s will has no force in law. An Act of Parliament can be repealed. I hope I am mistaken, but I fear that the Duke has some sinister design up his sleeve.”

Kat’s jaw dropped. “He wouldn’t dare?”

“We shall see,” Elizabeth said grimly. “I would put nothing past him.”

The letter had confirmed her worst suspicions. Northumberland had invited her to court, saying that the King was unwell and wished to see his dearest sister. How strange, she thought. He has been ill for months and I have been forcibly kept from seeing him. Why this summons now?

Was Edward really dying? Had he asked for her, hoping she would reach his side in time to say a last farewell? If that were the case, she must go to him, her poor brother. Truly, her heart grieved for him; she was consumed with sorrow. To have shown so much promise, then been brought to this, so young—it did not bear thinking about.

But supposing this was a trap set by Northumberland to snare her? She still thought it very odd that after months of preventing her from seeing the ailing King, the Duke was now summoning her to his bedside. And in that she smelled danger. Oh, what should she do?

Kat came in, and seeing her wakeful, padded softly over and sat down, resting her cool hand against Elizabeth’s brow.

“No fever, thank goodness. How are you feeling now, my lamb?”

“Not good,” Elizabeth murmured, holding Northumberland’s missive beneath her skirts, crumpled in her hand.

“Has it affected your eyes?” Kat asked. “Only there’s a letter come for you. Here.”

She held out a folded paper bonded with plain wax. There was no imprint of a seal. Elizabeth raised herself on the bed and opened it. There were just a few words printed across the page:
On no account go to court, if you value your life.
There was no signature, and the handwriting was unfamiliar. Or was it?

“Who is it from?” Kat asked. Elizabeth ignored her.

“Kat, can you bring me my coffer—that one, on the chest,” she indicated. Frowning, Kat fetched it and placed it on the bed. Resting on one elbow, Elizabeth went through the papers it held, then extracted a couple and held them side by side with the note she had just received.

“As I thought,” she muttered. William Cecil had done a good enough job of disguising his handwriting—good enough to deceive most people, but not her. There were too many similarities, but then perhaps that was intentional.

“Oh, my head,” she groaned, stuffing all the papers back into the coffer, locking it and clapping a fist to her brow. “Can you get me some poppy syrup, please. I need to sleep.”

“Of course,” Kat assured her, then paused. “What was in the letter? And what were you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” Elizabeth sighed. “Just looking up something Master Cecil had written. Boring estate business. All I need just now.” For this to succeed, she thought, even Kat—especially garrulous Kat—must be kept safely in ignorance.

When Kat came to look in on her that evening, she was tossing and turning and complaining of severe pain in her stomach and head.

“Summon the physician,” she moaned distractedly. When he arrived, brow creased in concern, she put on, she felt, the most convincing performance.

“A summer ague, my lady,” he pronounced after testing her urine and feeling her pulse. “A disorder of the humors brought on by the heat.”

What a load of nonsense, she thought, and wondered briefly if the man was worth his stipend. But, she reasoned, he
was
helping her, even if he was incompetent.

She sighed a little and flung her arm across her forehead.

“Will you write me a certificate?” she asked peevishly. “You see, I have been summoned to see the King, and I so wanted to go, but…” Her voice trailed off. “I want him to know that there is a good reason for my failure to attend him, especially as he is unwell himself.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace must not go near the King,” the doctor counseled. “Judging by the reports I have heard of his condition, it would do neither of you any good. I will write a certificate now.” He turned and rummaged in his bag.

“And will you kindly dispatch it for me?” Elizabeth wheedled.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, scribbling.

Elizabeth lay back on the pillows, satisfied that she had put off the danger for the time being.

On the ninth day of July, Elizabeth received another letter from Northumberland. Kat brought it to her as she lay in her sickbed in her darkened bedchamber.

“What does the Duke say?” she asked weakly.

Kat broke the seal and briefly scanned the page.

“Oh, my God,” she said in a choked voice. “The King is dead, God rest him.”

“Dead?” echoed Elizabeth, swallowing. “Of what?”

“A consumption of the lungs,” Kat whispered. “The rumors were true.”

Elizabeth immediately regretted staying away from the court. Her brother had been dying, had needed her, and she had not been there. She saw in her mind’s eye fleeting images of a fat toddler imperiously clutching a gold rattle, a solemn child diligent at his books and his prayers, a young ruler sitting like an icon on his throne. Her little brother, the hope of his House. How her father would weep this day.

Tears flooded her pillow as she tried to imagine her brother’s sufferings in his last days. Kat sat there stroking her hair from her temples, dabbing at her own eyes with a kerchief.

Eventually, Elizabeth began to wonder what this tragedy would mean for her. Had her sister Mary been proclaimed queen, as was her right in law? And was she herself now the next heir?

Rousing herself from her grief, she reread the Duke’s letter.

“There’s something I mislike here,” she murmured. “He writes in haste, he says, to inform me of the King’s passing, which was three days ago, on the sixth.
Three
days ago, Kat.” Elizabeth sat up. “Why has it taken him so long to inform me?”

“No doubt he is very busy,” Kat said uncertainly. “There will be much to do. And he has to make all ready for the new Queen, your sister.”

“Did he delay in informing her as well?” wondered Elizabeth. “He cannot welcome her accession. He has given her much grief and clashed with her over religion many times these past years. I doubt she will be too forgiving. And then we shall see what happens to our fine Duke!”

Kat stared at her. Elizabeth’s seemingly irrational fears were beginning to make sense. Suddenly, she understood why her young lady had taken to her bed.

The next news, picked up by Parry in the tavern at Hatfield, was even more alarming. Mary had not gone to London, nor had she been proclaimed queen; instead, she was in Norfolk, raising an army, if rumor were to be believed. Hearing this, Elizabeth immediately staged a relapse, resolved to keep to her bed until she knew more.

Her peace was disturbed by the arrival of a deputation from the council. Alarmed, she refused to receive them.

“I am not well!” she declared.

“But my lady, they are insisting,” a frightened Kat pleaded.

Knowing herself bested, Elizabeth shrank down beneath the covers, pinched her cheeks to give them a hectic, fevered appearance, and lay prone. The lords filed in respectfully, acclimatizing their eyes to the gloom. Kat stood by the bedhead, for propriety’s sake.

“We are sorry to find you so unwell, my lady,” Sir William Petre, the Secretary of State, said gently, peering at the bed. “I would that our business could wait, but I fear it is pressing.”

“I am listening,” Elizabeth said listlessly.

“My lord of Northumberland has been concerned about the succession. England does not want a Catholic queen. I speak of your sister, the Lady Mary, you understand. The question of bastardy was raised.” Petre gulped nervously. “I am to tell you that it was the late King’s will and desire that the Crown be left to his cousin, the Lady Jane Grey, who is trueborn and a stout Protestant.”

Elizabeth was outraged. Little Lady Jane to be queen? No one would allow it. The people would not want it. Jane herself would not want it, surely. The King must indeed have been deranged in his last illness—deranged or suborned by Northumberland.

“Parliament has settled the succession first on my sister and then on me,” Elizabeth reminded the lords, keeping her voice low for effect, and suppressing her fury. “The Lady Jane comes after us and her mother, my Lady Suffolk.”

“With respect, Your Grace,” Petre continued, “in law, the Lady Mary and yourself are bastards, and King Edward set aside your claims in a device he signed on his deathbed, which is soon to be enshrined in an Act of Parliament.”

“Then it has as yet no force in law,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“That is true,” chimed in Lord Paulet. “Which is why we are here. My lord Duke offers you a million crowns to renounce your claim.”

Elizabeth resisted the urge to sit up and scream at them.
Scurvy knaves!
she wanted to cry.
You’ll not deprive King Harry’s daughters of their rights!
But she curbed her temper.

“A bribe?” she asked drily.

“An inducement,” Paulet amended.

“Call it what you will, I cannot accept,” Elizabeth told them. “Has my sister been offered a similar bribe?”

“Not as yet.” Petre coughed nervously.

“Then you must first make this agreement with the Lady Mary, during whose lifetime I have no claim or title to resign.” Reaching for her kerchief, she made a great show of mopping her brow. The lords looked at one another uncertainly.

“Are you sure we cannot persuade you, madam?” Paulet persisted.

“Very sure,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And now, gentlemen, you have exhausted my strength. I must rest. I pray you leave me in peace, and bid you farewell.”

Shaking their heads, the lords left the chamber. After seeing them out, Kat returned.

“They’ve gone,” she said in a relieved voice.

“I’ll wager they’ll be back,” Elizabeth predicted. “They’ll pester me until I give in.”

“I’m not so sure,” Kat opined. “They seemed uncertain of their ground. I heard them saying something about dealing with the Lady Mary first. I didn’t like the sound of it.”

Elizabeth felt a stab of alarm. “Neither do I,” she said. “For when they have dealt with the Lady Mary, for certain they needs must deal with me. We must be on our guard. I think, Kat, that it is time for another relapse.”

That evening, there was an urgent knocking at Elizabeth’s door.

“It’s me, Master Parry, with important news!” a voice cried. Kat put down her sewing and hastened to admit him, as Elizabeth, who was sitting up in bed reading, clutched her shawl tighter about her.

“Lady Jane Grey is proclaimed queen in London!” Parry cried, breathless. “I had it from a merchant who stopped at the tavern on his way north. She has gone in state to the Tower to await her coronation.”

“How dare they!” cried Elizabeth, fiery with indignation. She found herself feeling fiercely protective of Jane, whom she was certain was an unwilling accomplice in all this. Quiet Jane, who loved nothing better than to be left alone with her books and her studies. “It is quite clear that Northumberland married his son to poor Jane so that he could place them both on the throne as his puppets. He has a taste for power now and doesn’t wish to give it up. It is madness! I know the English people—they will not accept it. A monarch cannot be forced upon them.”

“Many are muttering against it,” Parry told her. “There was some cheering at the Tower, but mostly the people are angry. They do not know the Lady Jane, but they love the Lady Mary.”

“Well, that is something,” Elizabeth said grimly. “And what news of the Lady Mary?”

“Supposed to be in Norfolk still, madam. She was summoned to court but it appears she was warned off, because she suddenly fled to her estates in the eastern shires.”

Had Cecil gotten word to Mary too? Elizabeth wondered. Strange, after what he had said to her all those years ago about supporting a Protestant succession. But perhaps it had been someone else. Or perhaps his admirable principles extended to championing the lawful heir, whatever her faith.

“What shall we do?” Parry was asking plaintively.

“Nothing,” said Elizabeth decisively. “We lie low here—I shall lie low literally—and wait upon events. That seems to me the safest course.”

There followed several anxious days in which there was no news. Elizabeth was desperate to know what was happening, and sent Parry daily to the tavern in the village to see if he could pick up any gossip, but the locals had nothing to add to what he had already heard.

John Astley was of the opinion that the council had too much on its hands to worry about Elizabeth for the moment.

“You may be right,” Elizabeth said cautiously. The Astleys and Master Parry were closeted in her bedchamber; they were the only members of the household who knew her sickness was diplomatic. “And I have no intention of drawing any attention to myself.”

“The longer this goes on,” Parry said, “the more likely it is that the Lady Mary is managing to elude them. For if they had taken her, we would have heard by now.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said cautiously. “But let us not count our chickens yet.”

“There is talk in the village that large numbers are rallying to the Lady Mary’s banner,” Master Astley reported the next day. “I know not if this is true, but there may be some substance to it.”

Elizabeth curbed a surge of optimism.

“Pray for a happy outcome!” she enjoined them all. “This is in God’s hands now.”

It was just over a week since the Lady Jane had been proclaimed queen when Kat came hastening into Elizabeth’s privy chamber with her husband and Master Parry hot on her heels.

“The Lady Mary has been proclaimed queen!” she cried. Elizabeth shot up out of her chair, and a smile spread across her face. There could not have been better news!