Betrayal (53 page)

Elisabeth was cheered by his change in manner and grabbed at her chance. “Good sir, will you take a message to her for me?”

“You’ll not have me doing your witches work!” he shouted as he drew the sign of the Cross on his chest.

“Good sir,” Elisabeth replied trembling.  “What do you mean?”

“I know what you are and you will burn for it!” he shouted at the shivering girl. “Only fire can cleanse a Soul as black as yours,” he continued as he backed out of the door.

“Who accuses me?” Elisabeth pleaded as the guard slammed the heavy door shut.

“I am no witch!” she screamed beating her hands against the rough wood.  “I am no witch I swear to you, I am no witch!  If you would but speak to Queen Anne, she will tell you,” Elisabeth cried, slumping to the cold stone floor, but the only sound she could hear was her own voice.  “What have I done?” she cried dissolving into body-racking sobs.

              After a few moments she sat up, cheered by the thought that Andrew must already be on his way to Windsor to seek an audience with the King and Queen. “Certainly he will not fail,” she whispered as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And George,” she said hopefully, “surely he will look for me.”  Confident now that she was not forgotten Elisabeth rose to her feet. Dusting the twigs of straw from her gown, she crossed to her bed. Sitting down she resolved to wait until they did what they must to prove her innocence. 

                                                                              ***

The Royal Court did not return from Windsor until Thursday, April 21
st
.  On hearing of the King’s return to London, Sarah applied for a private audience with him which was not granted until April 24
th
.

             
Sarah arrived at Whitehall Palace at ten-thirty in the morning. As her appointment with the King was for eleven-thirty she hoped to be able to have a few minutes to visit with the Queen. But her request for admittance to the Queen’s Presence Chamber was denied.

             
At eleven-thirty as agreed Sarah met Henry and his coterie of Courtiers in the newly planted rose garden.

             
“Your Grace,” Sarah said, dipping a deep curtsy.

             
“Sarah,” Henry said, nodding his head.  “Walk with me,” he continued and taking the young woman’s hand he led her away from the ever present group of young men. “You are quite a young lady now,” Henry said smiling down at her.

             
After they had put some distance between them and the young men Sarah spoke.

“My lord, I am come on a matter of most urgent business.”

              Henry smiled.  “What need have you to bother your pretty head with business?” he asked as they took a turn around the budding boxwood hedge.

             
“I come for the benefit of a friend,” Sarah replied quietly.

             
“Can your friend not speak for himself?”

             
“No, your Majesty, she cannot.  She is held as a prisoner at the Tower.”

             
“It is not your place to speak to me of prisoners!” Henry growled. “Besides I hold no women prisoner in the Tower of London.” Henry spouted gruffly. “What is it you are saying?”

             
Sarah flushed at his anger but she stiffened her back and spoke out boldly. “I have come to plead for Elisabeth Beeton who you hold at the Tower on a charge of witchcraft.”

             
“Do I?” Henry asked the clouds in the sky. He stood looking up at the threatening skies.

             
“Yes, your Grace,” Sarah said quietly.

             
“The Queen’s maid? That Elisabeth?”

             
“Yes, your Grace, my foster mother when I was but a babe and this was York Place.”

             
“York Place!” Henry snapped turning to face the frightened girl.

             
Sarah nodded her head.

             
“Have you seen the Queen?” Henry suddenly demanded.

             
Sarah dipped a hasty curtsy replying, “No, your Grace.”

             
“Good.  I mean, I would not have her disturbed by this news.  Her health has not been good since she miscarried in January.”

Sarah held her curtsy but crooked her head. This she knew was not true for the Queen had been seen hunting in St. James Park in early April. Sarah had seen Anne herself.  “Please your Grace, you know Elisabeth is the most faithful of servants. She would rather die than harm your Grace or the Queen.”

Henry smiled at Sarah, marveling once again at her red-gold curls so like his own. He admired her strong bones and the set of her clear blue eyes. Why wasn’t she his child, rather than the dour Mary with her dark Spanish looks?  Perhaps the child Elizabeth will resemble him.  People said she did but she was still a babe in arms so who could tell?

He gazed lovingly at Sarah remembering when he first met her here in this garden so many years ago.  ‘Was it here?’ Henry thought looking at the boxwood hedge, ‘Where she nearly bowled me over?’  Quietly he made his decision.

“Listen child,” he said taking her hand and guiding Sarah to her feet.  “Have no fear, I shall see that your Elisabeth is returned to you, but these things take time. You must be patient.”

Sarah nodded her head as she solemnly looked up into the King’s face.

“Now promise me,” Henry said looking deep into Sarah’s eyes, “that you will not trouble the Queen or her brother with this matter. I will see to all that needs to be done.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Sarah said dipping a deep curtsey, her hands still held tight by the King.  “Thank you, your Grace,” Sarah repeated quietly as Henry released her hands.

As they walked in the rose garden the King was hailed by Thomas Cromwell and though they walked some distance from Sarah, she overheard Cromwell say to the King, “We have our weak link. I shall proceed before the end of the month if it is still what you desire.”

Henry nodded his head and dismissed Cromwell with a wave of his bejeweled hand.  Turning to Sarah, Henry dismissed her. “Now dear one, go home comforted in the thought that your friend is safe. Goodbye now” Henry said, turning and walking away
from Sarah.  “There will be no trial,” Henry continued as he walked away “there will be no need.”

Sarah was momentarily puzzled by what she had heard, but she was too happy to consider it thoroughly.  ‘Elisabeth will be free,’ was all she could think of.  They needed patience but everything would turn out well in the end.  Happily Sarah left Whitehall Palace confident in the future.

***

          On the morning of April 30
th
Mark Smeaton, the Queen’s musician received an unusual invitation.

          The request was to dine with Thomas Cromwell in his home in Stepney.  Mark was surprised by the summons as the King’s Chief Minister had hardly spoken to him in the past six months.  But still Mark was intrigued by Cromwell’s offer of an ambitious undertaking and Smeaton who aspired to greatness was eager to find out what it was. 

          He had finessed his position as one of the many musicians of the King’s Privy Chamber into being the Queen’s favorite musician and composer.  Mark could only guess at what Cromwell proposed to offer as he dressed in his finest clothes for the occasion.

           Mark had been surprised to find that Cromwell had sent his own carriage to bring him to Stepney.  He had been prepared to ride his own fine roan mare, a recent gift of the Queen.

           At the appointed hour Mark climbed into Cromwell’s fine carriage without a care in the world.

           They dined heartily on pheasant and drank heavily of mulled wine. As the afternoon progressed Cromwell became more pointed in his questions of the comings and goings within the Queen’s chambers.

            “Do you still attend the Lady nightly?” Cromwell asked pouring more wine into Smeaton’s wine cup

            “Perhaps four or five times a week,” Mark said proudly as he sipped his wine.

            “Are you often alone with the Queen?”

            “Yes, my lord, I would say often.”

            “So she seeks your company?”

            “She finds my music soothing,” Mark replied, his words slurred by the wine.

            “Are you aware that the Queen has taken a lover?”

            “No, my lord, you are wrong.”

            Cromwell leaned across the table to refill Mark’s wine cup.  The younger man was already quite drunk.  “Do you play for the Queen and her brother?”

            “Often, my lord.”

            “When they are alone?”

             “I do not understand you, Master Cromwell.  What is it you want to know?”

             “I want to know if the Queen is intimate with her brother.  Does she take him to her bed?”

             “Your pardon, sir, but I am quite drunk and do not think I heard you right.”

             “Does Lord Rochford come to the Queen’s chamber alone at night?”

             Mark nodded his head.  He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach.      

             Cromwell continued pressing his questions.  “Does Henry Norris come to the Queen’s chamber?”

             “Often my lord.”

              “Does he come alone at night?”

              “You are asking questions I cannot answer. My head hurts, my lord. May I go outside for a breath of air?”

               “Does Norris come alone to her rooms?” Cromwell demanded.

               “When the Queen entertains her friends he is there.”

               “What of Francis Weston and William Brereton, do they also frequent the Queen’s chambers?”

                “Friends, all of them, of my lady Queen. I do not understand what you are asking.”

                 Cromwell slammed his fist on the table spilling the wine and sending one the wine cups crashing to the floor.

                 Suddenly, without a word, two men stood behind Mark, a hand resting on each of his shoulders.

                 “You are in love with the Queen are you not?” Cromwell demanded, shaking his fist in Mark’s face.  “Have you lain with the Queen?”

                Shocked by the question Mark struggled to stand up but he was held fast by the men.

                “I asked you if you have lain with Queen Anne.”

                “No, my lord, never!”

                “I have proof that it was your child she miscarried in January.”

                 “No, my lord! I swear to you it is not true.”
             

                “Has she spread her legs for you, Mark?  Has she bewitched you as she did the King?  Do not worry, Mark, you are innocent of treason if she bewitched you.”

                “Treason!” Mark cried as he struggled again to gain his feet. “I have committed no treason, my lord, I swear it.”

               “Perhaps you are right. It wasn’t your bastard she miscarried.  You are a handsome young man. Look at those beautiful hands.  You could not possibly have created such a monster as she bore.  Was it Brereton or Weston?  Was it Norris? Yes, I believe it was Norris. What say you Mark?”

               Mark shook his head.

               “I know,” Cromwell said smoothly, getting up from the table to walk around to Mark’s side, “a monster such as that can only be created when a brother and sister lie together. Is that not so Mark?”

               Mark shook his head violently.  “No, my lord that cannot be!”

              The man on Mark’s left grabbed the musician’s fine boned hand and began to bend the little finger backward until the bones snapped and the young man screamed with pain.

              “What say you, Mark, did Lord Rochford beget the child on Queen Anne, his sister? Was it his bastard she miscarried?”

               Mark shouted, “No!” through his tears.

              “He will tell us what we want. Take him downstairs and see that he does.” Cromwell commanded.

             “No, please,” Mark begged as the two men dragged him to his feet. “I beg you, no!”

             Thomas Cromwell watched with satisfaction as Mark Smeaton was taken away. This would be easier than he had thought. The threat of a charge of treason would loosen the young man’s tongue and if it did not torture surely would.  Smiling, he walked back to the table and poured himself another cup of mulled wine.

              Later that evening a broken and shattered Mark Smeaton was brought to the Tower of London under guard.  He had indeed told Cromwell what he wanted to hear and more.