The Lady Elizabeth (6 page)

“To bed, you vain girl!” admonished the governess, and Elizabeth scampered, giggling. In truth, she could not remember ever being so happy, and she wished it could go on for ever and ever, that she could stay here, in this glittering, enchanting palace, and never go back to the quiet of Hatfield. If life could always be like this, she might even begin to forget her mother and the tragedy that had overtaken her.

CHAPTER
2

1537

W
ake up, my Lady Elizabeth, we have just received the most wonderful tidings!” exclaimed Lady Bryan, shaking her charge by the shoulder. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, then opened them to see her governess beaming happily.

“England has a prince!” she cried. “Queen Jane has borne the King a son! A baby brother for you, child! Oh, this is a great day, for the King’s Majesty and for us all!”

“A baby brother,” echoed Elizabeth, wide awake now. At last, she would have someone to play with! He could come and live at Hatfield, this new brother, and…

“His name is Edward,” Lady Bryan told her, “and he was born two days ago on the twelfth of October, the eve of Saint Edward the Confessor, a most auspicious day. Now we must make haste, my little lady, because we are summoned to court without delay. The King wishes you to play your part at the christening.”

“Ohh!” Elizabeth was scrambling out of bed, bursting with elation. “What will I be doing?”

“You are to take part in the procession.”

“Is that an important part?” asked the child.

“Very important, I believe,” said Lady Bryan firmly, suppressing a smile. “Now we must get you ready quickly!”

Once more, they found themselves in a litter trundling down the Great North Road. It had been ten months since Elizabeth had made her last journey to London for that magical Christmas, and that all seemed like an enchanted dream now. Life had quickly fallen back into the familiar pattern of lessons, meals, walks, rides, and prayers, enlivened from time to time by letters and gifts from her father and her sister.

As they neared the City of London, they could hear a mighty pealing of joyful bells from all the churches. The Tower cannons were booming a salute in the distance, and the people were out in the streets in their thousands, dancing around bonfires, feasting and toasting the new Prince. It seemed to Elizabeth that all England rejoiced in his birth, for along the road that led south to Hampton Court, there were celebrations in each village, with garlands and painted cloths hung from windows and much jollity everywhere.

“God be praised, we are free from all threat of war!” Elizabeth heard a man cry.

“Why does he say that?” she inquired.

“Because the King now has a son to succeed him, and no man can challenge his right,” Lady Bryan explained.

“You mean the Prince will be king one day?” Elizabeth asked. She was beginning to realize that her new brother would be more than just a playmate.

“When God calls your royal father to Himself, which we must pray will not be for a long time.”

“I do pray for that,” Elizabeth said devoutly.

“And we must pray that God spares the Prince to us,” Lady Bryan added.

“If He doesn’t,” said Elizabeth, considering, “might I be queen?”

“Oh, no, sweeting, that could not be,” cut in the governess hastily. “You and your sister are barred from the throne, and in any case, women do not rule kingdoms or men. Such a thing would be unnatural.”

“I could learn,” insisted Elizabeth. “I should like to sit on a throne and order people about.”

“The very idea!” Lady Bryan laughed, for she could imagine Elizabeth doing just that. “We have a prince now, and more to follow, if God wills. I’ve no doubt that the King will in time find you a good husband, and that you shall be a godly wife and mother and not bother your head with ruling kingdoms!”

Elizabeth pulled a face. It would be much more fun to be queen, she felt.

At Hampton Court, she was taken to pay her respects to her father. The presence chamber was packed with courtiers and ambassadors, all eager to offer their congratulations, and in the midst of it was the King, beaming broadly and slapping well-wishers heartily on the back.

“My Lady Elizabeth!” he cried, noticing his four-year-old daughter and swinging her into the air, to her evident delight. “God’s blessings on you, child!”

“Can I see the Prince, sir?” she begged.

“You shall, but you must be very quiet. Excuse us, ladies, gentlemen. We will be back anon. I must introduce this little maid to her brother.”

Big, broad, and imposing in his red velvet and furs, and smiling jovially, he led Elizabeth through his privy apartments to a secret door that opened onto the Queen’s bedchamber. At his appearance there, her women ceased their tasks and sank into billowing curtsies before disappearing into the shadows.

It was very dark in the room because tapestries had been hung across the windows, and it was also stuffy and uncomfortably warm, thanks to the fire that roared and crackled in the grate. In the candlelight, Elizabeth could see Queen Jane propped up against fine white pillows beneath a tester embroidered with the arms of England. The Queen was eating some candied fruits, but seeing her visitors, she set them aside, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and smiled. She looks tired, Elizabeth thought. She is even whiter than at Christmas!

“Sir, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said. “And my Lady Elizabeth too.”

“I am so happy that Your Grace has had a prince,” Elizabeth said, remembering what Lady Bryan had told her to say. The Queen smiled again. Her eyes were dark-ringed and a little bloodshot.

“Elizabeth wishes to greet her new brother,” the King said, taking the Queen’s hand and kissing it, tears of gratitude sparkling in his eyes. Elizabeth looked from her father and stepmother to the massive gold cradle by the bed, from which came funny little snuffling sounds.

“Edward,” beamed her father. “Prince Edward.”

Elizabeth peered at the tiny scrap of humanity lying in the cradle, tightly swaddled in a rich crimson cloth so that only the crumpled face with its rosebud mouth and pointed chin could be seen. He was so sweet and comely, this little brother of hers, and she hoped he would grow up very quickly, so that she could have him for a playmate.

“May I pick him up, sir?” she asked her father.

“Not now, you must let him sleep,” he told her. Elizabeth ventured to caress the infant’s cheek very gently—it felt like velvet, and so soft.

“He is so beautiful,” she whispered.

“He is indeed,” agreed the King proudly, wiping his eye. “He is the most beautiful boy in the world.” The Queen continued to smile complacently. Duty done, she was feeling very pleased with herself, and mightily relieved. Never again would she have nightmares about being set aside for another, or worse. She knew herself to be invincible now, the mother of the future king, the Queen who had triumphed where her predecessors had failed. She could not wait to enjoy the public acclaim that must be hers once she emerged from seclusion.

Mary too had seen the little Prince and said all the right words of congratulation, but alone in her chamber afterward, listening to the shouts and flurry outside that betokened hasty preparations for the christening, she felt like weeping. Her half brother’s birth had finally put paid to her long-cherished, albeit remote, hopes of succeeding her father.

All my life, she thought, I shall remain nothing but the Lady Mary, I who was a princess but who am now a bastard without prospects. What can I look for in the future?

She got up and walked unheeding to the window, looking down on the merry bustle outside. What man of rank would want her now, disinherited and debased as she was? It seemed that the husband and children for which she longed were to be forever denied her. Oh, the King had made various noises about betrothing her to this prince or that, but it never came to anything, and likely never would.

She pulled herself up. One must be grateful for the consolations that God did send, she told herself severely. She had the love of her father, which had been restored to her, a good friend in her stepmother, and a child to care for in the person of her little sister, the most toward and engaging child one could wish for. And now there was this new baby to love. She must be contented with these things that God had vouchsafed her, and not look for more.

It was late evening, and the air chilly. The palace was lit by hundreds of torches set in sconces on the walls. Hordes of people were gathering in the Base Court, each with a part to play in the christening of the Prince, be it in the procession or the ceremony itself. There were knights, squires, ushers, and members of the royal households; bishops, abbots, clerics, and choristers from the Chapel Royal; the King’s councillors, the ambassadors from foreign lands, and a chattering throng of great lords and ladies richly dressed in their peacock finery.

Lady Bryan held on tightly to Elizabeth’s hand as she searched for the Queen’s brother, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, among the crowd. He was to escort Elizabeth in the procession.

Elizabeth was wide-eyed, taking in all that was going on around her, and very conscious of being dressed in her best gown, the orange satin one. It was a little tight now around the bodice and sleeves, and Lady Bryan had had the hem let down, but with its gay green underskirt and matching French hood, it looked very fine, Elizabeth thought, and it showed off her red hair to advantage. Holding herself as a princess should, chin in the air, back straight, she followed her governess, nodding left and right at the courtiers, as she had seen her father do. Not a few of them smiled and bowed in return.

My lord of Hertford was very grand, as was often the case with many new-made lords, and swept a flourishing obeisance to Elizabeth, doffing his lavishly feathered bonnet. With him was one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, reverently holding a tiny, richly embroidered garment, neatly folded, and a golden vial.

“These you must bear to the Chapel Royal, my Lady Elizabeth,” the Earl explained. “They are the Prince’s baptismal robe and the chrism oil for his anointing. Do you think you can manage to carry them?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Elizabeth solemnly, aware of the importance of her task.

The lady-in-waiting carefully laid the robe across Elizabeth’s outstretched hands, then placed the vial on top.

“She has no hand free to manage her train,” pointed out Lady Bryan.

“Then I will carry her,” said Edward Seymour, bending to lift a delighted Elizabeth in his arms. He walked with her, she clutching her precious burdens, to the waiting line of dignitaries, and took his place at the rear, behind the peers.

“His Highness the Prince approaches!” someone said, and the cry was taken up. Elizabeth twisted her head around to see the royal infant being borne toward them in the arms of the Marchioness of Exeter; a golden canopy supported by four lords was above their heads, and the long train of the Prince’s velvet mantle was carried by his nurse, Mistress Penn, who followed behind. After her came the Lady Mary with a great company of ladies. As the little procession approached, everyone present sank to their knees on the ground, then rose and took up their places in the procession, which was now about to enter the palace.

Elizabeth felt very important indeed as she was borne along by Lord Hertford just ahead of the Prince, and she played her part well in the chapel, delivering a rather crumpled robe to Mistress Penn and offering the vial to the splendidly vested Archbishop of Canterbury, but by the time the long ceremony had ended, and a jubilant
Te Deum
had been sung, it was well after midnight and she was fighting a losing battle with sleep. As the procession made its way to the Queen’s apartments, where the royal parents were waiting to receive their newly baptized son, the Lady Mary gripped her somnolent little sister’s hand and kept her on her feet until such time as she could hand her back to Lady Bryan. The last thing Elizabeth remembered of that marvelous night, before she could keep her eyes open no longer, was her father weeping with joy as he cradled her brother.

Queen Jane had looked radiant and well as she sat on her state bed receiving her guests, so Elizabeth was shocked to hear, two days later, that she was ill.

“Her Highness has a fever,” Lady Bryan told her. “They say she has eaten too many rich foods.”

The anxious concern in her governess’s face alarmed Elizabeth. She noticed that there was an ominous pall over the court: People were conversing in hushed voices, and no one was making merry anymore. This frightened her. She liked Queen Jane, who had been kind to her, and she knew that her father loved the Queen very much. She prayed to God that her stepmother would get better soon.

But one evening, several days later, her sister Mary came to her.

“The Queen our good mother is very poorly,” she said sadly. “Her confessor is with her, and our father the King.” Elizabeth’s spirits fell. She feared for the Queen, for her father, for herself, and for that poor little baby lying in his massive cradle. Was yet another royal child to be deprived of its mother?