The Lady Elizabeth (52 page)

“Forgive me, madam, but I was given to understand that you were with us.” Crofts looked frightened and embarrassed.

“And who gave you to understand that?” Elizabeth demanded to know.

“Wyatt himself, Madam. He is even now raising the men of Kent, for we have had to bring forward the date of our uprising. The Duke of Suffolk is with us, and I am now on my way to the Welsh border to raise support there. Indeed, I must hurry, because time is not on our side.”

Elizabeth stared at him, her anger erupting. The presumption of the man!

“Do you realize that what you are planning is high treason?” she asked him, looking dauntingly like her father in a rage. “Did it occur to you that, by coming here like this, you compromise my safety as well as your own? Your foolhardiness beggars belief!”

“I came in all loyalty to warn you,” Crofts protested. “Courtenay has told them that you are with us.”

“He has
what
?” Elizabeth cried, horrified, noticing that Kat’s face was a mask of terror.

“He has confessed that he planned to marry you and that Your Grace was—er, not unwilling,” Crofts told her, shamefaced.

“I was never willing!” she declared hotly. “He had no right to implicate me, for I have never said I would marry him. And your loyalty, Sir James, should be to your Queen, not to me.”

“My lady,” he protested, “I have your interests at heart, truly. Wyatt has sent me to urge you to go to your house at Donnington, which is securely fortified. You will be safer there. Believe me, madam, your safety is precious to all true Englishmen.”

“I am going nowhere,” Elizabeth stated flatly. “I am ill. No, do not try to persuade me,” she said, lifting her hand to still his dissent. “I am the Queen’s loyal subject. I command you to leave this minute. I will not house a traitor under my roof.”

Swallowing, Crofts bowed sketchily and fled. Minutes later, she heard his horse’s hooves thudding away into the distance. Exhausted, physically and mentally, she sank to the floor and rested her throbbing head against the cool plaster of the wall. Her thoughts were teeming, her emotions in turmoil. It would be known—Mary’s spies would see to it—that Crofts had visited her. Yet would her response also be known? Would Kat be seen as an impartial witness? And should she not, this very minute, write a report to her sister of what had taken place?

But no, she dared not. Always, it was best to do nothing. The very fact that Sir James Crofts had visited her was compromising in itself. And anyway, the Queen already knew what was afoot.

Wyatt—the absolute cheek of the man!—had sent a messenger, Sir William Saintlow, with a communication for Elizabeth.

“He pleads with me to get myself as far from London as I can, for my safety,” she told Kat. “My safety! He should have thought of that when he embroiled me in his schemes. Well, he shall have his answer.”

She returned to the parlor, where Sir William was waiting. He looked up hopefully.

“I pray you thank Sir Thomas for his goodwill,” Elizabeth said, “but tell him from me that I will do as I think fit.”

Looking crestfallen, Sir William left hurriedly.

There followed three days of waiting, wondering, and worrying. The strain told on Elizabeth, who again took to her bed.

“You have a letter from the Queen,” Kat said nervously, rousing her from a fitful sleep on the fourth morning. Elizabeth struggled to sit up.

“What does it say?” she murmured, striving to pull it open.

It was a command to hold herself in readiness to return to court as soon as she was summoned. It was, Mary told her, for the surety of her person.

“At least she says that my presence there will be heartily welcome to her,” Elizabeth said. “And if she truly suspected me of treason, she would not have sent this at all. But her meaning is clear. She does not trust me, and she wants me under her eye. And she desires an immediate answer.”

She slumped back in the bed.

“In truth, Kat, I feel so ill that I cannot go anywhere,” she moaned, raising her arm to shield her eyes from the light and thus ease her aching head. “In fact, on top of everything else, I think I have a cold coming on. My throat is sore and I feel shivery all over.”

Kat pressed a cool, plump hand to Elizabeth’s forehead.

“You’re burning up, my lady,” she pronounced. “It would be folly to get out of bed, let alone travel, in this weather. It’d be the death of you.”

“But the Queen will think I am feigning illness,” Elizabeth groaned.

“You would only be speaking the truth,” Kat told her. “Let her send her physicians if she will—they will corroborate it.”

“Indeed, I have no choice,” Elizabeth replied. “Will you write for me?”

“I don’t believe her,” Mary said, handing the letter to Renard. “It is clear that she is involved in this conspiracy. I am disgusted at her conduct.”

“Bishop Gardiner believes she has been intriguing with the French too,” Renard said.

“That would not surprise me,” Mary commented tartly. “In faith, I cannot believe she is truly my sister. No trueborn sister would be so false.”

She moved farther down the gallery, wringing her hands. Suddenly, she found herself face-to-face with a portrait of Elizabeth in a pink gown, done a few years earlier. The young face stared out warily at her.

“Take it down!” she said abruptly. “I cannot bear to look on her anymore.”

“There is news from London!” Parry announced. Spurred on by an anxious Kat, he had ridden some miles to the nearest tavern and managed to return unchallenged.

“Tell me!” Kat demanded before he had even shaken the snow from his cloak.

“Wyatt and his friends have been proclaimed traitors. The Duke of Suffolk is among them—he declared for his daughter, as Queen Jane.”

“The crass fool!” Kat cried. “He was lucky to escape with his head last time.”

“It’s not
his
head I’m worried about,” Parry said, “but that poor girl’s. Shut up in the Tower, she has nothing to do with this.”

“She cannot be other than innocent,” Kat pointed out. “The Queen must know that.”

“Innocent or not, she has royal blood, and there will always be those who would raise her up as a Protestant rival to the Queen. As events have lately proved.” Parry was shaking his head.

“The Queen is merciful,” Kat insisted. “She would not harm an innocent girl.”

“Others might force her to it,” Parry warned. “That’s what people are saying. And there’s more. The Duke of Norfolk has been sent into Kent with an army to deal with Wyatt and his men. This is serious, Mrs. Astley.”

“I will tell my lady,” Kat said, trembling. “Oh, what grievous tidings. I fear we are in terrible danger.”

As more worrisome days passed, ominous with a dearth of news, Elizabeth’s condition did not improve; however, the malaise in her body was as nothing to the fever of anxiety in her heart. Her bed had become a sanctuary, a refuge from the perilous outside world. Cocooned between her sheets, she could believe she was safe from the Queen and the traitors alike. But early in February, a party of riders were seen approaching Ashridge.

“Oh, my God!” Kat cried, hand to her mouth, as she peered from the window and recognized three privy councillors and two of the royal physicians. In a frenzy of fear, she hurried to Elizabeth’s bedside and roused her.

“A deputation from the council…here, my lady. God have mercy on us!” she panted.

Elizabeth blinked at her, uncomprehending at first. Then she was instantly awake, her head swimming, her heart pounding. The room swung violently and did not right itself for several seconds; blood pounded in her temples.

“My nightgown,” she ordered weakly. “Help me put it on.”

Kat fetched the black velvet robe and eased Elizabeth into it. Then she tidied the sheets around her and brushed her hair over her thin shoulders before smoothing her own skirts and walking slowly downstairs, bracing herself.

The Steward had brought wine, which Elizabeth’s Chamberlain was serving to the visitors. The three councillors looked grim and purposeful, Kat saw; the doctors’ faces were grave.

Lord William Howard, Elizabeth’s cousin, spoke first.

“Mrs. Astley, we are come to see the Lady Elizabeth, to ascertain if she is well enough to travel to London.”

“Why?” cried Kat, unable to stop herself.

“The Queen’s Majesty has commanded it,” Lord William informed her. “Pray take us to her.”

“She is abed and very ill,” Kat told him, her heart fluttering.

“Nonetheless, we are commanded to see her,” he insisted.

“Very well,” Kat said, pursing her lips, realizing that further argument would be futile. “This way, please.”

Elizabeth appeared to be dozing when they entered her bedchamber, and she affected surprise at being awoken by her visitors.

“My lords,” she murmured weakly. “Forgive me…This is an unexpected honor.”

Ignoring her words, Lord William stared straight above her, fixing his eyes on her coat of arms, which was embroidered on the tester.

“Madam, we are commanded by the Queen to determine if Your Grace is as sick as we had been led to believe,” he told her.

“You may see for yourself,” she murmured. Her pallor looked genuine enough, Lord William thought, but of course much could be feigned by the clever use of cosmetics.

“It is Her Majesty’s pleasure that you come with us to London,” Sir Edward Hastings informed her. “She has sent Dr. Wendy here, and Dr. Owen, to decide if you are well enough to travel.”

Elizabeth began to tremble.

“As you can see, I am ill,” she said. “I would know why Her Majesty has commanded me to London.”

“It is in connection with the late rebellion,” Howard told her. “She would have you safe with her.”

“Rebellion?” Elizabeth repeated. “What rebellion?”

“Have you not heard? The traitor Wyatt, with seven thousand men, marched into London just a week ago, and would have taken the city had it not been for the courage of the Queen’s Majesty, who went to the Guildhall and, in a brave address, which I myself heard, rallied the Londoners to her cause.”

“It was inspiring,” added Sir Edward. “It was as if King Harry had come among us again. Her Majesty was never more her father’s daughter.”

“Thus, but with difficulty, the rebellion was suppressed,” Howard continued. “God be praised, the Queen is safe, and all her council with her, and the traitor Wyatt is in the Tower, along with the other conspirators.”

“And the Lady Jane, who was proclaimed Queen by the rebels, is sentenced to death.” This was the third councillor, the stern-faced Sir George Cornwallis.

“Sentenced to death?” Elizabeth’s whisper came out as a croak. An ice-cold tremor was rippling down her spine. She thought she would faint. There was no question in her mind but that she was being summoned to London to meet a fate similar to poor Lady Jane’s—nor in Kat’s either, evidently, for that good woman had just burst into noisy tears.

“The Emperor has demanded it,” Lord William said. “He warned Her Majesty that Prince Philip would never set foot in England while the Lady Jane lived, for he would fear too much for his safety and for the security of Her Majesty’s throne.”

“But the Queen was disposed to be merciful to the Lady Jane,” Elizabeth said tremulously.

“In the wake of recent events, she cannot afford to be,” Lord William replied. He had no intention of telling the suspect young woman before him how her sister had agonized over signing the death warrant; how, indeed, she was doing everything she could to avoid having it put into effect. Even now, he knew, she was trying to persuade Jane to convert to the Catholic faith to save her life.

Elizabeth was so consumed with terror that she was unable to speak further.

“Our orders are to escort you back to London, if you are fit to travel, even if it means carrying you to court in the Queen’s own litter, which she has sent for the purpose,” Howard told her.

“My lady is not fit to leave her bed, let alone travel,” Kat protested, her eyes red with tears.

“That is for us to decide, mistress,” Dr. Owen said. “The Queen has appointed us to examine the Lady Elizabeth to determine the nature of her illness. Now, if you would leave us, gentlemen, I am sure that Mrs. Astley will prepare my lady.”

Throughout it all, Elizabeth lay limp and listless. Mary, she was certain, was only having her examined in order to forestall her dying on the way to London; for if that happened, the Queen might be accused of having her sister’s blood on her hands. But once Elizabeth was in the capital, securely immured in the Tower and tried and condemned in a court of law, Mary could safely do what she liked with her, and the world could only applaud her for having rid herself of a traitor.

So struck by fear was Elizabeth at this dreadful prospect that she was barely aware of the doctors’ hands on her body, prodding her gently through the thin lawn of her chemise; of pissing into a basin so that they could examine her urine, which they had poured into a tall glass bottle; of them taking a pulse, commenting on her pallor, and discussing which of the four humors was imbalanced in her body.