The Lady Elizabeth (12 page)

Sir John grunted and said no more, but Elizabeth was left feeling strangely thrilled to be going to a house that was connected in some way to her mother. It made the prospect of the visit even more exciting.

As the little cavalcade crested the hill, the castle came into view, a mellow stone pile nestling in its lush green valley. Elizabeth spurred on her palfrey, eager to embark on the joys of her stay, conscious that she was an honored guest, bestowing the favor of her presence on her hostess.

“What do I call the Princess Anna now that she is not queen?” she asked Kat.

“Your Highness, I should imagine,” said Kat, reflecting that it was becoming a new pastime, this thinking up titles for ex-queens. The first Queen Katherine had become the Princess Dowager, and Elizabeth’s mother had been stripped of her royal rank and had gone to the scaffold as plain Lady Anne Boleyn.

With two men-at-arms riding behind, and three waiting women in attendance, Elizabeth and her governess clattered over the drawbridge and into the castle courtyard. There, before the open doorway, stood the Princess of Cleves, her household drawn up behind her. At Elizabeth’s approach, she swept a deep curtsy. Elizabeth noticed that she was wearing a green gown in the English fashion, and when she had dismounted and raised her former stepmother, she was relieved to find that the only odor that clung to her was a faint hint of roses mingled with that of cloves. A hint had perhaps been taken!

“Welcome, Lady Elizabeth!” Anna smiled. “It is most kind of His Majesty to allow you to come here to me.” She spoke haltingly, but clearly she had been spending much of her time learning English.

Elizabeth inclined her head regally and allowed the Princess to lead her into the castle. Here, on trestles in the hall, were laid out cold meats, raised pies and custard tarts, and a selection of candied fruits that made the little girl’s mouth water.

“We have also a dish from Cleves!” Anna announced proudly later as they seated themselves at the high table, with Elizabeth in the place of honor. At Anna’s nod, two servants came forward. One poured wine; the other carried a platter piled high with what looked like a greenish white mess.

“What is it?” Elizabeth was curious.

“It is sauerkraut,” Anna said. “Cabbage with salt, with wine and juniper.” Another nod, and the servant spooned a generous amount onto Elizabeth’s plate. Elizabeth tasted it.

“Very good!” she pronounced, enjoying the pickled taste.

The Princess beamed. Kat, watching, was delighted that the visit had gotten off to a promising start.

As they entered the long gallery, Elizabeth saw the portrait.

“It’s my mother!” she cried impulsively, then clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing what she had said. She had long ago understood that her mother’s name was never to be mentioned publicly. But there in front of her was a portrait very similar to the one she herself had hidden away, only in this one, Queen Anne was holding a rose, had a gold filet across her forehead, and looked younger and more beautiful than in the other picture.

The Princess looked dismayed.

“I should have remembered!” she cried. “I had mean to have it replaced. I have been so busy make ready…”

Kat came to her rescue.

“No matter, Your Highness. The Lady Elizabeth has seen pictures of her mother. I think it is important that she knows something of her.”

“Oh, yes,” said the Princess with feeling. “The poor child. And that poor woman.” She shuddered. “That is why I do something for the Lady Elizabeth. I cannot be a mother to her now—but a friend.”

“Your Highness’s kindness is deeply appreciated,” said Kat. The two women exchanged sympathetic looks.

Elizabeth was gazing at the picture, barely aware of their words. She was wishing that she could have it for her own.

“She looks so beautiful,” she said.

“It’s a fair likeness,” said Kat.

“I was pleased to find it here,” Anna said. “No one would talk about her at court.”

“They are too afraid of the King,” Kat said quietly.

The Princess tactfully took Elizabeth’s hand.

“Come. I have something else to show you.” She led the child along the gallery to a bedchamber. There stood a magnificent oaken bed, with the arms of England carved into its intricate design.

“They tell me that this was your mother’s bed,” she said.

Elizabeth’s heart leapt.

“Why is it kept here?” she asked.

“This was her home,” revealed Kat. “She spent her childhood here, and your father came here to pay court to her. Not that she would have him then: She kept him guessing for many years.”

“But he was the King!” Elizabeth was shocked, but impressed even so.

“Yes he was, yet in asking your mother to be his chosen lady, he was placing her above him, to be worshipped like an image on a pedestal, so to speak. She was the mistress of his heart, the one who held his happiness in her hands. It was ever so, in the game of love,” Kat said.

“In Cleves it was not,” the Princess put in tartly. “There, the young ladies have always been made to marry the men their fathers chose for them.”

“And here too, that is the custom,” said Kat. “But the King was already married. He could not ask the lady to be his wife. So he asked her to be his mistress.”

“His mistress?” Elizabeth asked, running her fingers over the carvings. Her mother’s head must once have rested against them.

“The one who ruled his heart,” Kat said, telling only half the truth. “As I am your mistress and rule you.”

“And she refused? She was, how you say, a brave woman!” Anna declared.

Elizabeth marveled also. Her mother must have been a remarkable woman; what power she had enjoyed! What daring!

“Did my father love her very much, all that time?” she asked.

Kat was silent for a moment, considering her answer.

“He did. He thought of no one else. He made himself Head of the Church of England so that he could marry her, and in the end he won her.”

After that, of course, things had gone badly wrong, so Kat resolved to divert Elizabeth from further questions.

“Let’s find your bedchamber, shall we?” she said.

“Ach, yes. Come this way.” Anna quickly took the hint.

“Can’t I sleep here?” Elizabeth asked. She knew she would feel nearer to her mother if she slept in her bed.

“I think this is the Princess Anna’s room,” Kat said doubtfully.

“That is all right,” the Princess said amiably. “The Lady Elizabeth may sleep here. I will order it.” She beamed down at the little girl, who looked at her gratefully.

“Now I want to show you the beautiful gardens!” Anna declared.

Wherever Elizabeth went at Hever, there were reminders of her mother. Her memory was there in every room, every garden walk, every shady arbor. Many of the Boleyn family’s possessions had been removed by the King’s officers, but a few items had been left, such as the bedstead and the portrait, for—Kat thought—who would want such reminders of a fallen queen? Yet, even with the castle stripped of Anne’s belongings, it was easy to imagine her at Hever.

“Did you ever come here when…when she was here?” Elizabeth asked Kat as they strolled through the glorious gardens that first afternoon.

“Once,” Kat recalled. “It was very splendid then. I remember attending a great feast to celebrate the ennobling of your grandfather, Sir Thomas Boleyn, when the King made him Lord Rochford. There were dances and disguisings, and your mother was the center of attention. The young men were openly vying for her favors.”

Elizabeth thrilled to hear this. How wonderful to be so popular, and to have people admire you.

“Did she look very beautiful? Tell me what she was like,” she urged.

“She was wearing a gown of dark blue silk, with pearls at her throat, and her hair was loose. It was very long and very dark, and I remember that there were little gems glittering in it. And she was laughing a lot…” Kat shook her head sadly, remembering that Anne had had very little cause to laugh in later years.

“When I grow up, I am going to be like her!” Elizabeth announced. “I’m going to be beautiful, and wear silk gowns and have jewels in my hair!”

Kat smiled. She was growing so fond of this vain charge of hers with her vivacious character and determined little face.

Elizabeth had stooped to gather wildflowers. The sky glowed golden and hazy in the late-afternoon sunshine, and there was a fair breeze. Kat stood for a moment relishing the peace and beauty of the place.

“Come, young lady,” she said at length. “The Princess Anna will be arising from her nap, and we must tidy ourselves for supper.”

Elizabeth was lying in her mother’s bed. The curtains had been drawn, and the candle blown out. The room was dark, but in the dimness she could make out the shapes of the chairs, the prayer desk, and the clothes chest that lined the walls; and there, on a peg, hung her cream gown, brushed ready for the morning. In the distance, the hoot of an owl broke the silence.

The child could not sleep. The unfamiliar room, the strange house, the exciting discoveries and revelations of the day—all had unsettled her, and no matter how tightly she shut her eyes, or mentally recited her prayers, it was an age before she finally drifted off, and then she slept fitfully, or so it seemed.

She wasn’t sure what awoke her. Probably the cold, for she came to her senses shivering. Then she became aware that she was not alone. There was a dark shape standing at the end of her bed.

“Kat?” she whispered. But the figure did not answer or move. Its face was in shadow, indeed, the whole of its body was shrouded in the gloom, but it looked like a woman, and she felt, with the first stirrings of unease, that it was watching her. A pang of alarm gripped her.

“Kat?” She spoke the name more insistently now, huddling the bedclothes around her, peering over the sheet with frightened eyes. The dark figure was still there, but it was too slender to be Kat, Elizabeth realized. She was beginning to wonder if it was a trick of the darkness or the shadow cast by a piece of furniture or the bed itself, when suddenly it held out its arms toward her. In that poignant gesture, there was supplication, yearning, and something else, something that was not frightening at all, but surprisingly comforting.

Astonished, Elizabeth rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she opened them again, the shape had gone. The room was empty.

Her heart was pounding fearfully. Had she dreamed it? Or had it really been there? Of course it had, she had felt the cold, had woken up noticing the cold before she noticed the figure. It was strange, but she was no longer cold. The room was now temperate: it was August, after all.

Elizabeth lay there wondering.

“Mother?” she whispered, trying out the sweet, unfamiliar word on her tongue. The irresistible conclusion, the only one she wanted to believe, was that Anne Boleyn’s shade had come to her. But there was no answer.

Elizabeth did not mention her experience to Kat or to the Princess. In the cold light of day, it all seemed like a dream anyway; or perhaps she had imagined it. Even if it had been her mother’s ghost, which she now doubted, it had surely come to convey how much Anne had loved her in life, and probably still did love her in the hereafter. The figure did not appear again, and nothing untoward happened during the rest of her stay at Hever, which tended to confirm those conclusions. The days flew by, she slept well, and all too soon she was curtsying farewell to the Princess Anna.

“You must come again,” that lady told her. “Your visit has given me great pleasure. I hope you will think of me as your friend.”

“I will,” declared Elizabeth fervently, extending her hand. But Anna ignored it. Bending, she drew the child into a warm embrace and kissed her.

“Come back soon!” she said.

Elizabeth did not see Anna of Cleves again until the New Year of 1541, when both were invited to Hampton Court to participate in the festivities.

“At last, I am going to meet my new stepmother!” Elizabeth cried, dancing around her bedchamber with excitement. “I must have a new gown! Please can I have a new gown, Kat?”

The tailor was sent for.

“My, you have grown, my Lady Elizabeth,” he said, taking her measurements.

“I am seven now,” Elizabeth told him. “Am I not tall for my age?”

“Indeed you are,” he said, suppressing a smile. “And very pretty, if I may say so.”

“You may,” she told him regally. “I am going to court, so you must make me a very fine gown.”

“My lady, when I have finished it, you will outshine all the other ladies!” he told her, summoning his assistants. Elizabeth gaped in awe at the bolts of sumptuous fabrics being unraveled before her.

“We must have an eye to cost,” said Kat, anxiously. “I am permitted a certain allowance…not always forthcoming in the past.” She grimaced, recalling what she had heard of Lady Bryan’s heroic efforts to make ends meet in the weeks after Anne Boleyn’s fall, when the King appeared to have forgotten his younger daughter. Since then, though, he had been fairly generous.

The tailor bowed. He was aware of Elizabeth’s uncertain status.

“How about this, Mistress Champernowne?” He showed her a dark green taffeta shot through with gold thread. The price he named was reasonable.

“It will look ravishing against my Lady Elizabeth’s red hair,” he said.

“It’s gorgeous!” cried Elizabeth, looking pleadingly at Kat.

“Very well,” said Kat. “It
is
a special occasion.”

And so it was that Elizabeth arrived at Hampton Court with the glorious gown packed in her luggage, along with gifts she had painstakingly—and reluctantly—embroidered for her father, her sister, her brother, and her new stepmother.

No sooner had she arrived in the apartment assigned to her than the Lady Mary came to see her.

“Welcome, Sister!” She smiled, noticing that Elizabeth had grown up somewhat since their last meeting, and shed her infant chubbiness. The girl who was curtsying before her carried herself very gracefully indeed, and there was a new pride in her. Yet she was, after all, still very young, Mary reminded herself, and would be in need of moral protection now that she had come to court.