On 29 January 1547, thirteen-year-old Elizabeth was at Enfield when she was told her father had died. Her brother Edward had been brought to see her and they received the news together. She was struck with grief, but soon revived herself. Her nine-year-old brother was now her king. He later wrote to her, still kindly, not yet assuming the position of demanding awe. ‘There is very little need of my consoling you, most dear sister, because from your learning, you know what you ought to do, and from your prudence and piety you perform what your learning causes you to know.’ As he put it, ‘I perceive you think of our father’s death with a calm mind.’1 Henry had left provisions that the country should be ruled by the Privy Council until Edward came of age – but he should have known that he was leaving a vacuum, and within three days, Edward, Earl of Hertford, persuaded the Privy Council to appoint him Lord Protector and the habit was so directed towards a one-man rule that there was little resistance.
Henry had hardly left his daughters rich. Both had a meagre £3,000 a year and then, on marriage, each would receive a one-off payment of £10,000 in ‘money, plate, jewels and household stuff’.2 This was a hopeless dowry and it would be impossible to sway any foreign prince to marry either of them for so little – moreover, the council had to approve any husband. And the annual stipend was not enough to set up a household. There were lands and properties that were rightfully Elizabeth’s, but she was not given them. Neither was Edward enthusiastic about gifting his sisters more money, and so they had to make do. Elizabeth went to live with her stepmother, Katherine Parr, in Chelsea. Now, without her father, she was entirely unprotected and prey to those who wanted to use her for their own gains. Mary had invited Elizabeth to live with her – no doubt out of affection for her fellow orphaned half-sister, but perhaps also fearing that Katherine’s influence would sway Elizabeth to the reformed religion. Elizabeth preferred Katherine – but she might have been safer with Mary. For the rest of her life, she would have to live watchful, always nervous of who meant to exploit her. Her life at the outskirts of court was an excellent preparation for her future.
The young king was kept under strict restrictions, often feeling as if his pet spaniel was his only friend. Those around him, including his Lord Protector the Earl of Hertford, who had created himself the Duke of Somerset, used him to gain power. But he had strong religious ambitions and he and his council embarked on a set of Protestant reforms. Two years after his accession, the Book of Common Prayer was introduced, a complete form of services in English for daily and Sunday worship and Holy Communion, as well as services for baptism, confirmation, marriage and funerals. Many parts of the country resented its abrupt imposition, and the Act of Uniformity of 1549 made it unlawful to use the Latin forms of service. A group of Devon parishioners decided to march to Exeter to protest against the new book and it was soon a wholesale rebellion. Fuelled by discontent at poverty, widespread enclosure (as the gentry closed off previously common lands for their own use) and spiralling prices for wheat, men shouted for a return to the service as it was in ‘King Henry’s time’ and talked of bringing down ‘all the gentlemen’.
The nobles took refuge in castles. The king and Protector sent Lord John Russell with his army to fight in support of the king. After a fierce battle at Clyst St Mary, Russell’s forces won the upper hand, leaving around 2,000 rebels dead and hundreds as prisoner. It was said that all these were killed, another 900 in total. More of the rebel fighters were killed at the further Battle of Sampford Courtney. The final death toll was around 5,500 Devon and Cornish men. It is a reminder that history is truly written by the victors that we remember Mary for burning 300 Protestants, but not Edward for punishing his subjects so severely. Such was the risk of fighting against the state of Tudor England – and the Devon and Cornwall men had been ready to fight to the death.
The king’s stepmother was still only thirty-five, attractive and the dowager queen. She did not wish to live out the rest of her days in widowhood, especially after a marriage to a man she did not love. After the death in 1543 of her second husband, Baron Latimer, she had fallen in love with the handsome Thomas Seymour, brother of Henry’s third wife, Jane Seymour, and Admiral of the Fleet. She hoped to marry him. But unfortunately for her, as she put it, ‘God withstood my will therein most vehemently’, and instead Henry had fallen for her and chosen her to be his wife.3 Seymour had been sent to Brussels to get him out of the way. Although she had come to care for Henry and feel affection for him, she was always in love with Seymour and hoped that he might return to her arms now she was free.
Thomas Seymour was a man of frustrated and miserable hopes. Appointed to the Privy Council five days before the death of Henry, he had hoped – like many others – to gain power over the new young king. As one of Jane’s brothers, he had pushed the quiet, rather colourless girl into the king’s presence, trained her on what to say, and he expected his reward. His blood was in the future king and surely that counted for much. Unfortunately, his elder brother the Earl of Hertford was faster, and gained all the influence. He gave Thomas the position of Lord High Admiral, but that would be all. And Seymour was the type of man to dazzle women but to be rather dismissed as a pretty face by other men. As Nicholas Throckmorton – the future diplomat, who served in Katherine’s household alongside Seymour – acidly put it, he was ‘fierce in courage, courtly in fashion, in personate stately, in voice magnificent but somewhat empty of matter’.4
Seymour, annoyed and resentful, decided to gain influence another way – and that was through Elizabeth. He renewed his suit to Katherine, who was delighted and abandoned her mourning to pursue a full-blown affair. The Regency Council would never agree to Katherine remarrying so soon – indeed, as the dowager queen, she was expected to remain in dignified mourning for Henry VIII for some time to come. But Katherine was utterly infatuated with Seymour, stealing clandestine nights with him.5 They married secretly, probably in May 1547, less than six months after the death of Henry. Seymour moved into Katherine’s handsome house in Chelsea. Kat Ashley, Elizabeth’s nurse, was equally fascinated and thrilled by him – and together they threw Elizabeth into the lion’s den.
Elizabeth, now fourteen, was vulnerable and lonely and had few friends of her own age. She had been pushed from pillar to post and she was very unsure of her position now her brother was king. She had a small crush on Seymour and blushed when she heard him praised. A better man would have ignored it and behaved as a father to her. But instead Seymour engaged in a cruel and exploitative effort to win influence over a girl who had recently lost her father and was essentially friendless in the world. It started as horseplay and compliments and soon escalated. Kat Ashley entirely lost her reason and began to encourage his attention to Elizabeth, and he began coming into her bedchamber early in the morning and made as if to enter her bed, spanked her and even came into her room barelegged in his nightshirt – which even for Kat Ashley was going too far. Katherine could have stopped it. But in the early stages of pregnancy and perhaps fearing a loss of influence, she turned to aiding him, attempting to tickle Elizabeth alongside him and even holding Elizabeth’s arms while Seymour cut her gown to pieces – presumably telling herself all the while that it was nothing but harmless fun.
Although grooming is a modern word, the Tudor world was aware of the concept of men attempting to inveigle themselves into the affections of girls too innocent to understand until it was too late, and society was obsessed with the fact that girls should be untouched before marriage. Catherine Howard had been executed partly because of what had happened to her at the hands of her tutor when she was a young girl, who had testified at her trial that she was not pure. Katherine and Seymour were exposing both Elizabeth and themselves to great danger. Elizabeth was an heir to the throne, and her marriage – and thus her body – was at the behest of her brother and her criminally irresponsible, even criminal, step-parents were committing an act that veered too close to treason. Katherine and Seymour had been given one job: to keep
Elizabeth safe. They were doing the exact opposite: risking her reputation and her peace of mind for their own exploitative ends.
Finally, in spring 1548, Katherine discovered Elizabeth alone in Seymour’s arms and she flew into a rage. Presumably, she was content enough to sanction dubious horseplay when she was part of it all, but seeing it continue when she was absent inspired her jealousy. Five months pregnant, she wanted to be surrounded by calm and so she interrogated Elizabeth, who used a strategy she would always use in difficult times – saying as little as possible. Katherine ordered Elizabeth out, and sent her to live with Sir Anthony Denny in Hertfordshire, whose wife was Kat Ashley’s sister. It was very painful for Elizabeth to be sent away, for it was yet another loss. Her beloved tutor, William Grindal, had suddenly died and it seemed to the young princess that her life was a constant play of cruel and unwelcome change.
Yet Elizabeth being removed from the house, whether Katherine was prompted by consideration for her ward or jealousy of her husband, was a blessing. Away from Seymour’s powerful sexuality, Elizabeth began to reconsider her affections, and when Seymour sent her a flirtatious letter, she sent a sharp reply. Kat Ashley still promoted Seymour, and Elizabeth admonished her angrily for the mention of him. As she dwelt on the horror that might have occurred, how incensed her brother and the Regency Council would have been at the goings-on, she grew unhappy and sick and by summer she was in bed with headaches, severe fever and faintness. Like Mary, stress manifested itself on her body. Elizabeth begged her tutor, Roger Ascham, who had recently replaced Grindal, to remain with her all summer and not take the holiday to Cambridge that he had planned. She clung to those who were still with her, afraid of losing yet another friend.
On 30 August, Katherine gave birth to a baby girl at Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire, the property of her husband. It does not appear that Elizabeth was invited to attend the birth, although various family members were there. The baby was healthy and Katherine looked to be recovering well. Elizabeth received the news when she was too ill to leave her bed and her spirits were so low that even tidings of a healthy baby did not cheer her up. A few days later, Katherine fell ill with the dreaded puerperal fever and died on Elizabeth’s birthday, 7 September. Elizabeth was devastated, and her illness intensified.
Katherine’s body was barely cold when Seymour started making plans for marriage to Elizabeth. He was fortunate that his wife had died of a childbirth complication that none could deny – because otherwise, people might whisper he had poisoned her for his own ends. Seymour kept his wife’s set of ladies intact, for he had plans to replace her with a new royal wife and he was already trying to gather supporters for a coup against his brother, to replace him as Lord Protector. The Lord Privy Seal, John Russell, tried to warn him that a marriage to either sister of the king would be ‘his utter undoing’, for he did not have permission for it and it would not be granted to him, but Seymour was too bent on power to care.
Kat Ashley was pushing her mistress to bring Seymour back into their lives and she pressed Elizabeth to write to him. She even told Seymour, scandalously, that ‘she would her Grace were your wife of any man’s living’.6 He may have promised Kat great riches if she could sway her mistress and he had almost certainly bribed Elizabeth’s cofferer or household manager, Thomas Parry, to discuss Elizabeth’s accounts and lands. Elizabeth was cautious now, reminding Kat that the king, her brother, and his council would have to agree any marriage. But still, Kat talked about their love as if it was a sure thing – and word began to leak out. Seymour got desperate and, in January, burst into the young king’s room to try to sway him to his cause. Edward’s pet spaniel barked in panic and Seymour shot it dead. Seymour was promptly arrested and sent to the Tower. The Protector was in no mood to be merciful, and when he heard that his brother had been attempting to marry Elizabeth, as well as trying to seize his own position, all hell broke loose. Kat Ashley and Parry were promptly arrested and likewise sent to the Tower, and Elizabeth was sent to the guardianship of Sir Robert Tyrwhitt, who was instructed to interrogate her. He was confident, he said, that he would make her ‘cough out the whole’.7
Elizabeth was terrified and very exposed. The gossips said she had been having an affair – and as she well knew, any conspiracy to marry her without the king’s permission was treason, and she was in danger of being accused of encouraging it. She did not know the absolute worst of the gossip – that her time in bed after she arrived at Anthony Denny’s house was because she was pregnant by Seymour and had either miscarried, or even secretly delivered a child that was whisked away by a midwife. There was no evidence but this did not stop the stories from multiplying, billowing in scandal and bile. When Sir Robert came for her, Elizabeth, still only fifteen at the time, was strong. She agreed that she had spoken to Seymour, but only about business. The relationship had been perfectly decorous and there was no proof to the rumours. If Kat and Parry had had discussions about marriage, she had not been privy to them. She said that she had told him that she could never marry without the consent of the king and that Kat ‘would never have me marry, neither in England nor out of England, without the consent of the King’s Majesty’.8 Sir Robert tried to draw blood but Elizabeth was graciously intransigent. She would not give in. She declared that she wished a proclamation would be issued to refute the rumours.
Sir Robert interrogated and demanded but could not find a chink. She was secure in her own virtue. Kat panicked and told everything – even the details of the shocking episodes in Chelsea, much to Elizabeth’s distress. But still, the young princess remained strong and said she would never have married or discussed it. Elizabeth had saved herself – but Seymour was lost. He was executed on 20 March 1549 and, despite everything, Elizabeth was deeply pained at the news. Elizabeth begged that Parry and Kat Ashley should be released – and her wish was granted. Indeed, as she had been found essentially innocent, so had they. But they had revealed themselves as being misguided and not good custodians of a princess and so all royal favour for them was at an end. The council decreed that Elizabeth should be overseen by Lady Tyrwhitt, and Kat Ashley was not permitted to return. Elizabeth was to be watched strictly – much to her chagrin. She comforted herself with learning and scholarship with the ever-devoted Ascham and spent her mornings bent over her Greek New Testament and further Latin and Greek literature.
However, fortunately, Edward’s favour was still hers – for he was much more preoccupied by their sister’s loyalty to the old faith. The king was furious with Mary’s insistence on hearing Mass and he told her it was a ‘scandalous thing’ that she ‘should deny our sovereignty’.9 Mary refused to listen. And so when Mary of Guise, mother of Mary, Queen of Scots, came to court six months after Seymour had been executed, it was Elizabeth who was invited to attend. Aware that the rumours were still circulating about her, she took care to appear in the most modest dress. However, the Seymour disaster had one good effect. The Lincolnshire lawyer and civil servant William Cecil was appointed to look after Elizabeth’s lands – a man who would be of crucial importance to Elizabeth’s reign as queen.
The perfidy of his brother had driven the Protector Edward Seymour into paranoia and panic. Such was his lust for control that he essentially seized the king and took him to the Tower. It was simply too much for the country and he was pushed out of favour – and John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, father of the boy who would one day become Elizabeth’s great favourite, was the new Protector. Although power-hungry himself, he was a better Protector than Seymour. He both treated the king with kindness and ruled through council, rather than imposing his will.
The advent of the Dudleys was of great advantage to Elizabeth. Edward Seymour would have always feared and resented her, after her association with his brother Thomas. She was invited to court for Christmas and Dudley also granted her the lands and properties that had been due to her on her father’s death, including lands in north-west London, and Durham House, to be her town residence – where Anne
Boleyn had once stayed while Henry courted her. The new Protector married his son to Amy Robsart, daughter and heiress of a wealthy Norfolk landowner, and the wedding in 1550 was marked by festivities and fun (including the unappealing game of tying a live goose to a pole and cutting off its head).
In spring 1552, the young king caught measles and smallpox in quick succession. After a lengthy and difficult summer tour, he fell ill again with tuberculosis. As Edward lay in bed in the sweltering summer, the prospect of his rebellious sister Mary succeeding him and undoing all his reforms became a present horror. Dudley was equally keen to organise the succession – for he would be thrust out of influence if Mary gained the throne. Edward and Dudley plotted to disinherit both his half-sisters, completely against the wishes of his father, and move the crown to the line of Henry VIII’s younger sister, Mary. Henry VIII had ruled that her line should take the throne if all of his children died childless. But the two sisters were still in robust health and Edward and Dudley wanted them expelled from influence.
There was an argument that Elizabeth and Mary were illegitimate, but if so, strictly speaking, the new queen should be Mary, Queen of Scots, granddaughter of Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII’s elder sister, the second out of Henry VII’s four children. But just as Henry had removed Mary, Queen of Scots from the succession before he died, so Edward now embarked on an even more reckless act and eventually gifted the throne to Lady Jane Grey, elder daughter of Frances Brandon, herself the daughter of Princess Mary, Henry VIII’s younger sister. Jane was a Protestant who would, the king expected, continue his religious legacy. Edward threw out both his sisters from the succession – and Dudley rubbed his hands with glee, for as the king sickened, the Protector ensured that Lady Jane was married to his son, Guildford Dudley.
By early 1553, the fifteen-year-old king had grown seriously ill and was in constant distress. Dudley understood that Edward would not last until Lady Jane Grey bore a son and so the document was altered to assent that Jane should inherit the throne. Dudley forced Elizabeth to exchange Durham House for Somerset House, perhaps so he could keep a better eye on her. He fed the king with arsenic potions to lengthen his life, which made the poor boy vomit yet more.
The Betrayal of Mary, Queen of Scots Page 9
