The Lady Elizabeth (24 page)

Elizabeth felt her anger rising. Who was this man, with his upstart Seymour blood, to order all in her father’s place?

“Then what am I to do, sir?” she inquired.

“Remain here for the time being, with Mrs. Astley. I will send word after the King has been crowned.”

Frustration welled up in Elizabeth, and she clenched her fists. Not even to attend her father’s funeral? The ever-ready tears sprang to her eyes. The Earl cast her a sympathetic look and gratefully produced a parchment from which dangled the Great Seal of England.

“This is your father’s will, my lady,” he told her, “and in it you have been left three thousand pounds. That makes you a woman of substance, and as rich as any great lord. I am to tell you that, when you marry, you will receive a final payment of ten thousand pounds. I feel I should warn you, however, that if you marry without the council’s approval and consent, then you will be struck out of the succession as if you were dead. The same applies to your sister, the Lady Mary.”

“I have no wish to marry,” stated Elizabeth, who appeared unmoved by her good fortune. “I should like to accompany my brother to court, though.”

“That will not be possible, I’m afraid,” the Earl informed her. “At least, not until the King marries. You will continue to live at Hatfield, Ashridge, and your other accustomed residences.”

“But the Queen is still at court,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“Not for long. She is in mourning at the moment, of course, but already she has let it be known that she intends to retire to one of her dower properties. The King left her well provided for too.”

Elizabeth turned away. The consequences of her father’s death were even worse than she had envisaged. She was now wealthy, it was true, but what good were riches if she was barred from the court and left to rot here at Enfield? She could not even say a proper farewell to her father at his burial.

She fixed Hertford with a regal glare and was gratified to see him wilt slightly under her gaze. Thus she had seen her father do, and it cheered her a little to know that she had inherited something of his formidable will and presence. This was what it was to be royal, she reflected, this mysterious power that could make others tremble; it was something that might prove useful in the future. But what use was the semblance of power without the substance? For when it came down to it, King’s daughter or no, she was just a helpless young orphan, with no choice but to do as she was told.

“What is there for me?” she cried, with only Kat to hear her. “I am the third lady in the land, and they expect me to become a hermit!”

“Why not speak to the King?” Kat suggested. “He has ever been very fond of you, and his word might carry some weight.”

Elizabeth thought about this.

“You might be right, Kat,” she said. “I will. I’ll go and talk to him now.”

“My Lady Elizabeth, this is not really convenient,” said Lord Hertford, looming large at the door to the royal apartments.

“I wish to see my brother the King,” she told him coolly, her tone brooking no argument. There was no mistaking the fact that she was her father’s daughter, the Earl reflected; it would be easier to give way. He was married to the most domineering termagant in the land, and had long since learned that, where women were concerned, giving way made for a quieter life.

Elizabeth found her brother, resplendent in his jet-encrusted mourning gown, seated at his desk and carefully applying his signature—a spidery EDWARD R.—to a pile of official-looking documents. He looked up and nodded at her as she sank to her knees.

“You may stand, Sister,” he told her magnanimously.

“I trust I find Your Majesty in better spirits,” she said.

“I am, I thank you,” he replied. “And you, my dear Sister—I am sure there is little need for me to console you, because from your learning and piety, you know how to accept God’s will. I can see that, like me, you can already think of our father’s death with a calm mind.”

“I am trying hard to achieve that calmness, Sire,” Elizabeth answered. “I remind myself that I am proud to be his daughter.”

“One thing must console us,” the boy replied, with a sanctimoniousness beyond his years, “that he is now in Heaven, and that he has gone out of this miserable world into happy and everlasting blessedness.”

At his words, Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyelids once more, but Edward’s face remained impassive.

“Was there something you wanted, Sister?” he asked. “Or did you just come to offer words of comfort?”

“Your Majesty, I beg of you, let me come to court!” Elizabeth pleaded. “Do not let them leave me here, cut off from the life that matters to me.”

Edward frowned.

“Of course you must come to court,” he said. “But not yet. Wait until after I am crowned, then I will send for you. I shall not forget you. You have ever been dear to me.”

The coronation came and went, and Elizabeth waited hopefully at Enfield, but the promised summonses, from the King and Lord Hertford, never came. What did arrive was a letter from Katherine Parr.

“It’s from the Queen!” Elizabeth cried, breaking the seal and eagerly scanning the elegant italic script. “She has asked me to go and live with her at Chelsea! And she says the council has agreed! Oh, Kat!”

Elizabeth’s eyes were shining for the first time in weeks, and Kat could not but rejoice to see it. Inwardly, though, her heart was sinking. For her, this news could hardly have been worse, for she had thought to have seen the last of her rival. But she had been mistaken, grievously mistaken, and as a result, the prospect of removing to the Queen’s new establishment was unwelcome to her. Still, she forced her face into a smile.

“I am delighted for you,” she said.

“Her Grace has especially commanded that
you
head my household,” Elizabeth went on excitedly. “And Master Grindal may come with us—and Master Astley, of course!”

“I’m flattered,” Kat said, with only a trace of irony.

“Oh, I am so pleased!” Elizabeth sang. “It will cheer me no end to be with the Queen. She has been like a mother to me, has she not?”

Kat swallowed.

“I make no doubt she will be a support to you at this time,” she said begrudgingly. Her charge was too preoccupied to detect her resentment.

“In truth, I have longed to see her,” Elizabeth confessed, sitting down on the settle and spreading her slender fingers across the wide black skirt of her mourning gown, absentmindedly admiring the effect.

“Does the Queen say when we are to join her?” Kat asked.

“She expects to take up residence at Chelsea in March, and will send word then. Oh, I feel better already at the thought, dear Kat! And the Queen’s removal to Chelsea explains why I cannot live at court.”

“Oh, no,” said her governess, “that would not be fitting. There will be no ladies living at court until the King marries, and that won’t be for a few years yet, I’ll warrant.”

“We must make ready!” Elizabeth said excitedly. Her face set, Kat summoned a porter and bade him fetch the Lady Elizabeth’s traveling chests from the attic.

The Admiral was back. No sooner had news of King Henry’s death reached him than he had hastened home to England to seize his share of the power and rich pickings that would now be up for grabs by enterprising men.

The Queen, still in the seclusion that marked the early days of royal widowhood, heard of his return and found her heart leaping with joy and heady anticipation. He had wasted no time, but had come back to claim her! As soon as the first month of mourning was up, he would send word to her, she knew it!

Lord Hertford, busily asserting his dominance over the council, groaned when his brother turned up at Whitehall, swaggering into the council chamber as if he owned the place.

“Ned!” Tom cried in his booming, penetrating voice, clapping the Earl on the shoulder. “It is good to be home. I came as soon as I could.”

“Welcome, Tom,” Hertford replied, trying to feign pleasure while extricating himself from that bear hug. “I did not expect you…”

“D’you think I’d stay away when I’m needed here?” Tom asked him. “They told me there’s to be a regency council, and I’ve come to take my seat.”

Hertford was nonplussed. If Anne, his wife, were here, she’d put Tom firmly in his place on this matter, but Anne was not here, and he himself hated confrontations or unpleasantness.

“I regret to say that the late king did not nominate you to the council, Tom,” he said unwillingly.

“What?” roared Tom. “I’m the new king’s uncle, just as you are, and I have a right to be on it.”

“I’m afraid all the lords are appointed and the councillors sworn,” Hertford said, arranging his features into an expression of regret.

“I’ll not take no for an answer!” Tom exploded. “You have no right to exclude me.”

“The council’s decision is final, Brother, and I cannot change it,” Hertford explained, reining in his own temper.

Tom clenched his fists and thrust his face close to his brother’s.

“You think to keep me from power,” he hissed. “This stems from
you,
for you have ever been jealous of me. Don’t delude yourself, I know who is behind my exclusion. But I warn you, I will have my rightful share in the governing of this kingdom, if I have to resort to murder or treason to do it.”

“Such vain and misguided threats do your cause no good,” Hertford pointed out, edging backward. “In forming the council, we but followed the wishes of the late King. Blame him for not naming you.”

“Oh, you are clever, hiding behind Old Harry’s skirts,” spat his brother, grinning nastily. “But you will regret your scheming. I will have the power that is rightfully mine in this land, more than you could ever dream of, and when I do, then beware, Brother. Yours will be the first head to topple.”

“You are upset, Tom, that’s the only excuse I can make for you,” Hertford said. “In the name of charity, I will forget what you have just said; but I am beginning to see that his late Majesty showed great wisdom in not nominating you to the council. This kingdom needs cooler heads than yours. Think on it.”

“Oh, you have given me much to think on!” retorted the Admiral.

“My uncle Thomas is back?” the young King repeated.

“Yes, Sire, he craves an audience,” Lord Hertford said, “but I have told him you are busy with state affairs.”

“Let him come in,” the boy commanded.

“Your Majesty, that would not be wise,” his uncle warned. “He is a foolish fellow, and you do not have time to waste on him.”

“Am I not the king, Uncle?” Edward piped up resentfully. “May I not decide for myself whom I should receive?”

“In the fullness of time, Sire,” Hertford said smoothly. “For the moment, Your Majesty, although wise beyond your years, is a child, and reliant on the counsel of those wiser and more experienced than yourself.”

“I am the king!” snapped Edward, spiritedly.

“And I, Sire, am at the head of the council appointed by Your Majesty’s late lamented father, King Henry, to govern this realm during your minority. Your father would have wished you to defer to my judgment. I’m afraid I must insist on your cooperation.”

Edward sulked. Being king wasn’t anywhere near as enjoyable as he had anticipated. He had expected to be such a one as his father, feared and obeyed by all, but now found himself hemmed about with all sorts of rules and restrictions. He must attend to his lessons even more diligently than before; he must not neglect his devotions, but must demonstrate the virtue and piety expected of someone who had been hailed by his subjects as the new David or Samuel; he must hold himself aloof from even his friends and remember who he was; he must not risk his life jousting, since the stability of the kingdom depended on his survival. He must always keep in his mind the image of his august sire, and seek to be like him in every way. Now, it seemed, he could not even grant an audience unless he first obtained the council’s, or rather his Uncle Hertford’s, permission.

“I will leave you to your books, Sire,” that uncle said now, bowing obsequiously and backing out of the royal presence. Edward scowled.

The Admiral was angry, but his fertile mind grew busy with plans. Ambition was festering in him, and if he could not make his fortune from court offices or royal patronage, then he was determined to do so by contracting an advantageous marriage. He was well aware that the King’s two unmarried sisters were the most eligible ladies in the land. Marriage to the King’s sister would bring him prestige, power, and wealth, and it would be a smack in the face for that weaselly brother of his.

But which sister to choose? He didn’t need even to think about it. Mary might be the next heir, but the unlikely prospect of a crown could not compensate for her being a dried-up spinster who was probably desperate to get a man in her bed, and was probably of little use to him there anyway.

No, it would have to be Elizabeth. She was thirteen now, of marriageable age, and reportedly spirited and pretty, although he hadn’t seen her about the court for some time. He would marry Elizabeth. The prospect of bed sport with such a young bride, the daughter of King Harry by that provocative flirt Anne Boleyn, made his loins quiver.

But how to approach the matter? Perhaps a letter to the young lady herself, who would surely be flattered by the attentions of so experienced a man? Perhaps he should send it, unsealed, to her governess, with a covering note. That would be more appropriate.

Kat stared at the letter. Fortunately, she was alone in the chamber she shared with her husband, tidying away their clothes, when the messenger brought it to her.

She read it again.
I beg you to let me know,
the Admiral had written to Elizabeth,
whether I am to be the most happy or the most miserable of men.
The cheek of the man! How dare he presume so far? And what of his onetime pursuit of the Queen, who would be free to marry him once a decent year of mourning had elapsed?

Yet when you thought about it, the Admiral was a fine specimen of a man, bold, dashing, charming, and daring. Most women would be overjoyed to have him as a husband, even allowing for his vanity and impulsiveness. But Elizabeth was not most women. She was a king’s daughter and her marriage would be a matter of state, sanctioned by the council. Moreover, she had often said she had no wish to marry.