The Lady Elizabeth (32 page)

They were now at the door to Mary’s chamber. She opened it and disappeared inside without another word.

“Good night, Sister,” Elizabeth said to the empty air.

CHAPTER
14

1548

E
lizabeth was relieved to be returning to Chelsea, and to see her stepmother waiting to greet her, but as she alighted from her litter onto the snow-covered ground, she saw that the Queen’s face was grave.

“I have some sad news,” Katherine said after embracing and kissing her stepdaughter. “Grindal is dead. He went to his sister’s for Christmas, as usual, but there was plague in the district. He caught it and was gone within hours.”

The gentle, kind tutor, that good, learned man, was no more; gathered to his forefathers with scant warning. Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes.

“I am deeply sorry for it,” she said quietly.

“Come inside,” the Queen said gently. “We shall get warm. The Admiral is waiting in the privy chamber. He has said how much he is looking forward to seeing you. How was the King’s Grace?”

They were kind to her, the Queen and the Admiral. They made her sit down by the fire and gave her some steaming hippocras and wafers. Elizabeth was struck anew by the Admiral’s debonair charm, but in her sorrow, she felt distanced from it, and he was playing the devoted husband anyway. Her mind was preoccupied with memories of poor Grindal, whom she would never see again.

Who would teach her now? she wondered, as she fell asleep that night.

“My Lady Elizabeth, there is a letter for you,” Kat said, bustling into the bedchamber where her charge had been lying indisposed for the past couple of days. Elizabeth raised herself from her pillows, laid down her book, and broke the seal.

“It is from Master Ascham!” she said, looking instantly better. “He wishes to visit me. This was written two days ago—Kat, he will be here at any time!”

She bounded out of the bed, ignoring Kat’s protests, wobbled on her feet for a few moments, then began rummaging in the chest for some clothes.

“My lady, take it easily!” Kat cried.

“I’m all right, I’m better,” Elizabeth told her. “Just fetch my green gown, will you? The furred one.”

Later that day, as she had anticipated, Roger Ascham arrived, and Elizabeth welcomed him with outstretched hands.

“The Queen and the Admiral are in London, Master Ascham, so you will have to make do with me as your hostess!” she told him gaily.

“I could not imagine a more delightful honor, madam,” he replied warmly in his homely Yorkshire accent.

After Kat had served wine, they sat together in the winter parlor, where a great fire burned in the grate, and discussed Ascham’s recently published book on archery and then the subjects that Elizabeth had been studying.

“But enough of me,” she said at length. “You did not come to talk of my modest studies, Master Ascham. What brings you to Chelsea?”

The scholar’s rugged face creased in a rueful smile.

“I had heard that you were without a tutor, madam, and am come to offer my poor services.”

Elizabeth was delighted.

“That would be to my utmost pleasure,” she declared.

“It would be an honor to instruct one who is so renowned for her learning,” Ascham said. Elizabeth knew him to be sincere, and that this was not just idle flattery.

“It would be an honor for me to have such an eminent tutor,” she responded, “and I am sure the Queen will approve. I will write to her today and tell her that I am minded to have you, Master Ascham, and no one else.”

“Naturally, you must submit to your guardian’s judgment,” Ascham conceded.

“I have every intention of doing so, provided she agrees with my choice!” Elizabeth replied, laughing. “I will go to London myself and persuade her, if need be! And you, Master Ascham, will you go back to the university at Cambridge and ask for leave of absence to join the Queen’s household?”

“Are you that certain of success, my lady?” Ascham asked, bemused.

“Never doubt it!” Elizabeth told him.

“That’s a lot of work,” observed Kat doubtfully, regarding the piles of books on the study table. Roger Ascham smiled.

“Not at all, madam,” he replied. “Those will keep us busy for a long time. You will learn that I am no believer in cramming. If you pour too much drink into a goblet, the most part will run over the sides.”

Kat nodded, satisfied.

Lessons with Master Ascham, for Elizabeth, were a joy. She was delighted to discover that his favorite Latin author was Cicero. She loved to read the letters Ascham received from the wide circle of European intellectuals with whom he corresponded. She thrilled to his praise for her command of Latin and Greek and her knowledge of the classics.

“You read more Greek in a day than most doctors of the Church do in a week!” he told her.

The mornings were spent in the company of Sophocles and Isocrates, the afternoons fencing with Livy and Cicero, or studying theology. When lessons were over, tutor and pupil often indulged in their shared passion for riding and hunting, cantering out into the fields beyond the palace, come sunshine, rain, or snow. In the evenings, Elizabeth would practice on her lute or her virginals—Katherine Parr had presented her with a beautifully crafted set that had belonged to her mother and bore Anne’s device of a white falcon. They were among Elizabeth’s most prized possessions, along with the portrait of Anne that now hung openly in her bedchamber, and the initial pendant in her jewel coffer.

Elizabeth was quick to notice that Master Ascham often appeared to be scrutinizing her clothes.

“What are you looking at, sir?” she asked one day, seeing a slight frown appear on his brow as he regarded her damask rose silk gown and costly gold chains, the latter a gift from the Queen.

“May I speak freely, my lady?” he asked.

“Of course,” she agreed.

“Godly Protestant maidens usually wear simple apparel,” he said.

Elizabeth looked down at her dress. It suddenly seemed rather extravagant, with its silver undersleeves, bejeweled girdle, and pearl trim around the neckline. And the five rings on her slender fingers…She found that she was embarrassed. It occurred to her that pious little Jane Grey invariably favored black clothing uncluttered by much jewelry, even though she came from a wealthy background. And Queen Katherine too—she had lately taken to wearing more sober colors, even though the fabrics were rich, and fewer pieces of jewelry. What must Master Ascham be thinking of her, Elizabeth, still got up in her gaudy finery? She cared very much for his good opinion.

“Wait!” she said impulsively, and sped away to her bedchamber.

“Where’s my black velvet gown?” she asked an astonished Kat.

“Why, my lady, has somebody died?” the governess cried in alarm.

“Nay. I am but come to my senses, thanks to Master Ascham. Ladies who follow God’s word must dress themselves simply and modestly.” She was ripping off her necklace and rings.

Kat shook her head. The young were prone to fads and odd ideas, she knew. It just wasn’t worth arguing with Elizabeth when she was in one of her determined moods. Better to indulge her fancy than provoke a tantrum. Bemused, she lifted the black gown off its peg in the closet, helped Elizabeth to change, and stood lacing it up at the back.

When Elizabeth presented herself again in the study, Master Ascham was gratified to see the change in her—and not a little disturbed. In the severe but elegant black gown, with its low, unadorned square neckline, tight bodice, and full skirts, and with her red hair loose about her shoulders, Elizabeth looked the epitome of a godly Protestant maiden—and unsettlingly seductive.

She espied him looking intently at her.

“Do I look godly enough now, Master Ascham?” she asked.

“Indeed you do, my lady,” he replied. “The epitome of virtue.”

“Yes,” she said, reflecting with some shame on how, of late, she had been tempted to stray from the path of virtue. One could not look the part and be something quite other underneath. She meant it when she added, “Not only am I determined to dress soberly from now on but also to lead a sober life, and control whatever ungodly emotions and desires may come upon me.”

She did not realize how soon this new resolve would be tested.

“Why, my Lady Elizabeth,” the Admiral said, encountering her on the stairs, “you are a vision of perfection!” His eyes raked her partly exposed bosom.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, basking in his naked admiration, yet willing him to let her pass, knowing that she dared not trust herself to be alone with him for long lest she betray her inner turmoil. For the madness—it could not be sanity to feel thus, she told herself—was still within her, feeding on regular contact with the beloved one, feasting on the sight of him and the sound of his voice. Since their near-catastrophic meeting in the garden, the Admiral had kept his distance, had no longer come to her chamber in the mornings. Yet despite his playing the devoted husband to the Queen, Elizabeth was aware, from the smoldering looks he gave her, that he still burned for her—as, despite her resolve, she still did for him, God help her.

Thomas raised his hand and gently touched her hair. His touch was like a shock to her senses, and instinctively she clutched that hand and put it away from her.

He was staring at her longingly, saying nothing—not needing to—and she knew she must break that gaze and proceed on her way. But she could not; she stayed there, rooted to the step, just that little bit too long.

Katherine Parr, hastening down the stairs in her soft shoes on some urgent errand, came upon them thus, standing staring wordlessly at each other, and her appearance abruptly broke the spell.

“Hello, Kate,” stuttered the Admiral, recovering himself.

“Is everything well?” the Queen asked sharply.

“Yes, madam,” whispered Elizabeth. She curtsied and fled upstairs.

“Of course everything is well,” Tom said evenly.

Katherine looked long and hard at her husband, then went on her way.

Elizabeth began to notice, by and by, that the Queen was no longer so warm toward her. Katherine did not seek out her company as often as she once had, and when they were together at table, or during her regular visits to the schoolroom to inspect Elizabeth’s work, she was civil, even pleasant, but these days her smile did not reach her eyes, which always seemed to be regarding her stepdaughter warily. And Katherine looked tired and drawn, too, her joyous spirit no longer much in evidence.

Thomas Parry, Elizabeth’s cofferer, said as much one day in March when he joined Kat and Elizabeth for a nightcap one evening in the winter parlor. Elizabeth liked this rotund Welshman: He was a bit of a fusspot, but kindly and avuncular, and utterly devoted to her.

“I must confess I am concerned about the Queen,” he said. “She doesn’t look at all well.”

Elizabeth, seated at the table, looked up from her book.

“So I have noticed,” Kat said.

“She seems distant and preoccupied,” Parry went on, “and she spoke very sharply to the Admiral this morning in the stables. She seemed very vexed with him for some reason.”

Elizabeth could not help herself. She had to say something. If she did not, she would burst. She could no longer shoulder this burden alone.

“I think I know why,” she said.

They both turned to look at her.

“I fear it is because the Admiral loves me too well, and has done for a long time,” she confessed, “and the Queen is jealous of us both.”

“I do not believe it,” exclaimed Parry, shocked.

“How do you know this, Elizabeth?” Kat asked, looking at her charge closely.

“The Admiral told me he loved me. That day in the garden. I think the Queen knows of it.” Her cheeks were flaming.

“He told you?” echoed Kat.

“Yes. In faith, Kat, I did nothing to encourage him. I got away from him as fast as I could.”

“Did he touch you in any way?” Kat demanded to know.

“He has tried once or twice, but each time I pushed him away,” Elizabeth told her. That was the truth, wasn’t it?