The Queen In Waiting: Mary Tudor takes the throne (The Tudor Saga Series Book 5)

by David Field

  ‘If Elizabeth can be so persuaded, who does your master’s son have in mind? Himself perhaps?’

  ‘I do not presume that far and neither does he, since he has yet to see the lady in person. Although given her famed beauty I would not discount that possibility. However, his concern is that an element of your people might seek to promote the interests of the Scots girl Mary, who is fervently Catholic.’

  ‘She is also betrothed to the Dauphin of France and resident in Paris.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Renard nodded. ‘Should she be acknowledged, in due course, as Queen of England as well as France, my master would be opposed in his ambitions in the Low Countries by a powerful combination of nations.’

  ‘Catholic nations nevertheless,’ Cecil pointed out.

  ‘Catholic nations equally desirous of the riches to be derived from the Flanders cloth trade,’ Renard reminded him.

  Cecil nodded. ‘So your master desires that the Lady Elizabeth be wedded to someone from a nation within the Holy Roman Empire?’

  ‘Precisely. He is so anxious for such a match that he would not object to your mistress continuing to observe her own religious practices.’

  ‘Your master is most generous,’ Cecil replied sarcastically, ‘considering that the lady in question will one day be Queen of England, presumably after your master has taken himself back to Spain.’

  ‘You will urge your mistress to think in terms of selecting a suitable match?’ Renard asked.

  ‘I will urge her to follow her heart, as in all things, Ambassador.’

  Elizabeth looked up expectantly as the chamber door opened, then looked down in disappointment and disdain as the arrival of Lord Chancellor Gardiner was announced. He shuffled in on aged legs that appeared almost too spindly for the task and Elizabeth tried not to laugh at his pathetic half bow that threatened to result in his falling flat on his face.

  ‘Why is it you and not my sister?’ she asked petulantly.

  Gardiner grimaced. ‘There is much to be discussed before Her Majesty will grant you her forgiveness.’

  ‘Forgiveness for what, precisely, Gardiner? I have done nothing wrong and therefore I do not come here for forgiveness. I come for justice and a fond reunion with my dearly beloved sister, not to throw myself on her mercy.’

  ‘Must I therefore advise Her Majesty that you do not admit your guilt?’ Gardiner asked with a triumphant smirk.

  ‘Is there something wrong with your hearing, old man? Or is it perhaps your wits that are failing with your advanced years? I do not “admit” my guilt, because I do not possess any of which to confess. Such evidence as was said to exist of my complicity in Wyatt’s ill-conceived rebellion was of your making, I am now advised.’

  ‘Advised by whom?’

  ‘By he who revealed it to Her Majesty. It should be you down on your knees before my sister, humbly craving her gracious pardon for your treason. You and Norfolk, who I am recently advised has been called before God to answer for his misdeeds.’

  ‘Her Majesty has already proved herself merciful, by permitting that you be brought back to Hampton. Why can you not at least concede that you would — were it not for her sisterly compassion — still be in the Tower, awaiting execution?’

  ‘As for my being brought back to Hampton, I was smuggled in by way of a side door under close guard, much as if I were back under Traitor’s Gate. On the subject of which, I would rather be back in the Tower than to confess myself guilty of offences of which I am innocent. Tell that to my sister the next time you cringe, worm-like, at her feet.’

  ‘I shall lose no time in so doing, Lady, since I am summoned to the presence even as we speak.’

  ‘Do not let me detain the cur running to its master for another whipping,’ Elizabeth retorted contemptuously as she turned her back on Gardiner, biting her lip in rage and frustration until she heard the chamber door close behind him.

  He returned the following day with another smug smile. ‘The Queen is sore amazed, that you can so defiantly deny her the apology to which she is entitled. I am here to advise you that Her Majesty will not receive you until you purge the guilt that you are so determined to deny. Do you now claim to have been unjustly imprisoned?’

  It was a question loaded with pitfalls, but Elizabeth stepped deftly around them. ‘I do not presume to comment on the wisdom of my dear sister when falsely advised that I had been a party to a rebellion against her right and title to rule England. That comes, of course, from the same testamentary document of our late father in which I was also named and I do not know what I would have done in the position in which she was placed by false and wicked lies told by traitors to us both. What I do say is that I will not tell lies to my sister, whose right to govern England I do not for one moment challenge. That being the case, then I will not lie to her by confessing a guilt I do not possess, even should it mean that I am returned to the Tower — even onto Tower Green to have my head removed. At least it would be a head that never told a lie and I would ascend to the Kingdom of Heaven without a falsehood to stain my soul. Now, if you have nothing better to offer than constantly repeated demands for me to lie, then leave me.’

  When the chamber door was opened the following morning by a page who looked at her with a puzzled expression, Elizabeth half expected an armed escort to take her back downriver and was therefore pleasantly surprised to see a handsome man being admitted with a sweeping bow, dressed in a fine silk doublet in the Spanish style. She half bowed as she addressed him.

  ‘You are my brother-in-law? My dear sister’s husband?’

  ‘No, madam, I am merely his aide and his interpreter. My master will be here shortly. I am Senor Gomez da Silva, at your service.’

  ‘And why does your master delay?’

  ‘He is at present in attendance on your beloved sister, who is reported to have endured a night of some discomfort. He goes merely to comfort her briefly, then he will be in attendance.’

  ‘In the meantime, you are welcome,’ Elizabeth said as she waved a languid hand towards one of the spare chairs.

  Da Silva swept his cloak behind him in a grand gesture before taking the proffered seat with a grateful smile and engaging in polite conversation. ‘You are well, madam?’

  ‘I am indeed — much improved since coming to Hampton, where the river air seems to revive my spirit.’

  At that point the chamber doors swung open again and ‘His Majesty King Philip’ was announced. Elizabeth looked down the chamber with a smile at the man who had captured her sister’s heart and rapidly confirmed in her own mind that her sister had been singularly lacking in alternative offers. Philip was not exactly ugly and he certainly had a manly bearing, but he had inherited his father Carlos’s long face and over-pronounced chin that not even his black beard could entirely conceal. This morning he seemed preoccupied and it was with an obvious effort that he turned on the charm of a dissembling smile as he bowed to Elizabeth.

  ‘At last we meet,’ he managed in broken English. ‘It has been too long.’

  ‘How fares my dear sister?’ Elizabeth asked tactfully.

  Philip nodded in recognition of the question, then turned to da Silva and spoke in a fast torrent of Spanish.

  ‘My master says she is suffering much in the lady’s parts, but has now been given a draft that will put her in sleep,’ came the translation into English.

  It was obvious that the wily da Silva was far more accomplished in the English language when alone with a lady than he pretended to be while carrying out his duties as an interpreter. Elizabeth had been advised that Philip spoke fluent French, in which they might converse directly, but it suited her to humour the two of them by addressing da Silva whenever she wished to speak to Philip and the somewhat stilted conversation that followed moved from mutual enquiries regarding health to an enquiry from Elizabeth regarding when she might expect to be allowed her long overdue reunion with Mary.

  ‘You are not yet meeting with her?’ a puzzled Philip asked and when Eliza
beth shook her head and emphasised her desire for the meeting, Philip seemed genuinely concerned. ‘I was not knowing of this, but of course Her Majesty she has been unwell. I will do what I can to ensure that there is not much more delay.’

  ‘I believe I have you to thank for the fact that I am here at Hampton at all,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I am most indebted to you.’

  ‘It is I who should thank you, for accepting that England is now joined with Spain. Your mother would not have approved, no?’

  ‘No, but that was some years ago now. I hope that we can become good friends, as well as relations by marriage.’

  ‘Indeed, and that is also my hope. I have your sister’s ear and it is her hope as well. She fears that you may have suffered a misjudgement of the law.’

  ‘She has said that? My heart rejoices to hear those words, since I have grieved for so long in the belief that she believed the lies that were told against me.’

  ‘It was I who persuaded her, out of love, to consider that others might have intended you evil.’

  ‘And I will be forever grateful for your kindness. There is, however, one other who was wrongly consigned to the Tower for things of which he was innocent.’

  ‘You speak of Robert Dudley?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I have come to learn many things during my brief time in this country. Things that I must set right before I leave.’

  ‘You are leaving England?’

  ‘For a brief while. My interests in the Low Countries are being much threatened by French bastards.’

  Elizabeth pressed on with her attempt to rescue her childhood friend. ‘You know that Robert Dudley was also innocent of any treason?’

  ‘Indeed. I have persuaded my Queen to release him.’

  ‘Robert is free? Oh, God bless you! All that now remains, to complete my happiness, is for my sister to receive me back into her company.’

  ‘You may rest that matter with me, dear Lady. And now I must return, to ensure that my beloved is sleeping peacefully.’

  An hour after supper that same day, an excited Blanche Parry slipped through the chamber door, carrying Elizabeth’s best silver gown over her arm, accompanied by a smiling lady in her mid-forties, to judge by the wrinkles around her eyes.

  ‘This is Susan Clarencieux, the Mistress of the Robes and the Queen’s close friend and confidante. You must wash quickly and don this gown. The Queen has summoned you to her bedside!’

  The chamber was dimly lit by flickering candles surrounding the bed and Elizabeth took a moment to adjust to the gloom as she entered tentatively with Blanche Parry a few feet behind her. There were several in attendance around the royal bed, who all bowed politely from the presence and scuttled towards the door as Elizabeth’s arrival was announced by Susan Clarencieux. Unsure what to do or say, Elizabeth moved to the centre of the bedchamber and prostrated herself on the carpet.

  ‘Dearest sister,’ she said as she raised herself to her knees and looked up, ‘I am so glad to be back with you, and before God I declare myself innocent of any treason that others may have accused me of. Let God strike me dead while I kneel, as loyal a subject as Your Majesty possesses anywhere in the realm, if I mean you any wrong, or in any way seek to challenge your right to our father’s throne.’

  ‘You may get off your knees,’ came the terse voice from the bed and as Elizabeth did so she allowed herself a longer look at the woman who was barely recognisable from the last time they had met. Her hair had been allowed to grow longer, but it was hanging in hanks damp with sweat and Elizabeth charitably assumed that her own entry had resulted in the dismissal of the women who had been gathered at the bedside, one of whom was probably Mary’s hairdresser. But the older sister’s face was also heavily lined with pain; gone were the slightly childlike rosy red cheeks, replaced by what looked like faded parchment. As Elizabeth approached the bed and grasped the clammy hand that was held out to her, she was also assailed by a disagreeable smell and looked instinctively towards the closed stool in the corner. However, its door was closed and reluctantly she attributed the odour to the invalid in the bed.

  ‘It is so good to be allowed this opportunity to protest my innocence, sister,’ Elizabeth mumbled as she squeezed Mary’s hand, only to have it removed from her grasp as if the touch of her hand was somehow abhorrent to the woman in the bed. Elizabeth tried again with a different approach. ‘When do your physicians say that you will be happily delivered of your child?’

  ‘Those fools?’ Mary complained petulantly. ‘They cannot be certain and indeed they cannot even agree among themselves. But I feel within my own body that it will be only a matter of days. I had no idea that there was so much pain before the actual birth.’

  ‘I shall pray for your safe delivery and your release from any suffering,’ Elizabeth promised, only to find her eyes held in a suspicious glare.

  ‘The birth of a royal heir will put an end to your queenly pretensions, will it not? Why should you pray for it? And for that matter, why do you pretend to pray for the comfort of one who had you consigned to the Tower, then held in close confinement in the Oxfordshire countryside?’

  ‘Dearest sister,’ Elizabeth replied, close to tears, as she sank to her knees by the bed, ‘I do not desire the throne, and on quiet reflection I do not believe that I ever did. I pray only for a continued peaceful life on the estate where we grew up as girls, with the right to visit you here from time and the opportunity to serve England — your England — as best I may.’

  ‘A pretty speech,’ Mary gargled back, ‘and were Gardiner not such a feeble old fool I would still be inclined to believe that plots against my throne, if not devised by you, are most certainly inspired by your very existence. However, he failed to bring me the proof that I needed, therefore you have your freedom. But next time it will be your head, and do not console yourself for one moment with the thought that we shared a father. That is all we have in common and any treason on your part will be visited with the same dire punishment as that of any other subject.’

  ‘Dearest Mary,’ Elizabeth pleaded as a tear rolled down her cheek, ‘please do not think of me in such terms. I have ever been loyal to you, I have never plotted against your throne and if allowed my continued freedom I will do all within my power to prove myself a loving sister.’

  ‘Words,’ Mary muttered dismissively, then cried out in pain.

  Several ladies who had been hovering in the background, grouped around Susan Clarencieux, rushed to Mary’s bedside and one of them poured a powder into a wine goblet and placed it in Mary’s shaking hand.

  ‘Drink this simple, Your Majesty,’ the attendant urged her, ‘since your physician says that it will ease the discomfort.’

  ‘Discomfort may be the word applied to my condition by physicians, who are of course all men,’ Mary muttered as she downed the draft and handed back the goblet, ‘but they are not the ones chosen by God to bear children.’ She seemed to suddenly remember the presence of Elizabeth by her side and looked up at her with what might have been intended as a sardonic smile, but looked more like a grimace. ‘Take care how you disport yourself, sister, for the bearing of children is not for those weak of constitution. As for your much protested loyalty, you shall be given every opportunity to demonstrate it. You may remain here at Hampton and may visit me from day to day until the birth. You may have your own suite of chambers and such of your household about you as is deemed appropriate and necessary. You may also be allowed suitable visitors. Hatfield you may leave in the governance of Cecil, since he seems adequate to the task. Now leave me.’

  XIII

  ‘Just look at the state of you!’ Cecil protested as he gazed up at the fork in the apple tree in which Thomas was lounging, chewing on an apple. ‘Get down out of there immediately and get yourself changed into the clothes that have been laid out for you in your chamber.’

  ‘I am now required to dress for dinner?’ Thomas asked truculently.

  Cecil sighed. ‘I’m su
rprised that you can think in terms of dinner, given that you appear to have devoted yourself to harvesting the orchard, fruit by fruit, while I still await the copying of that rough draft of the Estate monthly reckoning that I left with you two days ago. But no — the reason why you are required to attempt to resemble a human being is that you are to attend Court.’

  ‘Today?’ Thomas asked eagerly as he dropped down effortlessly from the apple tree.

  ‘Why, did you require a day’s notice, given that you are so busy?’ Cecil asked sarcastically. ‘And this time, when in the presence of the Lady Elizabeth, try not to stand there with your mouth opening and closing like a silent bellows. I suppose I should be grateful that we have found something that can reduce you to silence, but it is not your best look, believe me.’

  ‘So we go to attend upon the Lady Elizabeth?’ Thomas asked.

  Cecil snorted in sarcasm. ‘Quick on the uptake, as usual. Get inside and be prepared to take the wherry from Westminster Steps after dinner. We are expected by three of the clock.’

  As they bowed discreetly when admitted by Blanche Parry, Thomas kept his eyes down as he mumbled an apology. ‘I’m sorry I was so tongue-tied during our last meeting, my Lady.’

  ‘You should regard yourself as fortunate,’ Cecil muttered to Elizabeth, ‘since ordinarily one is obliged to silence him with bribes of food.’

  Elizabeth smiled kindly at Thomas as she beckoned for him to take the seat to her right. Cecil took the seat to her other side, while Blanche moved to the side table and poured them all wine.

  ‘So how went your audience with the Queen?’ Cecil asked politely.

  Elizabeth frowned. ‘She appeared much afflicted, more as if she were in the grip of some illness, rather than in the throes of a simple pregnancy.’

  ‘And how was she with you, my Lady?’ Cecil persisted.

  Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Suspicious of my motives, as ever. I’ve lost count of the number of times that I’ve sworn loyalty and sisterly love towards her, but it seems that someone is forever poisoning her mind against me. It seems to proceed from Gardiner, now that Norfolk is gone. One might have hoped that the old idiot would have his hands full organising those horrible burnings, not that I wish Catholics any harm. Why is it that the poor long-suffering people of England cannot be allowed to worship in the manner that best calls them? Can it be thought for one moment that a God of love can be approving of all these dreadful deaths?’