Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (12 page)

start the sort of boisterous horseplay that a man might acceptably show to

any four-year-old girl, bounding on the bed in his nightshirt, pulling off

the sheets, slapping and tickling and kissing her until she was hysterical

with laughter.

Only she was not four now, but nearly fourteen and at the bottom of

his heart he knew he had not come to tease a child.

“My lady! My lord, for shame!” The governess, now a respectably

married lady herself—Mrs. Katherine Ashley—made a futile attempt to

maintain order.

“My lord, I must insist you leave Her Grace’s room at once. People

are beginning to talk.”

“I can’t go without Her Grace’s express permission—she’s a very

touchy young lady or haven’t you noticed?”

Elizabeth, seeing his back turned, dealt him a resounding thwack with

her bolster which sent him sprawling, barelegged in his night robe at Mrs.

Ashley’s feet. She dived off the bed and began to beat him about the head

until the pillow burst its seams and sent a snowstorm of swansdown into

the air.

“Mrs. Ashley, have you no shame for rearing this wretched Amazon?”

he inquired sarcastically from the floor. “You might at least have taught

her not to hit a man when he’s down.”

“Is there a better time to hit him?” inquired Elizabeth, aiming a kick.

He caught her bare foot and pulled her down on top of him. When at

last he had managed to sit on her and kiss her hand with exaggerated

humility, he made a mocking bow to Mrs. Ashley and clowned out of

the room.

Katherine was still in bed when he returned, listening with easy good

humour to the sound of turmoil in the room above. He flung himself on

his back beside her and she leaned over to pick the clinging swansdown

out of his golden beard and hair.

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“What a fearful racket!” she said indulgently as she kissed him. “You

must have roused the whole household.”

“Do ’em good!” he retorted. “Early to bed, early to rise.” He returned

her kiss playfully. “And speaking of
rising—
”

“Oh, Tom!” She pushed him gently away. “You know we can’t—not

now—it wouldn’t be safe.”

He sighed, but lay back good-naturedly enough; she was right of

course. To have conceived a first child after so many barren marriages

was a miracle he would not put lightly at risk. He wanted a son—and yet

August was such a long way off, a long time to be patient.

Katherine sat up and pulled off her cap, allowing her hair to tumble

freely round her shoulders.

“I think you’re turning that girl into a positive hoyden,” she said

lightly.

He shrugged. “I’m only releasing her true self from its layers of gentle

nurture. Oh, don’t deceive yourself, Kate—the girl’s a natural guttersnipe

at heart, just like Boleyn. She may play the modest maid in your company,

but behind your back those pretty prim lips spout words that even I

would blush to use in mixed company. You might make a queen out

of Bess, my love, but you’ll never make a lady.” He paused reflectively.

“What she needs, of course, is a damned good beating!”

“You’d never take a whip to her!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I—who’s to stop me?” he teased. “I’m her stepfather,

after all, her guardian—oh, Christ’s soul, Kate—if you could see your

face! You silly goose—would I ever lay a hand upon her, save in fun?

She’s only a child!”

She’s only a child.
It was his sole line of defence, to himself and to others,

but it grew a little thinner every day; and one chill windy morning, in the

formal gardens at Hanworth, he finally acknowledged that he was playing

with fire. It began as just another romp and ended with ugly emotions

showing through the frayed edges of his control—and all because she was

wearing a black dress which reminded him unpleasantly of her mother.

“Strange,” he said softly. “I don’t recall putting the household into

mourning, do you, Kate? And no one wears black under my roof without

my leave, certainly not a jumped-up chit of twelve.”

“I’m fourteen,” snapped Elizabeth furiously. “You know I’m fourteen.”

“Is that so, grandmother?”

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Susan Kay

Katherine laughed. “Tom, stop teasing her. You make her life a misery

these days.”

“And what does she make mine I’d like to know? Listen—” He gave

Elizabeth a push. “We’ve done with play-acting now, madam. Go in

and put on something that doesn’t make you loot like a whore from

the stews.”

“
Tom
! That wasn’t called for, dear.”

“I’ve had enough of her defiance,” he said brusquely. “I’ll have obedi-

ence in my own house or know the reason why. Go into the house,

Elizabeth, and get changed at once.”

“I
won’t
! I won’t be ordered about. I’m the King’s daughter.”

“You certainly are, madam. And it’s time you began to behave like one.”

She backed against a tree, looking desperately at Katherine, who

shrugged her shoulders in an amused and helpless gesture.

“You can’t make me do anything,” she muttered sullenly.

“Oh, can’t I? We’ll see about that!” He grabbed her roughly and

pushed her into Katherine’s arms. “Hold her for me while I teach her a

lesson she won’t forget.”

He whipped out his little jewelled dagger and knifed the full skirts to

ribbons. Finally he took hold of the bodice and ripped it down the front,

exposing her bare breasts. When he had finished he was panting. There

was a glazed look in his eyes and his hand was shaking.

Elizabeth and Katherine stared at him in silence and in the cold wind

Elizabeth began to shiver. He sheathed his dagger and tried to laugh

nonchalantly.

“You wouldn’t change it, so I changed it for you,” he said inad-

equately. Still they stared at him and suddenly, filled with shame, he lost

his temper completely. “God’s death, girl, don’t stand there like a bloody

Bedlamite. Get inside the house and cover yourself decently.”

“Yes, go along, dear,” said Katherine shakily. “I’ll be up later.”

As he watched Elizabeth run up the gravel path to the house, he put a

guilty arm around his wife and thought: It’s got to stop!

t t t

Mrs. Ashley was leaning over a clothes press when Elizabeth came into

the room. She straightened up, turned round and stiffened with horror.

“What in God’s name—”

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“Before you ask,” said Elizabeth haughtily, “it was the Admiral who

did it.”

“The Admiral!”

“Yes—and don’t take that tone with me, Ashley! It wasn’t my fault.

The Queen held me while he cut it up. I tell you the Queen
held
me.”

But she would not look at Kat as she said it.

t t t

Kat Ashley had never aspired to discipline. She had lost the whip hand

with Elizabeth more than ten years ago and she had been endeavouring

to lead her wilful charge ever since, with about as much success as a

bumbling general attempting to command his army from the rear. Now

she was forced to admit to herself that the Princess was galloping away

from her ineffectual rein like a wild, unbroken mare. She had been unable

to stop the girl slipping out on a barge after midnight on some wild

jaunt of the Admiral’s, and an uncomfortable premonition of impending

disaster had begun to weigh heavily on the governess’s mind.

That premonition eventually saw her standing alone in the Admiral’s

private study, patting nervously at her coif while her small anxious eyes

roved over the maps strewn across his desk, over anything in fact which

would postpone the necessity of looking into his handsome face.

“My lord—” There was an absurd wobble to her voice, but suddenly

the panelled room seemed remarkably small and the Lord Admiral uncom-

fortably near. Kat was a little afraid of provoking that magnificent rage of

his at such close quarters. “My lord—forgive me if I speak out of turn—”

He looked up and gave her a wry smile.

“Get on with it, woman—I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“My lord—I don’t mean to question your intentions and, of course,

it’s not my place to give you advice—”

“Perfectly true,” he remarked sardonically, “but I sense you intend to

give it anyway. Speak out, woman, for God’s sake—I’m not going to slit

your throat.”

“I have to warn you that there’s a great deal of talk—damaging and

slanderous talk—concerning the Lady Elizabeth and—and you, my lord.”

She took a gulping breath. “My lord—to come alone, bare-legged, to a

maid’s chamber—tickling, slapping—and
kissing
—I beseech you to have

a thought for her good name and leave off these morning visits.”

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Susan Kay

He exploded out of his chair with his favourite oath and Kat took a

hasty step backwards.

“By God’s precious soul, madam, I’ll not be told how to conduct

myself in my own house by a gossiping busybody of a servant. I’ll lay

the whole matter before the Protector first. God knows, we’ve had our

differences over matters of state but he wouldn’t stand by and see me

slandered like this.”

“But, my lord—” wailed Kat.

“Out!” he roared. “Get out before I forget you’re a lady!”

Kat went to the Queen and voiced her fears, but Katherine laughed

uneasily and merely promised to chaperone her husband’s early-morning

visits to Elizabeth’s bedroom. Had she not been pregnant, she might have

reacted more strongly, but the growing child had made her lethargic and

complacent. She would handle this in her own way; she would not be

stampeded into acting harshly by malicious gossip. And it would be all

right in the end. Many a middle-aged man had a passing fancy for a

teenage girl—
But it’s me he loves, I know it’s me. I mustn’t let this get out

of proportion.

And there were other worries to distract her; increasingly strained

relations with the Protector for one. Goaded by his wife, Somerset was

refusing to hand over the jewels that the old King had left to her—why,

he had even confiscated her wedding ring. Tom had been furious; there

had been another bitter quarrel. And now Tom was talking of redressing

his wrongs, with the little King’s help, in Parliament, making the present

session “the blackest that ever was in England.”

He had remarked, in public, on the ease with which a man might steal

the King from beneath his brother’s nose.

“You must not say these things,” begged Katherine, wild with anxiety.

“Don’t you see how it could be misunderstood?”

“Don’t fret, my sweet. Ned can’t see beyond the end of his nose—he

never could!”

No, thought Katherine fearfully. But his wife can!

t t t

“A chance remark,” said the Duke of Somerset uneasily, “is hardly

evidence, my dear.”

The Duchess glared at him. “It’s a chance remark, is it, when someone

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speaks of abducting a king? In my day we called it treason! How much

longer are you going to sit on your reforming backside waiting for that

rogue to bring you down?”

“I have absolutely no evidence—”

“Then find some, you pompous fool. God knows there’s rumour

enough to hang him ten times over.”

The Protector chewed his pen and stared darkly out of the little latticed

window. Oh yes—there was certainly rumour—crooked negotiations

with Jane Grey’s father—that very unhealthy interest Tom showed in the

Lady Elizabeth. There was talk of condoning piracy, of debasement of the

coinage, of the Admiral’s desire to employ ten thousand men a month.

And what might he want with ten thousand men at his back?

The Protector turned to look at his wife with narrowed eyes. She was

a hard bitch, but shrewd; he trusted her judgement.

“I shall have my brother put under surveillance,” he said quietly. “Will

that satisfy you?”

The Duchess smiled coldly.

“For the moment,” she said, and left him to brood.

t t t

There was no stepping back from the precipice this time; Tom had

known it the moment he entered her room and found her alone with

her hair loose.

Afterwards he blamed that hair, rippling in long red waves around her

pale face, inflaming his desire, and wondered if she had heard his step in

the corridor beyond and deliberately removed her coif to make herself

look so abandoned and irresistible. He never knew the answer, never had

the opportunity to ask it. He only knew that he wanted her, suddenly,

urgently, beyond caution and common sense and decency; and that as

suddenly, urgently, she wanted him.

He opened his arms to her as he had done so many times across the

years, but this time it was no child they closed around. And he knew

that whatever price he had to pay for this stolen pleasure it would be

worth it.

It was not difficult to get her to the floor; she sank slowly, willingly,

beneath him while he opened her mouth with his own. She wore a loose

morning gown, no farthingale or petticoats, nothing to impede his urgent