Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (28 page)

in her face which pleaded for him to deny it.

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“No, madam.” He paused, then added spitefully, “The young are

with her.”

It was his final thrust and he saw that it had been successful. The small

lined face shut into a hard little mask.

“I will do as you say,” she muttered grimly and returned to her

restless pacing.

t t t

It was late in the afternoon of a cold December day when Elizabeth

returned from her formal interview with the Queen. She was dressed for

travel with a heavy fur cloak over her riding habit and she was wearing a

new sable hood and a rope of pearls which Kat had not seen before.

“New Year’s presents this time,” said Elizabeth in answer to her

speculative gaze, “to appease her conscience while Renard stabs me in

the back, I suppose.” She sighed suddenly. “No—that’s unjust even for

me. She was always generous to me, I’ll never know why.”

“But what did she say?”

Elizabeth shrugged and walked to the mirror to admire the softly

furred hood.

“It doesn’t matter what she said—or rather what Renard said through

her—he works her like a puppet! As long as I go quietly to Ashridge, say

nothing, do nothing, they can’t touch me. Oh Kat, I shall be free of her

after all these miserable months. Free! Free!” She pulled off the sable hood

and pirouetted round the room. “Free of their hot little hands clutching

at my soul—free of God too,” and on a sudden spurt of laughter she

added, “
anybody’s
God.”

“Shh! Your Grace, for pity’s sake, you will be heard.”

“Oh, I’ll be heard, always—in my own defence. It was her last promise

to me, her word as Queen.”

“And you trust that?” asked Kat doubtfully.

Elizabeth turned to look at the governess and her face was suddenly

serious.

“My sister is the only honest human being I have ever known,” she said

slowly. “If I can’t trust her word I shall trust nothing in this world again.”

You may not need to, thought Kat sadly and went in grim silence to

fetch her riding crop.

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Chapter 11

I
n January, the signing of the marriage treaty between

England and Spain sparked off open unrest in the streets of

London. There was a spate of physical assaults on priests and a shower

of anti-Catholic propaganda found its way even into the palace. On the

day after the public announcement, a dead dog was thrown through the

window of the Queen’s chamber; its head had been shaved and a label

round its neck read: “All priests should be hanged.” Mary stared at the

wretched corpse in silence. This then was what Gardiner had meant

by opposition from the fickle-hearted mob. It was less than six months

since she had ridden in triumph to take possession of this same capital

city, which now seethed with hostility against her faith. She could not

believe it was really happening.

De Noailles, too, was alarmed at the prospect of an imminent alli-

ance which would encircle France with enemies. All that would prevent

this marriage now was open rebellion, so rebellion they must have. His

network of intrigue spread out all over the country, but was centred

in Kent, where Sir Thomas Wyatt was presently rallying and directing

his supporters. Jane Grey’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, had sworn to

raise the Midland counties. There remained only one serious drawback,

the need for a convincing figurehead, and with Jane in the Tower, and

Elizabeth secluded at Ashridge, they were left with Courtenay in that

role. Not a very happy choice, this last sprig of the White Rose, reflected

de Noailles sourly, as he wrote home complaining bitterly of the young

man’s “weakness, faintheartedness, and timidity.” But, needs must when

Susan Kay

the Devil drives, and it was the Ambassador’s lot to rein in this high-

born lout and hold him to their course, in itself no mean feat. Years of

imprisonment had scattered Courtenay’s powers of concentration to the

point where they were virtually nonexistent. After that long period of

physical and intellectual deprivation, women and clothes were now the

sum total of his interest. And though he was quite willing to be king, he

was very unwilling to exert himself in the process of attaining his crown.

He was posing now in front of a mirror, in his private chamber, impa-

tient as a child for the Ambassador’s approval on his choice of suit.

“The red is striking—but I suppose the gold would be more becoming

to my state. Don’t you agree?”

“What? Oh yes—um—very becoming.”

“Of course, there is the green,” Courtenay continued doubtfully.

De Noailles set his goblet down on the table with an irritable bang.

“Perhaps we might continue with our more urgent business, my lord.”

“Oh, urgent is it, now? You ambassadors are all the same, always stir-

ring and meddling, rushing around without a minute to live. There’s

nothing like a few years in the Tower for slowing the pulse, you know.”

If yours slows any more, thought de Noailles irritably, it will stop

altogether.

“Provision for revolt,” he rapped out sharply. “Item: castles all over

the country are being stocked with gunpowder—”

Courtenay gave him a sly glance. “Not at Ashridge I trust, with that

bright spark in residence. What a girl, hey? Armoured like a porcupine!

I swear her tongue’s stabbed me in more places than a pincushion—

splendid bitch, isn’t she?”

De Noailles forced a smile and began again.

“As I was saying—castles are being stocked with gunpowder, ammu-

nition and food. We have relays of horses and men waiting for the signal.

We have provisions in hand for the capture of the Mint, the Tower and

the Queen’s person.”

Courtenay swung round upon him.

“But have you got Elizabeth? That’s what I want to know. What’s the

good of all this grand plotting when she can still slide through our hands

like a slippery fish?”

“If the Lady Elizabeth refuses to join us she will be taken by force of

arms,” said de Noailles shortly.

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Courtenay laughed on a shrill note and clapped the Ambassador on the

back with a force that made him spill his wine.

“God’s death, man, show me the fellow who can take her without it

and I’ll take off my cap to him—aye, and my crown with it!”

t t t

At Ashridge, Elizabeth sat on a bench in the monks’ garden and stared

up at the old stone manor, silhouetted against a dirty blue sky. The

house was encircled by a bleak wood of oak, beech, and sycamore and

the barren branches were like twisted fingers, reaching down to her

with silent menace. She ran her hand across the back of the bench and

held the gathered snow against her temple for a second, until contact

with the burning skin turned it instantly to water and soaked her satin

gloves. She had been taken ill on the journey to Ashridge and she had

been ill more or less ever since, with headaches and pains in her back and

recurrent bouts of vomiting. When her face and body began to swell, her

private physician, fearing a kidney infection, had advised complete bed-

rest, but she had perversely resisted his advice. Rumours of spreading

unrest were filtering daily into Ashridge and had caused her to briefly

consider whether she was being slowly poisoned on Renard’s orders.

But whatever it was, she could not afford to give in to it at the very

moment when she needed all her faculties about her. Shut away in her

bedchamber, she would be unable to question the pedlars and travelling

entertainers who gathered in the Great Hall and provided so large a part

of her information.

She knew by now, from several sources, that her own case was

growing increasingly desperate. Fear that the rebels would swoop on

Ashridge to take her by force had prompted her to place the house in

a state of defence. But how bad that would look in London, and how

easy for Renard to misrepresent that action to the Queen. And now with

Suffolk’s force encamped nearby, she was surrounded by armed men, like

an animal in a snare waiting for the hunters to close in for the kill.

From the rebel leader, Thomas Wyatt, had come an urgent note

advising her to move to Donnington without delay and fortify it against

siege. Even now, several days since she had returned that letter without

reply, she could not rid herself of the paralysing horror born at the sight

of his bold signature. Of all the men in England who could have led this

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Susan Kay

revolt, why did it have to be Wyatt, whose father had loved her mother

with all-consuming passion and chosen to immortalise it in verses that

were still quoted all over Europe?

Forget not yet, forget not this,

How long ago hath been, and is,

The mind that never meant amiss

Forget not yet!

The wind which tossed the skeleton trees seemed to whisper the words

to her with cruel mockery. For she was not likely to forget, any more

than her sister Mary, how the first Thomas Wyatt had gone to the tower,

along with five other men, accused of adultery with his cousin Anne

Boleyn. And how Wyatt, conceivably more guilty than the rest of them

put together, had been the only one to come out again alive and cheat

the axe. Was it mere coincidence or perverted fate that now drove his son

to challenge his lawful monarch for the sake of Anne Boleyn’s daughter?

Perhaps after all, the axe could not be cheated of its client…

As she sat there shivering, staring at the eerie ring of trees, it seemed

to Elizabeth that all her life was twisted by these haunting shadows of

a previous existence, shadows reaching out now to join hands with her

living enemies and wind the coils of treachery tighter round her own neck.

“…
and I have such a little neck
.”

She could sit still no longer, with Wyatt’s verses for her mother

running riot in her head. Chilled to the bone with cold and fear she

fled down the icy paths of the monks’ garden, back to the house which

brooded against the sheltering woods.

The armed guards before the door saluted her and stared curiously as

she mounted the steps, spent and breathless. One, forgetting himself, took

an anxious step towards her, then froze at her furious look and hastily

resumed his position, scarlet with shame at his presumption. At the top

of the steps she paused to look at him and he stiffened, expecting the curt

reprimand which he deserved. But she only smiled a little with pale lips

and let her hand touch his sleeve for a fleeting moment. Then she was

gone, swallowed up by the cool darkness beyond the great door, leaving

him, redder than ever, to face his companions’ jealous twitting.

In the hallway three greyhounds bounded to greet her and almost

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knocked her over in her weakened state. She cuffed them down affec-

tionately and they followed her back into her private chamber, settling

around her as she sank down on the cushions in front of the log fire and

peeled off her gloves. She put her head down on one smooth, short-

haired flank and let the warm fire bathe her closed eyelids; a clock ticked

steadily on the chimney-piece, lulling her towards sleep.

Suddenly, all three dogs sat up with one will, pricking their ears and

staring at the door. A moment later, it opened to disclose Mrs. Ashley,

white with terror, dithering on the threshold.

“Your Grace,” she whispered stupidly, “oh, Your Grace,” and became

totally incoherent.

It was sufficient to make Elizabeth leap up from the hearth and snatch

the document from Kat’s trembling hand, breaking the seal with her long

nails. There was a deathly hush in the room while she read rapidly and

supported herself with one hand against the chimney-piece.

The letter was in the Queen’s own hand and ordered her to London

at once, lest danger befall her “either where you are now or about

Donnington, whither we understand you are shortly to remove.”

The paper fluttered to the floor, and Kat pounced on it, reading it

quickly with bulging eyes.

“
Donnington
,” was all she whispered at last, but it was enough; and

they were silent, staring at each other. For there was no way Mary could

know of the rebels’ suggestion to move to Donnington unless Wyatt’s

letter had been intercepted by spies.

“What shall we do?” moaned Kat helplessly. “Child, what can we do?”

Elizabeth said nothing. The room was growing dim around her and a

curious sound, like the rushing wind, seemed to drown her panic-ridden

thoughts. Kat caught her as she swayed dangerously near the fire, a Kat

suddenly restored to the full stature of calm common sense.

“No more argument, my lady. You are going to bed immediately.”