I guessed that if I went to his apartments I should find Elizabeth there.
I was right; and I was not really surprised to see Thomas Seymour there, for I knew he was a frequent visitor.
I heard sounds of merriment as I approached the apartments but when I entered the schoolroom there was silence. The atmosphere had changed suddenly. Seymour bowed low and, coming to me, took my hand and kissed it humbly, raising his eyes to my face as he did so; there was nothing humble in the look he gave me. His eyes were admiring, his respect was flattering; but that was Seymour's way with women and it did not impress me.
Edward was slightly flushed; Elizabeth looked a little sly. I felt I had intruded on an intimacy which had been very enjoyable to the company.
I went to Edward. He held out his hand to me, and I kissed it.
He was aware of his position—second to the King—and he remembered it on occasions like this, though I imagined where Elizabeth was concerned much formality was dispensed with, for she was certainly in command.
Whenever I was in her company I was always very much aware of her. She seemed watchful. She was not yet ten years old and exceptionally clever—and not only in book-learning; she had a shrewdness, a maturity, a secretive air as though she harbored thoughts which would not bear the light of day. She was not pretty, but her startling vitality called immediate attention to her. Her green gown accentuated the red of her hair; her white skin was clear and radiant. She had more than beauty.
There was Seymour, too, who was of particular interest to me because of what I had just heard from Lady Latimer who was in love with this man and he—so she thought—with her. I wondered how far his love would carry him. Would he take her away… snatch her from under the King's nose and fly with her? Fly where? Leave the country? Seek refuge with the King of France or the Emperor? Would he dare? He looked daring but I fancied he would be concerned with himself. Heads rolled so easily, and his was far too handsome for him to wish to part with it.
I said, “I trust you are well, my Prince, my sister, Lord Seymour?”
Characteristically, I imagined, Seymour answered for them all.
“We are well, are we not? And we trust the Lady Mary is in the same happy state.”
I assured him that I was.
“I seem to have interrupted some frolic,” I said.
“There is always frolic when my Lord Seymour visits us,” said Elizabeth. “Is there not, brother?”
Edward lifted his shoulders and giggled. He looked younger—more like an ordinary little boy than I had ever seen him before.
“The Prince is always gracious to his poor uncle,” said Seymour.
“He calls him his favorite uncle,” added Elizabeth.
“Which gives me great delight, but I fear he flatters me.”
“He does not. He does not,” cried Elizabeth. “And you know it, Lord Seymour. You are his favorite uncle.”
I thought: How fond Edward is of him… and Elizabeth, too. It was understandable. He had charm and good looks, and they went well with his somewhat flamboyant manner.
“It is a great honor for our sister to visit us,” said Elizabeth demurely.
“Even when she interrupts a merry game?” I asked.
“But you are most welcome,” said Elizabeth. “Is she not, Edward? Tell her she is welcome.”
What presumption! I thought. She is telling the heir to the throne how to behave… she, who, though she may be recognized as the King's daughter, is his acknowledged bastard. Yet Edward seemed to like it, and Seymour was amused.
“I have brought news for you,” I said. “Though you may have heard it. It is not really unexpected. Perhaps my Lord Seymour has been imparting it to you and that is the cause of your merriment?”
They were looking at me expectantly.
“You are to have a new stepmother.”
Silence. Consternation. Edward's face puckered. He had known two stepmothers already—although never his own mother. Anne he liked very much, and he still visited her; Catharine Howard's beauty and easy manners had won his heart; he had been very sad to lose her. And now there was to be another!
Elizabeth was alert; and so was Seymour. Did he guess? I wondered. How much did he care for Lady Latimer? Not as much as she cared for him, I speculated.
“Who is it who will be our new stepmother?” asked Elizabeth impatiently.
“It is Lady Latimer.”
My eyes went to Seymour's face. I saw it pale slightly, and for a moment the mask of high spirits and favorite uncle slipped. He was disturbed.
“Lady Latimer!” said Edward. “She is a lovely lady.”
“I like her well,” added Elizabeth, as though that in itself was good enough reason for the marriage.
Seymour said nothing.
I looked at him and said, “For some time the King has been showing his interest in this lady, but I think she was as surprised as you are that he has asked her to be his Queen.”
He still did not speak. Elizabeth and Edward chattered about Lady Latimer and how they would welcome her as their new stepmother. I was sure they were both remembering Catharine Howard, for it was such a short time ago that she had held that unenviable position.
Seymour then said quietly, “My Lady Mary, you are sure of this?”
“I have had it from both Lady Latimer and the King himself.”
“Then it is so,” he said.
“The marriage will take place shortly. You are to be in attendance, Elizabeth.”
“Oh!” She clasped her hands together in ecstasy. There was little she liked better than to be present at royal functions. Showing herself to the people, Susan called it. Susan shared Margaret Bryan's view that Elizabeth would come to either great triumph or absolute disaster. There would be no half measures with Elizabeth. “When will it be?” she demanded.
“Very soon. The King wants no delay.”
She was smiling secretly. She turned to Seymour. “You hear that, my lord? I am to be present at the ceremony.”
Her look was almost defiant. I wondered how much she knew of the love between Seymour and Lady Latimer; she was teasing him in some way; he gave her a strange look, too. He seemed to be recovering fast from the effect of the first blow and it was something in Elizabeth which made him do so, I fancied. It was almost as though there was some secret understanding between them.
I said to her, “You will have to be prepared.”
“Yes. What shall I wear? What am I to do?”
“You will just be there. You will do nothing. It is just a gesture…to show this is a family matter.”
She clasped her hands and looked ecstatic. Edward was smiling, well pleased. I could not fathom Seymour's expression; but I felt sure that he must be very unhappy to have lost his bride.
* * *
MY FATHER WAS DETERMINED that there should be no delay. On the 10th of July of that year 1543 Archbishop Cranmer granted a license for the marriage, and two days later it took place.
Elizabeth and I were present, and with us was our cousin, Lady Margaret Douglas. The ceremony took place in the Queen's Closet at Hampton Court and was presided over by Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester.
The King was attended by that other Seymour, Edward, now Lord Hertford. Thomas had tactfully retired from Court. I wondered whether it was because he could not bear to see the one he loved married to someone else, or that he feared the King might have discovered his feelings for the lady. In any case it would be discreet for him to banish himself. Over the years I had learned something of men, and I was almost certain that Thomas Seymour's feelings might not go as deep as he would charmingly indicate they did. Men such as he charm effortlessly. He did it automatically, and such men should not be taken seriously. Perhaps Lady Latimer had done just that. I was desperately sorry for her. How did she feel as the nuptial ring was put on her finger? Surely her thoughts must be with her predecessors?
I greatly admired my new stepmother. She was a woman of remarkable courage,
and it was sad to think that she, who had been a nurse to two husbands, should have a similar task awaiting her… but with an alarming difference. This last marriage could take her by a few steps to the scaffold; and that was a thought which must always be with her.
Yet after she had overcome her initial fear she gave no sign that it haunted her. As for the King, he was delighted. Most people thought that here was a wife who was personable enough to please him and of a temperament to soothe him; and in any case they might hope for a more peaceful life ahead.
We were of an age to be friends, and I felt this could be a happy state of affairs between us.
On the day of her marriage she gave me a gold bracelet set with rubies. I exclaimed at their beauty.
“I want you to think of me when you wear it,” she told me. “It is a very special wish of mine that we shall be friends.”
I was touched and replied that it was what I hoped for.
“You must not think of me as a mother,” she said. “How could you? I know how dearly you loved your own mother. But perhaps we could be as sisters. I shall regard you and dear Edward and Elizabeth as my own… that is, if they will allow me to.”
“They will be pleased to. Both of them have lacked a mother.”
She nodded. “I want you to accept this money,” she went on. “I know that it is sometimes difficult for you to meet your expenses.”
“Oh please…you are too kind to me.”
“There must be no reluctance to help each other. That is how it is with sisters…is it not? Or it should be.”
She gave me £25, which was quite a princely sum to me.
She went on, “I want to make things happy … between you all and your father. You are at Court now … but Elizabeth shall come, too.”
“That is what she wants more than anything.”
“It is her right, and I shall do my best.”
“She will love you for it.”
“And for other things besides, I hope.”
I said earnestly, “I believe this is a happy day for us all now that you have become the Queen.”
“I pray so,” she said very seriously. “I hope so. You are to come with us on our journey. It is the King's wish.”
“Yes, he has changed toward me of late. Since he was… alone…he has sought my company. Perhaps now he will not want me there.”
She shook her head. “No, there will be no change. You are the King's daughter, and if it is in my power I shall remind him of this…if by some chance he should forget.”
“You must walk carefully,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Never fear,” she replied. “I shall take every step with care.”
* * *
BEFORE THE ROYAL PARTY could leave Hampton on what I supposed was to be a honeymoon, there was trouble over a group of reformers at Windsor.
The teachings of Martin Luther were taking a hold in some parts of the Continent and there were people who were working hard to bring them to England. Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was a firm Catholic, though he wholeheartedly supported the King's supremacy of the Church, but it was the Catholic Church and the only difference from the old religion was that the King was Head of the Church and not the Pope as before.
This was how the King preferred it to be. It was not the religion he objected to—only the power of the Pope to dictate to him. So, Gardiner was favored by him.
He was, however, watchful of those who wanted change, and as a result Anthony Pearsons, a priest, and three others, Robert Testwood, Henry Filmer and John Marbeck, were arrested. John Marbeck was a chorister at Court whose singing had particularly pleased the King.
Books favoring the new religion had been found in their apartments which was enough to condemn them all to the flames.
The Queen asked me to come to her, and when I arrived I found her in deep distress.
She dismissed all her attendants and we were alone.
“What ails Your Majesty?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder nervously.
I said, “None can hear us.”
“It is these men,” she said. “They will be burned at the stake.”
“They are heretics,” I reminded her.
“They are thinkers,” she replied.
“It is forbidden to have books such as they have had in their possession.”
“How can that be a crime?”
“It is a crime because it is against the law.”
“If men are not allowed to think…if they are not allowed to have opinions, how will the world ever advance?”
“They may have opinions if they coincide with what is the law of the country.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot bear this intolerance.”
“Tell me,” I said. “Why does this affect you so deeply?”
“Because these men will be burned for their opinions.”
“A foretaste of what they will suffer in Hell.”
“Do you think God would be as cruel as men?”
“We are taught that Hell awaits the wicked.”
“All these men have done is read books and talk of religion.”
I stared at her. I was horrified… not so much because of her faith— which was diametrically opposed to my own—but because of what this could lead her to. Here she was, a few weeks married to my father, already confessing that she was as guilty as those men. She was leaning toward heresy. Yet such was my affection for her that I could only think of the danger she was in.
“Your Majesty…my lady…”
She held her head high. “I shall always uphold the right of men and women to act according to their consciences,” she said.
“Please… please do not mention this to anyone.”
Suddenly she put her arms round me, and I forgot my reserve sufficiently to cling to her. Already I loved the woman, and I wanted to protect her. My thoughts were all for her safety.
“You must never, never talk like that to anyone,” I said.
“Not yet …” she answered.
“You think…”
“There may come a time. Life is changing. Opinions change. The truth will shine through in the end.”
“You mean… the reformed Church?”
“I mean that whatever is right must prevail.”
“My lady…my dear stepmother, I want you to be here to see it.”
“How fortunate I am to have you as my friend!”
“I want our friendship to last. I do not want it to be cut short. I have lived through some dangerous years…”
“My poor, poor Mary.”
“I have not always said what I believe to be true. I have prevaricated…
I think on more than one occasion I have saved my life by being less than frank.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Promise me you will do the same. If you believe…it is better to live and help that belief… rather than die…however nobly.”
“I want to live. God knows I want to live.”
“Then watch for Gardiner. He will be your enemy.”
“It is at his instigation that these men have been arrested. Mary, I must try to save them.”
“How can you do that?”
“I thought to plead for them with the King.”
“Oh, take care. If Gardiner knew of these… tendencies in you…he would not hesitate. He would do his best to…remove you as others have been removed.”
“I know.”
“You could be in acute danger.”
“For a while the King is pleased.”
“He was pleased with others… for a while. Please be very careful.”
“I will. But I must plead for these men.”
“If you ask for them all to be freed, you will betray yourself.”
“If I say that it is unseemly that men should be burned at the stake while we are celebrating our marriage…”
“You would be suspect. Plead for one. Plead for Marbeck. He was a favor
ite of the King. It would seem as though you liked his music.”
“I did. But it is for his views…”
“I have told you. I have been in danger. My views are as strong as yours. But I know how to preserve my life. There may be work for me to do… work for you…Take care. Please listen to me. Plead for Marbeck. Save his life if you can… then perhaps that might help the others.”
She looked at me steadily. “I believe you may be right,” she said.
I left her. I was absolutely astounded by what she had betrayed to me. She leaned toward the Reformed Faith. I could not believe she understood what acute danger she was placing herself in.
* * *
CHAPUYS VISITED ME and told me what had happened.
He said, “Marbeck is to go free. It is a special favor to the Queen. She asked for the freedom of all four heretics, and the King has compromised by giving her Marbeck. It is whispered that he intended to pardon him in any case, for he did not want to lose one of his best choristers.”
“But the other three?”
“They got to the stake.”
“If she had asked for one of the others, it might have been better then.”
“Who knows? The King is in an uxorious mood at the moment, having been so shortly married. He must have been rather pleased that she asked for Marbeck because he was able to gratify her wish and please himself at the same time—though I am of the opinion that he would not have freed one of the others. A law has been passed to suppress what they call the New Learning, and it is forbidden to be in possession of translations like Tyndale's. It is against the law, and those men have broken the law. I am inclined to think that this is a beginning, and Gardiner will soon have more in the cells awaiting the fiery death.”
He looked at me steadily for a few moments, pausing before he went on, “The Queen is an erudite woman. Gardiner will have his eyes on her… after her pleas for Marbeck. It may be that he will think that it is not only on account of his singing voice that she wants him free.”
In the Shadow of the Crown Page 29
