by Jean Plaidy
Avidly she learned all she could learn of the histories of England, France and Spain; and she imagined herself in a place of high state, governing countries. Two pictures dominated her dreams; one was of herself in the jeweled raiment of a Queen with her ministers about her, accepting her merest word as law; in the other she was lying under a hedge, as a serving woman might, and Thomas was beside her.
So passed the weeks with her stepmother at Chelsea.
Occasionally she went to court and saw her little brother. Edward seemed weighed down by his state duties. Whenever she saw him she thought: Kingship is too much for Edward. That which should adorn his head like a saint’s halo is but a weight he is not strong enough to carry.
What did her sister Mary think of all that was happening? Mary too, one step ahead of Elizabeth, must have her dreams. Hers were not of power and glory, of adulation, of wisdom to make her country great; her one thought was of turning England back to Rome. The clever girl who was not yet fourteen felt an inner exultation when she thought of Mary, since to force the people to what they loved not, was no way to rule, no way to keep the scepter in the hands and win the love and adulation of one’s subjects. She called to mind her father’s rule. His policy had been to destroy the dangerous men at the top and placate the mob. Already she was smiling at the people—the cottagers, the merchants and apprentices—when she went abroad. Already they were returning her smiles, liking her youthful beauty and her friendliness. “God bless the Princess Elizabeth!” they cried when they saw her. She was astute enough to know that this sign of her growing popularity must not show itself too often. It must not be known that already she was wooing the people, the common people who, those foolish ones did not fully understand, ultimately decided whether their monarchs should rule.
It was during the month of May when she made a discovery. She was lying drowsily on her bed in her apartment at the Dormer Palace; it was just on midnight, and through the slight opening where the curtains about her bed had not been pulled together, she caught a glimpse of the moonlight which flooded her room.
Suddenly she heard a sound in the grounds below. It might have been the snapping of twigs or the sound of a footfall—she was not sure; but she felt certain that someone was down there creeping stealthily about the gardens.
She remembered gossip she had heard among her women.
“They say he comes at night.”
“They say she meets him at the postern gate…and lets him into her chamber….”
Elizabeth had taken little notice. It was not unusual for a woman to have a lover, to bring him into the palace at night. She wondered now who the man was. If she discovered, she would tease the woman in the morning. She got out of bed and went to the window, creeping that she might not disturb her attendants who were sleeping in the room beyond, with the connecting door open.
She knelt on the window-seat.
Moonlight lay across the grass, and there…coming across it, was a man.
She had not been mistaken then….
She drew back suddenly in delighted terror.
He is coming to me! she told herself. How like him! He will climb the creeper to my room. And what shall I do? He will be seen. There will be scandal. I shall have to make them keep quiet…I…
She placed her hand on her heart and felt its mad beating under the thin stuff of her nightgown.
He must not come….
Yet she hoped, of course, that he would.
Then, as she watched, she knew that she need not fear his coming. She would not have to deal with a delicate situation, for she had no part in it—except that of looker-on. Another person had appeared. There was the small figure of a woman. She ran to Seymour, and he and the woman seemed to melt into one. The woman’s hood fell back exposing the head of the Dowager Queen.
Elizabeth watched their kissing, the hot blood in her face, the sweat in her palms.
“How dare he!” she murmured. “And how dare she!”
She watched them, her rage increasing. He had released Katharine now. They stood looking at each other; then he put his arm about the Queen and they turned toward the Palace.
So the Queen was taking Thomas Seymour secretly to her apartments. She was behaving, Elizabeth told herself, like any kitchen slut.
She remained kneeling at the window after they had disappeared, picturing them in the silences of the Queen’s chamber.
Her women would know, and they would keep her harlot’s secrets. Katharine Parr had always won the regard of those who served her. Doubtless Kat Ashley knew, for did not Kat make it her task to discover everything that went on? And Kat would have kept it from her mistress because she feared such news would wound her pride.
If I were Queen, meditated Elizabeth, if I were Queen of England now!
She gave herself up to thoughts of the torture she would inflict on those two.
But her rage was only temporary, for she loved them both. That was what hurt so badly. Who could help loving Katharine Parr? Ingratitude was not one of Elizabeth’s failings; she could not forget how the Dowager Queen had changed the state of the neglected princesses when she had become the King’s wife. Elizabeth must love Katharine for her virtues, while she loved Seymour in spite of his sins.
These two had betrayed her; but the Queen, of course, knew nothing of the betrayal. But he knew. He was laughing at her whose hand he had asked in marriage when he was the lover of Katharine Parr.
Elizabeth went back to her bed and tried, without success, to banish thoughts of those two together. The pictures her mind conjured up for her were so vivid. They embodied all that Elizabeth wanted for herself and dared not take, all that was denied her because of her dream of Queenship.
Her mouth grew prim. This was an insult to her father, the great King Henry. They were traitors, both of them. What if she betrayed them? What would be the fate of those two if the Duke of Somerset, the Lord Protector, knew what his brother was doing with the Dowager Queen?
What if there was a child…a son! And what if they declared that son to be the late King’s! Elizabeth grew cold at the thought. She knew at that moment that her desire for the crown would always be greater than her desire for Seymour or any man.
They would not dare declare their son the King’s son. If they tried to, she would let nothing stand in her way of humiliating them…destroying them.
I could have had him, she reminded herself. Poor Katharine! She is the one who is being cheated.
She could not sleep. She lay, conjuring up more pictures of their lovemaking until the dawn came.
She was at the window, watching his hasty departure.
THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL sought audience with the King at the palace of White Hall. This His Majesty was very willing to grant.
“A good morrow to you, my Lord Sudley,” said the King.
The Admiral bent low and kissed the little hand. Then, lifting his face which was turned away from the King’s attendants, he slowly closed one eye and almost imperceptibly jerked his head. The little King’s face flushed with pleasure. Uncle Thomas meant: Let us be alone together.
There was nothing that would please Edward more.
“I would be alone with my uncle,” he said. “Pray leave us.”
He looked fearfully at his attendants as though he suspected that they might refuse; but there were no gentlemen of great importance among them at that moment to offer that advice, proffered ingratiatingly and yet in such a manner as to imply that His Majesty—for all his titles—was but a child, and a child who was in duty bound to obey his ministers.
When they had gone, Thomas said: “And how fares the King?”
“He was not feeling well until the Lord High Admiral called to see him. That lifted his spirits mightily.”
“My dearest nephew!”
“Uncle Thomas, it is long since I have seen you.”
“You are so guarded now, continually surrounded by your counselors. There seems hardly room for poor Uncle Thomas.”
> “There is always room for Uncle Thomas.”
“Tell me, what money does Your Grace need?”
“I will show you. I have written out what I need and what I owe.”
“Then let Uncle Thomas take care of that.”
“Dear Uncle, it seems so strange. I am a King, and yet I have to do what I am told. I am kept short of money, and I have my tutors who call me ‘Majesty’ and yet hint at stern punishment if I fail in my duties.”
“Be of good cheer. To be a King is a great honor. But more so when the King is no longer a boy. Now if you were a man like myself or like your father…”
“How I wish I were! Yes…like my father, so that I only had to raise an eyebrow to have everyone trembling. How fares my mother? Have you seen her? It seems long since I have. I often think of the days when she would spend long hours with us…my sister Elizabeth and Jane Grey…while we were at our lessons. I miss them all sorely.”
“They are all well. They miss Your Majesty.”
“It seems a sad thing to be a King and not to have those you love about you. Oh yes, I would I were like my father.”
“Marry! He was a boy once. Soon your boyhood will be over, dear Edward. You will be a man; you will marry a wife…and, if you are like your father, mayhap six.”
The little King smiled sadly. “One would suffice for me.”
“You are wise, dearest Majesty. I myself would be happy with a wife, I am thinking.”
“It surprises me that you have not one. You are no longer young and, from all I have heard, the ladies are fond of you.”
“My lord King, if you were to command me to marry a wife, then I should have no excuse for remaining single.”
“I? Command you? Dearest Uncle, what do you mean?”
The Admiral’s eyes were alert. He loved the boy; indeed he did; and he was enjoying this moment. He had committed a great indiscretion. He had married the Dowager Queen, although her husband had been dead little more than three months. It was, to say the least, a great breach of court etiquette; he was not sure that it would not be regarded as a crime. The Council would be furious at his conduct, and he needed the approval of the King.
“If you were to choose a wife for me, whom would you choose? Think carefully, dearest nephew. When I was your age I used to imagine the people I loved best, married to one another. Just tell me; if you could pick a bride for me, on whom would you decide?”
Edward smiled. Like many whose minds are heavily burdened with learning, his humor was a little childish. He shut his eyes.
“I must think of a lady of your own age,” he said. “The lady must be one whom I love as much as I love you. There is only one grown lady whom I love as I love you.”
“Then you should command me to marry her, Sire.”
“How can I do that, my lord?”
“You are the King. Your Majesty has only to command. Tell me her name, Sire.”
“It is my stepmother, the Queen.”
“But…I love her. How did you know? Your Majesty, you are most astute! If I might choose from all the ladies in this land…nay, in all the world, I would choose Queen Katharine. So Your Grace commands me to marry her?”
“Yes,” said the King. “I do.”
Seymour knelt and kissed his hand.
“And none dare disobey the King’s command!” he said with a wink, and they laughed together.
“I shall be glad,” said Edward, “when I have a wife.”
“I know the very one for you. I know the lady of your choice.”
“Who then?”
“The Lady Jane Grey.”
“I love her dearly,” admitted Edward. “It would be wonderful to have her with me always. I am so lonely sometimes.”
“I cannot command Your Majesty to marry, as Your Majesty commands me.”
“But if you could, Uncle Thomas, would you command me to marry Jane?”
“I would, dearest nephew. But as I cannot, I will do everything within my power to bring about the match.”
“How will you do that?”
“As yet I cannot say. But, by God’s precious soul, I will do my utmost. There! You have my oath on it.”
They laughed together and the pleasant interview continued until some of the King’s ministers demanded an audience.
Seymour left, promising the King to return soon. He was pleased with the results of his little game. He had received the King’s consent to his marriage; and it would certainly be in the interests of the Reformed Party, to which, for political reasons the Seymours belonged, to have the King married to Lady Jane Grey, for little Jane had been brought up in the reformed faith, and the Catholic influence must be suppressed.
Seymour’s thoughts were merry as he rode to Chelsea to spend the night with his wife.
WHEN THE COURT HEARD the news of the marriage of the Dowager Queen and Lord Sudley it was deeply shocked.
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?”
