The Lady Elizabeth (7 page)

“Will she die?” she whispered.

“We must pray she will not,” Mary replied, putting an arm around Elizabeth. “We must ask God to spare her life.”

Elizabeth went immediately to her prayer desk and knelt down.

“I’m going to ask Him now,” she said, and closing her eyes and putting her hands together, she began praying fervently.

Behind her, Mary pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ooh, this tooth is giving me misery,” she groaned.

“Cloves, madam, that’ll help,” said Lady Bryan.

“I’ve tried that,” Mary said, clearly in pain. “Nothing works. I must bear it as well as I may. As my sainted mother used to say, we never come to the kingdom of Heaven but by troubles.”

“A hot brick wrapped in flannel, held to the spot, will ease it,” Lady Bryan persisted, rising to her feet. “As for you, my Lady Elizabeth, it is time you were in bed. I will attend you presently, when you have finished your prayers.”

Elizabeth woke to the sound of quiet sobbing. The dawn was just breaking as she slid out of bed and put on her nightgown. Holding her breath, she quietly opened the door to the antechamber. No one was there. The weeping seemed to be coming from beyond the farther door. Elizabeth lifted the latch.

The Lady Mary and Lady Bryan, both already fully dressed, rose to their feet at once. Elizabeth looked from one tearstained face to another and guessed that something dreadful had happened. Mary came swiftly to her.

“Sister, if we accept good things from God, then we must also endure the trials He sends us,” she said, holding Elizabeth close. “Alas, the good Queen has been taken from us.”

“She has surely gone to Heaven, child, for she did many good deeds,” Lady Bryan assured her, dabbing her eyes.

Elizabeth said nothing. She had lost control when her mother died, and she doubted that anything would ever hurt her as badly again, so she was trying not to cry. She was a big girl now, and must accept God’s will, difficult as it was.

“The Queen made a good end. She died in her sleep, after receiving the last rites,” Mary told her. “We have that consolation.”

“I am so sorry she is dead,” whispered Elizabeth. “She was very kind to me. I will miss her.” Tears were threatening, but she would not give in to them.

“We will all miss her,” echoed Mary, “especially our poor father.”

“Where is he?” Elizabeth asked. Suddenly, she wanted the comfort of his strong arms, his powerful presence, his reassuring confidence.

“He has gone from here,” Mary said. “He left for Windsor before sunrise. He would see no one, and wants to bear his grief alone.”

Elizabeth felt doubly bereft. Two mothers had she lost, both in a short space of time, and her father had ridden away without even attempting to console her.

Clutching Mary’s hand, Elizabeth entered the Chapel Royal. There before them, on a black-draped bier, lay the still body of Queen Jane, dressed in robes of state with her crown on her head and jewels at her throat and breast. Her hands lay crossed on her bosom; her eyes were shut forever.

The sisters were wearing somber black mourning gowns and white hoods.

“The white hoods signify that the Queen died in childbed,” Mary had explained.

They knelt together through the solemn Mass, then when the priest and choristers had departed, they approached the bier. A faint odor of spices, masking something less pleasant, emanated from the body of the Queen, which had now been lying here three days; and when Elizabeth, lifted by her sister, kissed the dead woman’s white forehead, she found it as cold as the marble it resembled. Yet Jane Seymour looked as if she were merely sweetly sleeping. If only, Elizabeth thought desperately, if only she would wake up, then everyone would be happy again, and the King would come back. But she knew that the Queen would never wake up, that her soul had fled, and that, in some mysterious way, having the Prince had killed her.

Appalled by the sweet scent of death, and realizing with dread that there were more perils in the world than she had ever imagined, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands to shut out the sight of the white, waxen face and tried very hard to pray.

“How does the King?” Lady Bryan looked up as Sir John Shelton joined her by the roaring fire. It was November, and Sir John had returned to Hatfield as soon as the Queen had been laid to rest at Windsor. Elizabeth was lying on her belly near the hearth, pretending to be learning the letters inscribed on her horn book.

“I fear he is in low spirits,” said the governor, “but by all reports, he has framed his mind patiently to bearing his loss. It is said he has also framed his mind to…” He leaned forward and murmured something in the governess’s ear. Elizabeth, straining to hear, caught the words “fourth time.”

“And the Queen not yet cold in her grave!” Lady Bryan exclaimed. Oh, but she
was
cold, she had been very cold, before they ever laid her in it, thought Elizabeth, remembering with a shudder that marble body.

“Master Secretary Cromwell was saying that it is his tender zeal toward his subjects that has overcome his sad disposition,” said Sir John. “He was referring to the matter of the succession. The life of the Prince is all that stands between stability and chaos in this realm, and you well know how many children die young. For the sake of all our futures, the King needs other sons—he himself has clearly recognized this. And, of course, there are advantages to be gained through a new marriage alliance.”

Elizabeth wasn’t interested in marriage alliances. She was more concerned about her dear little brother, that sweet babe, who—like herself—now had no mother to love him. Was Sir John hinting that he was like to die? Please God, no—that would be more than she could bear.

Her fears were immediately allayed.

“At least the Prince is in good health, praised be God—a lusty child, I hear,” said Sir John. “And so he should be, for the King guards his health rigorously.”

“Poor little lamb,” Lady Bryan murmured.

“His Majesty has commanded that the walls, floors, and ceilings of the Prince’s chamber be washed down thrice daily, and that none who has been in contact with any infection may approach His Highness,” Sir John told her. “You can hardly blame him, in the circumstances.”

“So who is His Majesty to marry?” Lady Bryan asked softly, returning to the topic of the moment and glancing at Elizabeth to see if she was listening. The child appeared to be absorbed with her ABCs.

“Well, it was to have been a French princess, I heard, but the French weren’t of a mind to it. Apparently, His Majesty had told their ambassador that the thing touched him too near, and that he needed to see the lady before any contract was signed.” Sir John again leaned closer to the governess, so that Elizabeth had to hold her breath in order to hear what he said next. “He asked that suitable French ladies be brought to Calais so that he could meet them and get to know them a little before choosing. Well, the ambassador was furious. He said that the great ladies of France were not to be paraded like prize animals in a market. And then he dared to suggest”—Sir John was almost whispering—“that His Majesty might like to mount them one after the other, and keep the one he found most agreeable.”

Lady Bryan gasped and clapped her hands to her cheeks, which had gone rosy pink.

“Aye, you may well blush, my lady,” said Sir John, “and the King did too. I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. As you can imagine, he has somewhat gone off the idea of a French alliance. He is looking to Cleves…”

Elizabeth was bored by this talk of alliances. Besides, she was puzzled. Why had Lady Bryan been so shocked? And why would her father want to mount the French ladies? That was what you did to horses—you mounted them. It was all very strange and beyond her comprehension. She stared at her horn book. The italic letters carved delicately into the wood danced before her eyes, unseen by their owner. She was too busy striving to imagine her father riding the French ladies, much as she would ride her hobbyhorse, round and round Calais. The images this conjured up made her giggle under her breath. Adults did the silliest things.

CHAPTER
3

1538

E
lizabeth hurried down the stairs to the great hall at Hatfield, wondering why she had been summoned there by Lady Bryan. As she neared the bottom, she saw her governess standing at the door, greeting a fashionably dressed middle-aged woman with dark hair and kind, doe-like eyes.

“I had not expected you so soon,” Lady Bryan was saying. “Please bear with me.” Looking a little flustered, she reeled around to her charge.

“My Lady Elizabeth, allow me to present Mistress Katherine Champernowne,” she said. The visitor executed a graceful curtsy, which Elizabeth returned in kind.

“You are welcome, Mistress Champernowne,” she said politely.

“I am honored, my lady,” replied the dark-haired woman. She had a gentle Devon accent, rounded cheeks, a slightly turned-up nose, and a hint of mischief in her face, while about her there was an air of refinement. Is she a friend of Lady Bryan? Elizabeth wondered, expecting to be dismissed now that the greetings had been exchanged. But that did not happen.

“Refreshments will be brought to you,” Lady Bryan told the visitor, still sounding a bit nonplussed. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. My Lady Elizabeth, you come with me. We will be back presently.” Briskly, she led the way back up to Elizabeth’s chamber. The child was mildly curious, and completely unprepared for what came next.

“I must tell you that Mistress Champernowne is to be your new governess,” announced Lady Bryan.

“My new governess?” Elizabeth was startled. “But I have a governess. You are my governess.”

Lady Bryan took a deep breath. “Not anymore, dear child, I’m afraid. I am to be governess to the Prince and rule over his new household. That is why Mistress Champernowne has been sent here.”

Elizabeth could not quite take it in. For as long as she could remember, Lady Bryan had looked after her. In all but blood, she had been a mother to her, the person who had cared for her, nurtured her, comforted her, and disciplined her. All her life, Lady Bryan had been there, and now—it appeared—she would be there no more. It was unthinkable.

“Has my father commanded it?” she asked.

“He has, child,” Lady Bryan said gently.

“It must be a mistake,” declared Elizabeth. “Send that lady away.
She
can look after the Prince. You stay here.”

There was a short silence.

“The Prince needs an experienced lady of rank to be his governess,” Lady Bryan said. “Long before you were born, I had care of your sister, the Lady Mary. Then you. Now I am commanded to Hampton Court to look after the Prince himself.”

There was pride in her voice as she said it, and suddenly Elizabeth knew that this was not just the King’s doing but Lady Bryan’s own wish. Her brother was more important than she was—she was old enough to know it—and for Lady Bryan, this was promotion, and a great honor at that. Young as Elizabeth was, she realized that it would be futile to protest further; she must accept the situation. But it hurt, oh it hurt, for she was not only aware that her small world would never, ever be the same, but also shocked at the realization that Lady Bryan’s devotion to herself had not been entirely lacking in self-interest. Once again, the universe had shifted, as it had done violently when she had learned of the awful fate of her mother, and less so when Queen Jane had died.

She was a big girl: She was four years old, and she would not make a fuss. She allowed Lady Bryan to take her hand and lead her downstairs to greet Katherine Champernowne; she bowed regally when the new governess sketched another curtsy, and even returned her smile.

“You are welcome, Mistress Champernowne,” she said.

“It will be an honor to serve you, my Lady Elizabeth,” said the governess.

Lady Bryan beamed. She had no idea of the pain and resentment that burned in Elizabeth’s breast, or of the tears that threatened to spill, two days later, as her charge waved her good-bye, standing in the doorway of the great hall.

I am alone, Elizabeth thought. There is no one but a stranger to care for me now. She stiffened her young shoulders and resolved that she would bear life with this newcomer as best she could.

As soon as Lady Bryan’s litter had disappeared down the London road in a cloud of dust, Mistress Champernowne turned to Elizabeth and smiled kindly.

“Let’s walk in the gardens,” she said brightly. “It’s such a fine day. Why don’t you fetch a ball. We can play some games, if it pleases you, my lady.”

Elizabeth looked at her in wonder. Lady Bryan had never suggested such a thing; of course, she was much older than Mistress Champernowne, and imagining that stately lady, skirts and sleeves flying, throwing or kicking a ball was so hilarious that she could not suppress a giggle as she ran to her chamber. And the game was so much fun, with the two of them laughing and panting as they raced across the greensward, chucking the ball at each other and failing, more often than not, to catch it. The new governess had so much energy for one of her years; she was not even above crawling through the rosebushes to retrieve the prize, much to Elizabeth’s astonishment and admiration.