by Jean Plaidy
Both the Admiral and the Queen were in disgrace.
This was the worst breach of royal etiquette since Mary Tudor, Henry’s sister, had married Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, in such haste after the death of her husband, the King of France. It was remembered that Henry the Eighth had married Katharine Parr quite as soon after the death of Lord Latimer, but he was a King and all-powerful. Such as the Admiral and Katharine Parr should be taught that they could not take the law into their own hands.
Seymour pleaded that he had the King’s consent.
Edward said with dignity that this was so. He had desired the marriage; and, supported by and supporting the two people he loved so dearly, he took on new dignity and authority. He was the son of his father when he told the Council that he approved of the marriage and that it would be as well for the gentlemen to remember that he was their King.
The most furious person at court—with the exception of Elizabeth, who had taught herself to keep quiet when it was necessary to do so—was Anne Stanhope, Duchess of Somerset, the wife of the elder Seymour brother.
She had hated Katharine Parr ever since the death of the King.
It was ironical, she declared, it was ridiculous that the woman should take precedence of her. She was the wife of the Protector, the true governor of England; and because of Katharine Parr’s marriage to the late King, she was the first lady in the land. The Duchess recognized that the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth, and the King’s divorced wife, Anne of Cleves, must have precedence; that was understood. But that Katharine Parr, who was now but the wife of her husband’s younger brother, should do so, was monstrous.
She faced her husband when she heard the news and, though fully acquainted with her turbulent moods, never had Edward Seymour seen her so furious.
“The Dowager Queen!” she cried. “And who is this Dowager Queen? Katharine Parr! King Henry the Eighth married her in his doting days when he had brought himself so low by his cruelty and his lust that no lady of honor would venture near him. And I … I, my lord, must give place to her! Once she was Latimer’s widow; now she is the wife of your brother…your young brother…and yet she is placed above me. Methinks we shall have to ask Master Admiral to teach his wife good manners. And if he will not, then I swear I will.”
The astute Protector, both calm and cold, ever ready to see an advantage and be on the spot to take it a second or two before a rival could do so, was yet gentle with his Duchess.
“Anne,” he pleaded, “be calm. Nothing can be done at this moment. You must accept this state of affairs. She has married Thomas, and, no matter what we do, we cannot prevent that.”
“Do you not see that your brother Thomas has done this that he may become more powerful than you are?”
“I am watchful of him,” he answered serenely.
“With the Queen his wife, and the two of them preparing to mold the King, what might they not do?”
“The King is in our care. Thomas may be his uncle, but so am I. And I am the elder.”
“You have been sterner with him than Thomas has. Thomas has bribed him with gold, and bemused him with charm. Beware of your brother.”
“I am wary, dearest Anne. I am ever watchful. Thomas knows how to charm people, but there his accomplishments end. He is a fool, that brother of mine.”
“His charm has brought him much. It has already brought him the Queen.”
“I fear neither Thomas nor his Queen. I and my Duchess will be a match for them.”
She smiled. They were together in all things, bound by affection and ambition. To her he was not cold and ruthless; to him she was not proud and haughty.
“My dear,” he said, “this matter of marriage has set me thinking. What would you say to our daughter Jane’s marrying the King? It would not be the first time a Jane Seymour sat upon the throne.”
The Duchess flushed with pleasure. “Our daughter…Queen of England!”
He kissed her cheek.
“You would like that, eh? And what do you say to the Lady Jane Grey for our son?”
She seized his hand and pressed it. “Our daughter a Queen!” she repeated. “Our son married to one who is not so very far from the throne. My lord husband, there are glorious days ahead for us.”
“There, my love, you see we are doing well. Do not let us begrudge Thomas his Queen.”
She looked momentarily grave. “He has his Queen; he has his influence with the King; and our daughter is not yet Queen of England, our son not betrothed to the Lady Jane Grey. Methinks that Thomas should be shown he cannot flout the Protector’s authority.”
“How should we show our displeasure?”
“By confiscating all the jewelery which King Henry gave to Katharine Parr. It is not in truth her property now, because it belongs to the crown; and you, as Protector, are responsible for it.”
He looked at her slyly. “Much of it would become you, my dear.”
“That it would! But I could not wear it—and should your younger brother’s wife be adorned with jewels that I may not wear?”
He put his arm about her waist. “Why, indeed,” he said, “should my brother’s wife wear jewels which mine cannot!”
TO SOME IT MIGHT have seemed difficult to concentrate on lessons; this was not the case with the young Elizabeth. Hurt and humiliated she had been, but there were times when she could completely banish that humiliation from her mind. She could welcome what had happened with Seymour as an experience from which she could learn much; and one thing she had learned was that no amount of study could give a Princess that knowledge of human nature which was perhaps more desirable than any other. A good understanding of the people would be the first requirement of one who planned to rule them.
So, even while she wept, while she gave herself up to silent rages, she could not be altogether angry with the newly married pair.
She was determined to face the truth. Katharine was in love with Thomas Seymour, and she did not see him as the avaricious philanderer; therefore it would be folly to feel anger against the Queen. As for Thomas, he was still Thomas; and she had never believed him to be a saint.
She must be calm; she must try to understand the motives behind people’s actions, she must therefore welcome all experience, however bitter.
Her servants were her friends; she had never to ask them in vain for any special service. Her appealing youthfulness, her dangerous position, that troublous childhood through which she had passed, touched them deeply and bound them to her. Moreover, although she could at times be more imperious than any, she could also show the utmost familiarity. She was loyal to them and defended them always if they were in any trouble. These qualities bound them to her, and if she knew the secret of the bonds, that did not make them less secure.
Her cofferer, Thomas Parry, had not hesitated to betray the Admiral to her. When the news of Thomas’s marriage to the Queen was bruited abroad, Parry had looked sly, and Elizabeth, sensing this, demanded to know why.
“My lady Princess,” said Parry, “he has married the Queen, but to my mind he was hoping for the Princess.”
She could not hide her satisfied smile. “Master Parry, why do you say that?”
“It is because of what happened the day after the King’s burial.”
“And what was that?”
“My Lord Admiral sought me out and put to me many questions concerning your ladyship.”
“Questions! And how dared you discuss me with the Admiral!”
“’ Twas not your ladyship so much as your possessions, and doubtless he thought I would be the person most fitted to inform him in such matters.”
“My possessions!”
“Yes, he would know what lands and estates were yours, and methinks he was well pleased with what was coming to you.”
The Princess’s eyes narrowed and she laughed immoderately.
“The Admiral is a very cautious man, Tom Parry.”
“Indeed, yes, my lady. But methinks he has a fondness for your
person which equals that for your lands.”
“My stepmother’s possessions were greater than mine, and her person more charming?”
She waited, and Parry, being so fond of her, could not disappoint her.
“The possessions, yes, my lady; but how could the charms of a middleaged lady compare with those of a young girl… and a young girl who …” He paused.
“Who…? What were you about to say, Master Parry?”
“A young girl who is acknowledged to be a beautiful Princess.”
She held her head very high. “But you flatter me,” she said. “I did not come to you for flattery.”
Then she left him, and Parry looked after her, smiling. She could not deceive him. He had seen the heightened color, the flash of her eyes. He judged that if she had refused my Lord Admiral—as Kat Ashley had told him she had—she had been in two minds about him. Seymour was a man who knew how to charm the women.
Parry would lose no time in telling Mistress Ashley of their Princess’s words. They were a pair of gossips; and since their little Princess’s welfare was so near their hearts, they enjoyed, more than anything, discussing her actions.
“God bless her!” said Parry aloud. “The sly, conceited little Princess. God bless her! May she come to greatness, and I doubt not that she will, with her pretty, cunning ways.”
Elizabeth went on, feeling just a little piqued that Seymour had asked such questions concerning her property. She could understand his asking those questions; they were such as she herself would have put; and she, like Seymour, would have been influenced by the answers. Such a Princess, determined on practical behavior, could not, therefore, entirely blame Thomas Seymour for making such inquiries.
She remembered now those occasions when they had met since his marriage. He had kissed her with lingering tenderness and his eyes had shown traces of passion when they rested upon her.
We understand each other, they seemed to imply. We are of a kind, made for each other. What a little fool you were to refuse me! Are you realizing that now?
She did understand him. He was a man who could love two women at the same time, for there was no mistaking his tenderness when his eyes rested on his wife. At the same time he could desire Elizabeth.
She also was capable of two loves. One for Seymour and one for power.
They were alone together, a few weeks after the marriage had been announced. She had been walking near the Dormer Palace, and he came upon her when she had eluded her attendants and had walked near Blandels Bridge.
She believed he had seen her and followed her; it was because of this that she had slipped away from her attendants.
“This is a happy meeting,” he said, catching up with her as if by chance near a clump of trees which would provide a screen and protection against prying eyes.
“Happy for whom?” she asked. “For you, my lord, or for me?”
“Dare I hope, for us both? I have seen little of you in these last few months.”
“’ Twas two days ago, my lord, that we met.”
“I mean alone,” he said with that low caressing note in his voice which, in spite of her knowledge of him and herself, could not fail to thrill her.
“Alone?” she said, looking about her as if surprised to find herself unattended.
“How beautiful you are!” he said. “As beautiful as this May morning. The year is in its springtime and so are you.”
“My lord, your flatteries fall on deaf ears.”
“And what has befallen your royal ears that they are deaf to flattery?”
“Do not mock me, I beg of you.”
“It is sometimes easy to hide deep feelings behind mocking words.”
She could see the bluebells under the trees bowing in the faint breeze, and she fancied they were the men and women of England bowing to her greatness, reminding her of her royalty. But she could smell the May flowers and see the budding and blossoming of the trees; the sun was warm on her face; she felt reckless because there was spring in the air.
She could not resist dallying with him, luring him on to flirtation, that most pleasant of all pastimes, allowing him to give her those toys for which she most longed—fl attery and admiration— showing her that if she had not yet the power for which she longed as a Queen, she had the subtle power of an attractive woman.
“I could not take you seriously when you speak of deep feelings,” she said.
He tried to seize her hand.
“My Lord Admiral,” she went on, “methinks you forget the respect due to me. You find me here unattended and you forget.”
“I forget everything,” he said, “but that you and I are here… alone together.”
“Thus speaks the bridegroom?” she said, lifting her eyes to his, mocking and inviting. “The bridegroom of a few weeks! Or is it longer? Methinks you may have become my stepmother’s bridegroom before ever you went through the ceremony of marriage with her.”
“You’re a saucy wench!” he said with a laugh.
“My lord, how dare you!”
“I would dare much with you, my lady; and methinks you invite me to the daring.”
“I would be alone. I give you leave to retire.”
“Your eyes invite me to stay, Princess.”
“How dare you treat me thus… because you find me here alone and unprotected?”
The Admiral laughed. She was as fond of make-believe as her father had been. She wished to play the part of the pursued and reluctant maiden.
“You’ve a droll little face,” he said. “And I have a weakness for red hair.”
He held a lock of it in his hands and, bending his head, swiftly kissed it.
She pushed him away; she now wished to play the haughty Princess, for she would not let him think she could easily forget that he had humiliated her deeply.
“What dost think the Queen, my stepmother and your wife, would say if she knew that, scarce had the King been dead a week, you were suggesting marriage with me?”
“Have you not told her, then?”
“You must be very sure of your charms, my lord, since you think that I might have told her that, and she still remain so affectionate toward you that she would consent to become your wife.”
“I am sure of them,” he said; and bending his head swiftly, he kissed her lips.
She gasped, but her flush betrayed her enjoyment.
“Aye,” he went on, mocking her, “and not only am I sure that I can charm the Queen… but others also.”
“I could carry tales of this to the Council,” she said threateningly.
“You could, my Princess.”
“And you would suffer for it.”
“And you would not? They would say: ‘And how came the Lady Elizabeth to be alone in such a place with the Lord Admiral, her step-father?’”
“Why should she not be…if her attendants had left her?”
“Certainly she could be…if she had eluded her attendants.”
“You presume too much, sir.”
“I would I might presume more.”
Her defenses dropped suddenly; he had that effect upon her. She said in a pathetic voice: “You asked my hand in marriage, and then you must have gone straight to my stepmother and made similar protestations of love.”
“You refused me,” he reminded her.
“I could not marry without the consent of the Council.”
“Nor could the Queen… but she did.”
“You did not seek to marry for love, My Lord Admiral.”
“That is just what I did.”
“When you asked me, or my stepmother?”
“When I asked you both.”
“You thought I should be the better prize. Was that why I had the honor of the first proposal?”
“Why do you ask? I see in your eyes that you believe yourself to be the greatest prize in the world. You respect me for my wit; therefore you must know that I could not fail to recognize that prize.”
“You are a bold
man, Admiral.”
“You are a bold Princess. Is that why we like each other, do you think?”
“Have a care, my bold Admiral.”
“I will, my bold Princess. You must have a care. Even more than I perhaps, you must take care.”
She stepped away from him. “I beg of you to cease this unmannerly conduct toward me.”
He smiled ironically. “My lady Princess, you may be sure that I will follow your wishes in that respect, whatever they may be.”
She walked away from him, back through the meadows to the Palace. Her cheeks were flushed and her spirits high.
She was pleased, for she was now rid of the tiresome problem of considering a marriage which would be far beneath her; and at the same time she need not dispense with the handsome gentleman’s wooing.
KATHARINE PARR WAS ANGRY with her brother-in-law and his wife.
Anne, Duchess of Somerset, had refused pointblank to carry her train. She had said insulting things about her sister-in-law, pointing out that it was unseemly for the wife of the Protector to pay homage to his younger brother’s wife.
Lady Herbert called at Seymour Place to see the Queen; she was vaguely worried about the attitude of the haughty Duchess.
Katharine embraced her sister warmly. Anne Herbert studied Katharine and found it difficult to believe that this happy woman was the same one who had almost died of terror less than a year ago.
“There is no need to ask how you are,” said Lady Herbert. “It is writ on your face.”
“I am well, sister. And you? And my Lord Herbert?”
“Both well, Kate. It is wonderful to see you thus.”
“Oh, Anne, I never thought to come to such happiness. It seems now that everything I suffered has been worth while, since I could never have appreciated this to the full had I not known great misery.”
“You deserve all the happiness in the world. And my lord, your husband?”
“He is well and as happy as I am.”
“May God preserve your happiness,” said Anne Herbert; and she said it fervently, for she was not so inclined to believe in the fine qualities of Thomas Seymour as was Katharine. There were too many well-authenticated stories concerning his light behavior, his ambitions, and the schemes he had once laid to bring about a union with the Princess Elizabeth. She wondered whether she should warn her sister, but when she remembered that terrible melancholy which she had previously witnessed, she could not spoil, by one word of warning, this unsullied happiness which her sister was now enjoying.
