The Lady Elizabeth (57 page)

Gardiner took no notice.

“So you do remember Sir James suggesting you move to Donnington?” he persisted.

“I do now,” she agreed. “But what harm is there in that? Might I not, my lords, go to my own houses at all times?”

Some councillors shifted uncomfortably. Others exchanged uneasy glances.

“My Lord Bishop, we seem to be here on a wild goose chase,” Sussex said. “Remember, this lady is the heir to the throne…” The warning in his voice was unmistakable.

The Earl of Arundel got up, walked around the table, and fell to his knees before a startled Elizabeth.

“Madam, we are certainly very sorry that we have so troubled you about vain matters,” he told her.

“My lords, you do sift me very narrowly,” she said, “but I feel well assured that you will not do more to me than is consistent with God’s will, and I pray that He will forgive you all.”

Gardiner stared at her, marveling at how cleverly she had succeeded in turning the interrogation to her own advantage. The Queen, he knew, would not be pleased.

“There is nothing further to be gained here,” he told his colleagues brusquely. “You may return to your lodgings, madam.”

“My prison, you mean,” Elizabeth said spiritedly, elated at the way the interview had ended. Then she turned, chin held high, and swept past the bowing lords.

“I had been expecting, madam, to hear that the Lady Elizabeth and Courtenay were to be put to death,” Renard said, his face grave.

“There is, as yet, nothing that can be proved against them.” Mary’s voice betrayed her agitation.

“Then I am sorry for it, and so is my master the Emperor,” he told her. “He knows, as does Your Majesty, that while those two traitors are alive, there will always be plots to raise them to the throne, and that it would be just to punish them, for it is publicly known that they are guilty and deserve death.”

“But not publicly proved!” Mary interrupted.

“Which is very regrettable, madam—for you, and for your kingdom.” Mary heard the ominous note in his voice.

“You know how hard I have worked for this marriage,” Renard went on. “So you will understand that it grieves me sorely to tell you that the Emperor is of the opinion that, while the Lady Elizabeth lives, it will be very difficult to guarantee Prince Philip’s safety in this land. In the circumstances, therefore, I cannot recommend His Highness crossing to England until every necessary step has been taken to ensure that he is in no danger.”

Faced with the unbearable prospect of her cherished dreams evaporating, Mary could not stop herself from bursting into tears. She was heaving with distress, mortifyingly aware that this was not the conduct that ambassadors expected from a sovereign Queen.

“I would rather never been have born than that any harm should come to His Highness!” she sobbed. “I assure you, evidence will be found, and that those two will be tried before he comes.”

“My master will be relieved to hear that,” Renard said coolly.

The council members were debating, brows furrowed, tempers fraught.

“But what is to be done with the Lady Elizabeth?” Winchester was saying. “Her guilt is by no means established, and there is no case against her.”

“Aye,” chorused some voices, among them Sussex’s and Arundel’s.

“Not so fast, my lords,” Gardiner interrupted. “We have the Queen’s security, and that of this realm, to consider, and in order to safeguard those things, the Lady Elizabeth should be sent to the block.”

There was an uproar of disapproval.

“She is the heir to the throne!”

“She is innocent!”

“There is no evidence against her!”

“Look to the future,” Sussex urged. “She may yet be our queen. Her Majesty is in poor health, she is marrying late in life, and childbirth is perilous at the best of times. Think of what might happen if, the Lady Elizabeth having been executed, the Queen were to die? We should be engulfed in a civil war between rival claimants for the throne.”

“The French would press the claim of their Dauphine, the Queen of Scots,” Arundel warned. “By force, if necessary, I’ll warrant. And what would that make us? A subject state of France and Scotland.”

“Not to be borne!” Sussex cried, echoing a chorus of outrage. “But the only alternative would be Lady Jane Grey’s sisters, untried unknowns. No, I say free the Lady Elizabeth, for nothing has been proven against her, even after the most rigorous examinations of the rebels.”

“You are fools, all of you,” Gardiner growled. “She has outwitted us all. I have no doubt she was up to the ears in the late rebellion, but she has cleverly covered all her traces. I say execute her.”

Sir William Paget frowned.

“My lord, you may not be aware that the Queen, who shares your opinion, has just consulted the chief judges of the land on this matter, and they told her that there was no evidence to justify a condemnation.
No
evidence, mark you, my lords, not just
insufficient
evidence. She should be set at liberty and restored to her former estate.”

“No,” Gardiner said. “That would leave her free to plot treason again. If you must have her freed, at least consent to her being disinherited.”

“And that will bring us back to the problem of the succession,” Paget argued.

“The Queen may well bear a healthy son and heir,” Gardiner opined.

“Yes, or she may die in childbed, which is more likely.”

The other councillors murmured their agreement.

“The best course,” Paget declared, “would be for the Lady Elizabeth to be released, and then married abroad to some friendly Catholic prince. That way we may satisfy the Queen and the Emperor, for it will assure a Catholic succession.”

The lords nodded their agreement.

“Aye, aye,” they chorused.

“I will inform the Queen of our decision,” Gardiner said sourly. “But I doubt she will like it!”

Elizabeth looked up from the stone bench in the garden to see a tall dark figure blotting out the sunlight. There was a young man standing on the short length of the wall-walk that led to the Garden Tower. A very handsome young man, and he was gazing down admiringly at her.

“My Lady Elizabeth,” he said, making a courtly bow. “Lord Robert Dudley at your service. Your Highness has no doubt forgotten me. We once played childish games and shared lessons.”

“I remember it well, Lord Robert.” Elizabeth smiled, delighted to see a friendly face and thrilled that it belonged to such a charming gallant. “I beat you at fencing!”

Lord Robert grinned. “I blush to be reminded of it,” he said ruefully.

“What are you doing up there?” she asked.

“I am allowed up here sometimes for my recreation,” he told her. Again that devastating smile. It was hard to believe that the strutting boy had grown into the dark Adonis standing above her, silhouetted against the sky. He had moved and the sunlight was shining on his face, accentuating his debonair features and proud mien. He looked like a gypsy; she had always found dark, swarthy men more attractive than those insipid blond fellows like Courtenay, who looked like they had milk in their veins instead of blood. The Admiral had been dark too…

“I am sorry for your plight, my lady,” he called down to her. “I too am in ward here. I understand how you must feel.”

Of course, he had been here months, she realized. He had supported his father Northumberland in putting the Lady Jane on the throne, and he was now paying the price of his treason. She had heard he had been sentenced to death, as his father had been. He must still be mourning the loss of that father, and wondering whether he too would be sent to the block.

Yet his manner was cheerful. Cheerful and rather bold. She admired boldness in men. His spirit, as well as his looks, reminded her of the Admiral, whose manner had also been bold—overbold…the Admiral who now lay moldering headless in a grave in the chapel not many yards from here. She hoped that the handsome Lord Robert would not meet a similar fate. Maybe it was the engaging and bone-melting way he was smiling at her…She returned the bold smile, investing it with an unconscious seductiveness.

Robert was thinking that he could like this lady very much indeed. She was not beautiful, to be sure, but there was about her an obvious allure, a suppressed dynamism. She was spirited and sexy, and she represented a challenge. He was a young man who relished challenges, and he sensed they would be evenly matched in that respect.

She glanced at her warder, who was watching them and frowning.

“I may not talk to you, my lord,” she said.

“Of course, my lady, I understand that,” he said. “But if you ever have need of me, and it is within my power to help you, you have only to ask.” He swept another bow and moved out of sight.

A rash promise, she thought, smiling, considering that he was a convicted traitor. And yet somehow it did not seem so impossible that he could fulfill it. There was about him an air of determination, of tenacity, of ambition. He had been here so long that there must be some hope of him escaping the ax. The Tower surely could not hold such a one forever.

“I am sorry, Simon, but my council will by no means consent to the execution of the Lady Elizabeth,” Mary told Renard, hardly daring to look him in the eye. “Nothing has been proved against her, nor is it likely that any further evidence will come to light. And in view of what the traitor Wyatt said on the scaffold this morning, I dare not proceed further against her.”

“Your Majesty is better informed than I am,” Renard said. “What did Wyatt say?”

“He declared that neither Elizabeth nor Courtenay was privy to his rising,” Mary told him. “Most people would agree that a man facing divine judgment would not lie, but I am not of their number. I cannot believe that the rebels would have contacted my sister unless they were certain of her support.”

“I agree, madam,” Renard said, “but despite the lack of evidence, we must be pragmatic. You cannot allow her to go free.”

“Nor do I wish to,” Mary said quickly. “Yet I cannot be seen to be keeping an innocent person in the Tower. My councillors wish to marry her abroad, but given that she is still under suspicion of treason, that would be too dangerous a course, I fear. No, I shall consult them again. But one thing I must know, Simon. Will the Emperor consent to the Prince coming here now?”

“The Emperor will understand your difficult position, madam, and accept that Your Majesty cannot resort to tyranny to achieve your ends. He has decided to take a practical view, and has written that the alliance between our two kingdoms is so important that nothing must be allowed to stand in its way. I am to tell you that the Prince is even now preparing for his departure. He will soon be here.”

Mary’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Praised be God! My prayers have been answered!” she cried.

“You know that there have been demonstrations against the marriage in London?” Renard asked gently.

“They have been dealt with,” Mary said sharply, the smile vanishing. “Some of my subjects do not know what is good for them, I fear. The rest, I am glad to say, rejoice for me, and for England.”

“As do I, madam”—Renard smiled—“and His Highness too. I hear he is an eager bridegroom.” He hoped that sounded convincing.

Mary blushed deeply.

“I trust he will not find me wanting,” she said humbly. Looking at her faded, tired face and thin, flat-chested body, Renard could have wept for her.

CHAPTER
18

1554

T
here is no justification for keeping the Lady Elizabeth in the Tower!” Sussex said, barely concealing his anger. “Let her return to court, madam.”

Mary, seated in her cushioned chair at the head of the council table, quelled him—and those who were about to support him vociferously—with a look.

“It would not be honorable, safe, or reasonable to receive my sister at court,” she said. “My pleasure is that she be held under house arrest at some secure place in the country where she can be kept under surveillance.”

The councillors did not risk arguing with this, for it was clear that Mary had made up her mind. Only Gardiner looked satisfied.

“Has Your Majesty considered where?” Arundel asked.

“I was going to ask among you, my lords, if any man here is willing to be her custodian,” the Queen said hopefully.

There was a prolonged and deathly silence. Then Sir Henry Bedingfield stood up.

“I will take on the honor of this responsibility, madam,” he announced.

Mary looked at him gratefully. She knew him to be a loyal man, conscientious and reliable, and with a rigid sense of duty. Unimaginative, though, and a bit of a plodder. She would hardly have noticed him but for one thing: His father had been her mother’s jailer during the last years of her life, and he too had been a stickler for the rules. With this proven example behind him, Sir Henry was an ideal and obvious choice.

“It would seem that a readiness to ensure the safekeeping of royal ladies runs in your family, Sir Henry,” she said with a smile. The little man puffed out his chest with pride and bowed chivalrously to her.