The Lady Elizabeth (56 page)

Elizabeth rose, fear channeled into anger. How dare they!

“Go now, to Sir John Gage, and say that I sent you,” she commanded, “and make a complaint to him on my behalf.”

“I’ll tell him!” Kat warned.

Bravely, she clung to her resolve when faced with the stern stare of the Constable.

“Don’t you frown at me, woman,” he rapped.

Kat shrugged. “It’s your men who are doing this,” she said boldly.

“By God, for your impertinence, I could put you where you will see neither sun nor moon!” he threatened.

“May I appeal to your chivalry then, as a knight?” Kat asked craftily, suppressing her fury at being spoken to thus. “The Lady Elizabeth fears that someone will poison her. That is why we, her servants, go out to buy food and prepare it for her. She needs to eat well in order to build up her health. Will you deny her even this?”

The Constable thought for a while.

“Very well,” he said at length. “But if anyone tries to smuggle any messages in with the food, it will go harshly with them.”

“Do you take us for fools?” Kat retorted. “We wish to preserve our mistress, not add to her danger. But I thank you anyway for this small kindness.”

So they continued to buy food as usual, only Elizabeth could not eat it, so full of dread was she.

“Take it away,” she would say as Kat brought dish after dish of savory-smelling delicacies to tempt her.

“You must eat, for the sake of your health!” Kat remonstrated with her, but Elizabeth waved her away.

“What point in preserving my health when I am to be sent to the scaffold soon?” she moaned. Being treated more harshly had crushed her spirits.

“You don’t know that!” Kat cried. “Do not even think about it. If they were going to proceed against you to that end, they would have done it by now.”

“They are gathering evidence,” Elizabeth said flatly. “They are looking for the means to convict me. Lady Jane’s scaffold is still there. I shall be next, I tell you.” Her voice rose with hysteria.

“Pull yourself together!” Kat commanded. But Elizabeth could not. Some days she could barely drag herself from her bed, so dispirited and scared was she.

What will happen to me? she kept asking herself. When will they come for me? Every tap on the door had her shaking in terror. Daily, she expected to hear the dread summons to the block. Despairing, she could think of nothing but how she would feel walking those few short steps, kneeling down in the straw, being blindfolded…And then the blow, the cold steel slicing into her neck. Would there be much pain? Or would it be over before she knew anything about it?

The ax featured large in her nightmares, waking and sleeping. She had heard awful tales of bungled executions, which now came back to haunt her. In her father’s reign, old Lady Salisbury had gone to the block for treason and been butchered by an inexperienced headsman. There were stories of people suffering several chops of the ax before their heads were severed. She could imagine the blood bubbling in her throat, the incomprehensible agony, the awareness of being mortally wounded, like an animal laid low.

But wait! Her mother had been spared the ax, hadn’t she? Her father had sent to France for a skilled swordsman. Even in death, Anne had had the best. The kinder, quicker death. That was it. She would beg the Queen to let her die by the sword. It was all she could think about.

She grew thinner and paler. Her eyes were shadowed, tormented. Kat and Blanche looked at her anxiously, fearing that she was slipping away before their eyes. Sir John Bridges too noticed the state she was in when he came daily to inquire after her health. He knew she was taking little sustenance, because for days now she had made excuses not to join him for dinner.

“She is suffering from being cooped up in those rooms without fresh air,” he warned the Constable. “Sir, I fear she will become very ill if you do not help her.”

Sir John Gage frowned.

“I have my orders,” he stated.

“Yes, but will the Queen thank you if she dies in your care?” Bridges pointed out.

Gage had to admit that she would not. “Very well, then. She may walk around in the old Queen’s apartments. You may open them up. But the windows must be kept closed, mind you.”

Sir John shook his head. It was not enough, he knew, but it was something.

Elizabeth watched, light-headed from lack of food and sleep, as the Lieutenant unlocked the door in the bedchamber. As she had expected, the rooms beyond were layered in dust and shrouded with cobwebs. The air was heavy, stale; it made her cough a little.

Surely her mother had not been here? No one had refurbished these gloomy rooms for decades. They boasted no friezes, no fresh paintwork, no gilded ceilings. Instead, there were faded and cracked wall paintings, in blue and vermilion, depicting ancient kings and angels, and the cracked, faded tiles on the floor bore imprints of leopards and fleurs-de-lis. Here and there lay a broken stool, a battered old chest, but otherwise the rooms were bare. The windows were caked in grime, so there was no point in trying to see out. Kat wrinkled her nose; this place smelled of dead things.

“It was fresh air I wanted, not must and decay,” Elizabeth said bitterly to the Lieutenant. “I can hardly breathe in here. Let us go back, I pray you.”

As the door shut on the deserted chambers, she threw herself on her bed.

“If I don’t have some fresh air, I will die,” she wept.

“I will do what I can,” Bridges told her.

“There is a walled garden at the side of my house,” he told her when he returned not half an hour later. “Sir John Gage has given permission for you to use it whenever convenient, on condition that the gate remains locked and an armed warder is in attendance.”

Elizabeth felt somewhat heartened at this news. Would they really be looking to her health and comfort in this way if the Queen was seeking her death?

It was pleasure enough just to sit in the garden and bask in the weak sunlight of approaching spring. Simple pleasures…they were the best; she had never appreciated them so much as now. The vivid hues of early flowers, the green buds on the trees, growing things pushing their way up through the dark soil. New life burgeoning, and with it a gleam of hope.

A little face appeared above the wicket gate. The warder, a family man who was secretly sympathetic to the unfortunate princess in his custody, grinned.

“It’s you, young imp!” he said. The little boy, about five years old, laughed, then resumed his scrutiny of the garden’s other occupant. Elizabeth ventured a smile.

“He’s the Keeper of the Wardrobe’s boy,” the warder told her. “Aren’t you, Adam? And here’s his sister. Good day, Susanna.”

A second chubby face, framed by blond curls, peered through the bars. It smiled, and Elizabeth caught a glimpse of gaps between milk teeth. She smiled back and waved. The child disappeared. Minutes later, she was back, and a pudgy hand grasping some newly picked flowers thrust itself through the gate.

“May I?” Elizabeth asked the warder. At his nod, she moved swiftly across the grass and graciously accepted the offering.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked.

“Elizabeth,” she told him.

“The Lady Elizabeth?” he asked in wonder.

“You know who I am?” she inquired, startled.

“You’re the poor lady who has been locked up,” he said. “My father and mother say you should be let to go free.”

The warder smiled ruefully.

“I wouldn’t go around saying that, young man,” he told the boy. He turned to Elizabeth. “Little pitchers have big ears.”

“Indeed they do,” she agreed. Her heart felt lighter than it had done in weeks. It was cheering to know that some folk believed in her innocence and sympathized with her plight.

“What are the common people saying about me?” she dared to ask the man.

“Well—” He looked about him to check that no one was within earshot. “I shouldn’t tell you this, my lady, but I’ve heard many say it’s a shame that King Harry’s daughter is locked up in the Tower. Not one has said they believe you to be guilty. The people love you, and there’s a lot of murmuring against those who have put you here.”

“I thank you,” whispered Elizabeth, tears springing to her eyes. “You have brought me much comfort.” Surely, the Queen would not contemplate flying in the face of popular opinion and putting her to death. No monarch would be so rash…

The next day she sat out, the children were there again, two pairs of eyes peeping over the gate.

“Lady!” piped up a little voice. “For you!”

Susanna was thrusting her hand through the bars, holding out an object. It was a miniature bunch of keys. Elizabeth had to laugh.

“I trust Sir John Gage has no objection to my receiving these.” She smiled at the amused warder and bent to pat the child’s head.

“The child gave her keys?” Gage was furious.

“Toy keys, sir,” the warder said, regretting he had ever mentioned the gift to the Lieutenant—who had, of course, felt duty-bound to report it to his superior.

“And entirely harmless,” Bridges added.

“This time, perhaps,” Gage muttered. “But these children could be used to smuggle messages to the Lady Elizabeth. My orders are to prevent her from communicating with anyone in case she plots further treason.”

“Just keep an eye on the children,” Bridges said evenly to the warder.

“And if they attempt to give her anything, you will answer for it to me!” the eagle-eyed Constable commanded.

It was a pretty posy, made up of delicate spring flowers and clumsily tied with a ribbon. Young Adam bowed as he presented it to Elizabeth, who was about to curtsy in return when the warder snatched it from her.

“Orders, madam,” he said, his manner far less friendly than hitherto. “You there!”

His fellow guard, who was keeping watch on the other side of the garden wall, responded to his summons.

“Yes?”

“Take this boy to the Constable, and give him this.” He handed over the bouquet. Instantly, the children started wailing, and Elizabeth looked on horrified as the terrified Adam was borne off, struggling and protesting.

“Do you enjoy tormenting innocent women and children?” she raged at the warders, her blood up. But they ignored her, leaving her shaking with fury. The one who had shown himself friendly just stood there impassively by the gate, staring straight ahead.

Hauled before Sir John Gage, the boy stood speechless with fright.

“Who gave you these flowers?” Gage barked.

“N-no one, sir. We picked them,” Adam whispered.

“Has anyone asked you to hide a secret message in them?”

“No,” answered Adam, surprised.

“I mean the prisoner Courtenay? Did he give you a message for the Lady Elizabeth?”

“No, sir, I promise, sir.” The child looked totally bewildered.

Sir John looked at him darkly.

“You have been very naughty, giving that lady gifts. It is not allowed. I warn you, boy, that if you dare to speak to her again, you will be soundly whipped. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” squeaked the cowering miscreant.

The next day being fine, Elizabeth returned to the garden. Lying under a tree, engrossed in her book, she was interrupted by a movement at the gate and looked up. The warder was munching his noon-piece, a hunk of bread wrapped around a slab of cheese, and was bending down to pick up a flagon of ale.

Adam stood a few paces beyond the gate.

“Mistress, I am sorry, but I can bring you no more flowers now,” he called softly, then ran off, to her dismay. She did not see the children again.

“Madam, you are summoned before the council,” the Lieutenant told her. “They await you in the lower chamber.”

Elizabeth began to tremble. The long days of silence had led her to dare hope that nothing had been found against her. Now those hopes were shattered. The time had come for her to use her wits to save her skin. She had never felt more alone.

The councillors were seated along an oak trestle table. Bishop Gardiner, the Lord Chancellor, was at the center. All stared at her unsmiling as she entered, head high, hands clasped demurely over her stomacher, and made her way to the chair that had been set for her facing her interrogators.

Gardiner rustled his papers importantly and rested his hawk-like gaze on her.

“My Lady Elizabeth, we are here to examine you regarding the talk that you had at Ashridge with Sir James Crofts, who asked you to remove to your house at Donnington. Why did he require this of you?”

“My house at Donnington?” Elizabeth repeated, playing for time. “I have so many houses, my lord, I cannot call this one to mind, so sure it is I never went there.”

“Sir James Crofts told you it was better fortified than Ashridge. You seemed to know of its existence then,” Gardiner retorted.

Elizabeth pretended to consider. “Ah, yes,
that
house. You must forgive me, sirs, I have never been to it, and I had forgotten about Sir James advising me to go there.”

The councillors exchanged exasperated glances.

“Bring in Crofts,” Gardiner said wearily.

Elizabeth stared as the prisoner was escorted into the chamber by Yeomen Warders. When last she had seen him, Sir James had been a handsome man, but now his fine features were scored with lines of anxiety and his hands were trembling. Prompted by his jailers, he recounted what had happened at Ashridge, omitting no detail. Elizabeth gathered her wits.

“I only understood that you were concerned for my safety,” she protested. “And clearly I did not take your advice.” She turned to the councillors.

“Gentlemen, nothing more passed between myself and this man. This is a waste of your time and mine, as I have little to tell you of him, or indeed of anyone else who is imprisoned here for this cause.” She stood up.

“My lords, do you mean to examine every common prisoner in order to trap me? Because if so, methinks you do me a great injury. If they have done evil and offended the Queen’s Majesty, then let them answer for it accordingly. But I beseech you, do not join
me
in this sort with such men. I am no traitor, as you should well know!”