Текст книги "In the Shadow of the Crown "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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“I am not young,” she went on piteously. “I am not beautiful. Why should he choose me?”
“I guess that he likes your company.”
“But I never thought …” Her eyes were appealing. I read in them that which she dared not utter. She was remembering that I was his daughter; how could she tell me she was afraid that to marry the King would be to put her life in danger?
I said, “You have agreed to become his wife?”
She replied, “I told him that I would prefer to be his mistress rather than his wife.” I stared at her. “That was bold of you.” “He thought so. It angered him. It shocked him. He said he did not understand my meaning. Then he smiled and said, ‘You are overcome by the honor, Kate. No need to be. I choose you and that is enough.' I could see how angry he would be if I refused. He went on, ‘Then the matter is settled. You shall be my Queen. I have had my eyes on you for many a day, and I know that there is happiness ahead for us two.'”
“And so,” I said, “the matter is settled.”
“When the King commands, one obeys.” She looked at me piteously.
“I have had two old husbands. I have been a nurse rather than a wife.”
I thought of his leg. I had never seen beneath the bandages but I believed it was not a pretty sight. Those in attendance on him must bathe it, apply the prescribed ointments and endure his fury when the pain was great.
It seemed that her fate was to act as nurse to old men. And there was Thomas Seymour, good-looking and romantic, cast by nature in the role of lover, waiting for her.
“If you are ill …” I said. “My father cannot bear illness. He never has.”
“But I am not ill. I am just… afraid.”
“Perhaps you could tell him you are already betrothed.”
She looked over her shoulder. I understood. We were speaking too frankly.
We had come to the conclusion that there was no way out for her.
“You will be our stepmother,” I said gently. “If I could have chosen, there would be none I would rather have.”
Then she embraced me, clinging to me for comfort.
I tried to give it to her. I wished I was able to convey more firmly my understanding and my sympathy; but it was not easy for me to give way to my emotions, and I am afraid I could not help her much. In any case, what help could I give her?
MY FATHER SENT for me. He was beaming; he was clearly happy and looking younger. He smiled at me affectionately.
“Good news, daughter. The best of news. I am to have a wife. This will be a good marriage. It is Lady Latimer.”
I fell to my knees and kissed his hand.
“I am happy for Your Majesty.”
“Yes, yes… get up. We shall be married soon. There will be no point in delay. I have been long enough without a wife.”
Long enough! It was a year since Catharine Howard had walked out to Tower Green; it was scarcely six since Edward had been born, and there had been two wives since then. But he said he had been a long time without a wife, so that was what we must accept.
“It will not be a grand marriage. I want no delays. A family affair. You will attend on the new Queen.”
“And Elizabeth?” I asked.
He hesitated, then he said, “Yes. Let the girl be there. This is a family occasion. You should prepare her.”
I said I would, although I did not think she would need much preparation. Did she not revel in royal occasions and constantly endeavor to be included in them?
He dismissed me, and I left him happier than he had been for a long time.
Edward was at Hampton Court, and I knew that I should find Elizabeth with him. Those two were constantly together. They shared a love of learning. In fact, Edward could scarcely be parted from his books, and as soon as he rose in the morning he wanted to be reading. He was quick and clever, rather as Elizabeth was.
I had been something of a scholar myself but I was never as avid for learning as those two were. In Edward's case I believe it was partly due to the fact that physical exercise tired him; lessons never did; and as he excelled at them, his enthusiasm was great. But Elizabeth, though she loved to dance and ride, was as eager as he was to learn. It made a great bond between them.
I guessed that if I went to his apartments I should find Elizabeth there.
I was right; and I was not really surprised to see Thomas Seymour there, for I knew he was a frequent visitor.
I heard sounds of merriment as I approached the apartments but when I entered the schoolroom there was silence. The atmosphere had changed suddenly. Seymour bowed low and, coming to me, took my hand and kissed it humbly, raising his eyes to my face as he did so; there was nothing humble in the look he gave me. His eyes were admiring, his respect was flattering; but that was Seymour's way with women and it did not impress me.
Edward was slightly flushed; Elizabeth looked a little sly. I felt I had intruded on an intimacy which had been very enjoyable to the company.
I went to Edward. He held out his hand to me, and I kissed it.
He was aware of his position—second to the King—and he remembered it on occasions like this, though I imagined where Elizabeth was concerned much formality was dispensed with, for she was certainly in command.
Whenever I was in her company I was always very much aware of her. She seemed watchful. She was not yet ten years old and exceptionally clever—and not only in book-learning; she had a shrewdness, a maturity, a secretive air as though she harbored thoughts which would not bear the light of day. She was not pretty, but her startling vitality called immediate attention to her. Her green gown accentuated the red of her hair; her white skin was clear and radiant. She had more than beauty.
There was Seymour, too, who was of particular interest to me because of what I had just heard from Lady Latimer who was in love with this man and he—so she thought—with her. I wondered how far his love would carry him. Would he take her away… snatch her from under the King's nose and fly with her? Fly where? Leave the country? Seek refuge with the King of France or the Emperor? Would he dare? He looked daring but I fancied he would be concerned with himself. Heads rolled so easily, and his was far too handsome for him to wish to part with it.
I said, “I trust you are well, my Prince, my sister, Lord Seymour?”
Characteristically, I imagined, Seymour answered for them all.
“We are well, are we not? And we trust the Lady Mary is in the same happy state.”
I assured him that I was.
“I seem to have interrupted some frolic,” I said.
“There is always frolic when my Lord Seymour visits us,” said Elizabeth. “Is there not, brother?”
Edward lifted his shoulders and giggled. He looked younger—more like an ordinary little boy than I had ever seen him before.
“The Prince is always gracious to his poor uncle,” said Seymour.
“He calls him his favorite uncle,” added Elizabeth.
“Which gives me great delight, but I fear he flatters me.”
“He does not. He does not,” cried Elizabeth. “And you know it, Lord Seymour. You are his favorite uncle.”
I thought: How fond Edward is of him… and Elizabeth, too. It was understandable. He had charm and good looks, and they went well with his somewhat flamboyant manner.
“It is a great honor for our sister to visit us,” said Elizabeth demurely.
“Even when she interrupts a merry game?” I asked.
“But you are most welcome,” said Elizabeth. “Is she not, Edward? Tell her she is welcome.”
What presumption! I thought. She is telling the heir to the throne how to behave… she, who, though she may be recognized as the King's daughter, is his acknowledged bastard. Yet Edward seemed to like it, and Seymour was amused.
“I have brought news for you,” I said. “Though you may have heard it. It is not really unexpected. Perhaps my Lord Seymour has been imparting it to you and that is the cause of your merriment?”
They were looking at me expectantly.
“You are to have a new stepmother.”
Silence. Consternation. Edward's face puckered. He had known two stepmothers already—although never his own mother. Anne he liked very much, and he still visited her; Catharine Howard's beauty and easy manners had won his heart; he had been very sad to lose her. And now there was to be another!
Elizabeth was alert; and so was Seymour. Did he guess? I wondered. How much did he care for Lady Latimer? Not as much as she cared for him, I speculated.
“Who is it who will be our new stepmother?” asked Elizabeth impatiently.
“It is Lady Latimer.”
My eyes went to Seymour's face. I saw it pale slightly, and for a moment the mask of high spirits and favorite uncle slipped. He was disturbed.
“Lady Latimer!” said Edward. “She is a lovely lady.”
“I like her well,” added Elizabeth, as though that in itself was good enough reason for the marriage.
Seymour said nothing.
I looked at him and said, “For some time the King has been showing his interest in this lady, but I think she was as surprised as you are that he has asked her to be his Queen.”
He still did not speak. Elizabeth and Edward chattered about Lady Latimer and how they would welcome her as their new stepmother. I was sure they were both remembering Catharine Howard, for it was such a short time ago that she had held that unenviable position.
Seymour then said quietly, “My Lady Mary, you are sure of this?”
“I have had it from both Lady Latimer and the King himself.”
“Then it is so,” he said.
“The marriage will take place shortly. You are to be in attendance, Elizabeth.”
“Oh!” She clasped her hands together in ecstasy. There was little she liked better than to be present at royal functions. Showing herself to the people, Susan called it. Susan shared Margaret Bryan's view that Elizabeth would come to either great triumph or absolute disaster. There would be no half measures with Elizabeth. “When will it be?” she demanded.
“Very soon. The King wants no delay.”
She was smiling secretly. She turned to Seymour. “You hear that, my lord? I am to be present at the ceremony.”
Her look was almost defiant. I wondered how much she knew of the love between Seymour and Lady Latimer; she was teasing him in some way; he gave her a strange look, too. He seemed to be recovering fast from the effect of the first blow and it was something in Elizabeth which made him do so, I fancied. It was almost as though there was some secret understanding between them.
I said to her, “You will have to be prepared.”
“Yes. What shall I wear? What am I to do?”
“You will just be there. You will do nothing. It is just a gesture…to show this is a family matter.”
She clasped her hands and looked ecstatic. Edward was smiling, well pleased. I could not fathom Seymour's expression; but I felt sure that he must be very unhappy to have lost his bride.
MY FATHER WAS DETERMINED that there should be no delay. On the 10th of July of that year 1543 Archbishop Cranmer granted a license for the marriage, and two days later it took place.
Elizabeth and I were present, and with us was our cousin, Lady Margaret Douglas. The ceremony took place in the Queen's Closet at Hampton Court and was presided over by Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester.
The King was attended by that other Seymour, Edward, now Lord Hertford. Thomas had tactfully retired from Court. I wondered whether it was because he could not bear to see the one he loved married to someone else, or that he feared the King might have discovered his feelings for the lady. In any case it would be discreet for him to banish himself. Over the years I had learned something of men, and I was almost certain that Thomas Seymour's feelings might not go as deep as he would charmingly indicate they did. Men such as he charm effortlessly. He did it automatically, and such men should not be taken seriously. Perhaps Lady Latimer had done just that. I was desperately sorry for her. How did she feel as the nuptial ring was put on her finger? Surely her thoughts must be with her predecessors?
I greatly admired my new stepmother. She was a woman of remarkable courage, and it was sad to think that she, who had been a nurse to two husbands, should have a similar task awaiting her… but with an alarming difference. This last marriage could take her by a few steps to the scaffold; and that was a thought which must always be with her.
Yet after she had overcome her initial fear she gave no sign that it haunted her. As for the King, he was delighted. Most people thought that here was a wife who was personable enough to please him and of a temperament to soothe him; and in any case they might hope for a more peaceful life ahead.
We were of an age to be friends, and I felt this could be a happy state of affairs between us.
On the day of her marriage she gave me a gold bracelet set with rubies. I exclaimed at their beauty.
“I want you to think of me when you wear it,” she told me. “It is a very special wish of mine that we shall be friends.”
I was touched and replied that it was what I hoped for.
“You must not think of me as a mother,” she said. “How could you? I know how dearly you loved your own mother. But perhaps we could be as sisters. I shall regard you and dear Edward and Elizabeth as my own… that is, if they will allow me to.”
“They will be pleased to. Both of them have lacked a mother.”
She nodded. “I want you to accept this money,” she went on. “I know that it is sometimes difficult for you to meet your expenses.”
“Oh please…you are too kind to me.”
“There must be no reluctance to help each other. That is how it is with sisters…is it not? Or it should be.”
She gave me £25, which was quite a princely sum to me.
She went on, “I want to make things happy … between you all and your father. You are at Court now … but Elizabeth shall come, too.”
“That is what she wants more than anything.”
“It is her right, and I shall do my best.”
“She will love you for it.”
“And for other things besides, I hope.”
I said earnestly, “I believe this is a happy day for us all now that you have become the Queen.”
“I pray so,” she said very seriously. “I hope so. You are to come with us on our journey. It is the King's wish.”
“Yes, he has changed toward me of late. Since he was… alone…he has sought my company. Perhaps now he will not want me there.”
She shook her head. “No, there will be no change. You are the King's daughter, and if it is in my power I shall remind him of this…if by some chance he should forget.”
“You must walk carefully,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Never fear,” she replied. “I shall take every step with care.”
BEFORE THE ROYAL PARTY could leave Hampton on what I supposed was to be a honeymoon, there was trouble over a group of reformers at Windsor.
The teachings of Martin Luther were taking a hold in some parts of the Continent and there were people who were working hard to bring them to England. Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, was a firm Catholic, though he wholeheartedly supported the King's supremacy of the Church, but it was the Catholic Church and the only difference from the old religion was that the King was Head of the Church and not the Pope as before.
This was how the King preferred it to be. It was not the religion he objected to—only the power of the Pope to dictate to him. So, Gardiner was favored by him.
He was, however, watchful of those who wanted change, and as a result Anthony Pearsons, a priest, and three others, Robert Testwood, Henry Filmer and John Marbeck, were arrested. John Marbeck was a chorister at Court whose singing had particularly pleased the King.
Books favoring the new religion had been found in their apartments which was enough to condemn them all to the flames.
The Queen asked me to come to her, and when I arrived I found her in deep distress.
She dismissed all her attendants and we were alone.
“What ails Your Majesty?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder nervously.
I said, “None can hear us.”
“It is these men,” she said. “They will be burned at the stake.”
“They are heretics,” I reminded her.
“They are thinkers,” she replied.
“It is forbidden to have books such as they have had in their possession.”
“How can that be a crime?”
“It is a crime because it is against the law.”
“If men are not allowed to think…if they are not allowed to have opinions, how will the world ever advance?”
“They may have opinions if they coincide with what is the law of the country.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I cannot bear this intolerance.”
“Tell me,” I said. “Why does this affect you so deeply?”
“Because these men will be burned for their opinions.”
“A foretaste of what they will suffer in Hell.”
“Do you think God would be as cruel as men?”
“We are taught that Hell awaits the wicked.”
“All these men have done is read books and talk of religion.”
I stared at her. I was horrified… not so much because of her faith– which was diametrically opposed to my own—but because of what this could lead her to. Here she was, a few weeks married to my father, already confessing that she was as guilty as those men. She was leaning toward heresy. Yet such was my affection for her that I could only think of the danger she was in.
“Your Majesty…my lady…”
She held her head high. “I shall always uphold the right of men and women to act according to their consciences,” she said.
“Please… please do not mention this to anyone.”
Suddenly she put her arms round me, and I forgot my reserve sufficiently to cling to her. Already I loved the woman, and I wanted to protect her. My thoughts were all for her safety.
“You must never, never talk like that to anyone,” I said.
“Not yet …” she answered.
“You think…”
“There may come a time. Life is changing. Opinions change. The truth will shine through in the end.”
“You mean… the reformed Church?”
“I mean that whatever is right must prevail.”
“My lady…my dear stepmother, I want you to be here to see it.”
“How fortunate I am to have you as my friend!”
“I want our friendship to last. I do not want it to be cut short. I have lived through some dangerous years…”
“My poor, poor Mary.”
“I have not always said what I believe to be true. I have prevaricated…
I think on more than one occasion I have saved my life by being less than frank.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Promise me you will do the same. If you believe…it is better to live and help that belief… rather than die…however nobly.”
“I want to live. God knows I want to live.”
“Then watch for Gardiner. He will be your enemy.”
“It is at his instigation that these men have been arrested. Mary, I must try to save them.”
“How can you do that?”
“I thought to plead for them with the King.”
“Oh, take care. If Gardiner knew of these… tendencies in you…he would not hesitate. He would do his best to…remove you as others have been removed.”
“I know.”
“You could be in acute danger.”
“For a while the King is pleased.”
“He was pleased with others… for a while. Please be very careful.”
“I will. But I must plead for these men.”
“If you ask for them all to be freed, you will betray yourself.”
“If I say that it is unseemly that men should be burned at the stake while we are celebrating our marriage…”
“You would be suspect. Plead for one. Plead for Marbeck. He was a favorite of the King. It would seem as though you liked his music.”
“I did. But it is for his views…”
“I have told you. I have been in danger. My views are as strong as yours. But I know how to preserve my life. There may be work for me to do… work for you…Take care. Please listen to me. Plead for Marbeck. Save his life if you can… then perhaps that might help the others.”
She looked at me steadily. “I believe you may be right,” she said.
I left her. I was absolutely astounded by what she had betrayed to me. She leaned toward the Reformed Faith. I could not believe she understood what acute danger she was placing herself in.
CHAPUYS VISITED ME and told me what had happened.
He said, “Marbeck is to go free. It is a special favor to the Queen. She asked for the freedom of all four heretics, and the King has compromised by giving her Marbeck. It is whispered that he intended to pardon him in any case, for he did not want to lose one of his best choristers.”
“But the other three?”
“They got to the stake.”
“If she had asked for one of the others, it might have been better then.”
“Who knows? The King is in an uxorious mood at the moment, having been so shortly married. He must have been rather pleased that she asked for Marbeck because he was able to gratify her wish and please himself at the same time—though I am of the opinion that he would not have freed one of the others. A law has been passed to suppress what they call the New Learning, and it is forbidden to be in possession of translations like Tyndale's. It is against the law, and those men have broken the law. I am inclined to think that this is a beginning, and Gardiner will soon have more in the cells awaiting the fiery death.”
He looked at me steadily for a few moments, pausing before he went on, “The Queen is an erudite woman. Gardiner will have his eyes on her… after her pleas for Marbeck. It may be that he will think that it is not only on account of his singing voice that she wants him free.”
“What other reason could there be?”
He smiled at me and said quietly, “Gardiner will be watchful.”
I thought: I could not bear it if she went the way of the others…not good, kind Katharine who had married the King so reluctantly. It would be too cruel of fate. I could not stop thinking of Anne Boleyn in the Tower awaiting her end…of little Catharine Howard, running screaming along the gallery at Hampton Court. Not this kind stepmother who had never done anyone an injury in the whole of her life.
I must impress on her more strongly the need for caution.
She was delighted, of course, that Marbeck had been spared.
“But the others,” she said. “I dream of them…I can hear the crackle of the flames…I can feel the scorching of their limbs…”
“But your intercession saved Marbeck.”
“I tried for the others. I tried so hard … but he began to get irritable, and I was afraid that I might lose Marbeck if I persisted.”
“You were wise to desist. My lady … Katharine … they must never know. Gardiner must never guess… about your views.”
“I know,” she said. “He would have me at the stake if he did.”
“Please… please take care.”
She said she would, and I believed I had impressed on her the danger she was in.
THE REFORMERS HAD PERISHED at the stake, and we were leaving on a journey through the country to celebrate the King's marriage. We were to go to Woodstock, Grafton and Dunstable—there would be hunting on the way—and we should stay at the grand houses of noblemen who would be expected to put on grand entertainments for us. I know these royal progresses were a source of great anxiety to those who had to entertain us, for they could become bankrupt in the process. But the King would have been put out if an inadequate welcome was given to him; and those who failed to treat him royally would soon find they were out of favor at Court—and it was always feared what that might lead to.
We had not gone far when one of my attacks came on. I tried hard to fight it but it was no use.
My father was always irritated by illness, and it was thought best to send me off in a litter. We were not far from Ampthill, which had at one time housed my mother, and to this place I was sent.
I do not think it helped being in her old house. Memories of her came back, and I was plunged into melancholy. Dr. Butts was sent to me, and he thought the best thing was to move me to a house which was not full of shadows for me.
Edward was at Ashridge—Elizabeth with him—and it was decided that I should go there to recuperate.
I was feeling very tired, listless and far from well, so it was pleasant to be in the country away from the activities of the Court. I did enjoy seeing the children occasionally—after all, they were my own sister and brother.
Little Jane Grey was with them at this time. She was an attractive child, just about Edward's age—very pretty, dainty and quite learned. Edward was devoted to her. I was amused once more to see how Elizabeth dominated them. She was, after all, four years older, and she had the nature of a leader. The other two looked up to her and in a way protected each other against her.
There was no doubt that, much as Edward admired his sister, he was very pleased to have Jane as an ally.
Mrs. Sybil Penn, who had looked after him since he was a baby, said, “Lady Jane is such a dear little playmate for him. His sister, the Lady Elizabeth, is inclined to bully… much as he adores her. But Lady Jane… she is just sweet and gentle. To see them at their books together…well, it just amazes me that there should be such learning in those two little heads.”
Jane was a sort of cousin. She was the daughter of Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, who had married Frances, daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and my namesake, Mary Tudor, my father's sister. Jane herself was the eldest of three sisters.
Mrs. Penn was fierce in her defense of Edward. She reminded me of Lady Bryan. I often thought what a lot we owed to those women who were mothers to us in our babyhood. They would fight our battles with the King himself if need be. Thus it was with Mrs. Penn.
She was angry about the treatment little Jane received in her home. “Poor little mite,” she said. “They are very severe with her. They think nothing of beating her and locking her up in her room and keeping her without food. I've seen marks on her little body from the whip. I'd turn it on them, I would… dukes or marquises, whatever they be…to treat a child like that and her such a sweet little thing. She's happy here, and my prince is happy to have her with him. I hope we can keep her for a while. Perhaps you would speak for that, my lady.”
I said I would, and then the motherly soul turned her attention to me. She said I needed looking after. She would like to see a little color in my cheeks.
So it was rather pleasant to watch the children together—to note the tender affection of Edward and Jane; and Elizabeth watching them, making sure that she lost none of her influence over the pair.
I was recovering—and in due course I returned to Court.
The Queen was determined to persuade the King to give full recognition to his daughters and, emboldened by her success over Marbeck and knowing that the King was pleased with her, she attempted to do so.
Having nursed two husbands already, Katharine was experienced in the art. She had gentle hands which could be firm when necessary; she could dress his leg more quickly and less painfully than anyone else; he would often sit resting the leg on her lap, and that seemed to ease it considerably. He liked to talk to her of literature, music and theology; and providing she chose her words carefully he found the discourse to his liking.
He was happier than he had been for a long time. He was sure he had chosen wisely, and most would have agreed with him on that point.
In February of that year following his marriage, I was reinstated to my old position at Court. I was even included in the line of succession, but after Edward would come any daughter my father might have by the Queen or– ominous phrase—any succeeding wives. It was a great step forward—and Elizabeth was to come after me.
Elizabeth was full of high spirits during this time.
We owed a great deal to Katharine—but perhaps not all as far as I was concerned, for my father was eagerly seeking to renew his friendship with the Emperor, and it might well have been for this reason that he was treating me as he was.
But that would not account for Elizabeth's recognition, so I suppose we did owe a great deal to the Queen.
It was impossible not to be fond of her. She was determined to be a mother to us and took an especial interest in Edward and Elizabeth, on account of their youth, I think; and they both loved her. They were fond of Anne of Cleves too, and they had liked pretty Catharine Howard, but none had been the mother to them that the present Queen was proving to be. I think that Katharine had always longed for children of her own; it was sad that she had only stepchildren on whom to lavish her affection; and that she did with abandon. She really was a mother to those children—including Jane Grey, who was touchingly devoted to her.
She believed that my weakness and debility were due to a lack of interest in life. Like many people, she thought that I should have married. Perhaps she was right. I seemed to have withered. I had longed for children so much but I had come to the conclusion that I should never have them.
To give me an interest, Katharine suggested that I make a translation of Erasmus' Latin Paraphrase of St. John. It was a task which appealed to me, and I set about it with zest and found myself waking each morning with the urge to get on working at it.
When I had finished it, Katharine was loud in her praises; she said I must have it printed so that many could read it.
I was reluctant at first, wondering whether it was beneath the dignity of a princess—now recognized as such and in line for the throne—but Katharine said she would not rest until she had persuaded me.
Meanwhile I was becoming aware of danger.
Katharine and the King had been married for a year, and there was no sign of pregnancy. Was he beginning to be restless? The fact was that under her skilful hands he suffered less pain; indeed there were times when he was quite without it. It was ironic that Katharine, who had been the one who had brought about this relief, should be the one to suffer for it. It might have been my imagination, but did I see his eyes linger on some of the beauties of the Court? I had also seen a glimmer of anxiety when he looked at Edward. One son was all he had; he was feeling better; I could imagine his telling himself that he was still full of vigor. There were some tempting beauties at Court, and it must be Katharine's fault that there was no child.
It was amazing how those about him were aware of his feelings.
Then came what many believed was a definite sign that the Queen was losing her place in his affections.
Hans Holbein had been out of favor since he had brought back that deceiving picture of Anne of Cleves, representing her as a beauty and completely ignoring the fact that her skin was faintly pock-marked.
