Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (46 page)

Where griping griefs and grievous groans,

consumed his gladsome days
.

Whilst he aloof full long remained,

and out of danger crept:

The doleful Dame in deep despair,

his absence sore he wept.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan Solider and poet

Mid-May, 1562

The deed
had been done. We’d achieved that which Cecil had bade of us. My belly was swollen with child once more.

And it could not have come at a worse time.

The queen was once more at odds with our cousin Mary, Queen of Scots. I was told that a massacre of Protestants in France had begun—and someone kin to Mary was involved. Elizabeth and Mary were once more at each other’s throats, which meant Elizabeth would be at mine soon. When one body seemed to be her enemy, so did all.

What
was worse was that had this political and religious war not happened now, Ned and I could have been hopeful that our marriage would be claimed valid and our children legitimate. As Cecil had said some months back—when we were first questioned—we’d declared ourselves married in front of England and God with hundreds witness to it. The man had claimed Her Majesty was close to letting us go free.

But no longer.

There was a pamphlet just printed by John Hales, claiming our marriage as valid and that my child should inherit. Her Majesty had seen him promptly imprisoned. For how dare someone publicly and so righteously have claimed what she had denied?

I
prayed for Mr. Hales in his foolishness that, having been so rash in his opinions, he was not hanged or burned at the stake. I could never have forgiven myself had a life been taken because of me.

The people should remember as I
did. The queen always won.

Mid-October, 1562

I must have been halfway through my pregnancy now, and this babe did act up as much as little Eddie, who turned one last month. I prayed for another boy. Two princes to be born in the Tower, and to live, unlike those two who were unlawfully imprisoned before my time. My princes would live, and should be set free. They must.

“My lady.” The warden opened the door and stepped inside. “I
’ve news for you.”

I smiled sweetly, for the man had tried his best to keep me informed of courtly news.

“The queen is very ill. Delirious with fever. Smallpox. She is not expected to live.”

My heart skipped a beat, at once fearful for her life and excited that this torment may soon come to an end.
“Thank you, Sir Edward.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“Not right now.”

He bowed low and then left the room. I walked toward the makeshift
altar Sir Edward had provided me. But I found it hard to pray for the queen’s good health, because doing so ensured I would remain a prisoner, and yet, I could not wish for her to die.

My hands settled on the swell of my belly.
Thus far, I’d kept my second pregnancy hidden for fear the queen would have me poisoned. ’Twas a valid fear. She wanted me gone. But now it would appear God had struck her down.

Perhaps in this game, the
pawn should gain ground.

December 1, 1562

The queen had recovered, and another pawn—not me—got the first move.

Sir Edward delivered news with a large basket of Spanish oranges.
My cousin Margaret, Countess of Lennox—and Catholic—had a handsome young son, Henry, Lord Darnley. She wanted him to wed Mary, Queen of Scots as she’d not yet remarried after losing her French royal husband. And Elizabeth, having declared she would never allow me or my children near the throne, implemented a plan of her own. She was in agreement with Lady Lennox and would name Mary her heir.

Did
she not see that England did not want a Catholic heir? Her actions were at odds with each other as she also raised money to fight in the religious wars in France—against Catholics.

W
ould the queen not make up her mind? Her hatred of me almost made me laugh. She abhorred me so much that she would have her people doubt her rather than name me heir.

I miss
ed the guidance of Ned’s mother. The Duchess of Somerset’s sage words would do me good as well. But for fear of her own imprisonment, she kept well away from me. Although Sir Edward told me she had pleaded for mercy on behalf of her son and grandson.

N
ed’s visits dwindled to perhaps once a fortnight, to even as long as a month and a half. The guards were becoming increasingly weary of the imminent threat of Elizabeth learning of our deeds. I missed him dearly. I missed those summer days of Hanworth when we’d had nothing to fear but discovery by a servant.

There was little
hope now. I had been locked in the Tower for so long…

I think it
should be the last thing these tired eyes of mine saw.

January 25, 1563

Lady Katherine Grey,

I write this letter to you because I cannot bear to
dishonor myself with your presence. My attention has recently been brought to the fact that you are once more with child, which should be impossible, given you are imprisoned and separated from Lord Hertford whom you claim to be your husband, but which marriage has been deemed invalid.

You are not
the Virgin, immaculately impregnated, but a whore who has sullied and brainwashed the men of
my
Tower.

You shall now lay other
’s suffering upon your conscience as they will be severely punished. Sir Edward Warner, your jailer, has been arrested and charged with Treason. Your fornicator, Hertford, shall also appear before the Star Chamber and shall be fined 15,000 pounds for his part in conspiring to have access to your person, and impregnating a kinswoman of the queen, not once but twice.

If you had ever thought to see the light of day upon you
r face again, you can erase such from your imaginings, for as long as I live, you will remain hidden and repent for your whoredom.

Elizabeth, The Queen

February 10, 1563

A bo
y.
Thomas
.

I gazed
into his precious eyes, seeing myself in his innocent face. For the moment, my joy was unending. Eddie bounded on the bed to meet his new brother, wrapping a soft, downy curl around his chubby finger.

“Baby?” he asked.

“Brother,” I replied and kissed them both on their foreheads.

God grant him His great paternal blessings.

August
, 1563

“Dear God in Heaven, have mercy on us! I pray to thee, keep us safe,” I whispered fervently, hearing the shouts and pleas throughout London.

The scent of death was in the air
, nearly a thousand dead a week.

I
knew now that Elizabeth wanted me and my children dead. At this moment I did not even know if Ned was alive. His visits ceased when Elizabeth found out about our babe Thomas. And not even our new guards would give me news, fearing for their own lives.

The plague
was upon us! Elizabeth had fled London for Windsor with her court and threatened to hang anyone who would dare to bring the disease near her.

A knock at the door had me rushing to my children to cover their faces with the bits of fabric I
’d cut to keep them from breathing the plague-filled air.

“My lady,” a guard said, looking haggard and ill.

“Do not come any closer!”

“You are to leave this place.”

“To be thrown in the streets? Dead within a day?”

“No, Countess.”
The Duchess of Somerset, Lady Anne, walked into my chamber, looking every bit as imposing as she always had. “The older boy, Lord Beauchamp, he comes with me.”

“My Eddie?” I looked down at the boy, almost two
years old, in my arms. “Why should we be separated?”

The
duchess’s expression did not change. “The queen wished me to take both, but I insisted you have Thomas for a while longer.”

“Why?”

“Because I could not bear for her to tear them both from you.” She sighed. “I know I have kept well away from your situation, Katherine, and for that I am sorry. Sometimes one must protect oneself from…injustice.”

Pain circled in my chest, gripping, tightening.
“My lady, I understand, and I do not blame you, but why should the queen want to take my children?”

“For the same reason she has kept you imprisoned so long.”

Revenge. Hatred.

I nodded,
begrudgingly accepting that which I could not change—even if it tore my heart out. My boy would be well cared for with his grandmother.

“What of Ned?”
I feared her answer.

Lady Anne looked down at her hands, an odd move for her, since she was normally so bold.
Oh, God! He was dead!

Finally, she answered,
“He is to come with me also.”

I smiled,
so filled with joy that he was alive. Lady Anne looked startled for a moment at my smile, before covering her emotions.

“
I am pleased little Eddie shall have time to spend with his father.” This was a good sign, wasn’t it? The queen was punishing me, but even still she was giving us a gift. Perhaps she meant to punish me for only a short time more. There was a chance that, by Ned going free, he would be able to persuade the queen to set me free as well.

“Yes
, ’tis a good thing he should have his father to see him reared,” the Duchess said.

“Where am I to go?”

“She has arranged for you to go with your uncle, Lord John Grey at Pirgo, in Essex. But you are there to remain a prisoner with no contact with anyone outside his household. Not even from me. Nor your sister Mary. Nor Ned or Eddie.”

I bowed my head. That was worse than even in the Tower
, where Ned and I had managed to send some letters to one another. To see one another in the flesh even, prior to the queen’s show of temper.

“All the same, I shall write the
queen and thank her for removing us from this wretched place and from the plague. And with upstretched hands and down-bent knees, from the bottom of my heart, I still most humbly crave her pardon.”

September 3, 1563

I’d not been at my uncle’s home for long, and yet, already, a melancholy had taken control of me. I’d no hunger for food, for drink, for any of the things I once enjoyed. I thought maybe it might even be better if I were to waste away to nothing and then float off into the heavens. Would not my children and Ned be better off without me? The queen must have held a special place in her heart for him if she would let him stay with his mother and one of our sons.

“Good madam, you must eat something.” Uncle John
’s face was pinched with concern as he stared at me over the great table in his dimly lit dining hall. We’d eaten many a meal like this, my uncle and I alone in his grand dining hall, with only the servants hovering near. Mrs. Helen had already tucked Thomas into bed for the eve.

I sighed, and stared over the table at my uncle, shoving my plate away. I relayed the same message as I’d done the night before.
“Alas, Uncle, what life is this to me? I am grateful for your hospitality, even though you truly had no choice, as I am a prisoner. But I live with the queen’s displeasure always. If it were not for Lord Hertford and my children, I would pray for death.”

And
I still sometimes think oblivion the better option. A choice I’d been waffling with, for what other choices did I have? None. My life was not my own. I was not housed with other prisoners. I had the use of the gardens, could walk freely about the house as long as one of Uncle John’s servants followed. No horseback riding. But I was lonely. My family torn apart. And part of me was giving up. I stood from the table, no more than six bites of my food gone. “If you please, I have a megrim.”

My uncle nodded, but I knew he did not understand.
I felt his eyes on me as I left the room, my limbs weak from lack of food and my mind heavy for what I think I must do.

In a few days
, my Eddie would be two, and I would not be there to share his birthday. What kind of a life was that to lead? At least at the Tower, there had been hope of seeing Ned, and both my babies had been within my reach. Here, I was glad to have Thomas, but Ned and Eddie were so very far away.

Indeed, I
had no hunger. Not for anything.

November 14, 1563