The Lady Elizabeth (11 page)

A kiss, a curtsy, and she was gone. She did not see the tear run down the little boy’s cheek as the door closed behind her.

“The King’s wedding
is
going ahead tomorrow,” Kat said excitedly, coming into Elizabeth’s chamber. “I heard some courtiers talking.”

“Will I be going?” asked Elizabeth, looking up from her book. “I could wear my new blue gown.”

“I’m not sure, my lady,” Kat replied uncertainly. “You must wait to be summoned.”

“I hope I am,” the child said. “It’s Twelfth Night tomorrow. There will be feasting and revels. I do so want to be there!”

She waited, fretting. The hours passed. Nothing happened. The King did not send for her.

Elizabeth was bitterly disappointed to discover, late the next morning, that the wedding had already taken place, in a private ceremony in the chapel.

“Never mind,” said Kat, “the good news is that you are to attend His Majesty in his presence chamber this evening. There will be a masque and dancing and the usual revelry for Twelfth Night.”

Elizabeth clapped her hands in glee. This was what she loved best…

“The blue gown, I think,” said Kat, smiling.

The King, flushed with fine wine, sat glowering at the masquers, who were nervously performing a piece in which Hymen, the God of Marriage, was blessing the wedding of Orpheus and Eurydice and encouraging them to be fruitful. Young girls of good family in flowing white robes were trilling in praise of nuptial bliss while weaving in and out in an intricate dance.

Elizabeth thought the players were enchanting and the singing beautiful, but she was equally interested in the new Queen, who sat stiffly beside the King, her angular face set in a smile that did not reach her heavy-lidded eyes. She was not much like her picture, Elizabeth thought, and her outlandish German gown was frightfully unflattering, and lacked the long train that was de rigueur at court. Worse still, worse than the deep, guttural voice with which Anna had greeted her on her presentation the previous day, was the unsavory odor of unwashed linen and stale fish that the Princess carried everywhere with her. Yet she was amiable enough, and seemed well disposed toward her new stepdaughters, so Elizabeth steeled herself to overlook that, wondering only what her father, that most fastidious of men, would have to say about it.

He certainly did not appear very pleased with his new bride, and that unfortunate lady now looked plainly terrified, as well she might, for Henry’s good manners—stretched to the limit these past days—had finally failed him, and no one could be in any doubt that he was in a very bad temper indeed. Contrary to his normal fashion, he had not applauded the masquers once, and consequently they had played to a silent court.

Hymen was now addressing His Majesty, reminding him of the joys to be had in the marriage bed. Elizabeth couldn’t understand much of what he said, but her father didn’t seem very pleased by it; in fact, he looked anything but joyful.

After the masque had ended and the relieved players had fled the chamber, the King’s jester, Will Somers, tried to raise a smile by telling some jokes, but Henry still sat with a face like thunder, eyes narrowed. Somers rashly decided to take advantage of his fool’s immunity and plunged on.

“Are we keeping you from your sport, Harry? Go to it, man, delay no longer! Take your sweet bride to bed and swive her lustily!”

The King banged his fist on the table, and everyone jumped.

“Enough!” he snarled. “Hold your tongue, Fool. Remember, the Queen and the ladies are present.”

He waved Somers away and signaled to the musicians once more.

“Play!” he commanded.

The music began, a lilting melody with a lively drumbeat. Henry surveyed his courtiers with a jaundiced eye.

“What ails you all?” he barked. “Up, up, dance!”

Several gentlemen rose hastily, bowed to their ladies, and led them onto the floor. Elizabeth was tapping her foot in time to the music, praying that someone would ask her to dance, when she saw the King turn to the Queen, a malicious twinkle in his eye.

“Will you do me the honor, madam?” he asked.

Queen Anna looked perplexed and turned to her interpreter, the stately German matron standing at her elbow, for enlightenment.

“Madam, the King wishes you to dance,” frowned the matron disapprovingly, as if this were a most outlandish and immoral request. Henry glared at her.

Anna’s face fell, and she spoke in a low voice to the interpreter.

“Your Majesty, the Queen does not dance,” announced that lady virtuously. “We do not have dancing in Cleves.”

“By God, she will dance!” Elizabeth heard her father say irately. “Get that dragon out of my sight!” As the woman was escorted, protesting, away, he turned to Anna.

“Up!” he commanded, rising. There was no mistaking what he meant. The Queen rose and allowed herself to be led out. It was true, she could not dance, and the courtiers held their breath as she stumbled, fell in and out of step, and trod heavily on the King’s toe. He winced but said nothing as he lumbered heavily across the floor. At last, the dance drew to its embarrassing close, and the King handed his red-faced bride back to her seat.

“We will retire now,” he announced, and the whole court rose to its feet. Anna’s ladies followed her out, and the King and his gentlemen went after. As he left, Elizabeth heard him muttering to the Duke of Norfolk, “I tell you, my lord, if it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do what I must this night for any earthly thing!” And he stumped out of the chamber.

After that, Kat hurried a sleepy Elizabeth away to bed, fearing she might overhear more bawdy talk and speculation among the courtiers.

Elizabeth had seen lots of letters written by grown-ups, so she knew what to write. She dipped her quill in the ink and scribed slowly and laboriously in her clear, childish script.

Permit me to show, by this letter, the zeal with which I respect you as Queen, and my entire obedience to you as my mother. I am too young and feeble to have power to do more than send you my felicitations at the start of your good marriage. I hope that Your Majesty will have as much goodwill for me as I have zeal for your service.

That sounded well, she thought, and it might move Queen Anna to invite her back to court. She was enjoying her sojourn at Hertford, that pleasant red-brick palace nestling on the banks of the River Lea, as well as the company of her little brother, for it was rare that they were lodged in one place together, but she had had a prolonged taste of court life and she was desperate to return there.

Kat entered the schoolroom.

“What’s that you’re writing, my lady?” she inquired.

“A letter to the Queen,” Elizabeth replied imperiously.

“To the Queen?” Kat was astonished. “Let me see.” She read the letter carefully, twice.

“I’m not sure that you should send this,” she said.

Elizabeth looked crestfallen.

“But I
so
want to go to court,” she said plaintively. “
Please,
Kat.”

Kat thought for a moment.

“Very well,” she said reluctantly. “I suppose there’s nothing in it that could give offense. Seal it and I’ll have it sent.”

Elizabeth spent the next few days excitedly anticipating her return to court. She looked forward to the feasts, the revels, the chance to wear her fine clothes, and the lords and ladies praising and complimenting her. She resolved to win the love of Queen Anna, unpleasant odors or not, who would surely use her influence with the King so that Elizabeth could be given her own apartments at court. That would be wonderful!

What happened next therefore came as a shock.

“You have received a letter from Master Secretary Cromwell,” announced Kat, entering her chamber. Elizabeth jumped up excitedly, then checked herself, for Kat’s face was grave.

“What does it say?” she cried.

“I hardly know how to tell you, child,” Kat said, her voice sounding unusually emotional. “He writes,
I am commanded by the King to say that he will not hear of your coming to court to attend upon the Queen. I am to tell you that you had a mother so different from this woman that you ought not to wish to see her.
”

Elizabeth burst without warning into noisy tears, shocking to Kat, for this child was usually so composed, so contained.

“What does he mean?” she sobbed.

“I would not take it too seriously,” Kat soothed. “This is a difficult time for His Majesty. By all reports, he is not happy with the Queen.”

“But what does he mean, I had a mother so different from this woman that I ought not to want to see her?” Elizabeth had ceased crying now, but her face was tragic and perplexed.

Kat sat down at the table next to her and pushed away the copy book. She took the child’s hands in hers and held them tightly.

“Elizabeth, your mother was a charming lady. She was not beautiful, but men found her very attractive. Your father the King pursued her for seven years, which must give you some idea of how fascinating she was. Accomplished too. Everything she did, she did gracefully—she could dance, sing, embroider, write poetry, play the lute and virginals, and as for intelligence and wit—well, she shone. She was slim and poised and always elegantly dressed, for she had a way with clothes and could make much from a little. You are very like her in many ways. Already I can see that.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly, avidly drinking in this information about her mother. She had not known these details, and yet in some strange way, they were familiar to her. She could just remember a gorgeously attired lady, smelling of rosewater, running with her through a corridor or tying a pearly bonnet under her chin. There were other vague, less comforting, images, too, but they lay just beyond her recall now, no matter how hard she tried to summon them up. They were all she had of her mother, those memories, but now she could flesh them out from Kat’s revelations.

“The King is right,” Kat went on, “Queen Anna
is
so different from your mother. In no way could she hope to conform to his ideals of womanhood, God help her. So my impression is that the King is feeling very sorry for himself, having married such a lady. He would never admit it, but he is probably remembering how much he was captivated by your mother, and who knows, he may even regret putting her to death. I do not believe he will ever love another as much as he loved her.”

She patted Elizabeth’s hand.

“So that is almost certainly why he says you should not wish to see the Queen. Calling her ‘this woman’ is not complimentary, and it appears he would rather you did not associate with her.”

“But he
could
mean that Queen Anna is good, and my mother was bad, and that is why he doesn’t want me to see her, because I am not worthy.”

“I hardly think so, having read this,” Kat said. “Sweeting, I knew that letter would hurt you, but I think it reflects your father’s own unhappiness. Do not set any store by it. Come, I have something to show you.”

Kat rose and led an intrigued Elizabeth up the stair that led off her chamber and spiraled up to the attics above. Here there were dusty, unused rooms leading one into another. The first two that they entered were bare, but the third was filled with the detritus of past occupants of Hertford Castle. On an old settle lay two fraying cushions embroidered with designs of monkeys and butterflies, their colors faded with age. A threadbare tapestry and a scorched carpet lay rolled up on the floor. There were ancient chests, broken stools, bits of dented armor, and a curious horned headdress festooned with cobwebs hanging on a peg. Elizabeth reached out for it. She could see that the material had once been very fine.

“Don’t touch,” warned Kat. “It’s filthy, and it will probably crumble to pieces if you do.”

“I’ve never seen a headdress like that,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s very old,” Kat said. “Long before our time. I’ve seen similar ones on effigies in churches. Many of your ancestors lived here in the past, so it may have belonged to one of them. In fact, most of these things were probably royal possessions at one time or other.”

She looked about her. “I can’t think why someone doesn’t clear this place out. I’ve only been up here once before, when Sir John wanted something stored away. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but I poked about, and it was then that I found something very interesting.” She picked her way over to where a stack of framed pictures lay propped against a wall. Elizabeth followed, bursting with curiosity, while Kat began looking through the paintings. The first was a likeness of a man in armor, dulled with time; the second a portrait of a pretty young woman in a brown velvet gown and hood with a rich collar around her neck; she had golden hair, a round face, and a demure expression.

“Who is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“That is the late Queen Katherine, the Lady Mary’s mother. It must have been done when she was a girl, before her looks faded and she put on weight.”

Elizabeth could not help feeling sorry for that pretty girl. She knew how her father had put away his first wife and banished her from court for her stubbornness. Of course, he had been absolutely right to do so, but all the same, it was poignant to see this picture of a young lady who must have been so thrilled to be his Queen, and whose life had turned out to be so sad.

“That isn’t what I came to show you,” said Kat, lifting out of the stack an unframed wooden panel. “This is. It’s your mother, Queen Anne.”

She held up a half-length portrait of a dark-haired lady with merry, captivating eyes, high cheekbones, and a smiling mouth. She had on a low-necked black gown trimmed with pearls, braid, and fur. There were pearls edging her French hood and a rope of them around her slender neck. She also wore a jeweled pendant in the form of a B. On the chipped dark green background were painted, in gold, the Latin words ANNA BOLINA UXOR HENRI OCTA.

Elizabeth stared, marveling. So
this
was her mother. She had never seen a picture of her, had only the dimmest memory, and had often wondered what she looked like.

“It’s a good likeness,” said Kat. “I saw her several times.”

Elizabeth was struck by the sitter’s resemblance to herself. The black eyes, the cheekbones, the pointed chin, the mouth. She was nearly all Anne Boleyn, she realized. Only her red hair marked her as a Tudor. And Kat had said she was like her mother in other ways. She could dance well, like Anne, and she had already mastered the lute and the virginals; her music master had told her she had a talent for it. Anne had been good at needlework too, and she had loved fine clothes and carried herself well. She had been clever, and Elizabeth knew herself to be clever too. Gazing at the portrait, she felt that she at last knew who she was.

“Can I have this to keep?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Kat, who was beginning to wonder if she had been wise to divulge so much.

“Why not? No one else wants it.”

Kat pondered anxiously for a minute.

“Well, if you keep it well hidden, I suppose you may take it,” she said. “But no one must ever see it.”

Elizabeth grabbed a grubby old painted cloth and wrapped it around the portrait. Then she hurriedly followed Kat down the stairs to her bedchamber, where she stashed the picture behind her bed.

“No one will find it there,” she said.

“They won’t,” Kat agreed. “That bed hasn’t been moved in years. It was probably built in this room.”

Every night, for some time afterward, Elizabeth would get out of bed and look at her mother’s picture, and soon she had the features by heart.

“That pendant my mother was wearing in her portrait,” she said to Kat one day. “Do you know what happened to it?”

“No,” answered Kat. “All her belongings disappeared. After she was found guilty of treason, they were forfeited to the King. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Elizabeth felt sad. She would have liked to have just one item that had been owned by her mother. If only for a keepsake, just to touch something that had once been Anne’s.

Lessons over, Elizabeth grabbed her straw hat and ran out into the August sunshine.

The great park at Hertford lay before her, green and golden in the heat, and she strode forth, a determined little figure in her cream-colored summer gown. Kat watched her from the schoolroom window, marveling at how fast her charge was growing.

“Nearly seven years old,” she mused, “…going on twenty!”

As she turned back to the table and began piling up the books, Sir John Shelton entered. He was clearly in some haste.

“There’s a royal messenger below in the courtyard. They’re just taking his horse. We should go down.” Kat hurriedly popped the quills into a pot, smoothed her gown, and followed the governor.

Elizabeth had just seated herself in the shade of her favorite oak tree and taken the first bite of her apple when she espied Kat running toward her and beckoning frantically.

“Come, my lady! There is important news from court!”

Elizabeth sprang to her feet, nearly choking on the piece of apple in her mouth, and ran toward the house.

“What is it?” she called.

“There is much to tell!” Kat said, putting an arm around her shoulders and hurrying her through the open doors of the great hall. There stood Sir John, handing a cup of ale to the messenger.

Sir John bowed. The child looked at him breathlessly.

“My Lady Elizabeth, we have received important tidings. First, the King’s marriage to the Princess Anna of Cleves has been dissolved upon the discovery that she was previously promised to another, and therefore not free to wed.”

“Oh, the poor lady!” cried Elizabeth in some distress, but Sir John shook his head.

“There is no need for pity, I assure you,” he said. “His Majesty has made a very generous settlement on the Princess. He has given her a handsome allowance, as well as Richmond Palace, Hever Castle, and Bletchingly Manor, and she is henceforth to be known as the King’s dearest sister.”

“From what we hear, she is very happy with the settlement,” Kat put in, “so there is no cause for concern.”

The messenger said, “By all accounts, the King wasn’t at all flattered by her eagerness to accept what he offered.” He grinned.

“That will do,” said Sir John sharply. “You may go. There’s further refreshment to be had in the kitchens.
I
will convey the rest of the news to the Lady Elizabeth.”

The man doffed his bonnet and left.

Elizabeth was looking visibly relieved, but her ears had pricked up at Sir John’s words.

“What other news, governor?” she asked.

Sir John nodded at Kat.

“We are to tell you that your father the King has taken another wife,” she said. “You have a new stepmother.”

“
Another
wife?” echoed Elizabeth, doing some rapid counting. “That makes
five
wives that my father has had!”

“Ahem, I’m sure His Majesty would take issue on that, my lady,” reproved Sir John. “The new Queen Katherine is his second lawful wife, after Queen Jane. You would do well to remember that.”

“Are you not pleased to have a new stepmother—a proper stepmother?” put in Kat, seeing Elizabeth’s chastened look.

“Who is my new stepmother?” asked the child.

“Katherine Howard that was,” said Kat. “A niece to the Duke of Norfolk, and therefore your cousin, since her father was brother to your grand-dam on your mother’s side. She is said to be very pretty. She is certainly very young.”

“When will I meet her?” Elizabeth wanted to know. “Are we to go to court?”

“Not as yet,” Sir John told her. “But that brings me to the last piece of news. The Princess Anna has shown an interest in you; she has asked the King if you may visit her, and he has agreed. She has gone to view her new properties, and is even now lodging at Hever Castle in Kent. You are to travel there tomorrow for a few days’ stay. Kat here will go with you.”

“How kind of the Princess!” Elizabeth exclaimed, surprised and delighted. Hever Castle might not be the court, but it would at least provide a welcome change of scene. There might be dancing and revels…

Sir John beamed at Elizabeth. “Go and make ready,” he said.

Elizabeth scampered off, planning her wardrobe for Hever. She had never been there, nor even heard of the place, but she was sure that the Princess Anna would keep a fine court in the castle.

Sir John did not realize that she was still within earshot when he turned to Kat and asked, “Is it wise to let her go there?”

“She knows nothing of the place, Sir John,” she heard Kat replying. “And why should she not go there? She must know of the lady her mother sometime.”