The Redheaded Princess: A Novel (17 page)

And then, one day, came a letter with a different handwriting, but one I instantly recognized.

"My dearest lady,"
it read:

“It has come to my attention that they want you to wed Don Carlos, son of Prince Philip. My lady, I have intelligence which should put you off from such a plan. The young man in question suffers from insanity. He is deformed, not only in body, but in mind. He has his people haunt the brothels and bring home women, whom he then has whipped and tortured. He loves to torture horses and rabbits and cats. He has plotted to murder his own father and take his Crown. My lady, refuse to do this terrible thing and tell your sister your reasons. She may be cruel, but not cruel enough to bring such a malcontent to you and to England. As you know, I have been released from the Tower but consigned to Framlingham at Norfolk, and look forward to the day I may again serve you.”

~
Robin Dudley

Once again my Robin had saved me. I would go to my death rather than marry this Don Carlos. I would tell Mary what I had learned. But I didn't. I didn't have to. Mary was told by her advisers that to send me to Spain to be married would anger the people. She would have riots. And so the matter was dropped. I heard later, from one of my knights who had been to London for a jousting tournament, that Mary had consulted many people about sending me to Spain. That she "conceived that by removing Elizabeth bodily from hence, there will be riddance of all the causes of scandal and disturbances." But everyone told her that to send me away would be the cause of insurrections.

There were other requests for my hand: Emmanuel Philibert, the Duke of Savoy--Catholic and soldier-- asked. The King of Sweden asked on behalf of his son. Somehow I managed to wiggle out of any engagement. Somehow, I thought. Had they heard of Mary's pregnancy? Were they asking for my hand as Queen? I would not marry, I told Mary and Philip. I would not marry anyone.

***CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was raining hard one day at Hatfield, a chilling autumn rain, when Cat Ashley came to me. "Princess, we have found a woman at the back door with two little children clinging to her." I was not surprised. People, hungry people, had been coming to Hatfield and the surrounding estates all fall, begging for food, some near death's door.

"Is she dead?" I asked.

"No, Princess, but near to it. She has not eaten anything except some wild weeds and nuts for a week now. The children are ...”

“This is terrible, Cat.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“I have no recollection of England ever being in such a state. I hold my country in great affection but am ashamed now. In this last year more than sixty people were burned at the stake. There are uprisings all over. Poverty and sickness are rampant. The people are discontented. The coffers are empty because of the war. The Queen is poor. There is war with France, who, I'll wager, will take Calais back before long. We have no friends abroad." I looked around and then back at my dear friend. "What is to be done, Cat?”

“Princess, we can only wait. There are plenty of good men about, doing just that, waiting."

I sighed. "Have the woman and her children fed," I said. I came and went, back and forth between court and Hatfield. I was no longer a prisoner but was under guard, and I doubt I could have gone far without Mary's men apprehending me. Moreover, I could not leave Hatfield without the Queen's permission. The more I matured, the more I resented the way my sister, the Queen, treated me in her reign. No, she had not had me beheaded. But was I to be grateful for that? The people would not have stood for it. The people were my hope, as I was theirs. To show my goodwill and loyalty to my sister, I made some baby garments, a little organdy dress embroidered all over, little underthings, and bonnets.

My sister held them close and her eyes shone. "Oh, for the little Prince," she said. Then she showed me the nursery. There was a cradle made of golden wood and carved with Latin and English verses. A cloud of a skirt enveloped it. There was a counterpane of blue silk trimmed with lace. There was the bed she would deliver the Prince in, covered with the lightest of cotton sheets, all trimmed with lace, and there were wrapping cloths for the child, and shawls and booties. My heart constricted. She spoke so often of the little Prince that he began to take shape in my imagination. And in some bizarre moments I even cried for him--for I, as well as others, was sure he did not even exist. People came and went at Hatfield all the time. We were constantly welcoming them, constantly feeding and entertaining them.

One day Robin came riding up as if he had never left me, accompanied by some knights and yeomen. I did not know him at first. I thought he was some nobleman I had not met. He was tall and broad, manly and dashing. Never had I seen such a handsome specimen of man since Sir Thomas Seymour.

"Princess." He fell to his knees.

"Get up, Robin," I chided. I brought him into the house and we hugged, though his sword got in the way and the medallion around his neck and the metal buttons on his surcoat bit into me.

"Why have you come, Robin? Is there some danger I don't know about?”

“To see you, Princess. To tell you that I have sold some of my estates so I might bring you gold for any need that may come to you in the future.”

“Robin! My old friend. No one has any gold these days.”

“My men have it for you. You have only to ask Mr. Parry where he wants it. And there is more. Those close to you are planning in case you have to fight for the throne. Sir William Cecil and your own Parry have been in touch with Sir Thomas Markham, commander of the garrison at Berwick against the Scots. Markham has been canvassing about and has secured a force of ten thousand men in case you have to fight.”

“Robin, you could be declared a traitor for this."

He smiled. "I was declared one once. And I am only too glad to be one again, if it means helping you. Once again I declare my support. You have only to ask." Another man came to Hatfield, this one not so welcome. It was the Count de Feria, Philip's Spanish ambassador. He was sallow of face, seeming always to be plotting. He was arrogant and had always looked down on me. But that was before. I sensed my growing importance in the country and was not about to be looked at down anybody's nose, especially not his. We took dinner. Alone. I sent my servers from the room. I sensed he had something important to say. And he did.

"Prince Philip sends his regards," he said. "He hopes being here at Hatfield isn't distasteful to you."

"I could never feel distaste for my own home." He bowed his head in a nod. "One of many you own, I understand. You are a woman of property, are you not?"

"I am a Princess," I reminded him.

He spooned his soup noisily into his mouth. It dripped from his beard. "You would still be at Woodstock if not for Philip. He convinced your sister to let you come to court, did he not?”

“He did.”

“Otherwise you would not be sitting on so high a horse now, Princess. You owe Philip much. He is convincing your sister to name you as heir in her will. Does that not please you.''

I bit my lip to hold my temper. "My father named me in the line of succession," I said. "It is my rightful place. Mary is not giving me anything.”

“Ah, but she is monarch. She could change those directions, as your brother, Edward, changed them when he was King, naming Jane Grey Queen.”

“I believe the people of England will be heard from on the matter."

He cut his meat. "They say if you were Queen, you would favor Sir William Cecil, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, Sir Peter Carew, John Harington, Lord Robert Dudley." He smiled. "Poor choices. All Protestants. Some exiles, some plotters, some condemned traitors. Dudley is an outlaw, a wanton.”

“He is a good man, and whom I favor is my business," I told him.

He nodded. "Giovanni Michieli, the Venetian ambassador, said you are a vain and haughty person, like your father. I say you are a clever woman, thoroughly schooled in the manner in which your father conducted his affairs.”

“I respect and admire my father's policies, yes. And am fortunate enough to be well schooled in them. As I am in his father's policies." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You are not to be bested, I see. I think you need a husband, ladyship. You should have wed Don Carlos. " I could scarce keep from laughing.

"I heard his father kept him tied to a mummified corpse, night and day for two years. No wonder he is mad. But even were he not, the people would never abide my being out of the country. That is why I would not consider the offer of the Duke of Savoy. I saw how my sister has lost the affection of the people for marrying a foreigner. I think you and my sister and Philip know that." The dinner was finished. He bowed when he left. And I felt just a little taller.

***CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Reports came to me at Hatfield almost daily, about Mary. I was determined not to be frightened by their ominous tidings, nor to fear for my sister, though I was convinced she was mad. But then came a report that Mary had awakened from sleep one day and told her attendants, "I was surrounded by little children, singing and playing, like angels." I decided that she was my sister, after all--in spite of all--and I would go and help attend her in her illness.

It was the middle of October 1558 when I set out for St. James's Palace in London, where Mary had taken up residence. I had just turned twenty-five in September. The previous January Calais had fallen to the French, a great loss. This fall, influenza swept through the land, killing thousands. It was rumored that my sister suffered from fevers and had been brought back from the brink of death by a Dr. Cesar. Next I heard that she was discussing Parliament's agenda with her councilors. I had learned much in spite of all my travails. I had learned one lesson in humility more important than all the others: You are only as good as those surrounding you, whether you are a farmer or next in line for the throne. Mary had not had good advisers. Everyone tried to take from her, including her husband. I, on the other hand, had always been surrounded by good people, from Cat Ashley and Mr. Parry to Robin and Sir William Cecil and Roger Ascham.

Another lesson I learned: When you are Queen, it is never a good idea to share power, which meant, in my mind, that I should never marry. When a Queen is expecting, she spends a month locked in her chamber with none but her chosen ladies at her side. Mary was locked in her chamber, but not for that reason. She had locked herself in, I soon learned, alone. She thought everyone was out to betray her. She trusted no one. Philip was still abroad. She cried for him daily, they told me. They told her I had come to see her, and so she opened the door and let me in. She looked as if she were having a child, all right. She bulged in front, but she told me the baby didn't move and she was afraid it was already dead. Her child was due on November 1, she said.

On October 31, she insisted on getting up from her lounge and showing herself at the window to the crowd below, from a side view, so they could see her bulk and cheer the child that was to come. On November 1, a choir went about the halls of St. James's singing the
Te Deum
in honor of the baby to come. But no baby came. And nobody made mention to Mary of the fact that it would soon be a twelve-month babe. I stayed in the chamber with her as much as I could, in spite of her ramblings and weepings, her paranoia about people who wanted to kill her, her crying for Philip. She would not eat any of the food brought to her. "They are trying to poison me," she whispered. Her hair hung about her, unwashed. She was clad only in a nightdress and robe. She did not look at all the Queen. I felt ashamed for her and tried to comb her hair, to suggest that she dress.

"Leave me be," she snapped, "or I shall throw you out with the rest of them!" I should not have, but I poured her some hot mulled wine and offered it to her. She slapped the goblet from my hand and it clattered onto the floor, leaving a red stain. "Elizabeth, you are excused," she told me.

"I will serve you. Someone must.”

“Go!" She pushed me from the room. And when I turned back I saw she had collapsed in tears on the floor. "I have lost Calais," she said, sobbing. "That was to be my legacy as Queen. And I have not even a child to leave them."

I set myself up outside her door. Midwives and servants and doctors came and went, only to be screamed at and thrown out. One minute the palace echoed with her screams, the next there would be dead silence in the echoing halls, and the next, the far-below sounds of the Te Deum being chanted and sung. "If they don't cease that hymn I'll go mad," I told my knight John Chertsey, who had come to see if I wanted anything.

"Tell us and in a minute we'll be ready to go, Princess," he said quietly. I looked into his dear face. It had the lines of maturity now and I warmed at the thought that he and my other knights had always been there for me, like older brothers.

"Thank you, John, not yet," I told him. As I sat there people came and went, asking me if I wanted or needed anything, if I wouldn't rather retire to my chamber and rest, or wouldn't I like some fruit or cheese? Many of the maids and courtiers who came to inquire of me or ask after Mary knelt before me. I felt uneasy, then thought, They know it is just a matter of days before you are Queen. And so I acted accordingly, raising them up and telling them the lady they should kneel to was inside her chamber. Nobody was fooled by this charade, but I felt it necessary to act it out anyway.

The door suddenly opened and Mary stood there. "I have need of some armor and a sword. They took all my fighting materials away from me. Go and fetch some."

"Madam?" I asked.

"You heard me. I want some armor and a sword. Now!"

John Chertsey fetched them for me and offered to bring them inside. I declined the offer and brought them in myself, struggling with the armor. John placed himself outside the door and whispered that I should cry out if I felt I was in danger. She accepted the armor and sword like a gift. "Go now.”

“Madam, I would stay with you." I say go! I was tired of being insulted, of being treated like a lowly servant, but I bit my lip and told myself again that she was my sister and how long could she last now? I went out the door and pressed my ear against it. All was silent for a while. Then I heard the scraping sound of the sword being lifted from its scabbard and I glanced at John and tried to open the door. But it was bolted. At once John put his shoulder against it and smashed it in. At once Mary's knights came running and of a sudden we all stood in her chamber, gaping at her. She stood, hoisting the sword, the armor clumsily drawn across her swollen middle.