The Temptation of Elizabeth Tudor (5 page)

Henry VIII slipped quietly away at 2 o’clock on the morning of 28 January 1547. But no sign was given to the outside world.
40
Within twenty-four hours, Ambassador Van der Delft was receiving whispered words that the king had died (‘may God receive His Grace’), yet ‘not the slightest signs of such things were to be seen at Court’. The middle-aged diplomat, who had reported on the old king’s rages and his melancholy, itched to tell his master, the Emperor Charles V. But the roads out of London were closed and guarded, and all ships confined to port. Instead, he waited.

The Earl of Hertford had no such difficulty in travelling. As soon as Henry’s death was confirmed, he set out northwards for the county town of Hertfordshire, where his young nephew, the new king, was staying. He had already laid the political groundwork for the regency, but he needed to act quickly. Parliament had been sitting daily during Henry’s final illness, with Hertford occasionally in attendance in the House of Lords. He had not liked what he had heard. There was some suggestion that Edward be placed in the government and possession of the state.
41
Nonetheless, he was confident as he rode out on 28 January, accompanied by Sir Anthony Browne. Only a select few were even aware that England had a new king, and he would soon have the king’s person in his possession.

He approached Hertford Castle by way of icy roads that January day. A convenient distance from London and ‘a competent lodging’, the castle had been used by Henry as a nursery.
42
All three of his children had stayed in the apartments, which were arranged around a large courtyard, and the old king had spent considerable sums on the building to ensure that it was comfortable for his precious only son. It had strong walls, although the domestic buildings into which Hertford was now shown were timber, slotted within the mighty fortress as if as an afterthought.

The earl passed through the gates, close to strong round towers, before crossing the courtyard and entering the galleries to await his nephew. He greeted the boy as Prince of Wales and ordered the child’s household to prepare to move to London the following day. Hertford had slept very little in recent nights. He was still awake at 1 o’clock that morning when a letter arrived from Paget. He drafted his reply in the small hours, handed it to a messenger and commanded him: ‘haste, post haste, haste with all diligence, for thy life, for thy life’.
43
It was past 4 o’clock when Hertford finally snatched a few hours of rest.

Although separated by some miles, Paget and Hertford had agreed to coordinate their actions in the hours following the king’s death. Their main concern was Henry VIII’s will, which, although it placed them at the centre of power, did not name anyone to stand in overall control. Its existence was widely known, and so it could not be concealed; but both men were concerned to agree, as Hertford put it, ‘how much thereof was necessary to be published’.
44
Hertford was anxious that ‘for divers respects’ much of the content should be concealed. The document could, he believed, be carried to Parliament, ‘to show that this is the will’, but closer scrutiny should not be permitted. It was sufficient that only the names of the executors should be provided, those in whom ‘the king did specially trust’. As a token of his own faith in his ally, Hertford sent Paget the key to the chest that contained the will. By letter, the pair agreed that they would wait until Wednesday 2 February to notify Parliament – and the world – that England had a new king.

Edward was entirely oblivious to the fact of his accession. The nine-year-old had been surprised by his uncle’s unannounced visit, but he went willingly with him the next morning, riding beside him. In spite of his haste to return to London, Hertford showed kindness to the pale boy who so resembled his own late sister. He resolved to bring him first to the person he loved best. Edward and Princess Elizabeth were well known to share ‘a concurrency and sympathy of their natures and affection’.
45
To the new king, Elizabeth was his ‘sweet sister’. Both had been saddened when they had left their stepmother in the autumn of 1546 to spend the Christmas season separately, north of London.

For Elizabeth, this had meant the pleasant royal hunting lodge at Enfield.
46
With the feast celebrated on trestle tables lined up in the great hall, she could think back to the Christmas she had spent here four years before, when she had visited with both her siblings.
47
By Christmas 1546, she had turned thirteen and was considered to be on the cusp of womanhood. Around this time she also sat for her first individual portrait, standing solemnly while the artist captured her sparse, still child-like frame and pale, serious face. She carried herself well, though, her poise and the way in which ‘every motion of her seemed to bear majesty’ evident in the portrait.
48
True, no one ever said that the girl was a beauty, with her long, narrow face. But, in common with her mother, she had striking eyes. They were her best feature, sparkling ‘lively and sweet’. Other people compared her to her redoubtable father: she certainly had his fair colouring.
49

The large oriel window, built by Henry VIII for his great chamber at Enfield, offered Elizabeth a panoramic view as her unexpected visitors approached,
50
the horses’ hooves clattering over the wooden bridge at the entrance to the house. Once they were all together in the great hall, Hertford came straight to the point, informing the siblings that their father was dead and that Edward was now king. The two children fell into each other’s arms and simply wept.
51
Henry VIII had overshadowed their lives and would remain constantly in the remembrance of his younger children. For Elizabeth, Henry had been a distant, but fond, father, who once enjoined his ‘own good daughter’ to ‘remember me most heartily when you your prayers do pray for grace to be attained assuredly to your loving father’.
52
For her, in particular, this was bitter news; she knew that when Hertford and Edward rode away the following morning, she would be left behind.

As the children grieved, Hertford, still functioning on minimal sleep, was soaring high. While it remained light enough to see, he pulled Sir Anthony Browne aside, inviting him to walk with him in the gardens.
53
Henry VIII’s trusted and influential Master of Horse was conservative in religion and no friend to Hertford, but he saw the logic in the new king’s uncle taking control. Although named as one of the old king’s executors, he had his own concerns about Henry VIII’s plans for a Regency Council, considering a protectorship to be ‘the surest kind of government’. From the security of his own position, it seemed ‘a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea’.
54
Browne believed in three parts to any business – ‘preparation, debate and perfection’ – and could see that Hertford had already done his preparation. After some debate, he gave his ‘frank consent’ to a protectorate. Hertford’s ambitions were closer to realization.

That evening, the pair were deep in conversation when a letter arrived from the Council, deferring to Hertford as master. His response, which he wrote at 11 o’clock that night, was imperious. The tension released, he slept late into the next morning, finally helping the king mount his horse at 11 o’clock. They arrived before 3 o’clock at the Tower of London, where the boy was to be lodged to await his coronation.

As yet, Henry’s fate was still only known to the few. The regular rituals were even maintained. Ambassador Van der Delft, knowing more than he ought, stood quietly by as trumpeters announced the arrival of the royal dinner, and as servants hurried past with their gilt dishes of rapidly cooling food.
55
Behind them, the door to the Privy Chamber swung resolutely shut. The Imperial ambassador could have been forgiven a wry smile at the charade.

But as the ambassador watched, on 31 January, things were changing. There was no further need to conceal Henry’s death, since Hertford held both the king and the levers of government. The Privy Councillors – with Thomas Seymour now counted among them – met in the Tower that day. Almost unanimously, they elected Hertford as England’s Lord Protector.
56
And the new king was proclaimed.

Van der Delft was finally able to send his letter.

*1
In the Tudor era, gifts were exchanged at New Year rather than at Christmas.

*2
Although whether Henry actually gave the commands or not can never be known, since the only record lies in the words of Paget and the Council (
CSP Foreign
, No. 7).

*3
Entitled ‘King Edward VI and the Pope’, the painting survives in the National Portrait Gallery, London (NPG 4165).

On 29 January 1547, the day after King Henry’s death, Queen Catherine was waiting anxiously at Greenwich.
1
She was unsurprised when the arrival of a visitor from Westminster was announced, agreeing to meet with him privately. It was some months since Thomas Seymour had last seen the thirty-four-year-old queen – and he liked what he saw. Her beautiful hair was still auburn, peeking out from beneath a jewelled cap.
2
Untroubled by childbearing, she was tall and still girlishly slender, with unblemished pale skin helped by the regular milk baths that she favoured. She was more regal and assured, but otherwise very much the woman that had caught his eye four years before.

Alone, in the privacy of the queen’s apartments, they spoke of love, for Thomas made overtures towards Catherine even as he told her of the death of her husband.
3
He returned to Westminster later that day, but over the next few weeks the couple managed a few snatched visits. Soon they were kissing passionately in secret.
4
Thomas Seymour left the question of marriage dangling, however. After all, might he – the king’s uncle – be able to make a better match than a dowager queen?

It took Catherine some time to accept that her status now was only as dowager queen. She had expected to be appointed as regent, as she had previously been when Henry was campaigning in France. On hearing that the Council had other plans, she assembled a formidable legal team, headed by the eminent barrister Roger Cholmeley, who had acquired decades of experience in the Court of King’s Bench.
5
She remembered, she informed them, that the old king had ordered his servants to swear an oath in her support. Did they think it was invalid now he had died? The answer the lawyers gave to her vice chamberlain was a positive one: the oaths remained binding. But Catherine lacked a party to support her. She might, for a time, have begun to sign her letters as ‘Kateryn the Quene Regente KP’ but – if so – this was quickly dropped.
6
She had to resolve to live with the pretensions of the new king’s ‘dear and well beloved uncle’, Hertford, whose office of Protector was soon confirmed by commission.
7
Thomas Seymour received nothing more than a confirmation of his seat on the Council. Even this was far from assured, since Thomas could be dismissed by his brother on a whim.

Although Hertford would not share his pre-eminence, he did resolve to be generous in other ways. Sitting with the Council at the Tower on 6 February, William Paget rose to his feet. Henry VIII’s last hours, he declared, had been troubled, since he was grievously concerned that ‘the nobility of this realm was greatly decayed’. New blood was needed, and Paget – conveniently – had a list, apparently composed by the old king himself. Ignoring the fact that Henry had declined to name Hertford first among the executors, the earl was apparently foremost in his thoughts, to be granted the hitherto royal Dukedom of Somerset. There was something for the others too. John Dudley was to become Earl of Warwick, and Catherine’s brother William Parr, the Earl of Essex, would rise to become Marquess of Northampton. Even Lord Chancellor Wriothesley, whom the new Duke of Somerset despised and who had opposed Somerset becoming Protector, received an earldom (of Southampton). Thomas, too, was not forgotten, although he had to make do with the title of Baron Seymour of Sudeley (in Gloucestershire) – the lowest rank of the nobility. The sizeable grant of lands made to him at the same time was small consolation for the modest elevation, even though it made him a substantial landowner.
8
Unlike many of his fellow councillors, he failed to make himself available to sign the final version of his brother’s commission.