The Lady Elizabeth (30 page)

Elizabeth gazed out the study window at the November twilight. The evenings were drawing in fast now, and even the crackling fire in the brazier could not banish the chill in the air. She bent her head again to the passage from Tacitus that she was translating into French.

“I think we should finish now,” Grindal said. “Supper will be ready soon.”

“I will just complete this paragraph,” Elizabeth told him, not looking up as he left the room. Minutes later, she laid her quill down.

She was glad to be alone with her thoughts. They had been in turmoil all day. For many weeks, in fact since Kat had complained about the dress incident, the Admiral and the Queen had desisted from visiting her in the mornings. Instead, she had exchanged greetings with them at table as they broke their fast after morning prayers. That was right and proper, Kat had told her.

In truth, she had missed the excitement of the Admiral’s appearances in her chamber, the anticipation of his coming, and the heady feelings generated by his obvious admiration for her. She still looked to see him wherever she was in the house, and loved nothing more than to feast her eyes on his debonair features or delight in his vibrant personality. It was the sweetest of torments to be with him and be constrained by the bounds of courtesy and social convention.

Was this love? she asked herself. The love of which the poets wrote? She did not know. The Admiral did not act the ardent suitor with her, adoring her from afar and lamenting the fact that she was far above him and would therefore never condescend to love him. That was how lovers were expected to behave, at least in the romances she had read. No, he had proceeded boldly, and overfamiliarly, and that—if she spoke the truth—was what she admired about him. In fact, his directness thrilled her. But did it betoken love?

She had often caught his eye upon her, often felt his hand on her arm or her waist, casually, as it were, during the everyday course of life. Naturally she had doubted there would ever be more between them, for he was happily married to the Queen.

Or so she had thought. Until today.

Wrapped in her thick cloak, she had been taking her usual lone morning walk in the gardens, striding briskly in the misty chill along frost-rimed paths shaded by skeletal trees. And there he had been, coming toward her, his eyes wicked with intent. Had he known she would be there? she wondered afterward. It was no secret that she liked to take the air before lessons began.

He bowed, observing protocol, as ever, and doffed his ridiculously large plumed bonnet.

“My Lady Elizabeth! I do declare, the cold has lent your cheeks a becoming hue!”

“It is exertion, my lord,” she answered guardedly, refusing to acknowledge his courtly speech and thinking that Kat would have a fit if she knew they were alone together with no one else in sight. “A healthy long walk each day is good for you.”

“
You
are good for me,” he said, to her mingled horror and joy, and without preamble he stepped forward, clasped his arms about her waist, and drew her to him. “In faith, I have never been so stirred by a woman. I cannot bear this charade any longer.”

“My lord!” Elizabeth broke away, striving to resist the treacherous responses of her body and her feelings. “You must not say such things, and I must not hear them. You are a married man, and I have my reputation to consider. What you are thinking is madness.”

“Such a sweet madness!” Thomas breathed, holding his hands out in a helpless attitude. “My lady, I am consumed by my desire for you. I can think of nothing but you.”

“Be quiet, sir!” Elizabeth commanded desperately. “This is wrong.” She was saying it to convince herself as much as him.

“To deny it would be wrong,” he replied, gripping her shoulders and gazing intensely into her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been aware of that. You may be a child in years, but I can sense you are as old as the hills in wisdom when it comes to bewitching the opposite sex.”

“I beg of you, sir,” Elizabeth pleaded desperately, putting his hands from her. “Remember that you have a wife, the kindest lady there could be. I would not hurt her for the world, and you are sworn to faithfulness.”

“She need not know.” The Admiral smiled. “We can be discreet. Don’t pretend you don’t want me. I can see it in your eyes, as plain as day.”

“What I want is of no consequence!” Elizabeth cried, feeling the tears welling and turning to go. But he grasped her wrist and twisted her around to face him again.

“I
will
have you,” he said, his eyes dark and determined, “I will have you, if I have to go to Hell for it and burn for all eternity. And then you will learn that what lies between us is of the greatest consequence.”

“No, sir, you will not!” Elizabeth said, with far more firmness than she was feeling.

“We will see, my fine princess,” the Admiral retorted, letting her go. “Who was it said she wanted to live and die a virgin? I think not!”

“Oh, you are hateful, my lord!” she flung at him, then ran back to the house, leaving the sound of his laughter behind her.

From an upper window, the Queen stared, her heart faltering. She had witnessed the whole scene from afar off, watching her husband and her stepdaughter, like tiny puppets, moving together then apart, then together again, their gestures implying desire on his part and conflict on hers. Then the girl had, quite clearly, fled.

Katherine sat down on the bed. She had had her suspicions, but had loyally suppressed them. Mrs. Astley had been suspicious too, but she herself had dismissed that as groundless, God forgive her. Now she knew.

The knowledge lay as heavy as a stone, crushing all that was precious in her life. She wanted to weep, to scream, but she found she was in the grip of a terrifying inertia, and unable even to raise her head. What to do? What could she do? What dare she do?

The habit, acquired over long years, of putting the needs of others first came to her rescue now. Her duty lay clear. She must protect the royal child who had been entrusted to her care.

She must confront her husband.

Tom strode in, throwing his cloak and bonnet across a bench. He noticed his wife, sitting unusually still on the bed. Something in her countenance alarmed him.

“Are you feeling all right, Kate?” he asked concernedly.

“I am well in body, I think,” she replied slowly, raising sad, reproachful eyes to him. “In heart, I fear I am not so sure. What was your business in the garden with my Lady Elizabeth?”

“My Lady Elizabeth?” Tom repeated, playing for time and striving to think up a credible explanation. Katherine was watching his face intently.

“Why, Sweetheart,” he said, sitting down beside her and taking her hand, “there is no need to vex yourself. When I met the Lady Elizabeth, she was in great distress and I got her to confide her worries to me. That was all. Would you not have had me offer a little fatherly comfort?”

Katherine’s shoulders were poised to sag with relief. Dare she believe him? She badly needed to. She might have gravely misjudged him, after all, thinking him faithless when he had probably been trying to be kind. He
was
a tactile person, after all.

“Why was she so distressed?” she asked. “She seemed in good heart last night.”

“It is a man, I fear,” the Admiral told her, thinking rapidly.

“A man? Who dares presume so far?” Katherine cried angrily.

“Alas, I know not, for she would not say,” Tom replied. “But I have seen him for myself. I have seen them together.”

“When?” Katherine demanded of him. She was deeply shocked.

“You know that little window that overlooks the long gallery? I espied them from there. They were embracing; I fear she had her arms about his neck.”

“Embracing? And you never told me?” She was aghast. “Tom, I am her guardian.”

“Ah, Kate, but I did not then know it was Elizabeth. At first I thought it might be, but I could not see the girl’s face, only her red hair, and she was wearing a dark cloak. Then I remembered that red-haired wench in your chamber, and I just assumed it was her. But just now, Elizabeth confessed to me that it had indeed been she.”

He could not be making this up, Katherine thought. He would not dare. The matter was too serious.

“This is appalling,” she said. “Has she told you who the man is?”

“She would not, I fear,” Tom said, breathing easier now. “I tried all manner of ways to get her to confess, but she steadfastly refused.”

“And just how far has this relationship progressed?” Katherine wanted to know.

“No further, she has assured me. In fact, the gentleman has withdrawn his affections from her. That was why she was so distressed.”

“I must send for Mrs. Astley,” the Queen said, rising.

The governess’s face registered shock.

“In faith, Your Grace, I knew nothing of this,” she declared unhappily.

“It seems we neither of us have been vigilant enough,” Katherine said. “But that it should come to this! I pray the girl has spoken truth, and that she has indeed emerged as unscathed as she claims.”

“I will talk to her, madam, at once.”

“Please do. And please say that I insist she divulges the name of this unspeakable knave.”

“Oh, I will, never fear, madam.” Kat was almost beside herself. “Yet who could it have been? There comes no man near this house save the servants, and surely she would not have stooped so low? That leaves just Master Grindal, and he’s a dried-up old stick of a man if ever there was one. I cannot imagine him entertaining a single lustful thought.”

“He’s a man,” observed the Queen tartly, “and therefore we cannot rule him out. But it’s unlikely, I agree.”

“Let me talk to her, madam,” Kat said. “I’ll go and find her now.”

After she had gone, Katherine still felt agitated. Whatever had gone on in the garden, it did not bode well for any of them. Yet if Elizabeth did deny having any dealings with this mysterious suitor, and something really had gone on between her and Tom, then learning that she, Katherine, was aware of what had happened in that garden might well jolt the girl into a belated awareness that it must cease.

In truth, Katherine did not know which possibility appalled her the most: the thought that Elizabeth had been compromised by a member of her own household, with all the implications that that threatened; or the prospect of Tom having lied to her, to cover up his own wicked pursuit of the girl.

“My lady,” Kat said, appearing at the study door.

Elizabeth and her tutor looked up from their books. Grindal wondered why the governess was giving him such an odd look.

“Begging your pardon, Master Grindal, but could you spare my Lady Elizabeth for a moment?”

“Of course, Mrs. Astley,” he replied, hoping for enlightenment but receiving none.

Elizabeth rose, puzzled, and followed Kat to her bedchamber. Whatever was wrong? Kat rarely interrupted lessons—Elizabeth couldn’t recall the last occasion that had happened. Then she remembered the scene in the garden with the Admiral, and her heart plummeted. They had been discovered!

Shutting the door, Kat turned steely eyes on her.

“I have just seen the Queen,” she said. “She told me something that has greatly disturbed me.”

Elizabeth groaned inwardly. This was proving to be even worse than she had expected.

“What did she say?” she asked, feigning an innocent expression.

“That you told the Lord Admiral you have been seeing a man.”

“I?” Elizabeth was stunned. “I never said any such thing to him.” She looked genuinely amazed.

“The Queen said you were seen with him, embracing in the gallery. It was the Admiral himself who saw you.”

A spark of understanding began to flicker.

“I deny that, for it is not true!” Elizabeth declared hotly. “When am I supposed to have told the Admiral about this man?”

“This morning, in the garden, Her Grace said. She had seen you out of the window, telling the Admiral about it. He said you had been very upset because the man had lost interest in you.”