The Redheaded Princess: A Novel (4 page)

Watching what went on about me and saying to myself: "When I am Queen ..." What a thrill it gave me. What a sense of power. I enjoyed it in little dribs and drabs when I saw the way people looked at me now. They were respectful. They bowed and curtseyed. They cast sidelong looks at me, likely thinking, "Watch yourself now, she may be Queen someday."

When Robin and I rode out, the people on the roads or in the fields stopped their work. The men took off their hats. The women curtseyed. "God bless you, Princess!" they shouted. I liked it. But there were life's lessons to learn too. And Mr. Grindal, my tutor, taught them to me along with archery that summer.

"You must learn patience, Princess. Don't be so hungry to have everything you want in a minute ." Was I becoming impatient to be Queen? Did it show? And: "Pray your father lives a while yet. The people don't like a boy-king. It means he must have a Lord Protector, and that Protector will run the kingdom. It's in the Good Book: 'Woe to the land where the King is a child.' Right now there are two very powerful, influential families vying to be Protector. The very Catholic Howards and the New Faith Seymour’s. Such battles become ugly and often destroy families.”

“You mean Sir Thomas Seymour?”

“More, his elder brother, the Earl of Hertford. He's a royal favorite of your father's. He's fought in many campaigns and is on the Privy Council, besides being brother to your Edward's mother. You must learn these things." And: "Don't ever talk religion at court. Since your father broke with Rome and founded the New Faith, it is the most heated subject. Assure him at every turn that you acknowledge him as head of the Church. And don't ever go to Mass at the invitation of your sister, Mary." And: "Your father's biggest heartbreak is that he didn't sire enough sons. All he ever wanted was sons. He broke from Rome so he could marry your mother in hopes of having a son. You must show him fierce determination, courage, and the ability to think clearly. You must make him glad he has you for a daughter."

I don't know what I would have done without Mr. Grindal. He taught me far more than Latin and Greek. He gave me lessons for life. That summer of 1546 I was twelve. I would be thirteen in September. It was the most beautiful summer I remember. Not too hot and not too much rain. The crops would be lush in the fall. As a future Queen, Mr. Grindal told me, I must always have an eye cast for the crops, for if the crops failed there would be no food and the people would riot. In the King's knot garden, the herbs, thyme, sweet hyssop, chamomile, and strawberries grew twice their normal size. The roses were perfect in shape and color, and the air was pungent with the sweet smell of fresh hay cut in the fields outside Whitehall Palace. I did not see my father much that summer and fall. He stayed in his own apartments. Matters of state were conducted in there, though he did give a Christmas speech to Parliament, which some say had most of the members in tears. Katharine slept on a trundle bed beside his in his room, like a servant in case he needed her. Mr. Grindal told me that my father was failing rapidly.

During the Christmas season there would be no entertainments, no feasts, no masques, no dancing. The court was closed to all but members of the Privy Council. Mr. Grindal told me that my father was readying matters of state for his death, making provisions for people, drawing up his will. I went home to Hatfield for Christmas. Edward came home with me, as if in a last act that would be played out as brother and sister before he became King. We decorated Hatfield with berries and greens. We had a Yule log. My servants prepared a Christmas feast: half a dozen pike in calf's-foot jelly, capon breasts in golden cream, plates of filberts, pheasant in wine sauce, quinces, marchpane, wafers, and cordials for the adults. Mr. Grindal, Cat Ashley, and my knights dined with us. \

I finished working on a white satin doublet I was making for my brother as a gift. They say that when my father died, they did not announce it to the world for three days. Only Katharine--now to be the Queen Dowager--was told. I was in bed at Hatfield when I heard the galloping horses in my sleep. They galloped right through the darkness of my dreams, ripping apart the black curtain between them and reality. I sat up.

"Princess." It was Cat, at the door, holding a candle. "Your presence is required. Downstairs."

As I stumbled into the cold corridor I saw Edward coming down the hall, surrounded by his knights. They nodded at us and we proceeded down the winding stairway, every step a torture to my soul. The scene was a dream now: servants holding candles, dark figures in the background, a hooded man just inside the threshold surrounded by soldiers. What were these strange soldiers doing in my house in the middle of the night? The man nodded at me and then at Edward. Then he slipped off his hood. It was Edward Seymour, the Lord of Hertford. Immediately he knelt before us. "The King is dead. Long live the King," he said, addressing Edward. "Sire, God has called your father to eternal rest. You are the King, our Lord and governor. Please you accept my life as yours, my service to command."

I glanced at Edward. He looked pale and childlike one moment, and in the next he drew himself up and it was as if someone had put a piece of armor on his shoulders. He replied something, I don't know what; the roaring in my ears was so loud. But I am sure he had practiced it many times. Then I caught Mr. Grindal's eye. He nodded and lowered his eyes, knelt. All of them did and I too fell on my knees. I stayed that way until Lord Hertford and Edward went into an inner chamber. Sometime in the small hours of the morning, when the sky was gray satin and there were no stars, I heard them leaving. I got out of bed, put on my robe, and went out into the hallway. Over the balustrade I saw them: Lord Hertford, all his soldiers and attendants, and my brother, Edward. Before he went out the great arched front door into the cold, Edward turned and looked up at me. He raised his arm in farewell. I think there were tears in his eyes. I heard Mr. Grindal's words in my head: "It's in the Good Book. 'Woe to the land where the King is a child.'"

It had something to do with etiquette, Mr. Grindal told me. Women did not attend the funerals of Kings. My father had given directions. He wanted to be buried in the vault next to Jane Seymour, Edward's mother. So his body was carried on a chariot covered with cloth of gold to the chapel of Syon Abbey. There, overnight, the lead coffin burst open because of his weight. And blood seeped onto the church floor. The next morning men came to repair the coffin. With them was a dog. A black dog who licked up the blood from the floor. Most people knew of the prophecy of Friar Peto by now, and those present were near to terror. The coffin was then carried into St. George's Chapel, Windsor, where my father was laid to rest next to Jane Seymour. Then all those officers who had served in his household broke their staves over their heads and threw them into the vault, signifying that they would serve no one else.

"Le roi est mort!"
the black-clad mourners shouted.
"Vive le roi!"
The King is dead. Long live the King.

I was ordered by the Privy Council to go back to the palace and keep Queen Katharine company, one of the good things to come out of my father's death. My father left Mary and me money. I don't know what Mary received in his will, but I was allotted three thousand pounds a year and a marriage portion of ten thousand pounds. There were also manors, jewels, and the increased devotion of my underlings, who saw me now as a serious contender for the throne, should my brother die without issue. As Mr. Grindal had suggested, Edward Seymour was named by Father as my brother's Protector. To assuage the jealousy of his brother, Sir Thomas, Edward Seymour gave Sir Thomas the titles Baron Seymour of Sudeley Castle and Lord High Admiral for life.

"He must be really strutting around now, that attractive man. You do find him attractive, don't you, Elizabeth?" Cat asked me one day.

"Of course.”

“He is attracted to you," she said knowingly. I had long since learned to listen to Cat. She had a grapevine of information that could wind all the way around Hatfield, and as with most ladies-in-waiting, her information was usually correct.

"How do you know? He's near forty. I'm not yet fourteen.”

“Oh, he's been attracted for years. Everyone knows that. What would you do if he came courting?”

“He would have to ask permission of my little brother, Edward."

She smiled knowingly. "Know your own mind, Elizabeth" was all she would say. "You are the one who has to be wife to someone someday.”

“I don't think I will wed," I countered.

"You must. Especially if you are to be Queen.”

“Hush. You mustn't bandy such words about, Cat. You could get into trouble. In any case, Mary would be Queen before me."

She scowled. "Edward is not that well. Always was sickly. Mary is thirty-one already and never has been healthy. Be careful, Elizabeth. If Sir Thomas approaches, be careful." I waved off her warnings and predictions. Then I had a thought. Was Sir Thomas attracted to me because I might someday truly be Queen? Then why not first approach Mary? But I had the answer. Mary was Catholic. He could not bring himself to align himself with her, Queen or not. I went back to my embroidery, thinking that things were moving too fast. I wanted, above all, to see my brother, the King. But Edward Seymour refused to allow him to see his half-sisters or even Dowager Queen Katharine. He wanted my brother to be influenced by him and no one else. How did Edward fare? Neither Mary nor I had been invited to his coronation, which had been held on a damp-to-the-bones day in February.

Archbishop Cranmer administered the coronation oath. I was told Edward looked small and lost under his new crown. And I wondered what Edward was thinking when Cranmer told my brother he was God's anointed and supreme head of the Church. Within weeks of my father's death, Cat Ashley placed an important-looking letter in my hand. It was from Sir Thomas Seymour. He asked, in no uncertain terms, for my hand in marriage. I flushed, at first with pleasure. Then pride. I was not yet fourteen but I was something he desired, someone picked out of all the women at court for this high honor. My head swam as I pondered what marriage to this handsome, popular, and accomplished man would be like. Then something stopped me. The Privy Council would likely say no, and their blessing, as well as Edward's, was necessary for such a wedding to take place. I was no longer the Lady Elizabeth, after all. I was Princess Elizabeth, third in line for the throne. I must marry royalty. Everyone knew that Sir Thomas Seymour was an ambitious man. I must show people I was capable of making important decisions on my own. That I was not some star struck little girl. So I took up my silver pen, and on the best parchment I could find and in my best script, I wrote a letter to Sir Thomas, declining his offer.

"Neither my age nor my inclination allows me to think of marriage," I told him. "I need at least two years of mourning for my father before contemplating such a move."

I sent the letter by special courier, but I never recovered from the pride his offer gave me. It was decided by the council that I should live with my stepmother because I was too young to live alone. In March I moved, with my household and knights, to the old manor house at Chelsea, a place my father had built in 1536. Katharine was already living there. The place reminded me of St. James's Palace, as it was made of rosy brick and built around two quadrangles. It had three halls, three parlors, three kitchens, three drawing rooms, seventeen chambers, and casement windows, and its water was brought in from Kensington by conduit. It was but an hour's ride from court.

I had spent a summer there with my cousin Catherine Howard when she was my father's Queen, and I remembered it as a pleasant place, more manor house than palace. In the summer, damask roses bloomed all the way down to the river. The grounds had cherry, peach, and nut trees, five acres of gardens in all. But it was winter now as we approached the place, and the river was full of ice floes. A whole complement of attendants came out to welcome us, to help us from our horses, to gather our baggage, to guide us to the great entranceway inside, where candles glowed and a fire burned in the great hearth in the center hall.

"Princess Elizabeth, welcome to your new home." Katharine and I hugged and as she drew me into her arms I felt the familiar fragrance of her, my father's wife, my stepmother, and now my hostess. I looked around. The house was beautifully appointed and I saw her touch everywhere, in the profusion of bright tapers on the walls, the deep carpets, the tapestries with scenes of the Old Testament, the boxes of sweetmeats, the applewood fire burning in the hearth. I think I will like it here, I told myself. Little did I know that it would be the stage for the most sordid period of my life.

***

Katharine had a welcoming dinner for me that night, and it was almost as elaborate as the ones I'd attended at court. I wondered how she dared, when she was supposed to be in mourning. Then I noticed. Though Katharine wore mourning clothes, she did not seem to be in mourning. The black velvet gown was low cut and showed her bosoms. The bright jewels bespoke no sadness. There was a special light in her eyes, a special color to her cheeks as she went about speaking to everyone. Her guests were many and her household was very large, as befitted a Queen, with many ladies-in-waiting, of whom I was to be the chief one. As I walked through the crowd greeting everyone, I came upon two girls a bit younger than I. "Hello, Lady Elizabeth," the older one said with a curtsey. At first I did not recognize her. It was my cousin Lady Jane, the one I disliked for her religious fervor and her parrot's tongue. The girl never had an original thought in her head but was quoting the Bible all the time.

"The proper title these days is Princess Elizabeth," I said tartly. The other girl was her little sister, Catherine. They clung together like orphans in a storm. For all I had heard about her, Jane might as well have been an orphan. Her parents sometimes beat her. She could never please them no matter what she did. Being so scholarly, she would never make a good marriage, they constantly complained. And they had grandiose plans for her. I hoped I wasn't supposed to be a friend to them. I hoped they were not invited to stay as I was. Lady Jane was short, with a pallid face full of freckles. Nature seemed to have denied her color. Her hair was washed-out-looking in comparison with mine. Her voice was hesitant, her manner humble.