Perhaps the only reason Mary did not shout "off with her head" at Elizabeth was because she refused to see her. That she was already convicted in Mary's mind was made all too plain. Most of her household was separated from her, her faithful guards and her own ladies, and she was carried to an area in Whitehall palace she had never seen before. She was clearly more prisoner than guest. Nonetheless Elizabeth begged her escort to present a humble plea to be received by the queen, only to be told that Mary had been angered by her presumption in asking for an audience.
Wearily, rehearsing in her mind what she could say to convince any questioner of her innocence, Elizabeth told Blanche to make her ready for bed. But she was not to be left in peace to seek that haven. Before her diminished household could even settle themselves into the cold and empty chambers that had been assigned to them, Chancellor Gardiner and half a dozen clerks entered her inner chamber without announcement or ceremony. The clerks hung back, but Gardiner himself strode up to the chair in which Elizabeth was sitting by the struggling fire.
Without greeting, he said, "You will be received by the queen and judged most mercifully if you freely confess your guilt."
Kat, who had hurried to Elizabeth's side when she saw Gardiner enter, gasped. The chancellor stared at her and said, "Please allow Her Grace to answer for herself, Mistress Ashley."
Elizabeth looked up at him. Although her heart leapt and stuttered within her breast and chills of fear ran icily over her skin, her expression showed only a proud disdain.
"When I was a little girl," she said, faintly but clearly, "I stole some comfits from my elder sister's pocket." A small smile now trembled on Elizabeth's lips. "A little later, Mary reached into her pocket and I, conscious of the evil I had done and fearing my sister, who had always been so kind and loving, would be angry and withdraw her love from me, rushed to her and, embracing her knees, confessed my crime. And Mary, though she told me stealing was very wrong and hoped I would do so no more, lifted me in her arms and kissed me and forgave me. Thus, I know what you say is true, that if I confessed to the queen she would be merciful. Only, I have stolen no comfits, nor have I, since my sister became queen, done any wrong worth confessing."
"You do not consider encouraging an armed rebellion worth confessing?"
"My lord!" Kat protested.
Gardiner gestured one of the clerks forward. "Lead Mistress Ashley away as she will not be silent."
"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed, trying to struggle to her feet and falling back weakly. "I will not be alone in a chamber with all of you men. I have been accused of immorality too often when I was totally innocent. Kat, do not leave me!"
As soon as she understood what Elizabeth wanted, Kat slapped the young clerk's face sharply, wrenched herself free, and ran back to Elizabeth's side where she gripped the chair firmly so it would take considerable force to remove her.
"I will not leave my lady," she cried, "and I still have a few friends in this Court. Somehow, some way, the queen will hear of how you tried to expose her sister to shame."
Gardiner first gaped with astonishment and then choked on a horrified protest. His face turned a deep and ugly red. Although he was sure the queen would not suspect him of impropriety with Lady Elizabeth, she would be very angry if Kat Ashley complained to the Court that he had forced her out so he could be alone with Elizabeth. The queen was already angry with him because he had vehemently opposed the Spanish marriage, trying to convince Mary to marry Courtenay. He needed no more irritation.
"I am a bishop," he snarled, "chaste and celibate by the laws of the Church. How dare you suggest such a thing! Lady Elizabeth, I am shocked that you should think so ill of me."
"And I am shocked," Elizabeth said, even more faintly, seeming to hold herself upright by will alone, "that you should come without invitation into my private chamber and accuse me of horrible crimes when I am sick and dizzy, exhausted from being forced to travel while I am ill, fevered and swollen."
There was a moment of charged silence. Gardiner was furious. Of course it had been his intention to catch Elizabeth while she was weak and confused. He had intended to frighten her with assertions that others had confessed her guilt, but he had not expected her boldly to state that purpose aloud. The red which had faded somewhat from his complexion darkened again. Elizabeth sagged pitiably in her chair and Kat let go of the chair with one hand to help her support herself.
"I am a very busy man," Gardiner said, speaking more gently now. "I came when I had time. I wished only to make all easy for you. A confession of your knowledge and approval of Wyatt's act is all that is necessary to relieve you of all further importunity."
A small gasp of laughter shook Elizabeth and she said, "And of my head, too." Before Gardiner could utter a protest, she obviously made an enormous effort, straightened herself, and said loudly, "No! I never spoke a word to Sir Thomas Wyatt in my life. I never wrote to him. I never sent him any message. I knew nothing of his mad and heinous plan and no inducement, not the certainty of heaven, could have made me approve it. I deny any knowledge of it. I repudiate Wyatt and all he stands for. I am now and always have been Queen Mary's most loving and loyal subject."
Behind Gardiner Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the clerks stirring uneasily. She knew Gardiner had brought them to write down what she said, to take down any confession she made so that if she later wished to deny it there would be evidence. They were not sure what to do now, she thought, and not too eager to be in her chamber any longer. If the rebellion had succeeded, after all, it was this lady who would be queen.
Gardiner's face showed his chagrin over Elizabeth's strong denial for a moment, and then he said, "A most bold statement and one, of course, that I wish were true, but we have evidence it is a lie. Wyatt himself says that he wrote twice to you."
"Under torture," Elizabeth sneered, although her voice was fading, "a man will say whatever he thinks the torturer desires to hear." Her eyes closed. "It may even be that Sir Thomas told the truth and such letters were sent." She forced her eyes open. "If so, I did not receive them. Since I moved to Ashridge, I have accepted only letters from Her Majesty and from the Council."
"The truth of that statement can be easily determined," Gardiner said, his tone threatening.
Elizabeth nodded feebly, her eyes closing again. "By all means," she whispered. "You are free to question all of my people. Indeed, my lord, I have nothing to hide and the more you ask the more my innocence will be apparent."
One of the clerks came forward and whispered in Gardiner's ear. He shook his head, but it was apparent that he would get nothing from Elizabeth, who had resisted his attempt at surprise. His own clerks were growing uneasy at his seeming cruelty to her. Gardiner himself suspected that she was not nearly so ill or weak as she pretended; however, since his surprise attack had failed, he would need to try again in other ways.
Mary had refused to see Elizabeth, and Rhoslyn whispered into her mind that was a wise decision. She hinted silently that leaving Elizabeth alone, ignoring her, would make her more and more uneasy. With that notion she included a sense of loneliness and a very brief flash of Mary's own loneliness in the past which had been somewhat assuaged by Elizabeth's joy in her company. But she did not push those memories.
Harry had warned her that in Mary's present mood what the memories of Elizabeth's childhood could call up was a resentment of how the loving child had changed. Rhoslyn greatly admired Harry's ability to read the queen at second hand through her descriptions. In fact, she admired Harry for many things. True, he was only a mortal, but living Underhill would preserve him for many years. True, he was not at all beautiful, as were all Sidhe. But that was all to the good.
He was different. She did not feel as if he were her brother when he took her hand. His common mortal face was so open, so bright with thought and interest. He was soft and gentle and loving, but he was also courageous, a most deadly fighter. And he knew the intricacies and deceptions of the human Court as she, who had lived with Mary for so many
mortal years did not.
Poor Mary, Rhoslyn thought sadly, she did not understand the Court either. She was blown this way and that by one opinion and then another, only trusting in the one opinion, that of the Imperial ambassador, whom all England hated. She was far too ready to grant her ladies favors, and they were taking bribes to appeal to her. Mary did suspect that. Rhoslyn's importance had been enhanced because she never asked a favor. Rhoslyn sighed. There was no favor Mary could grant her. What Rhoslyn wanted was a home of her own, a place she could invite Harry to share with her, and that could not be in the mortal world.
At least what she had to slide into Mary's mind now was a thought the queen would welcome with joy. Harry had advised her that Elizabeth faced a danger almost as dreadful as execution. Some of the councilors, those most strongly of the Catholic persuasion, had suggested Elizabeth be removed as a focal point of reformist rebellion by marrying her to a Catholic nonentity. Rhoslyn had understood the danger and now she followed Harry's suggestion that Mary's thought should be directed to her own forthcoming happiness as a married woman and that Elizabeth should be punished by being deprived of that happy state.
Rhoslyn's silent reminder of the joy coming to Mary soothed her. Still, Elizabeth was to Mary like a sore tooth. She did not want to think about her, but she could not help it and after a week of pretending Elizabeth was not in Whitehall with her, she summoned Eleanor Gage.
To her horror Mary found that Eleanor, who had been so devoted and dutiful a lady, had fallen under Elizabeth's spell. Mary thought briefly, angrily because no one would believe her, that Elizabeth was a witch. Eleanor was surely enchanted. She had only praise to speak of Mary's sister. Elizabeth was such an amusing lady to serve—oh, sharp tongued at times, but all the more interesting for all that. And never, Eleanor assured the queen, never had Elizabeth said a disrespectful word about Mary.
Mary dismissed Eleanor rather coldly, reminding herself that Eleanor Gage must not serve her sister again. Elizabeth Marberry was a relief. She came the day after Eleanor Gage and although she agreed with Eleanor about Elizabeth's general behavior, she confessed with a sigh that she could not truly like Lady Elizabeth.
"You think she had some secret dealings with the rebels?" Mary asked eagerly.
Rhoslyn, sitting beyond the fire with a book of hours open on her lap, tensed. Had Elizabeth slipped so badly that the queen's spy had real evidence against her?
"No, not that," Marberry said slowly. "I do not know what to believe about that. It seems impossible that she should not have conspired with the rebels, and yet, I would swear until Sir James Croft came she had no idea that Wyatt was raising an army."
"James Croft was one of the chief conspirators," Mary said, leaning forward. "He is in prison being questioned. You say Elizabeth received him?"
"She did, your highness, but it seemed to be under a misapprehension that he was your messenger. She said she recalled his father, Sir Edward Croft, was in your household years ago."
Mary's lips thinned. "Sir Edward was placed in my household by my father, when he was pressing me to agree to his setting my mother aside."
Slowly Marberry shook her head. "Lady Elizabeth did not know that, I am sure. Even so, she would not go aside with him. I must admit that. For so high-spirited a lady she lives very retired and permits few visitors. Only your messengers and members of the Council—oh, and that old merchant, who comes now and again."
"A merchant would be likely to bring news," Mary said.
"Not of politics. Not Lord Denno." Marberry smiled slightly. "Sometimes he talks of business, but never of politics or the Court. Mostly though, when he is a guest at dinner, he talks of his voyages. Of far places. He is interesting and amusing. Often when he sits a little apart with Lady Elizabeth, he talks to her of her studies in Greek and Latin. I can see, aside from the presents he brings her—furs and silk and even jewels—why she is so fond of him. But he always brings something for the ladies too."
"You remember, madam," Rhoslyn said, lifting her head from the book in her lap, "that lovely shawl I brought for you some years ago. The black silk lace. I purchased that from Adjoran, Mercer. Not from Lord Denno himself, of course. He seldom makes sales or takes orders. I had the shawl from his man of business, Joseph Clayborne."
"Of course I remember that shawl." Mary looked over her shoulder and smiled at Rhoslyn. "I remember what a sacrifice it was for you to give it up—but you did give it up, for me. It is lovely. I have it still." Then she frowned. "Those 'studies' of my sister, are they not what led her into her false belief?"
There was a silence and then Elizabeth Marberry said, "I do not know, but I . . . I do not think Lady Elizabeth believes in . . . anything."
Witch, Mary thought, but what she said was, "She denies God?"
"Oh no, no. She . . . I do not know how to explain. She believes with her head, but not with her heart."
"She lies when she says she is a Catholic?"
Elizabeth Marberry knew she was disappointing her mistress when she shook her head. "No. At least no one could ever prove that she lied. She goes to Mass. She does not whisper to her neighbors or fall asleep during the service. She pays strict attention to the Mass and to everything the priest says and does. And when the priest speaks of religion among us she is . . . is truly interested. But . . . but I do not think she loves God."
Rhoslyn did not like what Elizabeth Marberry was saying. Not to love God was no crime that could be proven in Court against Elizabeth, but it was something that might make Mary think of her sister as less than human . . . and thus one who could be killed as one would kill a vicious dog or horse. Fortunately Marberry had made a point of Elizabeth's ability to think, which made Elizabeth more than an animal. Add pity. Rhoslyn sighed silently. Mary must pity Elizabeth. Part of Mary's dislike of her sister was envy of Elizabeth's charm and cleverness.
"I am not at all sure that Lady Elizabeth has the capacity to love God or anyone else," Rhoslyn said. "It is very sad. She would never be a good wife or mother. You are quite right, Mistress Marberry, to Lady Elizabeth religion is an intellectual exercise."
"She has no faith." Mary's voice was filled with an odd mixture of distaste and satisfaction.
"Perhaps not," Rhoslyn said, "but once she has been convinced of the logic and truth of the Catholic rite, she will support it and be faithful to it. It is very sad about lack of faith. Lady Elizabeth has no support in time of trouble. She can never feel God's hand holding her up. Your Majesty, who has felt God's hand uphold her, should pity Lady Elizabeth for her incapacity."
Chapter 27
Rhoslyn's influence with the queen was further enhanced by the effectiveness of her advice on dealing with Elizabeth. Gardiner wished to question Elizabeth every day, to wear her down, to have other councilors question her about her true conversion to the Catholic faith, to have those in charge of interrogating Wyatt and Croft tell her that the men had confessed her involvement. But Rhoslyn reminded Mary of how resistant Elizabeth had been when she was hard pressed at the time of the Seymour scandal.
"She is always active, always doing," Rhoslyn pointed out. "To leave her with nothing to do, no way to discover what others have said of her, no way to defend herself against accusations is more likely to shake her spirit than harsh questioning."
Mary did remember Elizabeth's sturdy denial of any desire to marry Thomas Seymour, although her own people admitted that he had courted her, unwisely and immorally while he was still married. And Elizabeth had escaped all punishment. The Council at the time had even issued a proclamation stating that she was innocent of all stain. Mary advised isolation. Gardiner obeyed.
He was moderately satisfied with the result. The lack of attention seemed to disturb Elizabeth more than confrontation. She was almost eager to talk with him when he came to question her after two weeks. This time he had sent notice of his arrival; Elizabeth actually stood to greet him and seemed distraught. And then she made what seemed to be a serious mistake.
When Gardiner accused her of planning to move to Donnington so she could resist the queen's commands, she lied and said she did not even know where or what Donnington was. Gardiner stared her down and told her he had evidence, Sir James Croft's deposition, that would prove she was lying. With knitted brows she first insisted she spoke the truth and then said slowly that she did not know Sir James Croft.
Gardiner smiled and abandoned that line of inquiry; he had caught her in an outright lie. He had Sir James Croft's testimony and that of her ladies to prove the lie. Blandly he asked several easy questions and then sharply asked why the captain of her household guard had bought a great quantity of arms and supplies to feed many men. Elizabeth said somewhat absently that he would need to ask Sir Edward to explain that, but she was frowning and not seeing what she stared at. And then, much to Gardiner's fury—because so far where he had no proof she could not be frightened into changing any tale she had told—she clapped a hand to her forehead.
"Donnington!" she cried. "I knew the name was familiar. Of course, Donnington is one of my properties although I am not quite sure where it is. But now I remember, and I remember Sir James Croft, too. He was the one who told me of unrest in the country. He advised me to go to Donnington. My ladies can tell you of his visit. We spoke in my reception room. At first I thought he was a messenger from the queen or Council, but he was not, and I would not go apart with him."
And Less Than Kind Page 44
