Betrayal (29 page)

Elisabeth blanched as she thought of the tale that would be told below stairs of her mysterious letter. When the boy was gone Elisabeth sat down heavily on a carved stone bench with the letter clutched tightly in her hand. Elisabeth had come to the garden to ponder a problem that threatened her place at Court. Now there was a letter; what could it mean?

She studied the cramped handwriting; yes, that was her name written there. She felt a faint sense of foreboding as she turned the parchment over to look at the seal once more. She was unable to stand the building tension that threatened to engulf her like a stormy night and tore at the seal.

“Good parchment this,” she said to herself. The feel of the creamy smooth vellum brought Brother Michael to mind. ‘What would he think of her dilemma?’ she wondered. There had been no word from the old monk. Wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand Elisabeth unfolded the paper and began to read.

Niece,

     It is with a great sense of pride that I write you. Word has come that you are well placed at Court, even to having the ear of Queen Anne. I would suffer you to use your position to present at Court, James Hays, wool merchant of Oxford, your cousin.

              Your grandfather in whose name I write realizes he has not often written you, but it is with great affection that he has asked me to write now. He begs that I remind you that without him, you would never have escaped the wilds of North Cornwall; for it was he who gained your place in London. Enough said, only be reminded of your true and loving benefactor.

             
Your cousin, James, my son, has need of access to the Royal Court. You must advance his cause to your lady, the Queen. He is a good lad who needs to find a suitable bride, one who will bring pride, family, and wealth to the match.

             
And as I speak of marriage, it is with pleasure I tell you of his traveling companion, Andrew Tremayne, likewise a wool merchant, but of your own Cornwall, not Oxford. He has been, by your grandfather, given today your hand in marriage. He comes of a good family and though he be not right-way born, his father favors him and I bid you welcome him as a loving wife.

             
Signed this 19
th
day of August 1534, in the name of your maternal grandfather

             
                                                        Amos Hays

              Dearest Niece, thy grandfather lies dying in his bed and wishes you to mind his word and honor his love. For myself, I ask only that you meet with Jamie and decide for yourself.  Your uncle, John Hays              

              Elisabeth stared unseeingly at the letter. “Grandfather, Uncle, Cousin, Husband,” she chanted, her voice just above a whisper as she repeated them until she cried out, “He means to make a bastard my husband!” Her scream raised a nearby flock of doves into flight.

             
Benjamin had reappeared, mimicking the frightened fleeing birds with his flapping arms. “Elisabeth, you are wanted,” he called, as he ran by. Turning on his heel he ran back chasing the last of the doves into flight. “Lady Rochford says,” he paused, as he tried to control his ragged breathing.

             
Elisabeth groaned loudly. “Never mind, Benjamin, I know what she says.” She tucked the letter into the bodice of her russet gown, stood up, and was  ready to search out the scolding woman.

             
“No, ye don’t, no, ye don’t. Ye don’t know what she says,” the young boy taunted.  “Ye have a visitor, that’s what she says. Yonder in the garden he is. None too pleased was she, no sir, none too pleased,” the boy added as he prepared to skip away.

             
“Who is it, Benjamin? Do you know? Answer me, boy! Do you know who it is?”

             
“Naw, how would I know? I only know what I am told, ‘tis better that way, don’t you know.” The young boy winked a devilish smile as he swept a deep formal bow from the waist before running for the hall.

             
Elisabeth looked up to see a stranger standing beside the apricot tree. She curtsied before the handsome blonde man, marveling at his fair coloring, so like her own.

He seemed shy at first, mumbling his greeting to his shoes rather than Elisabeth. Elisabeth smiled as he stammered out his words.

              “Cousin,” he said more forcefully than he had intended. “My name is Jamie Hays and I come from Oxford to greet you” he continued, executing a stiff bow. He smiled weakly then looked again at his shoes.  “My father has sent the letter that was this day delivered to you.”

             
“Yes,” Elisabeth replied, her back stiff as the remembered words bit once more.

             
“I have news to share,” he continued, as he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

             
“Can you give me news of my father?” Elisabeth asked hopefully.

             
“I but met him once, I am afraid, but I would gladly tell you of that meeting.”

             
“Then let’s sit here on the bench.” She indicated the warm green carpet near the ripening apricots. The summer air relaxed the young man as he allowed his tall lean body to sink to the inviting sweet grass.

             
He spoke of the first time he had met her father, Thomas Beeton, in late October, more than four years after her mother’s death.

             
“I was then living with my parents, brother, and grandfather outside Oxford. One night there was a loud knocking at the door. My father was away on business, my mother and brother were asleep, so I rose to answer it.  But my grandfather, beg pardon, our grandfather, arrived there first. I remember it clearly as if it was yesterday, not eleven years ago.  My grandfather’s voice was filled with anger, as he seemed to recognize the stranger at our door. He did not bid him enter nor did he offer any hospitality, as was his usual manner. I was shocked by my grandfather’s behavior, as he is always the most hospitable host. I came forward to bid this weary traveler enter and rest.  My grandfather shouted at me, ‘Boy, this has naught to do with you! Back to you bed and be quick about it!  My grandfather shoved me aside, something he had never done before.”

             
Tears welled in Elisabeth’s eyes as she listened to the anger in Jamie’s voice, yet she bid him to continue.

             
Jamie hung his head, his rough, calloused hand stroked his brow as he struggled with the memories of that long ago night.  “My grandfather is not a gentle man. I have seen him beat servants for minor infractions and once when I was seven he struck my grandmother as she told Stephen, my older brother, and me about your mother and the grandchild she would never see. My grandfather, forbid any mention of his daughter, her husband, or her child. He spoke of her as if she had died rather than married Thomas Beeton.”

             
Elisabeth paled as she listened to her cousin.

             
‘I have no daughter!’ my grandfather shouted, as he struck the stranger with his cane. ‘She died nigh on sixteen years ago when she left this house without my consent or counsel.’  The stranger at the door gently responded that she had a child. 

“She is your grand-daughter.  Do not turn your face from her in her hour of need. I ask nothing for myself, only for Mary’s child.”  Jamie paused to draw a breath.

              Elisabeth clutched at her breast, sure her heart was about to escape her body. She could think of nothing to say so she kept quiet.

             
Jamie drew a long breath into his lungs, expelling it slowly. His face pale, he stared at his hands, unwilling or unable to go on.

             
Elisabeth waited.

             
“My grandfather stared at the man on his doorstep, saying, ‘I have but two grandchildren and they both live here in this house with me. They are the children of my son, John, my only child. Now be gone with you before I set the dogs on you.’ Slamming the door behind him I watched as the old man slowly climbed the stair to his room. Then, silently, I slipped from my hiding place and chased the stranger that was my uncle. I took him to a friend’s house where he would be safe from my grandfather’s wrath and I begged him to tell me about you. We walked quietly through the dark streets, stopping only in the Common to speak, well away from the houses where we might be overheard. He looked at me and asked my age.”

             
“Fifteen, last spring, I told him. ‘Your cousin, Elisabeth is eleven, strong of limb and fair of mind,’ he said.”

             
Elisabeth blushed prettily to hear herself so described. She wondered that her father knew anything of her, as he had not come to see her since her mother’s death.

             
Jamie took Elisabeth’s slim hand in his large brown one, rubbing it ever so gently as he continued his tale.  “He told me he was a cobbler, and was looking for someplace to sell his wares.  Just before dawn I took him to a friend who had a stall in the market.  I begged for him a place to stay and a corner of their stall in which he could sell the fine boots and delicate slippers he had with him.”

Elisabeth smiled, remembering how her father labored through the cold winter months on his last, as he created the boots, shoes and slippers that he carried far and wide in the warmer months.

After a few moments pause Jamie continued, “I gave them several coins to bid them not reveal my part in all this, for I feared my grandfather’s anger. Perhaps I was a coward not to stand up for what I knew was right.” He hesitated, his face flushing with embarrassment. “It was at their stall that your father met the Cardinal’s man, George Cavendish.  It seems that Cavendish stopped at the stall one morn to buy of the leather goods sold there. He spotted your father at work on a fine pair of gray doeskin slippers, delicately stitched and lined with rabbit fur. Cavendish then cried (or so said my friend), ‘My lord must have those slippers and you as well, cobbler. Come with me, my lord waits nearby.’  So it came to be that my lord Cardinal did indeed want the slippers and asked the price. My uncle sought only a place for you in the Cardinal’s household as payment. ‘Twas a bold move but my lord Cardinal was a lover of brave souls. That is how in truth, you came to serve him, and in serving him you came to earn a place at Court. Though now I learn it was four more years before he brought you to London, though why I thought he would bring a girl of twelve into his household, I do not know.”

Elisabeth laughed, remembering the Cardinal’s dismay at Sarah’s arrival in his household and she told Jamie of the golden-haired child. After a while, after a period of comfortable silence, Elisabeth asked, “But cousin, how is it that your grandfather, I call him yours, as he was never mine. How does he claim to be responsible for my position here?  If it is as you told it and I am sure it is, he had naught to do with my placement in the Cardinal’s household. Jamie, I am confused.”

“It is by his denial of assistance that he declares his aid. For without the denial your father would not have sought aid in the market and would not have met the Cardinal’s man. Yes, even unto my being the means of this, does he take all the credit.”

“I do not understand,” Elisabeth cried, her head aching. “How can he claim credit for my father’s good fortune?  ‘Twas my father’s skill that won me a place in the Cardinal’s household. Surely your grandfather is a fool to believe it is to him I owe credit. I wish to hear no more of this man. Only tell me, have you seen my father since?”

Jamie hung his head and was about to speak when Lady Rochford beckoned Elisabeth to return for the Queen had need of her.

“Hold cousin, there is much I would tell you. There waits at The Three Bells, a man you must meet. He has traveled with me and I would have you meet him.”

“Be he, him of your grandfather’s letter?” Elisabeth snapped. “If so, tell him his suit is in vain. I shall not marry whilst I serve the Queen. I bid you adieu, my cousin, until we meet again. I beg that for the sake of your poor cousin; please re-direct Master Tremayne’s interests elsewhere.”

             
“But Elisabeth,”

             
“No buts, Jamie, I shall not marry. I am promised to the Queen. No man may come before my duty to her.” Elisabeth continued silently, ‘and no man can replace my beloved, George, Lord Rochford.’

             
Her cheeks flushed at the thought of her shame; perhaps she should not be so quick to refuse this offer of marriage.  She pulled at the grass at her feet unable to think clearly. She knew she must tell George of her situation, but he was just returned from France. ‘No,’ she thought, ‘if I cannot marry the man I love then I shall not marry at all.’

             
Jamie noticed Elisabeth’s blush. He had heard rumors of the Queen’s concupiscence and he wondered if Elisabeth’s strong love for her Mistress was carnal rather than filial.  “But cousin, what am I to tell Andrew? He has traveled so far to see you. Will you not meet him as a friend?” Jamie pleaded.

             
“I must go. I am called to my Mistress.”