The Lady Elizabeth (39 page)

As Parry’s horse trotted toward the gatehouse archway at Hatfield, he espied the Lady Elizabeth, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, walking through the park with her dogs.

“My lady!” he cried, pulling up and dismounting. Elizabeth waved and quickened her pace toward him, the dogs yapping about her skirts.

“Well met, Master Parry! Did you see my Lord Admiral?” she called.

“Aye, and he has been most accommodating. He says that Seymour House is at your disposal whenever you need it.”

“That is uncommonly kind of him!” Elizabeth cried, clapping her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, and not just with cold or exertion. “I will write to thank him.”

“His lordship spoke of more than lodgings,” Parry said.

Elizabeth stared at him, a little breathless.

“He did?” she asked.

“He asked about your estates and your expenditure—I will explain all later. But he said this was against a time when your two households would be one. Do you take his meaning, madam?”

“I know that the Admiral wants to marry me,” she said, happy to confide in Parry, whose loyalty and devotion were unquestionable.

“In truth, my lady, you could not have a better offer,” the Welshman assured her. “He is a most kind and thoughtful gentleman, and has your true interests at heart. In my humble opinion, this would be a good marriage for you, if the council is agreeable, of course.”

Elizabeth’s manner changed subtly.

“
If
the council is agreeable,” she said coolly. “When that comes to pass, I will do as God shall put into my mind.”

She turned and walked a little way off, rubbing her hands to keep them warm. She knew she was wavering in her resolve, and she could not understand herself. She loved the Admiral, did she not? She certainly basked in his admiration and enjoyed flirting with him. And she had been flattered as well as disturbed by his proposal of marriage. Yet when it came to committing herself, she found she could not do it. She blew hot, then cold. It made no sense to her. Mayhap the disastrous consequences of their one coupling had had a more damaging effect on her than she realized. Or was it that she knew in her bones that this marriage would never be allowed to take place—that she was courting danger even in contemplating it?

She had been eager to hear of the Admiral’s response to her request. Yet as soon as Parry had pointed out the advantages of their marriage, her excitement had vanished and been replaced by fear—yes, that was it, fear. And a touch of anger too, for she was beginning to suspect that the Admiral had put Parry up to urging her to accept his suit.

Parry was still standing where she had left him, huddled in his cloak. She made her way back to him.

“Who bade you tell me to accept the Admiral’s offer of marriage?” she demanded to know.

“Why, no one, my lady,” Parry answered. “I merely gained the impression that my lord would make you a good husband. He
is
in earnest, you know. He even suggested that you exchange your dower lands for others that lie near his in the West Country.”

“Did he indeed!” Elizabeth cried, outraged. “What does he mean by such a suggestion? Does he ask for my hand just to get his own on my property?”

“I know not, my lady,” protested Parry, flustered, “but I am sure he looks to have you above all else.”

“What else did he say?” Elizabeth asked suspiciously.

“He suggested you make suit to the Protector’s wife for help in exchanging your lands and in recovering Durham House,” Parry ventured unwillingly.

“I will not be a suitor to that insufferable woman for favors,” Elizabeth fumed. “When next you see the Admiral, you may tell him I will have nothing to do with her. And now I think you should go and tell Mrs. Astley all that transpired when you met the Admiral, for I wish to know nothing that she does not know. I cannot be at peace until you have told it all to her.”

No one, she thought, as a chastened Parry remounted and rode off, must ever have cause to accuse her of secretly conspiring with the Admiral through her cofferer.

Elizabeth returned to the house to find William Cecil waiting for her with some documents to sign.

“I could not resist the opportunity of bringing them in person, my lady,” he said, bowing. “I have long wished to meet you.”

Elizabeth was impressed with this fair-haired, fork-bearded gentleman with sharp, intense eyes and a large hooked nose. He exuded integrity and strength. Instinctively, she felt she could trust him. And that was proved later that day when, shortly before he left, she ventured to broach with him the subject of the Admiral.

“I need your advice, Master Cecil,” she said as they strolled together in the long gallery admiring the portraits that hung there. He waited for her to go on. “You will remember that, in our letters, we mentioned my Lord Admiral in passing. Lately, he has offered his help in exchanging my dower estates for others.” She did not mention that those other lands were to be near Sudeley. “And he has offered to help Master Parry make economies in the running of my household.”

Cecil, who had heard much that he did not like about the Admiral, and scurrilous rumors linking the rogue’s name to Elizabeth’s, immediately smelled a rat. The Protector had dismissed the rumors as mere gossip, but Cecil himself privately suspected that Elizabeth had indeed been compromised in some way, and was determined to protect her. Should anything happen to King Edward—God forfend—then Elizabeth was the Protestant hope for the future, and because of that, he, Cecil, was prepared to lay down his life for her if need be.

“May I offer you some advice, my lady?” he asked. “Do not allow the Admiral to interfere in your financial affairs. It would not be wise. I do not judge him the most reliable of men.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment.

“Why do you say that?” she inquired.

“I work for his brother.” Cecil smiled. “He knows him better than any other, and he has not as yet entrusted him with any political office. Neither did your esteemed father, King Henry. Who am I to question the wisdom of two such eminent statesmen?”

Elizabeth said carefully, “Yet the Admiral is at the center of affairs, it would seem.”

“He likes to think he is,” Cecil replied, “but his greatness is largely in his own mind. It would not be wise to become too embroiled with him, my lady. I assure you, I speak purely for your own good.”

“I thank you for your advice,” Elizabeth said, relieved, yet a little downcast all the same.

When William Cecil had gone, she pleaded a headache and went to bed early, needing to think. She felt weary of it all, weary of her seesawing emotions, weary of thinking up strategies to ensure that the marriage could go ahead, weary of all the intrigue and furtiveness. And now it appeared that the Admiral was not all that he seemed.

Leave it, she thought. Leave it to God—and the council. She could only marry the Admiral with the latter’s consent, she saw that clearly now. So let the Admiral approach the council and let
them
decide her fate. If they said no, she would not defy them. Having escaped danger once, so recently, she had no mind to court it again.

In the middle of December, Kat arrived in London to oversee the ordering of Seymour House for Elizabeth’s stay. There, she found in residence Lady Tyrwhit, a distant cousin of Queen Katherine. Kat took an instant dislike to the woman, a sour-faced, middle-aged matron who looked as if she had a permanent smell under her nose—and an insufferable snob too.

“Who are
you
?” she inquired haughtily after Kat had been announced.

“I am the Lady Elizabeth’s governess,” Kat bristled, “and I am come to make all ready for her.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you now. Well, I shall be gone soon. My husband being at court, I am invited to spend Christmas at Somerset House with the Duchess.” She eyed Kat closely, her light blue eyes narrowing.

“You do know what they are saying about the Lady Elizabeth and the Admiral?” she asked.

Kat was instantly on her guard. “
What
are they saying?” she barked.

“That a marriage is in the air,” Lady Tyrwhit told her. “He has kept on the late Queen’s maids-of-honor in his household, and people are concluding that it is for my Lady Elizabeth’s benefit. There is much talk that he will soon be paying court to her.”

“It’s mere nonsense, this idle gossip,” Kat declared firmly, although inwardly she was rejoicing at this welcome evidence of the Admiral’s intentions. “She cannot marry without the council’s consent.”

“Exactly,” Lady Tyrwhit emphasized. “But there is talk of clandestine arrangements…it’s probably just a rumor, as you say. But I thought that, as her governess, you should know what is being bruited, so that you can be on your guard.”

“I thank you,” muttered Kat through gritted teeth.

She was heartily relieved when Lady Tyrwhit packed her bags and left two days later, then dismayed, only hours after that, to receive a summons to Somerset House. There, in a palatial room with carved pillars and a battened ceiling picked out in gold, the Duchess Anne awaited her, granite-faced, imperious, and extremely angry.

“I am hearing things that concern me greatly,” she began in her overbearing way, keeping Kat standing before her. “There is unsavory gossip at court
and
in the City about my Lady Elizabeth and the Admiral.”

Kat felt a chill of fear. Who had talked? More crucially, what had they said?

“What gossip?” she asked.

“That he was overfamiliar with her when she was in the Queen’s household. That
you
encouraged it—”

“That is not true, madam!” Kat interrupted, indignant.

“Silence!” thundered the Duchess. “I have not yet finished speaking. I am told that you encouraged this familiarity simply by not doing enough to put a stop to it. Do you deny that?”

“I was worried. I went to the Queen and asked for her help,” Kat protested. “But she did not take it seriously, and neither should you, madam, for it was all innocent.” And may God forgive me the lie, she prayed.

“Mrs. Astley,” hissed the Duchess, “I may as well tell you that a lot of people
are
taking it seriously. Servants have talked, and as a result, the Lady Elizabeth—the King’s own sister—has become the subject of common gossip. It is said that you left her and the Admiral alone together in her bedchamber.”

“There
were
one or two occasions when he came early, and I was not aware he was there, but he would not heed me when I begged him to desist,” Kat explained defensively. “That was when I spoke to the Queen.” But the Duchess was implacable.

“I heard rather differently. It strikes me, Mrs. Astley, that you are not worthy to have the governance of a king’s daughter!” she hissed. “I have decided that another shall have your place. Now go, for the sight of you offends me.”

Kat turned, her eyes blurred with tears of anger and shame, and almost ran from the Duchess’s presence, knowing that this terrible woman, being the Lord Protector’s wife, did indeed have the power to remove her from her post. She was shaking with the unjustness of it, and with dread in case the Duchess carried out her threat. She could not bear the thought of being torn apart from Elizabeth, who was as flesh and blood to her, and the very focus of her existence.

Worse than that prospect, though, was the realization that they were all in danger. If any hint of what had really gone on ever got out, their enemies—and to be sure, the Duchess was one—would pounce. Then it would be the Tower, and the block, and no mercy shown.

Back at Seymour House, Kat brushed aside the servants who came asking her for instructions. She was too agitated to listen to them, being consumed with an overwhelming need to get back to Hatfield. If she could entrench herself there, she thought irrationally, she could preempt disaster. Elizabeth, she knew, would never consent to being deprived of the woman who had been like a mother to her since early childhood.

Grabbing a few things, she stuffed them into a bag and shouted for the grooms to harness the horses to a litter. Then she hastened out of the house.

On the journey north, she had time to reflect. She saw that she had been wrong in urging Elizabeth to marry the Admiral. She should never have meddled in such a dangerous matter. It was true, she should have been firmer at Chelsea, but she had had her reasons for dithering—shocking as they seemed to her now, for she was painfully aware that she had allowed her jealousy of the Queen and her infatuation with the Admiral to color her judgment. And then when she
had
tried to put a stop to the frolics, it had been too late. Maybe she was even indirectly responsible for Elizabeth’s fall from grace.

The Duchess was right, she wasn’t fit to have the care of a king’s daughter—but the Duchess, of course, didn’t know the half of it. No one should ever know that, Kat vowed. But what of the Dennys? Would they talk? And that midwife? Yet why should they? If no one suspected anything, no one would ask any questions. And even if they were tempted to reveal anything, they risked censure or worse for having concealed the truth. Elizabeth’s secret was safe, quite safe, she was sure.

“You are back early,” Elizabeth said, embracing Kat. Then she saw her governess’s face. It looked…haggard, haunted. “What is wrong, dear Kat?”

“There is gossip in London, about you and the Admiral,” Kat blurted out.

Elizabeth paled. “What gossip?”

“There is talk of your marriage,” Kat told her. “He has rashly kept the Queen’s maids in his household—to wait on you, when you are his wife, it is said. I fear he has been most indiscreet.”

“Did you hear anything else?” Elizabeth asked. Her frightened eyes met Kat’s.

“No, nothing more,” Kat said briskly. “But what I
have
heard has convinced me that now is not the time for you to think of marriage with the Admiral. Without doubt, such a thing will not be possible until the King comes of age. It is clear as day that the Lord Protector and the council would never suffer you to marry my lord. Therefore, child, it would be better if you did not set your mind on this marriage, seeing the unlikelihood of it.”