Queen of This Realm (7 page)

“It is Lord Hertford—now the Duke of Somerset—who sets himself up as master of us all,” she replied. “And his wife would do the same if she could. I never could abide Anne Stanhope—a greedy, ambitious woman, highly suitable for Somerset, I dare swear. Oh, it is my lord Somerset who is our King now. I have always thought that my lord Admiral should share the responsibility of looking after the King. I am sure he would prefer Thomas to Edward Seymour.”

I agreed that he would.

My stepmother had grown pink with annoyance. She really did dislike the Duchess.

“Do you know,” she went on, “I verily believe the elder Seymours plan to marry their daughter to the King.”

“They would never do that,” I said. “He should have someone royal.”

“They say how interesting it would be to have another Jane Seymour as the Queen.”

“Jane Seymour the first was not so fortunate,” I cried. “She bore Edward but did not live to see him grow up.”

“Edward is very fond of Jane Grey,” said my stepmother tentatively. “She is such a clever, good girl.”

“Oh yes,” I replied with a touch of asperity, “she is a model of virtue.” I was a little tired of hearing of the brilliant scholastic attainments of Jane Grey. I could challenge her in that field, of course, but I could not match her saintliness and it was that which irritated me. Jane Grey has no spirit, I used to say.

My stepmother understood and laughed at me. “Edward thinks so, I am sure,” she said.

“I wish I could see him more often,” I went on. “I wish he would come here and we could all be as we used to be.”

“He is the King now, Elizabeth.”

“Well, why should he not live with the Dowager Queen?”

“If he were a little younger…”

“Everyone is saying if only he were a little older! Poor Edward, I don't think he is half as happy as he was when we were all together.”

And so we talked and very often I was tempted to tell her of Thomas Seymour's proposal and that I had seen fit to refuse him. But I never did. Something seemed to warn me to keep it to myself.

One evening Kat was seated at the window. It was dark and I was just on the point of retiring to bed. She stood up suddenly in a state of great excitement and cried: “My lady, I saw him!”

“Saw whom?” I demanded.

Her eyes were round with wonder as she whispered: “My Lord Admiral.”

“At this hour! I don't believe it.”

I was at the window. She went on whispering: “I thought he was going in at the main door, but he moved away—round to the side…”

“I believe you
dream
of the Admiral. Really, Kat, if Mr Ashley knew he could be jealous, and certainly very angry that his wife should talk in such an unseemly fashion of another man.”

“Oh, he would know it is not for me that the Admiral comes into the Palace.”

“And suppose it was the Admiral? For whom should he come sneaking into the Palace?”

“For one fair lady…my lady Elizabeth… whom one day I am going to call Her Majesty.”

“Kat, you are mad. If you talk so, you will find yourself lodged in the Tower one fine day. Have you no sense? How could you have seen him at this hour?”

“I would know him anywhere.”

“Let us wait and watch awhile. If he has come calling at this time of the evening, my stepmother will soon send him away. I'll swear it was one of the grooms you saw going round to the back of the Palace. You conjure up images of that man out of nothing.”

“My lady, did you ever see a groom who looked like my Lord Admiral?”

“No.”

“Then wait with me. He will come out in a moment. He will look longingly at your window. Perhaps he will climb the ivy. Shall we let him in, my lady?”

“Sometimes I wonder whether I am
your
governess not you mine. If it were known what a frivolous creature you are and the mischief in which you try to involve me, you would not stay a day longer in this household.”

“I'll try to be sober, my lady, but with such as you, with such a gallant admirer…it is not easy.”

We waited at the window for quite an hour but no one emerged.

I told Kat she had been carried away by her fancies.

THE WEEKS BEGAN
to pass quickly. Spring had come and it was beautiful at Chelsea. I used to ride with a party in the fields and gallop along by the river. People came out to see me ride past. They would smile and curtsy and some shouted: “God Bless the Princess.” That was sweet music in my ears. The people's approval was very precious to me. I loved the sun on the river and the green fields. England! I thought. My country! To be Queen of England! I could ask no greater prize from life than that.

Once I met Thomas Seymour at Blandel's Bridge, which was also known as Bloody Bridge because it was the haunt of robbers who thought nothing of slitting a traveler's throat for the sake of his purse.

Thomas bowed low and gave me such a look that there could be no doubt of his feelings for me. I asked him if he was on his way to the Dormer Palace and he said that he was but since he had met me in the fields, might he be permitted to ride with me?

I knew this would be dangerous and if we were seen, which we almost certainly would be, it would give rise to gossip, and what if that reached the ears of the Council? So I haughtily refused permission. He bowed his head in submission and I whipped up my horse. I had thought he would pursue me. Surely that was what one would expect of a reckless admiral. But when I looked round he had disappeared.

I was tingling with excitement.

It was a few days later when my stepmother and I were seated over our needlework and she dismissed all her attendants so that we were alone together. She began to talk to me about her life in a strange sort of way, telling me things which I knew already.

“I am not an old woman,” she said, “and until now I feel that I have never been young. I was little more than a child when I was given in marriage to Lord Borough of Gainsborough. He seemed very old to me. His children were older than I. I was his nurse until he died. You would think, would you not, that I would have been allowed a free choice. But I was given to Lord Latimer. He, too, was elderly, and I was a wife and stepmother all at once. It seemed to be my fate… until now. I suppose I seem old to you, Elizabeth. You are so young. Imagine, not yet fourteen years old! Oh, I think back to the days when I was fourteen. I had my dreams. And then my first marriage. I was terrified, Elizabeth. Can you imagine a girl little more than a child to be given to an old man? But my Lord Borough was kind to me … so was Lord Latimer. I had my stepchildren but none of my own. It was something I longed for—a child of my own. And when Lord Latimer died I was thirty years old and I told myself, I am free.”

“Then you married my father.”

She nodded and I wondered afresh why she should be telling me this
which I knew so well. There was a reason I was sure. She was leading to something which she was finding rather hard to tell me. I listened patiently.

“I thought,” she went on, “now I shall marry for love. There was one man, and I was not the only one who considered him the most attractive man at Court. There is really something rather magnificent about him. We would have been married. But the King chose me… and because of that Thomas had to leave Court.”

“Thomas,” I repeated.

She smiled tenderly. “Thomas Seymour and I were all but betrothed before my marriage to the King. But I became the Queen. Sometimes I dream of those years …” She shivered. “I have had dreams, Elizabeth.”

“I understand.”

“Nightmares when…”

“Please don't talk of it. It distresses you, my lady. I understand.”

“You know I came within a day of death.”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“Only those who have undergone such a trial could know what that means. Perhaps with some it is different. They can face the axe… and some worse. To do it for one's faith I suppose would be different. There was Anne Askew. You remember her.”

“Yes. She was burned to death.”

My stepmother covered her face with her hands. “She was a saint, Elizabeth. I am not made of the stuff martyrs are made of.”

“Perhaps none of us knows what stuff we are made of until we are called on to face the supreme test.”

“You are a wise child. That is why I talk to you. I want you to know before it becomes common knowledge. I want you to understand.” She had lowered her hands and was looking at me. Now her emotions had completely changed. No longer was she looking back; she was looking forward, and the radiance had returned to her face. “I could not wait any longer,” she went on. “I was afraid, Elizabeth, that happiness would once more be snatched from me. I had to seize it and … he said we must. We would marry and tell afterward.”

“Marry! You cannot mean…”

She was laughing now. She looked lovely for she was a beautiful woman, particularly now that the little signs of age which had begun to appear when she was looking after my father and had lived in fear of losing her life seemed to have been wiped from her face. She looked almost like a girl.

“Yes,” she said, “Thomas and I were married secretly.”

“Thomas!”

“Thomas Seymour, Lord Sudeley. He always loved me… all the time I was married to the King. And I loved him, but of course we dared not show it. I was entirely faithful to the King. But as soon as I was free… Elizabeth, do you know, he asked me a week after the King's death.”

A week after the King's death! It must have been when Thomas Seymour had my own letter refusing him!

I felt numbed by the shock.

Oh the wickedness, the perfidy of men!

IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE
for them to keep their marriage secret and there was great indignation among the Council, none being more incensed than the bridegroom's brother, Somerset. The marriage was an insult to the late King, it was said. What right had the Queen to marry so soon? Did she hope to foist the son of Lord Sudeley on the country as an heir to the throne? That would be an act of treason.

However it was soon clear that my stepmother was not pregnant.

Thomas had been clever in getting the consent of the young King to his marriage. I could imagine that scene. My little brother, who was quite overwhelmed by his magnificent and charming uncle, would readily give his consent to anything he asked; and although the Council, headed by Somerset, was infuriated by the insolence of the Admiral and what they called the reckless behavior of the Dowager Queen, they could not inflict punishment for something to which the King himself had given his consent. However, they could make life as uncomfortable as possible for the newly married pair.

In the first place Queen Katharine's jewels were confiscated. They were the property of the Crown, said Somerset. Thomas would not accept that, and Katharine, who would follow him in all things, declared her intention of fighting to keep them. They were very valuable, and Thomas, I was beginning to understand—though perhaps in my heart I had always known it— was rather fond of possessions. The Duchess of Somerset—whom my stepmother called “that odious Anne Stanhope”—refused to carry the Queen's train at ceremonies, a duty she had performed when Katharine had become the Queen. She declared she would not accord the same homage to her husband's younger brother's wife.

This was the beginning of the great animosity between the brothers. At the root of this was Thomas's determination to marry the King to Jane Grey while the Somersets coveted the role of Queen of England for their daughter Jane.

There was strife then in the Seymour family itself. Thomas did not care. He was one of the most reckless men I ever knew in the whole of my life.

Now that the marriage was acknowledged it meant that Thomas Seymour joined our household. I guessed this would prove to be a matter of some embarrassment to me. How should I feel living under the same roof as a man who had asked me to marry him and within a few days had proposed to my stepmother?

“Only a blatant adventurer would have done such a thing,” I said to Kat. “There is your fine gentleman!”

Kat was bitterly disappointed, but still she could see no wrong in the Admiral. I told her she was a very stupid woman and I gave her a slap or two during those few days after I had received the news. It relieved my feelings. She had talked of him constantly; she had made me think of him and see him as the handsome hero of romance.

I called him “The Buccaneer of the Bedchamber,” which amused Kat.

I said: “After all he has done, after the way in which he has deceived my stepmother, you still talk about him as though he were a god.”

“There is no one like him at Court,” insisted Kat. “He is indeed a man.”

I wanted to be alone to think about him, yet I wished I could get him out of my thoughts, but I could not dismiss him as easily as I wished. If he had not been so good-looking, so commanding, so light-hearted and amusing, I could have hated him. But if I showed my fury that would indicate that I cared enough to be angry. I must not show my feelings. What effect that would have on a man such as he was, I could well imagine. He believed himself to be so attractive that whatever he did he could never be anything but irresistible.