B009RYSCAU EBOK

by Gillian Bagwell

  “Not now, I don’t want to leave you.” She sought comfort in his eyes but saw there tears and his own despair.

  “My love, it cannot be helped. For the queen has ordered that you are to be taken to the Tower, for questioning.”

  A wave of blackness rose in Bess’s mind and she faintly heard Will’s voice calling her name as she fell.

  * * *

  BESS CAME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS TO FIND THAT SHE WAS LYING on the floor, with Will kneeling at her side and holding her hand. The full horror of what he had told her just before she fainted flooded her mind and she clutched his hand.

  “I am to be arrested, too?”

  “No. You are not arrested. But since Kate told you her story, the queen has given orders that you are to be delivered to Edward Warner for questioning.”

  Warner, lieutenant of the Tower, had attended Bess and Will’s wedding and been a guest in their London home. She recalled his smiling face as he kissed her on her wedding day.

  “He’s married to Lizzie’s aunt. And he’s your friend.”

  “Yes, and you have nothing to fear from him. Just tell him what you know—everything you know—and all will be well.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE JOURNEY BACK TO LONDON HARDLY SEEMED AS IF IT COULD really be happening, Bess thought. The summer weather was glorious, but she could not shake the dread and terror that hung over her, knowing that each step brought her closer to the Tower. She and Kate rode on separate horse litters and they were not permitted to speak to each other. Bess was not under arrest but she felt that she might just as well be, for she had no choice but to ride onward to London, a guard riding alongside her. Ahead of her was Kate’s litter, slung between two horses, flanked by three guards on either side. Kate took no pains to hide her belly now, and wore a loose gown. When they stopped at midday on the first day of the journey Bess caught a glimpse of Kate’s face. It was splotchy from weeping and from the effects of pregnancy, and she seemed to have aged ten years in the last week.

  Ipswich lay more than seventy miles from London, and the journey would take some days. At the end of the first day’s travel, the party stopped at an inn to spend the night. Bess ate supper alone in her chamber and then lay on the bed, feeling more lonely than she ever had in her life. She could hear Kate weeping in the neighboring chamber, and knew that however frightened and lonely she felt, Kate must feel even more so. She rose, took up the candle in its holder, and left her room. A guard stood outside Kate’s door. Henshard, his name was. One of Will’s men, as were all the men accompanying her and Kate back to London.

  “May I go to Lady Catherine?” Bess asked him. “I would like to comfort her, offer her some solace.”

  Henshard looked uncomfortable. He was young and Bess recalled that Will had told her he was from Somerset, not far from Sutton Court.

  “I’m sorry, your ladyship. My orders are that the lady is to have no discourse with anyone.”

  “I understand. And I’m sure it was my husband that gave that order.”

  Henshard shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked as if he would rather be anywhere but there.

  “I promise you that I will not speak to her of the matters about which she is to be questioned. About which I am to be questioned.”

  Henshard glanced toward the stairs that led down to the taproom and Bess sensed that perhaps he would relent.

  “You could leave the door open, so that you may hear all that passes between us. I only wish to remind her that she is not all alone in the world with her troubles.”

  Henshard nodded. “Very well, my lady. But only for a few minutes.”

  He stepped aside and opened the door so that Bess could enter. Kate turned toward the door at the sound of it opening, and by the light of her candle Bess could see the fear in Kate’s eyes, and the relief when she saw Bess.

  “There, there, hush now,” she murmured, setting down the candle and taking Kate into her arms. “All will come right somehow.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Kate whimpered, clinging to her.

  “Sure, it won’t come to that,” Bess said, hoping it was the truth.

  “I wish my mother were here,” Kate sniffled.

  Bess tried to think what Frances Grey would say to comfort her daughter, but found no answer.

  “She is with you,” she said. “In spirit though not in body, I am sure. And even when it seems that no living person in the world can help you, remember that God’s love and protection is with you always.”

  Please, God, ease this poor frightened child’s fears and keep her safe in Thy bosom, she prayed. And show me the path forward, for I am afraid and cannot see the way.

  “They may not let me speak with you again before we reach London,” she told Kate. “But if I am not able to come to you, know that you are in my heart and my prayers until we next see each other.”

  Kate nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

  “And think of your child. You must not wear yourself out with grief, but remember the precious life that lies within you.”

  “I will. Thank you, Bess. Those words will help me.”

  “Good night now, lamb. Things will seem better tomorrow.”

  * * *

  WILL HAD MADE ARRANGEMENTS THAT WHEN BESS REACHED LONDON she would stay at the home of Thomas Lodge, Sheriff of London, who would accompany her to the Tower for questioning.

  “Not as his prisoner,” Will had reassured Bess. “But so that no one need know you have left the queen’s retinue and returned to London until the matter is over and done with. He knows me well and will make you comfortable.”

  Lodge, a soldierly man some six or eight years older than Bess, welcomed her to his home, and his wife Anne made her as comfortable as she could be in a neat upstairs chamber. It was a small comfort, Bess thought as she made herself ready for bed, that her friends and household would not hear that she had been sent back to London under a cloud of disgrace. But still it was odd to be back in town, so close to her own home, and yet not there.

  The following morning, she rode pillion behind Thomas Lodge to the Tower. Its dark presence loomed as they approached, and Bess was consumed with dread and terror. How many people had entered within those walls, never to be seen again? How much misery and fear must have seeped into the very stones of the place over the centuries? She tried to breathe deeply to calm herself, and recalled what Will had told her.

  “Tell Edward Warner all that you know. You are no conspirator; you knew nothing of Kate’s marriage or babe until she confided in you, and you made the story known to me as soon as she told it to you. And when Warner puts his questions to you, try to remember that the shoe has been on the other foot. Thomas Wyatt, who led the rebellion with the aim of putting Elizabeth on the throne, was the son of Warner’s wife. He has been in the Tower as prisoner as well as lieutenant. He has a job to do and he will do it, but he will not make your time more difficult than it must be.”

  As Lodge’s horse arrived at Tower Hill, Bess could not help but think of the many who had perished there. Thomas Seymour, Edward Seymour, John Dudley, Guildford Dudley. The reputed lovers of Anne Boleyn and of Cat Howard. Crowds baying for their blood the last sound they had heard, the gray skies above and then the planks of the scaffold their last sight.

  The horse’s hooves clopped on the cobblestones as they approached the gate, and she drew her cloak close around her, for she was shivering despite the sunshine. She was glad she was veiled and that no one could see her tears.

  Once within the walls, Bess was seized with a sense of suffocation. She knew that the green before the chapel was where Jane Grey had died, and Anne Boleyn and Cat Howard before her.

  “I will not die.” She realized she had spoken the words aloud, and then repeated them inwardly, praying that she would believe them. I will not die, I will not die, I will live to see my children again, and soon.

  She moved as if in a dream as Thomas Lodge helped her to dismount and led her t
hrough a low door and up a narrow spiraling stairway, the dank stone walls closing in around her. A door stood open at the top of the stairs, and Lodge stepped aside to let her enter. Edward Warner stood there, his face grave as the black of his clothes.

  “Lady St. Loe.” Warner bowed, and gestured Bess to a chair as Thomas Lodge took his leave and the door shut behind him.

  Bess seated herself and glanced around the room. There were no instruments of torture, no manacles on the wall. A fire burned in the hearth, and besides the two chairs there was a table with a few books, as well as ink, pens, and paper. It was Warner’s office, then, and no dungeon.

  “I’m sure you know, madam, that Catherine Grey’s marriage to Edward Seymour is a most serious matter. They will be questioned, too, of course, but I am charged to learn all that you know of it.”

  “And I will tell you truly all that I know,” Bess said.

  “Good. Then let us make as quick work of this as possible.” Warner took up his pen and dipped it in the ink pot. “Did you know beforehand of the marriage between the two?”

  “Not of the marriage itself, no. I learned from the Duchess of Suffolk shortly before her death that Catherine Grey and Edward Seymour hoped to marry. Their mothers both favored the idea, and the duchess told me that she planned to write to the queen to ask for her consent to the match.”

  Warner’s pen scratched across the paper. The face of Frances Grey, pale in her last illness, rose to Bess’s mind. Oh, Frances, that you could see how your ambitions have put another of your children in the shadow of the scaffold.

  Warner raised his eyes to meet Bess’s, his pen poised. “You are known to be most inward with Catherine Grey. She did not tell you of her plans to marry before she did so?”

  “No, truly. I knew nothing until she came to my chamber at Ipswich.”

  “And what did she tell you then?”

  Bess told Warner all that she could recall of Kate’s tale of intrigue and heartbreak, and Warner’s flowing writing covered page after page. At last Bess came to the end of what she knew.

  “And what must happen to me now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Please, she prayed inwardly, let me not be kept here in the Tower.

  Warner set down his pen and studied her before he spoke.

  “I have instructions that I may keep you here for two or three nights, should I think it best.”

  Oh, God, no, I cannot face it.

  “But I believe that you have told me all you know and that you had no part in the unlawful marriage or keeping it secret. So I will release you now. Do you wish to stay with Lodge again until your house can be made ready?”

  “No,” Bess said, standing. “No, I thank you most kindly, but I will go home. My servants will be unprepared for my arrival, but that is no great matter.”

  “I can have one of my men take you.”

  “No.” Bess wanted to be out of the room, out of the walls of the Tower, before anything happened that might keep her from leaving. “I thank you again, but it will do me good to walk.”

  She all but ran down the stairs and hurried toward the gate, her breath coming fast as she strode up Tower Hill, and it was not until she reached the door of her own house that her footsteps slowed. She pounded on the door, glancing behind her, almost expecting to see a party of armed men come to take her back to the Tower. But no one was there save a man leading a pig. And then she slumped to the ground and wept, heedless of the mud dirtying her skirts or anything else but the knowledge that she was free and safe.

  * * *

  “OH, WILL.” IT HAD BEEN NEARLY SIX WEEKS SINCE BESS HAD BEEN parted from Will, and she clung to his reassuringly solid body, breathing deeply of his scent, comforted by the feel of his arms around her. “I was so frightened.”

  “Hush, my love, all is well, all is well.”

  “The queen is back in London now?”

  “Yes, she is back. You should have seen the crowds at Islington when we came there—the people out in their thousands. And now I will not be parted from you again, my own love.”

  At supper that evening, Bess could scarcely force herself to take her eyes off Will, and kept reaching out to touch him, as if to reassure herself that he was home and they were safely together once more. The small familiar sounds of the house, the homey scents of lavender and beeswax candles and fresh-baked bread comforted her and anchored her to the present moment. The terrors of the past weeks were over and now that Will was at her side again she could face the future without fear.

  “What’s the news?” she asked him. “I’ve been so distressed that I’ve scarcely stirred from the house in the month since I came back to London.”

  “Edward Seymour was arrested at Dover and brought back to London a fortnight ago. He and Kate Grey were questioned separately, and their testimony given to the privy council. The council has determined that there is no evidence of a plot against the queen.”

  “Thanks be to God.” Bess put down her spoon and bowed her head to send a silent prayer heavenward.

  “But there is also doubt as to whether they were truly married and the queen has ordered a commission to look into the matter.”

  “Of course they were married! Kate told me all about it!”

  “Yes, yes, I know. But Seymour’s sister was the only witness, and she’s dead. She was the one who procured the priest, and no one knows his name and he cannot be found. Seymour said that before he left for France he gave Kate a will bequeathing her lands worth a thousand pounds a year, but she cannot find it.”

  “She cannot find it!”

  Will shrugged. “It all defies belief, I know. But the result is that there’s no proof that any marriage took place.”

  Bess wanted to weep in despair. “Then the child . . .”

  “Will be a bastard, if the queen has her way. Because otherwise, by the terms of King Henry’s will, that child will stand next in line for the crown after Catherine Grey. Although the queen’s position is that Kate’s place in the succession was nullified due to her father’s treason.” Will shook his head. “The timing could scarce have been worse, in any case. The Scottish queen landed in Scotland a month ago. She’s young, beautiful, and seeking a husband—in the same marketplace in which Elizabeth’s hand is for sale. Should she marry someone powerful, and a Papist like herself, she’ll be a great bait for intriguers who wish to remove Elizabeth from the throne.”

  “Then surely for Kate Grey to have a child will be good—if it’s a boy, there is a Protestant heir if the queen has no child of her own.”

  “If the marriage was lawful and the baby legitimate, that would be true. And there are those who are pressing the queen to declare the marriage valid and Kate Grey her heir. But to have the validity of the marriage tinged with doubt casts everything into question. Cecil, who supported the idea of the marriage before it happened, now thinks that it is God’s will that no Grey should inherit the throne. And meanwhile, this child of Kate Grey’s presents a threat, for if it should be a boy, there will surely be those who will want him on the throne sooner rather than later, in place of Elizabeth, who has tarnished her name by this dalliance with Robert Dudley and who may never now wed and bear a child.”

  “Then we must pray that Kate bears a girl,” Bess said.

  But two days later, Kate Grey gave birth to a boy, who was christened Edward and given the title of Lord Beauchamp.

  “She and Seymour have both been found guilty of fornication,” Will told Bess. “He’s also been convicted of seducing a virgin of the royal blood. They are to remain prisoners in the Tower, housed separately and kept apart, until it may please the queen to release them.”

  “Oh, poor Kate,” Bess cried.

  “This son of hers is a great threat to the queen. I cannot see that Elizabeth will ever let her go free, much less acknowledge her as her heir.”

  Oh, Kate, you fool, Bess mourned. Why could you not have waited for the queen’s permission to marry? You might have had it all—husban
d, baby, and crown. And now you will live out your days in the Tower.

  And a further pain twisted her heart. No baby had quickened within her though she and Will had now been married for two years. Why could it not have been she giving birth to a longed-for child, instead of Kate Grey, whose motherhood brought so much trouble to her and others?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Tenth of July, 1562—Chatsworth, Derbyshire

  BESS COULD NOT STOP HERSELF FROM CRYING AS SHE WATCHED her fourteen-year-old daughter Frankie marry Henry Pierrepont. The marriage was everything she had hoped for for her daughter, the culmination of years of planning, the achievement of her long-held ambition to set Frankie on the path to a life of comfort and good fortune. Beside Bess, her own mother, Aunt Marcella, and her sister Jenny were also in tears of joy.

  “Oh, my darling, I am most happy to see you happy and so well bestowed,” she murmured to Frankie after the ceremony, as Will clasped the young bridegroom in an embrace. “It’s a wonderful marriage.”

  Frankie, her copper-colored hair flowing down her back and adorned with a wreath of flowers, kissed Bess. She was practically wriggling with delight, for the marriage was a love match as well as being eminently practical.

  “Thank you, Mother. This day is heaven.” Her eyes went to her young husband, and he reached out his hand to her.

  Bess had negotiated the match with Henry’s father, Sir George Pierrepont, but she had been determined that the marriage should only go forward if it pleased her daughter. Frankie had gone the previous year to serve Lady Pierrepont at Holme Pierrepont, within a day’s ride from Hardwick, and so had come to know and like the family into which she would marry. And in the spring just past, young Henry had come to London to visit Frankie, and the young couple had immediately become very fond of each other. Though Henry was only fifteen, his parents had been eager for the wedding to take place, as Sir George was ailing. The specter of the Court of Wards must haunt the Pierreponts, Bess knew, but now that her old friend William Cecil was master of the court, its power did not terrify her as it had when she was a girl.