by Jean Plaidy
In the same Parliament I wanted it known that the harsh laws which my father had set up were to be relaxed. A great many people had suffered under my father's rule; I wanted mine to be more merciful.
I found a certain relief in writing to Reginald because I was sure that, from the Continent, he would be watching events in England with great concern.
“I had thought it would be simple,” I wrote to him. “I thought it could be changed at once. But I have been warned. The Emperor's ambassador has warned me. I must not be too hasty. The people are not yet prepared. But I trust you do not think me dilatory. Please do not think for a moment I am failing in my purpose. But I dare not yet show the people my intent.”
He would understand, I felt sure.
How I wished he were younger—and with me. I felt uneasy about the proposed match with Philip. I wondered a great deal about him. I had heard that he lacked the astuteness of his father. Well, that was to be expected as the Emperor Charles was known as the wisest ruler of the age.
Philip, I was told, was deeply religious. On the other hand, he had led rather a wild life, some said. I had heard that he was sensuous and fond of women. That was what alarmed me. He had been married before, to Isabella of Portugal, who had died three years later giving birth to a son, Don Carlos, who must be about six years old. If Philip was looking for passionate excitement in a marriage, I was not the wife for him to choose. But he was the son of the Emperor and I was the Queen of England, so the match was highly suitable on that score. But was it? The people would not wish me to marry a foreigner. They would have liked me to take Edward Courtenay. Moreover, I could not leave my country to go to Spain, and Philip could not leave his and come here. We should see each other rarely, it seemed to me. I began to think that this marriage with Spain would go the way of all the others.
But Reginald I had known and loved in my childhood. Did it matter that he was older than I? Did it matter that we should be unlikely to have children?
What I looked for was loving companionship, someone to be beside me, to care for me, to cherish me.
Simon Renard was the nearest I had to that, but in my heart I knew that his loyalties lay not with me but with his master, as a good ambassador's should. I tried to assure myself that the Emperor's interests were mine and that we stood together…as we always had.
Now that the Mass was being said in churches, there were bound to be protests. There were rumors of restlessness in several of the counties. From Kent, Leicestershire and Norfolk there were complaints.
My sister Elizabeth was a source of anxiety. She would not attend Mass, and Renard believed that those who wished to keep the Protestant way of worship were looking to her as a figurehead.
“She is very dangerous,” he said.
The Council sent a message to her telling her that she must conform. She did not appear at the ceremony at which the title of Earl was bestowed on Edward Courtenay, using the often employed excuse of sickness.
Renard came to me in some consternation.
“What is this sister of yours planning? She is trying to please the Protestants. While she behaves as she does she is fomenting danger. People will look to her—and believe me, there are many. She should be sent to the Tower.”
“How could I send my own sister to the Tower?”
“Merely by giving the order. I doubt not that, if there was an investigation, something could be proved against her.”
“De Noailles is showing friendship toward her.”
“She will get no good from him. His one aim is to get Mary of Scotland on the throne.”
“Mary of Scotland! How could he believe that possible?”
Renard looked at me with a hint of pity for my shortsightedness.
“Mary of Scotland is the daughter-in-law of the King of France. De Noailles is his servant. The King sees England coming to France with Mary Queen and young François King. But depend upon it, de Noailles will use Elizabeth to try to bring this about.”
“Is there no one to be trusted?”
Renard shook his head. “No one but my master, who is your friend and always will be. When you are married to Philip, you will have an even stronger hold on his affections, and you will have a man beside you. But in the meantime we have to deal with Elizabeth. We have to stop these Protestants looking to her as their new Queen.”
“It is treason.”
“Your Majesty speaks truth. So … let us begin to flout these treasonable schemes by turning our attention to your sister.”
“I cannot imprison her.”
“Not until she is implicated. But let us be watchful and begin by preventing her setting up this image to staunch Protestants. She must attend the Mass.”
“I will have her told that she must obey.”
“That will be the first step,” agreed Renard.
Before I could send the order to her, a messenger came from her with a letter begging me to grant her an interview.
I did this.
As soon as she approached me, she fell on her knees.
I said, “You may rise and tell me what it is you have to say to me. I see that you have recovered from the sickness which prevented your attending Courtenay's ceremony. You appear to be in rude health.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I have recovered. May I say I hope Your Majesty is in good health.”
There was a look of concern on her face which told me I looked ill. She did not say I did, for she knew that would annoy me, but she implied it with a glance of compassion which made me immediately aware of the contrast between us—she so young, so vital, so full of good health, and myself ageing, pale, several inches shorter than she was, so that when we stood, she looked down on me.
I told her I was well. I repeated, “What is it you wish to say to me?”
“Your Majesty, I am deeply grieved.”
“Why is that?”
“I fear Your Majesty has lost her love for me. This makes me sad indeed. You have ever been a good sister to me, and I am desolate to think I may have done something to offend you. I know of nothing…except this matter of religion.”
I said, “You have been told many times to attend Mass, and you stubbornly refuse to do so.”
“Your Majesty, I have not had your advantage. I was brought up in the Reformed Faith, and I have heard no other.”
“There is no excuse. There are many who would instruct you.”
“Then Your Majesty has relieved me greatly. I must have instruction. Perhaps some learned man could be appointed for me. I will willingly learn. Your Majesty will understand that, having been instructed in one form of religion, it stays with one, and it is hard to change.”
I never knew whether to believe her or not. But for Renard's warning, I would have embraced her and told her that she should have tuition at once and we should be good sisters again. But I did hesitate. I knew Renard was right when he said she was wily and she must be watched. But seeing her before me, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, the look of humility in her face, the obvious eagerness to be taken back into my affections, I almost believed her.
I said, “You will attend Mass on the 8th of September. It is the day the Church of Rome celebrates the nativity of the Virgin.”
She looked a little taken aback. I tried to read her thoughts. She could not refuse. She knew that there were spies about her, all waiting for her to make some slip. Renard would be happy to see her in the Tower, considering her safer there. De Noailles would want her out of the way too. He wanted us both out of the way, to make the road clear for Mary of Scotland. On the other hand, Elizabeth was next in succession, and she only had to wait for my death.
The thought made me shiver. But I could not believe this fresh-faced young girl would be foolish enough to become involved in a plot which, if it did not succeed, could cost her the crown and possibly her head.
I kissed her. “We are sisters,” I said. “Let us be friends.”
She smiled radiantly, and I warmed to her. I knew s
he had been deeply hurt because, when I had been acclaimed legitimate, that could only mean that she was not. When we had both been called bastards, there had been a bond between us. As Queen I had to be proclaimed legitimate, and deeply I had desired this… not only for myself but for the sake of my mother. But I did feel for Elizabeth. It was bad enough to be the daughter of Anne Boleyn who, many believed, had been a witch.
It pleased me to be lenient with her. I would help her. It might well be that all she needed was instruction.
But I was adamant that she must attend Mass on the occasion I had mentioned.
She did appear. She came, looking pale and wan.
How did she manage it? I asked myself. I only half-believed in her illnesses. She recovered a little too quickly for them to be genuine.
She was surrounded by her ladies. They almost carried her into the chapel. When they arrived, she asked them to rub her stomach in the hope of bringing her some relief.
It was a good piece of acting—if acting it was. People would say, “Poor Princess! She was forced to attend Mass, but it was easy to see how reluctant she was. It made her quite ill.”
And it seemed to me that she had scored again.
RENARD WAS INCENSED by the manner in which Elizabeth had behaved. Far from upsetting the Protestants with her little bit of playacting, she had strengthened her position.
“I shall never be happy while she remains free,” he grumbled.
He thought I was a fool. I had been taken in by my sister's wiles. I kept Jane Grey alive in the Tower. Again and again he tried to impress on me that these two women represented rallying-points. The country could break into revolt at any time. Did I not see that Elizabeth and Jane, as Protestants, could be at the very center of plots against me?
I replied that the people were with me. They had chosen me.
“They could choose Elizabeth,” he said.
I shook my head and he lifted his shoulders and turned away. He said, “She must be watched. If there is the least indication that she is plotting against you, it must be the Tower for her… and most likely her head.”
He came to me a few days later with the news that de Noailles was visiting Elizabeth secretly. It could only be that they were plotting to destroy me.
“Why should de Noailles be working for Elizabeth?”
“He is not,” replied Renard. “Depend upon it, once he had dispatched Your Majesty, Elizabeth would go the same way. She is too naàve … too eager for power to see that. His only interest is to put Mary Stuart on the throne.”
“Must there always be these plots against me?”
“Until we are sure that you are safe on the throne, there will be.”
“And when will that be?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Your Majesty must see that we take every precaution and that while Madam Elizabeth is here, charming the people and being, as she thinks, so clever, we must be watchful. She should be sent to the Tower at once.”
“But nothing has been proved against her.”
“Then we must find out if there is anything to prove.”
I summoned two of my ministers—Arundel and Paget—and told them that the Princess had been behaving in a suspicious manner with the French ambassador.
“Go to her,” I said. “Discover if there is any truth in these rumors.” They clearly did not like the task. I noticed that people were becoming more and more careful how they treated Elizabeth. If she could survive, if she did not commit some treasonable act and if nothing could be proved against her, she had a very good chance of coming to the throne. I knew that was what she wanted more than anything. She always implied when I was in her presence that my health was poor and I looked sickly. Though perhaps I imagined that, and it was only myself who compared her healthy looks with my delicate ones. The people had shown that they did not like the succession interfered with. So … Paget and Arundel would remember that the young woman they were questioning for treason could be their Queen tomorrow. Naturally they were loth to go to her.
But they did and they came back and reassured me. They had proved without a doubt that de Noailles had made no indiscreet calls on her. She had given ample proof of her loyalty.
I was relieved. It would have worried me considerably to have to send my sister to the Tower.
She asked for an audience again, which I granted, and when she came to me she fell onto her knees.
“Your Majesty, dearest sister,” she said, “how grateful I am that you have justly given me the opportunity to disprove charges of which I am innocent. I might have been condemned unheard, but Your Majesty is bountiful and loving to your poor subjects, of whom I am the most loyal. I beg of you that you will never give credit to the calumnies that might hereafter be circulated about me, without giving me the chance to defend myself.”
“I will promise you that,” I told her.
“Then I am happy, for I am your loving and devoted servant, and as I would never act against you, nothing can ever be proved against me.”
“You are looking pale,” I said, turning the tables, for it was indeed true. She must have been very worried, and it had had its effect on her.
“I have been grievously ill, Your Majesty. I yearn for the country air. I wonder if you would grant me permission to retire from Court for a little while.”
I looked at her steadily. Her eyes were downcast; she looked very innocent.
I hesitated. I wondered what Renard would say. As for myself, I should be glad to be rid of her. Her good looks and youth aroused such envy in me, and whenever I saw her, I became more conscious of my own appearance and that my marriage was imminent.
She was so sure of herself, so vain, so confident of her power to charm.
“Where would you go?” I asked.
“I thought to Ashridge, Your Majesty. The air there does me good.”
“Very well. You shall go.”
She fell to her knees once more and kissed my hand.
“Your Majesty is so good to me.”
So good? When I had recently sent Paget and Arundel to test her loyalty? She was appealing in her way, and I was as unsure of her now as I ever was.
I called to one of my women to bring me a box of jewels, and from it I selected a pearl necklace. I put it round my sister's neck.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she went so far as to forget the respect she owed to the Queen and put her arms round me and kissed me. Or did she really forget, and was this another of her gestures?
Then she drew back, as though alarmed by her temerity. “Forgive me, Your Majesty… sister…”
My reply was to draw her to me and kiss her cheek.
“You will recover quickly in the healthy atmosphere of Ashridge,” I said; and then I dismissed her.
Renard shook his head over my decision to let her go.
“I would prefer,” he said, “always to have that young woman where I can see what she is doing.”
ELIZABETH CONTINUED TO OCCUPY Renard's thoughts. He would not be happy until she was out of the way—either in another country or in her grave. I sometimes wondered whether some charge would be trumped up against her. I must be watchful of that. I did not want to have my own sister's blood on my hands. Marriage was a better idea.
The Emperor evidently thought so too. He suggested that Elizabeth be betrothed to the Prince of Piedmont.
She stubbornly refused to consider this. Of course she did. She wanted the English throne above all things.
Renard was annoyed with her, but I could see that he had a grudging admiration for her, too. I think sometimes he wished she were the Queen with whom he had to work. They would have understood each other better than he and I did.
However, there was no way of getting rid of Elizabeth through marriage. She was clearly determined on that.
Christmas had come, and it was in January of the following year, 1554, when Gardiner uncovered the plot.
The news of my proposed marriage to Philip of Spain was leaking out, a
nd the reaction was as I had feared it might be.
The French ambassador called on me. He was clearly deeply disturbed. Did I realize the dangers? he wondered. Philip would dominate me.
I replied haughtily that I was the Queen of this realm and intended to remain so.
“Husbands,” replied de Noailles, “can be persuasive.” He added that his master, King Henri Deux, did not like the match at all.
That was no news to me; I was fully aware that he would dislike it and do all he could to prevent it.
Every day seemed to bring home to me more and more the danger of my position. Though I had been crowned Queen of England, there were others who had envious eyes on that crown. Oddly enough, they were all women. There was Lady Jane Grey in the Tower at the moment, my prisoner; but perhaps she did not want it for herself, it was others who coveted it for her. There was Elizabeth, patiently waiting to step into my shoes; and in France was the young Mary, Queen of Scots, who, by becoming the wife of the Dauphin of France, had made Henri Deux cast speculative eyes in its direction.
This was no news to me. I knew very well that the French would dislike the Spanish match.
My position was as dangerous as it had ever been. There had been no peace for me since that day when my father had decided that he wished to be rid of my mother.
I needed a strong man—someone to care for me, to stand beside me and help fight off my enemies.
Philip of Spain would help me to do that. I should have the might of Spain behind me. It would be a good match.
But the news of my intended marriage was already causing trouble.
I knew that Edward Courtenay was bitterly disappointed. He had pretended to care for me, but I often asked myself if he really did. I had been attracted by him. Who would not have been? He was so good-looking and charming, and his history was so touching. The idea of such a man being prisoner all those years for committing no sin but having royal blood in his veins. It was admirable that, during those years in the Tower, he had educated himself so that he was as polished as any courtier; all he lacked was horsemanship and outdoor skills, for how could he have practiced those, confined as he was? Yet I doubted not that in a year or so he would vie with any.
