Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (10 page)

BOOK: Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her
12.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

savage in his reprisals to offenders on either side of the religious fence.

All he had done was to remove papal authority from the land, along with

iniquitous monasteries—he’d never had much time for monks and nuns

anyway—and now this insufferable spiritual chaos! Had he not made the

position clear, simple and unquestionably right? Who dared to raise the

voice of dispute in England? He would root it out with axe and rope and

fire. He was King; he was Pope; was he not, perhaps, even God? Paranoid

with suspicion, the small eyes ran here and there seeking treason and

50

Legacy

heresy behind every face, while the little mortals around him trembled

like autumn leaves in a fierce wind, torn between worship and hate for

this ageing Zeus from whose hands had fallen so many thunderbolts.

It was a relief and a pleasure for Tom Seymour to escape at last to the

apartments of the royal children, where at least a man did not need to

watch his every look and word. He strode down the familiar corridors

with a tiny monkey dressed in imitation of a courtier swaying on his

shoulder and a host of childish foreign trinkets in his hands. They danced

around him with undignified delight, swamping him with a wave of

genuine affection which touched his broad but shallow heart.

“Get back, you little vultures! Never saw such a clutch of cupboard

lovers in all my life! And that’s God’s truth.” He swung Edward over

his shoulder and capered round the room until the little boy crowed

with delight. It was strange just how much he had missed this ill-assorted

collection of young creatures, the pale delicate little Prince, the grave-

faced Grey sisters, and the “Little Bastard” herself.

His eyes fell at last on the boys who stood embarrassed and forgotten

on the edge of the family circle. Who were those lads? Ah yes, he remem-

bered now, two of Dudley’s considerable brood—that fellow was like a

tom cat! How many was it, twelve, thirteen? Could be more by now,

of course. There was a man who’d bear watching, too smooth by half,

always with an eye on the next rung of the ladder, not averse to rising

on the backs of his own offspring, he’d be bound. What was behind the

apparently innocuous presence of these two disturbingly handsome and

well-grown lads? Two boys and a choice of three girls, the Lady Jane,

the Lady Katherine—the Lady Elizabeth. God’s blood, what a conniving

devil! Was it possible the King couldn’t see what Dudley was after?

He swung round with an unpleasant smile. He had his own designs

on the royal children and Dudley could keep his long grasping fingers

out of that pie. His hot glance fell suddenly on the Lady Elizabeth and

with a shock he stared at her, as though seeing her for the first time. The

pert child he had left behind three years ago was gone, and instead he

saw a girl on the brink of womanhood, quite striking now with her bold

colouring and slim figure, not exactly pretty, but handsome enough in a

mysterious way. She had grown up behind his back. For the first time in

three years he forgot the woman he had lost to the King and thought how

very pleasant it might be to know another. She must be twelve by now,

51

Susan Kay

young for marriage it was true, but then she was always notoriously quick

to learn and he was an able tutor, heh? Once he’d bent that fiery little will

to his own, he’d have the warmest bed in Christendom and a powerful

trump card to play if necessary in the next reign against his own brother.

But how best to go about it? Was it wise to suggest such a marriage to

the King, who so lately had regarded him as a rival in the bedchamber?

The mood of the court had not been wasted on him. He had seen at a

glance that the King was more dangerously unpredictable than he had

ever been. Better to wait a while before sticking his neck out in what

might prove to be a distressingly literal fashion. He had waited three

years—he could wait a little longer, wait and watch her grow into a

woman. He’d always had the softest of spots for the wretch—courting her

would be the best sport yet; and possibly the most profitable.

He looked up at the sound of a sudden skirmish, in time to see the

little monkey, frightened by the attentions of so many strangers, bolt up

the nearest tapestry, chattering with fear.

“Robin will get him down,” said Elizabeth’s voice at his shoulder.

“Animals like him, did you know that? He can do anything with a horse.”

Tom watched the boy with hostility. He didn’t like the warmth in her

voice, or the boy’s dark good looks. Good with horses—he knew what

that
led to more often than not.

“You like him, don’t you,” he remarked, keeping the edge out of his

voice with an effort.

She blushed. “Oh—not particularly.”

Now he was thoroughly alarmed. It was the first time he had ever seen

a blush on the cheeks of this brazen little madam.

“You know, of course, that his grandfather was a traitor.”

Her blush deepened to crimson. “Not a
real
traitor,” she said hastily.

“He died on the block and I didn’t hear anyone at the time complaining

about it. I’m damned if I know what the sons of a low-born knave are

doing here in the first place. I should have thought your father could

provide you with better company.”

She had a guilty look which infuriated him. By God, he had not come

home a day too soon by the look of things. He put his hands on her

shoulders and tilted her chin upwards.

“Get your governess and I’ll take you riding. I’ve got a new mare for

you to try.”

52

Legacy

As they walked to the door, Robin stepped across their path and

offered the monkey with a gesture that suggested arrogance. The boy had

an odd look on his face that might have been resentment.

“Don’t forget your monkey, sir,” he said, and looked pointedly at

Elizabeth as he said it.

Tom clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

“Oh, you’d better keep him, young man.” In his eyes was the hostility

of like poles repelling. “I fancy he’ll be quite at home with your family.

Haven’t Dudleys been apes for more than three generations?”

Elizabeth laughed and put her hand on Tom’s arm and Robin watched

them walk away down the corridor together, the magnificent courtier and

the half-grown girl, silhouetted against the bright sunlight. Humiliation,

rage, and jealousy filled him with the urgent desire to kick something.

For the rest of his life he would see, at intervals, those two bright

mocking figures laughing at him as they walked together down an endless

dark corridor in his mind.

t t t

Katherine Parr had lived on borrowed time for the best part of three years

and all the signs now were that time was rapidly running out. Increasing

ill-health worked on the King’s moody temper, caused him to take out

his catalogue of grievances against his wife and multiply them daily.

Another barren wife! A wife moreover who would not see thirty again

and sported opinions on religious reform. Barren and opinionated—what

a miserable combination of faults!

He began to lend an ear to the tales of her enemies, Gardiner and

Wriothesley, both working for her downfall. “She succours heretics,

Your Majesty—”

Interesting that, and possibly useful. He filed the knowledge for future

reference. And soon the rumour was all over the court that the King

smiled very warmly on the widowed Duchess of Suffolk.

“They’re taking bets on the date of the wedding,” said Robin Dudley

heartlessly, but Elizabeth did not smile; she had not smiled for a long time.

She was stiff with tension, bracing herself against another tragedy, for this

Queen too had been endlessly kind to her so that slowly, unwillingly, she

had come to care. She was afraid to go into her stepmother’s apartments

and see Katherine’s hunted face, that sick despair, that utter hopelessness.

53

Susan Kay

The waiting was unbearable, a steady growth of choking tension until

rumour said at last the most dreadful thing of all. The King had signed a

warrant for the arrest and interrogation of Katherine Parr. There would

shortly be a seventh wife.

The dreadful news felled Katherine to her bed with a hysterical fit

that shook the palace. Elizabeth crept to the Queen’s bedside but the

dreadful staring eyes which greeted her bore no recognition and she was

swept out of the room by a horde of panicking women. Robin found her

wandering aimlessly in the garden, white and silent, like the sole survivor

of some terrible disaster. They sat in silence on a stone bench and he tried

in vain to make her smile. Presently she was sick. He took her to her

governess, who thanked him curtly and shut the door in his face and he

saw no more of her until the crisis was over.

“What the devil is that infernal noise?” glowered the King, listening

with increasing irritation to the dreadful shrieks which echoed from the

adjoining apartments. “It sounds like an animal in a snare.”

The nervous doctor paused in the act of winding a bandage around the

King’s leg and met his master’s shrewd gaze.

“Your Majesty, it is the Queen who cries.”

“The Queen, the Queen?” blustered Henry. “What the devil ails the

woman? Am I to have no rest in my sick-room?”

There was silence in the chamber. No one dared to meet his eyes.

Henry sat back in his huge chair and glared at his attendants. What was

this, eh? Did she know about the warrant—had some fool blabbed before

he was quite ready to spring the trap?

Well, now he came to think about it perhaps he had been a shade too

hasty. He was in a low state of health today and could have used a wife

about him. She had gentle fingers had Kate, and a soothing manner—not

much to excite a man’s flagging interest it was true, but just at this moment

his pain was of more significance to him than sexual desire. And Kate was

a good nurse. Of course, she’d had the effrontery to question him on

one or two religious issues and by God he was not about to be taught

in his old age by a wife—but really, was it worth the upheaval to get rid

of her? No doubt, after this fright, she’d be none too eager to question

him again and the prospect of a grateful, repentant wife ministering to his

cantankerous wants had a certain appeal. No need to put on any show for

Kate, no need to woo and charm a selfish kitten like my lady Suffolk. He

54

Legacy

had himself conveyed to her bedside in the great wheeled chair that was

now necessary whenever he wished to hoist his enormous bulk around

the palace, and cleared up this stupid misunderstanding between them.

And when Chancellor Wriothesley with forty halberdiers marched into

his presence next morning to arrest the Queen he was most considerably

put out. The unfortunate man was blasted thence by a royal bellow of

rage and went away to inquire furiously how it was he had not been told

that the King and Queen were “perfect friends” once more.

Wriothesley complained bitterly to Bishop Gardiner, who shrugged

and told him to bide his time. There would be other opportunities to

rid themselves of Katherine Parr and her Lutheran leanings. Elizabeth, as

she looked at her stepmother’s pinched, grey face, knew it was true. She

watched that race against time, Katherine’s life against the King’s, in an

agony of suspense and prayed with fierce desperation that God would see

fit to take her father before he got the chance to change his mind.

And He did. Even Henry could appreciate the fine irony of it as he

lay on his deathbed and told his wife that “It is God’s will that we should

part.” She knelt and wept, not very convincingly, and if he had had

the strength left he would have laughed and told her not to play the

hypocrite—it didn’t become her. And so they parted on amicable terms.

Tom Seymour was waiting outside the chamber when she came out. He

had an odd, preoccupied look which she thought she understood; she was

careful not to smile as she passed on her way.

And so the old lion died. Having restored
both
his daughters to the

succession with a despot’s calm disregard for logic, Henry Tudor departed

this world, apparently entirely reconciled to all the evil he had perpetrated

while resident in it.

“His Majesty died in the faith of Christ,” said Cranmer smoothly and

his bland expression challenged anyone to deny it.

So he was dead. A little boy stood devastated by the news that he was

King of England and turned to his youngest sister for support. Edward

cried so pitifully that Elizabeth found tears stealing down her own cheeks

and Lord Hertford, watching them with a jaundiced eye, decided they

must be separated immediately; he didn’t like the influence she wielded

over the boy. Within a week, Elizabeth found herself at Chelsea Palace

BOOK: Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her
12.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Merv by Merv Griffin
Artifacts by Mary Anna Evans
Exposure by Evelyn Anthony
Spider Light by Sarah Rayne
Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee
Sullivan's Law by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
Every Second Counts by D. Jackson Leigh