Softly she whispered, “Mary, can you not forget?”
Mary returned her look with black hatred and turned away.
Elizabeth gazed after her sorrowfully, realising that she had an implacable enemy who would do everything in her power to keep her from her rightful place. She mounted her horse and rode away to the comparative peace of Ashridge.
It was from here that she learnt the news that Mary was contemplating the biggest mistake of her life. Mary was determined to marry and provide an heir to ensure that her sister would never ascend the throne. Her now fanatical desire was to bring her country back to the Church of Rome and to this end her choice of consort fell upon King Philip II of Spain, the son of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V.
She who had been starved of love and affection for most of her life looked forward eagerly to the love of a husband. Mary’s emotions always dominated her and she would not think of this marriage as solely a marriage of state, unifying Spain and England; it would be a marriage of love as had been the marriage of her parents until that black witch had lured her father away. Always her mind returned to that woman and her daughter. She could not rid herself of them. She wondered if she had been wise to let Elizabeth go for she could well be fomenting devious schemes at Ashridge. But Philip would know how to deal with Madam Elizabeth, she thought. She repeated his name softly to herself. She needed help to govern this unruly island with its obstinate heretics and she certainly needed help to govern her sister. Yes, Philip would know how to deal with all that. Mary slipped quietly into a dream of future bliss with the man she had begun to love more with each passing day.
Elizabeth’s reaction to the news of the proposed marriage was one of incredulity.
“How can she be such a fool?” she asked herself. “Does she not know that Philip is the last person the people will accept—short of Charles or the Devil himself! Is she not aware of the danger to which she is exposing her crown? We will be dragged into his interminable wars and worse still, he will bring the Inquisition with him!”
She had never had a great opinion of her sister’s abilities in statecraft but her estimation sunk further. Mary always let her emotions interfere with her decisions and she was far too trusting in those people close to her. Elizabeth was afraid too, for she realised what would happen when this news became common knowledge. There would be risings without a doubt and she was mortally afraid that she would be dragged into them, even if only as a figurehead. Her health had not been good since the Seymour affair and she feared that she would not have the strength she would need for the storms ahead.
On the 2nd January, the Emperor’s envoys arrived—to the official salute from the guns of the Tower and little else! They were viewed with open hostility by the citizens of London and Kat related to her mistress the tale of the Embassy servants being pelted with snowballs.
“They should be thankful it was only snow and nothing worse!” she said.
A younger Elizabeth would have laughed with her, but the girl just smiled faintly.
Kat sighed, upon reflection her mistress had little to laugh about these days.
Ten days later the marriage treaty was signed and what Elizabeth feared became reality. Sir Peter Carew led a rebellion in Devonshire and simultaneously Sir Thomas Wyatt roused the men of Kent to “resist the King of Spain!” Sir James Crofts departed in haste to Wales and the Duke of Suffolk (Jane Grey’s father) disappeared.
Elizabeth was afraid but could do nothing but wait upon events.
“Wait, I must always wait!” she thought anxiously as she paced her room like a caged animal. Her whole body ached but the pain in her head was becoming unbearable.
“Oh! Mary, you fool! Did you not foresee this? Do you truly not realise how hated is the man you insist upon marrying? Always, always I must be implicated,” she thought.
The opening of the door triggered off her frayed nerves and she spun around ready to pounce upon the intruder.
It was Kat.
“What news?” Elizabeth asked, her voice harsh with fear.
Kat shook her head. “A letter has arrived from the Queen,” she said ominously while she thought to herself how ill Elizabeth looked. That she kept on her feet at all, Kat knew to be an effort of determined will power.
Elizabeth went paler as she took the letter. She read it slowly, focusing her eyes painfully as the pains in her head grew stronger and nausea threatened to overcome her.
“We are tendering the surety of your person, which might chance to be in some peril if any sudden tumult should arise, either where you be now or about Donnington whither (as we understand) you are bound shortly to remove,” she read. “Who told Mary that I intend to move to Donnington?” she wondered, “and what else is being said of me?” she thought frantically. “We therefore think it expedient that you should put yourself in readiness with all convenient speed, to make your repair hither to us, which we pray you, fail not to do, assuring you that as you may surely remain hereso shall you be most heartily welcome to us,” the letter finished.
“Welcome, indeed!” the girl thought in panic, “never to be allowed to leave!” She was too wise to fall into that trap. “And of your mind herein we pray you to return answer by this messenger.” The letter fell from her hands. “O God! Be my strength,” she prayed.
Her overtaxed nerves snapped and she burst into tears but with each paroxysm her head seemed torn in two with blinding pain.
Kat unbuttoned her gown and unlaced the tight corset, enabling her to breathe deeply. She helped her mistress to bed and placed cloths wrung out in vinegar and herbs across her aching forehead, the smell of which made Elizabeth vomit.
Kat summed up the situation. “We will inform the messenger that you are too ill to travel. ’Tis the truth, you could not endure the journey in this state! Should he not believe me he can come and see for himself,” she said firmly.
Elizabeth nodded weakly.
A few hours later the messenger was galloping back to London to inform Her Majesty that the Lady Elizabeth was too ill to leave her bed and to Elizabeth’s relief there were no further messages for Mary had far more serious matters on her mind.
Nearly a fortnight later Elizabeth had recovered a little and was sitting up in bed watching the grey clouds being driven across the leaden sky by a blustery wind. Her peace was soon shattered by Kat who completely forgot her mistress’s state of health in the excitement of the news she had just heard.
“The rebellion in Devonshire has failed,” she burst out, “but Wyatt took Rochester Bridge and Her Majesty’s ships in the Medway went over to him! The Queen’s Guards and the Train Bands of the City went to put down the rebellion but they too went over to Wyatt crying, ‘We are all Englishmen!’”
Kat paused for breath and for the first time saw that Elizabeth had blanched and that her fingers were nervously plucking at the coverlet.
“Oh! Bess, what a fool I am!” Kat cried contritely.
“Never mind,” the girl answered, “go on.”
Somewhat abashed Kat continued, “Wyatt resumed his march on London and from Blackheath sent a message to the Queen conveying his terms. He requested the custody of the Queen herself and of the Tower. The removal of several members of the Council and their replacements to be chosen by himself.”
“I know what answer I should have sent to Master Wyatt,” Elizabeth thought grimly.
Apparently her sister had had the same thought.
“Mary rode out,” Kat continued, “thoughtless of her own safety and made a magnificent speech in the Guildhall, after which London was with her to a man!”
Elizabeth grudgingly admired her sister for in times of danger Mary was truly a Tudor. The fighting spirit of her father and grandfather was reborn in her if even but briefly.
Wyatt had found the City Gates barred and defended against him when he arrived. Mary had refused to allow the guns of the Tower to be used against him for fear of injury to innocent citizens and finally he had marched to Kingst
on and in pouring rain had crossed the river. There had been spasmodic fighting around St James Palace and finally some of Wyatt’s men had got through Temple Bar and down Fleet Street but that was as far as they got for Ludgate was barred and the Earl of Pembroke cut off his retreat and a few minutes later Wyatt surrendered to Sir Maurice Berkely.
Kat paused but quailed inwardly as she thought of the final piece of news. Elizabeth remained silent.
“There is more,” Kat announced timidly.
“Well go on!” Elizabeth demanded.
“Agents of Gardiner have found proof that the French Ambassador knew of the plot,” she said.
“What is that to do with me?” Elizabeth replied.
“A copy of a letter from you to the Queen was also found in the diplomatic dispatch,” Kat answered.
“Dear God! No!” Elizabeth moaned, covering her face. She had tried! God knows how she had tried to stay clear of any implication in the recent rebellions but now it seemed that she was doomed. Frantically her weary mind tried to think how that copy could have got there. De Noailles! That spying, deceitful fiend! He had given Mary just the excuse she needed, she thought. Mary would have no difficulty believing she was plotting against her. Mary whose warped, bitter mind harped continually on the fact that she was Anne’s daughter. How soon now before Mary sent for her? This time she knew that there could be no refusal.
Sick, weary and exhausted she held her aching head in her hands.
“No, no, Dear God! I can bear no more,” she murmured, whilst Katherine Ashley crept sorrowfully away.
Chapter Nine
A few days later Doctors Owen and Wendy arrived at Hatfield to examine her. Mary had sent them to ascertain whether she was indeed fit to travel. She was ill enough—her face and limbs were swollen to twice their normal size. She felt sick unto death and this time it was no pretence. Surely they would inform her sister that she was seriously ill and if Mary had any compassion she would not command that she be moved. But Mary was beyond pity for she had had a bad fright and two days later a deputation arrived bearing her command that Elizabeth repair to London.
Protestations made by Kat concerning Elizabeth’s health and the lateness of the hour availed her nothing and the deputation was ushered into the girl’s bedchamber and the letter from the Queen presented to her.
Elizabeth was informed that the Royal Physicians had agreed that she could be moved and she must therefore set out the following day.
“My Lords,” Elizabeth pleaded, “I much fear my weakness to be so great that I shall not be able to travel and to endure the journey without peril to my life.”
Her plea met with failure. They were polite but firm, she had no choice but to agree.
When the door had closed behind them Kat took her hand and gazed at her fearfully.
“To have me travel in this condition Mary must believe me guilty!” Elizabeth cried. “Mayhap she thinks I will die on the road!” She was close to despair as she clasped Kat’s hand so tightly that the rings cut into her flesh.
Kat winced but did not pull her hand away for between the two frightened women there was a close bond. Whatever the future held for Elizabeth, Kat vowed she would do everything in her power to stay with her and try to ease the burden.
Kat sank to her knees beside the bed, still clasping the swollen, feverish hand. “Let us pray, Bess,” she said. “O God, deliver us from all evil both present and to come,” she implored the Almighty, “have pity upon your servants and give us the strength to endure the tribulations and to proclaim our innocence. Preserve us from wicked and untruthful men. God grant us peace!” she finished. Wearily she laid her head on the coverlet, intending to stay with the girl until she slept. “Dear God, help her,” she prayed. Her thoughts turned distractedly to the girl’s mother. “All have forsaken her,” she whispered into the darkness. “In the Name of God, if it be in your power, help your daughter now Anne!”
Two hours later Kat awoke, cramped and half frozen for the fire had gone out, her hand still clasped in Elizabeth’s. She rose stiffly and gently withdrew the swollen fingers from her own. She looked down at her mistress who appeared to be sleeping peacefully and wondered if anyone, let alone the long-dead Anne, could save Elizabeth now!
To Kat the next morning was a nightmare! At nine o’clock they brought Elizabeth out to the Queen’s own litter which Mary had sent. Elizabeth was so ill that she should not even have left her bed. She fainted three times before they managed to get her into the litter and Kat was mortally afraid that Elizabeth would be proved right—she would die upon the road. To forcibly take a young girl, so desperately ill, from the warmth of her bed and transport her in a jolting, swaying litter—separated from the freezing February elements by only curtains—was in Kat’s opinion, certain death! But Kat was powerless to resist. Mary was adamant. As Kat rode beside her mistress huddled in her warmest cloak which though made of heavy felt offered little resistance to the biting wind, she feared that this was the end. The bright dream of the Crown that Elizabeth held so dear, worked so hard to prepare herself for—sacrificing her health and youth in the process—looked as though it was about to end here on the frozen, rutted road to London or worse, was it to end on the scaffold on Tower Green as her mother’s dreams of power had ended? Kat shivered uncontrollably with cold and fear knowing that with what little strength Elizabeth had left she would be preparing her defence. Struggling against the tide which now threatened to engulf her for like her sister, Elizabeth was a Tudor and would never give in even with her dying breath!
It took them ten painful days to reach the City—stopping overnight at various manor houses en route. Days through which the girl endured the jolting which racked her body with hideous pain and the cold which made her shiver with fever but she clung tenaciously to the thin thread of life—defying death.
When the cortege at last reached the outskirts of the City she demanded that the curtains of the litter be drawn back.
“The good citizens shall see me as I am,” she thought “they must realise that I have been brought here forcefully, sick unto death though I am.” Earlier she had demanded that Kat dress her entirely in white which added to the illusion of youthful martyrdom which was not lost on the crowds who quickly gathered to watch her pass and she heard the word “Shame” muttered frequently as the sad procession wound its way towards Whitehall.
All around her were the relics of the rebellion—the heads of the insurgents adorned every gate and were set high on the city walls. A gruesome reminder to all of the fate of traitors. She had also heard that Mary had finally agreed to the execution of her sixteen-year-old cousin, Jane Grey and her husband, Guildford Dudley. If Mary intended to execute Jane who was entirely innocent of complicity in Wyatt’s plot, what hope did she have? Would Mary give up the God-sent opportunity of revenge upon her long-dead enemy?
They arrived at the palace of Whitehall in the late afternoon. Here a further shock awaited her for she was separated from her household and lodged in a remote part of the palace.
Kat stood her ground. “I will not leave my mistress unless dragged away by the guard!” she steadfastly informed the burly Knight who stood before her.
Seeing quite plainly that she meant every word, he merely shrugged and so Kat remained.
Elizabeth immediately sent word to her sister requesting an interview but to her consternation she received no reply. “Better to have died on the road!” she sobbed to Kat.
Kat was at a loss for she too believed that this was the end for her mistress.
“To think that I once pitied her,” Elizabeth continued, “my poor, foolish sister. One should never pity a Queen, especially a Tudor Queen!” she ended with a bitter laugh in which there was more than a trace of hysteria.
For a whole month both she and Kat lived a nightmare. Daily they expected the entrance of the Guard to convey Elizabeth to the Tower and death.
“What can they prove against me?” she asked herself again and again thro
ughout those long weeks. “There is no proof. The copy of a letter and Wyatt’s allegations of two letters having been sent to me. One informing me of his arrival and the other advising me to move to Castle Donnington.” The alleged replies to these letters had been verbal and non-committal but always she ended these question and answer sessions with herself with the same hopeless conclusion. “Mary needs no proof—the lies and trumped-up charges will suffice. I am my mother’s daughter and in Mary’s eyes that is the most heinous sin—the sin that condemns me!”
William Saintlow—a member of her household—was taken away to be put to the question. How she dreaded those words knowing the vicious methods that would be used against him. But Saintlow proved loyal. He denied with conviction any knowledge of Wyatt’s plans and indeed so strong were his protestations that he was finally believed and set at liberty. To Elizabeth this seemed a minor miracle. Could she, dare she hope?
The Court moved to Richmond and Elizabeth was taken under guard with the rest of the household. It was here that she heard on the 15th March that Sir Thomas Wyatt had been tried and convicted of High Treason against the Crown. She heard the news calmly—it had been a foregone conclusion. How coincidental, she thought, that the son of the man who had been accused of loving her mother should bring so much pain and trouble to herself.
Very gradually her fears abated for she had been at Richmond for over a month and it was now two months since she had been dragged from her sick bed at Hatfield. The very next day, like a bolt from Heaven, came the dread tidings she had expected since she had arrived.
She was up, dressed and trying feebly to work with her needle when Bishop Gardiner and nineteen members of the Council were announced.
Kat, who was with her, trembled visibly whilst Elizabeth gripped her needle so tightly that it pierced her skin but she was so overcome with fear that she did not feel it. Fighting to control herself, to show no surprise or fear she managed at last to ask the Bishop his business. She had always known Gardiner to be her avowed enemy and he made no pretence to the contrary now.
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