The Irish Princess (38 page)
Read The Irish Princess Online
Authors: Karen Harper
Tags: #Ireland, #Clinton, #Historical, #Henry, #Edward Fiennes De, #General, #Literary, #Great Britain - History - Henry VIII, #Great Britain, #Elizabeth Fiennes De, #Historical Fiction, #Princesses, #Fiction, #1509-1547, #Princesses - Ireland, #Elizabeth
“You’ve given me so much,” I told him as I swiped at my happy tears.
“And maybe, someday,” he said, reaching out to cup my wet cheek in a big hand, “a trip to Ireland to find Erin a mate and find the past you Fitzgeralds left behind.”
But, as ever, my happy times were so fragile. The next summer, just when Edward had returned yet again from sea to spend several weeks with all of us at Sempringham, word came that the young king, who had been ailing, was sick unto death. We hastened back to London, where I rented rooms for us while Edward attended crisis council meetings.
I could tell that even Edward was now doubting the morality of Dudley’s tight hold on the king, for he allowed few admittance to the king’s chambers at Greenwich. I wondered perversely if he had moved the king into the secret, small rooms behind every royal chamber that the boy’s father had built.
“Gera! Gera!” Edward called to me, bursting back into our bedroom after he’d been gone only several hours this time. He sailed back and forth between London and Greenwich, where the council had hunkered down for now. I sat at a small desk with Erin asleep on my lap, writing a note to go with gifts for our three youngest children back in Lincolnshire. My husband nearly shouted, “King Edward has signed a document setting the succession of his sisters aside!”
I jolted so hard, I bent the nib of my quill and splattered ink on the page. Erin jumped to the floor and began to yip, running in circles. For once we ignored the pet we both fussed over. I saw Edward was truly distraught as he began to pace with Erin at his heels. He had been worried that his longtime mentor would lose his power when Mary became queen, but if Mary—and Elizabeth—were set aside, did that not mean civil war?
“Set the princesses aside in favor of whom?” I demanded, jumping up and hurrying to him. “Dudley himself?”
“Not exactly. Hell’s gates, now I know why he arranged for his son Guildford to wed Jane Grey.” He threw his hat on the bed and raked his fingers through his hair. “The ailing king—he’s in great distress and pain—has signed a document leaving the realm to Guildford and Jane, since Jane is of Tudor blood. The new will completely cuts out the Tudor sisters.”
I sucked in a huge sob. My husband, usually so stalwart and strong, was shaking and looked stricken to his very soul. I sympathized with him in his betrayal by someone he trusted—oh, yes, I knew how that felt. Years ago I would not have believed I could be in anguish over King Henry’s children being set aside, but this was wrong, so wrong.
“Then Dudley plans to rule through his son and Jane,” I whispered, my mind racing.
“I fear so. I told him I don’t like it, but he said to stay in line, or he’d revoke my admiralty command and ruin your brother’s chances to regain his title. He’s . . . he’s stepped over his own line of sanity, morality.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming,
I told you so! Years ago, I could have told you so!
I told you so! Years ago, I could have told you so!
“I’ve been so loyal to him all these years,” Edward plunged on, “and owe him so much. He’s been almost like the father I lost so young. At least this will keep England from a half-Spanish queen rumored to want to wed Spanish royalty.”
“And it overturns King Henry’s will.”
“A will Dudley claims was never legally signed—or rather that the king cut his signature off later when he reconsidered the succession of mere women.”
“Mere women!” I muttered, hating Dudley even more. I collapsed on the coffer at the foot of the bed and put my head in my hands, not picking up Erin, who pawed at my slippers. I broke out into a sweat. I had that royal signature, but it had been dug up yet again with
The Red Book of Kildare
and hidden under floorboards in the corner of this very bedroom. I planned to give the book into Gerald’s care and knowledge only when and if he sailed for Ireland, for I knew he had been questioned about its location and contents already. But the king’s signature had been made by what was called a dry stamp and then inked in by someone. Dudley could claim it was a forgery, and he already suspected that I had done something amiss with his dagger the night the king died. What if he reasoned that I could have the signature he did not want found?
The Red Book of Kildare
and hidden under floorboards in the corner of this very bedroom. I planned to give the book into Gerald’s care and knowledge only when and if he sailed for Ireland, for I knew he had been questioned about its location and contents already. But the king’s signature had been made by what was called a dry stamp and then inked in by someone. Dudley could claim it was a forgery, and he already suspected that I had done something amiss with his dagger the night the king died. What if he reasoned that I could have the signature he did not want found?
“You cannot support this,” I said, looking up at Edward. “What are we going to do?”
“I have orders to fortify the Tower, in case it comes to a fight. Jane and Guildford are being moved there soon for their safety, and because monarchs always stay there before coronations. Northumberland—”
“I knew he was a very devil,” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “Mayhap you will go back to just calling him Dudley now. You cannot play his game. Fortify the Tower? And be prepared to fight there, I suppose, against Mary Tudor and those rightfully loyal to her?” I knew I was losing control, but I could not help it. I sounded like a fishmonger’s wife. Whining, Erin had retreated under the bed.
“Gera, I need you to swear you will be loyal to whatever I must do through this. I know you have hated Dudley for years, even transferred your wish for revenge to him when King Henry died, but he did save your life.”
“Saved the life of a mere woman, after aiding and abetting the immoral, brutal, and publicly shameful deaths of my half brother, the Earl of Kildare, and my uncles—all of them. After my father died in that very hellhole of the Tower which you are willing to go to fortify!”
“I can’t help all that. I want your solemn vow you will do nothing to endanger your position or mine in this! We will have to find our way through this crisis, all of us, the kingdom, Northumberland, you and I, the former princesses Mary and Elizabeth.”
“Former? Dudley may be able to coerce the king to that, but not the kingdom! I don’t put it past Dudley to have signed the so-called will himself for that poor, sick boy!”
“How nice that you are now standing up for the current Tudor ruler and his Tudor sisters! I’m going now, Gera. Stay here and stay safe if the streets become dangerous. There are crowds and factions forming. Promise me!” he repeated, and seized my shoulders hard to give me a little shake.
“I promise you I will do what I must—what I should—as you should.”
“Don’t make me lock you in here, Irish.”
“Why not, Dudley’s man? The English have locked up the Fitzgeralds for years, locked them out of their properties and homeland!”
“I am leaving two guards downstairs. Gera, please don’t let this come between us. It has been my greatest—my only—fear for us.”
“You might know Dudley would threaten Gerald while he claws his way to power over the body of a sick boy and the rightful royal heritage of two
mere women
!”
mere women
!”
Edward went out and slammed the door. I heard his voice, but not what he said, as he spoke to someone.
I threw myself on our bed and beat the mattress with my fists and sobbed so hard I could barely breathe. I could not believe I had defied and screamed at the man I loved. Everything I had closed up inside so long had come pouring out. And what else shocked me was that, though I had hated Henry Tudor and his henchman Dudley all these years, I, whom my father once called the Irish princess, and who had been deprived of my birthright, was firmly for the Tudor women in their claim to the English throne.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH
July 6, 1553
I
made myself stop sobbing and sat up on the bed. Erin came out from underneath it with her head cocked, as if to ask me what all that had been about. I patted the mattress and she jumped up, using the mounting stool we had placed there for her.
made myself stop sobbing and sat up on the bed. Erin came out from underneath it with her head cocked, as if to ask me what all that had been about. I patted the mattress and she jumped up, using the mounting stool we had placed there for her.
As I hugged the dog, I detested myself for losing my Irish temper with Edward, especially when he needed my support and advice, albeit more calmly, cleverly couched. I had shouted like a shrew. Perhaps he was staying loyal to Dudley partly because that bastard had threatened both his admiralty position and Gerald, which, of course, would have hurt me too. Whatever Edward’s reasons, I refused to stay here while events that affected me and my family went on. I was no longer a girl who could merely watch a parade go by, taking my dear ones to their deaths. I would go to Edward and find some way we could help Mary and Elizabeth. What I saw happening to them had happened to me in Ireland—dispossession and defeat.
When I peeked out through the keyhole, I saw a guard I did not know, sitting on the floor across the hall. Collum would not have stood for this, but he had gone out with Magheen and Alice to market. Saint Brigid, but an Englishman—even one I loved—was not going to hold a Geraldine prisoner in her own bedroom, not even a second-story one.
Hurrying lest they send Magheen or Alice in to sit with me when they returned, I rummaged in Edward’s clothing chest for breeches, a jerkin, shirt, and cloak. The July weather was warm and muggy; I hardly needed the outer garments, but they would help to disguise me. They all hung huge on me, but I belted and gartered them around my waist and knees. I yanked my hair back, tied it in a horsetail knot, and shoved it up under an old cap of his.
I knelt to cuddle Erin, but it reminded me so much of tragic farewells with Wynne that I could only whisper, “Stay.” Immediately minding me—did Edward think a wife should be that obedient?—the dog settled down on her cushion in the corner, as if she were guarding where I’d hidden
The Red Book of Kildare.
The Red Book of Kildare.
Taking a goodly amount of coin, I climbed out through the window set ajar to catch the summer breeze and closed it behind me lest Erin would try to follow. After crawling across the span of tiled roof, I dropped onto a thatched one, then another, until I could dangle my feet to the edge of a watering trough. In a trice, I darted down the street to a livery stable where our horses were boarded.
There I saw another guard—this man of Edward’s I did recognize—sitting on Kildare’s stall rail! But my husband, naval hero or not, would not surround or embargo me. After all, this was for his good as well as mine.
Trying not to draw undue attention, I hied myself down the street to another stable and leased a sturdy enough looking mare. The man who saddled her eyed me strangely, probably thinking I was a pretty boy, but I was soon on my way, down to the water gate to take a horse barge. It was then on the Thames as London seemed to float by that I realized where I was determined to go. To the Tower, where my father had died and from which members of my family were carted to their deaths. To the place Elizabeth’s mother and Cat Howard had lost their heads. I prayed I had not lost mine already, in mad love with one of Dudley’s key men and daring to insist we must stand up to this deceit and evil.
All too soon, the stony skirts of the Tower loomed over us. I paid the bargemen and, sitting astride like a lad, rode my horse around to the only gate I saw open. “Gotta message for the Lord High Admiral,” I muttered to the guard, and, to my relief, was let right in.
Within, I felt the very weight of the walls pressing on me. Gray, all was gray here; the lofty stone towers melded with the summer sky starting to spit rain. Above on the battlements, cannon sprouted like black teeth, and armed guards gathered. Thunder rumbled distantly, so it seemed cannon shots echoed within, as if I faced the nightmare of the siege of Maynooth again.
Men marched; some rolled huge guns here and there. Quite a troop of soldiers had assembled off to one side, with mounts saddled for riding. I stopped a running lad and repeated, “Gotta message for the Lord High Admiral.” The boy jerked his hand toward the central, square building, its walls whiter than the others in this vast royal armory and prison. Which tower had my family languished in? Where had my father died? I tied my horse amidst four others, including my husband’s, which I recognized, and hurried inside the building that dominated this cobbled courtyard and green.
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