The Last Heiress

by Bertrice Small

  It was June the first. The sun was already long up, but it was barely five o’clock of the morning. Elizabeth and Hugh withdrew immediately so the queen might be prepared for her coronation. Elizabeth quickly showed Hugh the tiny cubicle that was to be his, and sent him off to fetch his belongings from the chamber where the king’s pages slept. Then she hurried to find Nancy so she might dress in her fine gown. She had hardly thought of him since her arrival in London, but now, as Nancy dressed her in the blue brocade with its silver-and-gold-embroidered neckline, she thought of Thomas Bolton. How he would have adored the pomp of this royal event. She must remember every detail in order to share it with him when she returned home. Nancy fastened the thin gold chain with its little bejeweled mirror about her waist, and Elizabeth was ready. She put her hand up to tuck an errant strand of her hair beneath her French hood.

  “Here.” Nancy handed her a pair of creamy kid gloves decorated with seed pearls and crystals.

  “Stay by the windows and you can see the queen’s procession leave,” Elizabeth told her tiring woman.

  “You tell me all about it when you can,” Nancy said. “Don’t forget a thing. His lordship will want to know every last detail.”

  Elizabeth nodded with a smile, and hurried from the room where all the queen’s women had been dressing. She had seen the looks of envy regarding her gown. She had been absolutely right to chose blue rather than Tudor green. There were a plethora of gowns in that color, and none as nicely embellished as was her blue gown. Finding the queen, who was now dressed in royal purple and being fitted with her long ermine-trimmed cape, she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?”

  “Keep my favorite page by your side,” Anne told her. Then she handed Elizabeth a clay chit. “This will get you both into the cathedral, and wear these.” She gave her friend two of her household badges.

  “Thank you, your highness,” Elizabeth said, and she curtseyed low.

  Anne gave her a quick grin and a wink. “This cape weighs as much as the king himself,” she muttered.

  “I will carry the train of it, your highness,” the old dowager Duchess of Norfolk said in her reedy voice. “And might I beg a boon of you on this glorious day?”

  “What is it?” the queen asked. The dowager had been passing kind to her.

  “Would you allow your cousin, little Catherine Howard, to see your coronation? Perhaps the lady of Friarsgate would take her with her to the church.” The old woman looked hopeful. “It would be such a thrilling event for the child. She has little in life.”

  Anne nodded graciously. “Of course,” she said. Then she called, “Jane Seymour, give the lady of Friarsgate another of my badges for my cousin Catherine Howard.”

  “At once, your highness,” Jane Seymour said, her eyes not meeting those of her mistress. She hurried off.

  “I do not like that girl,” Anne murmured to Elizabeth. “And I do not know this cousin, Catherine Howard, but if the dowager seeks to help her, I must too. I hope she will not be too much trouble, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “A proper little Howard girl? I doubt it.” She curtseyed again as the queen moved off from her apartments to her royal barge, which would take her back to Westminster.

  “Mistress Hay, here is the other badge,” Jane Seymour said, handing it to Elizabeth. Then she asked boldly, “How is it you are here, and always by the queen’s side, Mistress Hay?” Then the curious eyes lowered as quickly as they had looked directly at Elizabeth. It was a sly movement.

  “I am the queen’s friend,” Elizabeth said shortly, and then she moved off. She had no wish to engage in conversation with Mistress Seymour. There was something about the girl that she could not quite put her finger upon, but Elizabeth knew that she didn’t like her. The prim and proper attitude was a false one. She sensed that the girl was filled with guile. Then, looking about, she called for her nephew, and for Mistress Catherine Howard.

  The young girl came forward, and Elizabeth was stunned by the child’s beauty. She had a heart-shaped face with a pale complexion and cheeks that seemed to have been brushed by a rose. It was a sweet face. Her eyes were a wonderful cerulean blue, and the hair showing beneath her cap was a rich light auburn. “I am Catherine Howard, my lady.” She curtseyed politely to Elizabeth.

  “Just Mistress Hay,” Elizabeth told her. “The dowager Duchess of Norfolk requested of your cousin, the queen, that you be allowed to see the coronation. I am to take you with me and her highness’s page, Hugh St. Clair. Come along now. My barge is waiting to take us to Westminster.”

  “You have your own barge? You must be very rich,” Catherine Howard said ingenuously. “I don’t know anyone except my uncle, the duke, who has their own barge.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I am just the lady of a northern estate. The barge belongs to my uncle, Lord Cambridge, and he is indeed very rich.”

  “My father is the Earl of Witton,” Hugh announced to the young girl.

  “Are you his heir?” Catherine Howard wanted to know.

  “Nay, I am the youngest son,” he told her.

  “Then you are of little importance,” Catherine Howard said, and she looked straight ahead.

  Elizabeth laughed again. “You have been bested, Hughie,” she told the boy, whose cheeks were now a bright red.

  Reaching Westminster, they were just in time to see the procession that had formed, the queen as its centerpiece, and ready to proceed first into Westminster Hall, and from there into the great cathedral. It was between eight and nine o’clock in the morning. When the queen had entered the hall Elizabeth took the two children by the hand and said, “Quickly! If we do not get into the church we shall not have places despite these chits. We’ll watch the procession as it comes down the aisle.”

  Reaching the cathedral, she offered the yeoman of the guard the clay tickets that the queen had given her. The guardsman took them and grinned at Elizabeth. “You’ve yer hands full with these two fine youngsters. Who be you, and who be they?”

  “I am Mistress Hay, in the queen’s service,” Elizabeth said. “The lad is the Earl of Witton’s son, her favorite page, and the lass her cousin, Mistress Howard.”

  “Ye’re a lady from the north, unless my ears fail me,” the guardsman said.

  “Cumbria,” Elizabeth told him.

  “I be from Carlisle,” he told her. “Come along, Mistress Hay, and I’ll find you a place where these two young folk can see the whole ceremony.” Then he led them into the cathedral’s royal chapel, settling them in the far left corner of a front bench. “Just be quiet, and none will notice you here,” he told them, and then he was gone.

  There was a great flourish of trumpets, and the royal procession entered the cathedral. They stood upon the bench so they might see, Elizabeth in the back that Hugh and Catherine might get a better view as they stood before her. Knights and aldermen, gentlemen and noblemen, clergymen and judges came into the great chapel. There were abbots and bishops, the lord chancellor, and the lord mayor of London carrying his mace. The Marquess of Dorset carried the scepter of gold, the Earl of Arundel the rod of ivory decorated with a dove. The Earl of Oxford, who was the lord chamberlain, carried the crown. They did not approve this coronation of Anne Boleyn, but none of them would have given up his hereditary part in the pageantry. The high nobles were followed by the lord high steward, the Knights of the Garter, and the acting earl marshall.

  Finally came the queen, escorted by her reluctant father, the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde. His titles had been won courtesy of Anne, and yet he had opposed her marriage. Seeing her with the extra panel in her gown used to mask her pregnancy, Thomas Boleyn had told his daughter she ought to take it away, and thank God to find herself in such condition. Anne had snapped back, “I am in better condition than you would have desired, sir!”

  The queen walked beneath a canopy carried by knights from the four Cinque Ports. The ends of her robe were carried by the bishops of London and Winchester. The old dowager
Duchess of Norfolk carried the robe’s long train. The end of the procession was brought up by a bevy of noblewomen and the queen’s personal attendants. Anne, despite it all, looked magnificent in her royal purple robes trimmed with ermine, a circlet upon her black hair which hung down her back to her waist.

  Led to a throne between the high altar and the choir, the queen rested for a few minutes while the voices of the choirboys sang, their song rising into the high reaches of the chapel. The queen then nodded almost imperceptibly to the archbishop of Canterbury, and the service began. Anne rose from her throne and prostrated herself before the altar. When she arose the archbishop anointed her head and heart. There was more triumphal song, and the archbishop next crowned the queen with the crown of St. Edward, placing the scepter in her right hand and the ivory rod in her left. A Te Deum was sung, and the light crown made just for Anne replaced the heavy St. Edward’s crown.

  The queen then descended to sit back in her chair. The mass was sung, and at the appropriate moment, she took communion. As the service finally came to its long close Anne made an offering at the shrine of St. Edward, and then withdrew to the side of the choir. The procession re-formed to return to Westminster Hall. Once again the trumpets sounded, and the playing of the recessional began. The king had had no part in his wife’s coronation. But he had observed the entire ceremony from a screened gallery with the specially invited diplomats from the countries he wished to impress.

  Elizabeth had been overwhelmed by the pageantry, as were the two children in her care. What a tale she would have to tell her family when she finally got back to Friarsgate. Now, as they exited the cathedral, Catherine Howard said, “Ohh, I should like to be a queen one day!”

  “You haven’t the pedigree for it,” Hugh St. Clair pronounced, getting back at the girl for her earlier slight.

  Now it was Catherine Howard who blushed.

  “Hughie!” Elizabeth scolded her nephew. She put an arm about the girl. “Come along, and we shall see the queen. She will be resting until it is time for her banquet.”

  The banquet would also be a great staged and formal event. From his secret vantage place in St. Stephen’s cloister, Henry Tudor and several foreign ambassadors watched the banquet even as they had the coronation itself. There would be three courses. The first, consisting of twenty-eight dishes, was brought in by the Knights of the Bath. They were preceded by the Duke of Suffolk and Lord William Howard on horseback, and the Earl of Sussex, who held the position of sewer. The dowager Countess of Oxford stood throughout the meal to the queen’s right, and the Countess of Worcester was on her left holding the queen’s napkin, wiping the monarch’s lips with each bite she took. Beneath the table two gentlewomen sat at the queen’s feet holding a gold vessel should Anne have the need to relieve herself at any time.

  When the final course came to its end wafers and hippocras wine were served to all the guests. At last the queen stood up and walked to the middle of the hall, where she was given spices and comfits from the sewer. She drank a toast to the king from a gold cup offered her by the lord mayor. Then she presented the canopy beneath which she had walked to the barons of the Cinque Ports. This was done by tradition. At six o’clock that evening, the queen left Westminster Hall and returned to York Place. The short voyage upon the river did little to settle her belly, which was roiling with the rich foods she had been required to consume. She had eaten little, but she was still beginning to feel sick. Back in her royal apartments she vomited most of what she had eaten.

  “Get me out of these garments!” she shouted at her tiring woman. “I must lie down. Where is Mistress Hay? I want her with me. Find her!”

  A serving woman ran from the queen’s bedchamber and, finding Elizabeth outside in the queen’s waiting room, told her that the queen sought her company.

  “Will you be all right, Mistress Howard? The dowager has made no provision to return you to her house, so you must remain here tonight. Nancy, my tiring woman, will look after you. Hugh, come with me, and bring your lute.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Hay. You have been very kind,” little Catherine Howard said, and she curtseyed prettily.

  Elizabeth gave her a kiss on the cheek, and hurried off to join the queen.

  Anne was exhausted and impatient with her women, some of whom bore extremely grand pedigrees. But she was also excited and exhilarated by the day just past. She had, by becoming queen, become a fabulously rich woman and a great landowner. Her household was huge, and even the meanest place in the kitchens was eagerly sought. Some of those serving her had transferred their service to her from the households of other great nobles. She had six maids of honor under the care of Mrs. Marshall. A number of her female relations had sought places with her, and while many had not been supportive of her, Anne had accepted them into her household because many of their husbands were important to the king. The presence of the lady of Friarsgate was incomprehensible to them. She had no noble blood. She came from the north, and if rumor were to be believed her husband was a Scot. Why was she here?

  The queen held out her two hands to Elizabeth, who took them and kissed them. “Was it not the grandest day?” Anne said. “Could you see any of it? I thought my little cousin a pretty creature. Did the old dowager take her home?”

  “It was a wonderful day, your highness,” Elizabeth agreed. “A yeoman, recognizing that I was from the north as he was, found us a place in a corner at the front. We stood on a bench and watched your procession and crowning. I shall have much to tell my husband and family when I return to Friarsgate. Lord Cambridge will be so envious, and that is not a state he suffers often, or well.” She laughed. “Little Mistress Howard is with my Nancy. The dowager forgot her. I will arrange to send her home tomorrow, your highness.”

  The queen nodded, and then she sighed. “I wish you could stay with me forever, Elizabeth. I always feel calmer in your presence.”

  “You honor me so, and I do not deserve it,” Elizabeth replied. “But I have a family, and estates that need my tending. I have promised to remain with you until the prince is born, but then, dear highness, you must let me go. I do not thrive in this great town of yours. I need to be on my own lands, to smell the fresh air of Friarsgate, to see the sky and hills surrounding me.”

  “Your gown is quite beautiful,” the queen noted, ignoring Elizabeth’s speech. “I am astounded that you can keep in style so well in your far clime.”

  “My uncle is a miracle, your highness. Though he is a country gentleman his garb is always the most fashionable. He says his people expect it of him,” she finished with a chuckle. “And I believe he does not lie. His Otterly folk love him well.”

  “Your highness, you really should go to bed. You have a most busy day tomorrow,” Lady Jane Rochford, jealous of the attention Elizabeth was receiving, said.

  Anne’s dark eyes narrowed. “Never presume to tell us what to do, Jane,” the queen snapped at her sister-in-law. “You are here only because you are our brother’s wife.” Her gaze swept the other women. “You are all here because of your kinship to us, and you can all be replaced by other women more respectful and gracious. The lady of Friarsgate is here because we asked her to come. She is our true friend.”

  “I am sorry, your highness,” Jane Rochford muttered, her cheeks red with the queen’s rebuke. The bitch! One day I will repay you for that, she thought.

  Elizabeth curtseyed deeply. “Will you permit me to withdraw to Bolton House for the night, your highness?” she asked the queen.

  “You may go,” Anne agreed, understanding that Elizabeth wished to defuse the situation Jane Rochford had created. Most of the women here with them would put her outburst down to nerves. She was pregnant. She had had several very long days. It would be forgotten in a day or two by most of them.

  Elizabeth withdrew, leaving Hugh to console his mistress with his lute and sweet voice. She found Nancy with the little Howard girl. “Where is the old duchess’s tiring woman? Take Mistress Howard to her, and meet m
e at the barge quay,” she said before hurrying off again. She could scarcely wait to get out of the palace.

  “Where are you hurrying to, Elizabeth Meredith?” she heard someone ask.

  Turning, she came face-to-face with Flynn Stewart as she had in the gardens of Greenwich several days ago. “I am going to my barge,” she said.

  “Not remaining with the queen? You are quite the meat of the gossips these days, Elizabeth Meredith. None can understand the queen’s reliance upon you,” he told her.

  “I am Elizabeth Hay, Master Stewart,” she said quietly. “Friendship, I know, is a difficult concept for courtiers to comprehend. Believe me, I should as soon be home as here right now, but the queen commanded me to come. And why are you here? I would have thought you would be riding hard for Scotland to tell your king of this day’s events.”

  “King James is more than well aware of this day’s doings,” Flynn Stewart said, matching his step to hers. “His half sister, Lady Margaret Douglas, is one of Queen Anne’s ladies. You once called me Flynn. Where are you going?”

  “To Bolton House. That weasel-faced Jane Rochford caused a scene over me in the queen’s privy chamber. To ease the situation I asked to be excused. I do not know how George Boleyn can stand her. She is mean and sly.”

  “He can’t stand her, but the marriage was arranged to the advantage of both families,” Flynn explained. “You know how it is among the nobility.”

  “She will come to a bad end; I sense it,” Elizabeth said. “God’s blood! I want to go home. I hate it here!”

  “Then why don’t you go home?” he asked her. “The coronation is over.”

  “The queen begged me to remain until her child is born. I could not refuse her,” Elizabeth told him. “Now there is a piece of prime gossip for your master, Flynn.”

  He laughed. “The queen is like all mares about to foal for the first time. She needs a steadying and gentle hand. None of those peahens around her can offer her that.” He chuckled. “She needed her friend, a good country woman.”