Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (27 page)

Mary sucked in a ragged breath, nearly choking on her own spittle.
“The last we heard, she was nearing death’s door but managed to recover. What has she to do with this? We asked you a question. Are you refusing to answer?” Her voice became shrill and cracked, and she coughed once more.

I waited for the coughing to cease, offered her some water, which she sipped, d
roplets dribbling down her chin to fall against the lacy collar of her white linen nightgown.

“No, indeed, Majesty, I would never deny you.”

“Leave,” Elizabeth demanded. “You are making the queen ill.”

“You will stay, and you will
answer, cousin,” Mary snarled, and I had the distinct impression she thought I meant to steal something from her. Did her jealousy, her suspicions run so deep? Both sisters were more alike than they knew.

“
Baron Beauchamp, Majesty.”

Elizabeth groaned as if my Ned were a lowly
gong-scooper. But a smile crept over Mary’s lips, and all of her anger dissipated. “Anne’s boy.”

I nodded.

“’Tis a good match. We’ve always been close to Lady Anne. Is he agreeable to it? We suppose it does not matter. If we arrange the marriage, he shall do as he is bidden.”

My heart soared.
Oh, praise God, let her arrange it!
I did not say anything as the queen continued to mutter to herself, then she dismissed me. “Go tell Anne we wish to see her.”

I curtsied and backed out of the room, fearing for what lay ahead. The
queen was amenable and would most likely speak to Lady Anne on the subject, but she might also wonder why my mother had yet to approach her. Fear snaked a course up my spine. Mother was ever watchful of her own reputation. I could only pray she did not trample me in the process of maintaining her status.

A fast clip of heels sounded behind me, and I turned slightly to see who it was.
Princess Elizabeth approached, her steps strong, her face angry. She reminded me of a charging boar.

“How dare you come into my sister
’s sick chamber and make her weaker with your pitiful talk of love? You know all she ever wanted was for her husband to love her, and he destroyed her.” Elizabeth was so close, I could smell the wine she’d sipped on her breath.

“I did nothing but what I was asked. I am a most obedient and dutiful subject.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “If I were queen, I would not allow you to marry for love.”

August 15, 1558

My heart felt as though a thousand swords had run me through.

While Her Majesty
had agreed verbally I should marry Ned, she had also sent him abroad to Spain to deliver a message to her husband, Prince Philip, before a contract could be written. We had been parted once more, most likely until winter.

Queen Mary
has fallen into a delirious fever. The council ruled, and I didn’t dare approach them regarding my marriage.

Must I always be the pawn in the games of
those who ruled?

Mother
kept me at arm’s length, as did Lady Anne. What was more, if she did not live, Elizabeth would make good on her promise that I not marry. Was it possible I could speak with Lady Anne or have Ned implore his mother? Most likely not. Queen Mary, in her hopes to keep a tight grasp on her reign as her health failed and with it her dreams of a Catholic realm, had begun in earnest punishing those who would go against her.

No one
was safe.

October 31, 1558

“The Duchess of Somerset, my lady,” Mrs. Helen said as my future mother-by-marriage swept into the room.

I stood from the window seat
, where I’d been trying desperately to read
Plato
without success. The book rested on the bench, one of my fingers absently placed to hold the page I’d last glanced at. Rather than reading, my distracted gaze had been riveted on the window glass, seeing only my reflection and the distant tinkle of a light on the grounds below. The sun had long since set. I’d consumed my evening meal in my chambers as, with the queen’s ill health, there were no courtly meals to attend, and the maidens’ chambers had felt too full.

The
duchess walked into the room, her back rigid, her stance filled with confidence and power. I endeavored not to cower in her presence and bent to curtsy.

“Lady Katherine.”

“Could I offer you some wine, Your Grace?”

“No, indeed
, this visit shall be brief.” She turned and ushered the footman and other servants away, closing the door behind them. She came close to me and, in an uncommon gesture of compassion, grasped my hands in hers. A chill of foreboding swept through me. “My dear, it appears that Queen Mary”—she paused to cross herself—“is at death’s door. ‘Twill not be long now… Which means Princess Elizabeth will soon be queen.”

A rush of relief went through me as
, for a passing moment, I’d thought she would suggest I try like my sister Jane to usurp the throne. But a dull throb replaced that fear. Elizabeth had promised she would see to it I never married for love.

I nodded, still not quite comprehending her urgency, her
alarm.

“I fear, once again, your marriage to my son will need to be
prolonged.”

My fears were confirmed.
“But why?” I asked, letting my hands fall from her grasp. My world started crumbling. Had not so many years passed since first she’d uttered those words to Queen Mary regarding our pre-contract? ’Twas as if those fated words sealed my fate—always to be betrothed but never wed.

As if I hadn
’t suffered with Ned abroad, and only a letter here and there confessing he still loved me, but without his tender glances or a sweet-smelling crown of gillyflowers left upon the threshold of my door, how was I to know?

Lady Anne shook her head
, as if I had much to learn, and pursed her lips, making her thin face look all the more taut and gaunt. “Katherine, ’tis no way to begin in a new realm by angering the monarch. You must understand your position. You were named heir by Henry VIII and by his son Edward VI. Your position within England is precarious, and more important than just any other courtier. Where you make merry and what you do with each and every minute of every day is observed, reported. There are still some who would see you elevated above Elizabeth—those who think her a bastard of a whore.” She said the last part in a cold whisper, reinforcing my own suspicions as to where Lady Anne’s loyalties lay.

“What are you saying?”

“Beau is descended of kings. You are descended of kings. For those who may wish to rise against Princess Elizabeth, a marriage between you both would look strong to them—and treasonous to Elizabeth. I was shocked to hear that Queen Mary agreed. Hold off. Warm to her. You are still young yet. Your time will come, but I implore you, for your safety and that of my son, do not marry until Elizabeth has approved of the match.”

With those words, and several looks over her shoulders, Lady Anne removed herself from
my chambers, taking any warmth it had with her.

November 17, 1558

“The queen is dead! Long live the queen!”

The words rang out through
London and the realm. Trumpets blared, cannons boomed, and people shouted. Their beloved Princess Elizabeth would save them from the reign that had been aptly dubbed Bloody Mary’s Rule.

Several Privy Council members rode out as if the bats of hell were on their heels, smiles splitting
wide their faces, carrying the precious prized ruby ring that had had to be worked with great effort from Mary’s bloated finger. They rode for Hatfield—Elizabeth’s home—where they would kneel before her and claim to be her loyal subjects.

But while those surrounding me
rejoiced in her rule, I could not shout out with joy. Elizabeth had yet to warm to me. In fact, in the last weeks of Mary’s realm, when she’d visited her dying sister, she’d sent me hateful glares. Her eyes were as full of suspicion as Mary’s had been when she’d gazed upon her beloved sister. Did Elizabeth suspect me of wanting to usurp her?

How could I
prove to her I never,
ever
wished to take her place? All I wanted was to marry Ned. And Ned! He was to return to court—summoned when Mary’s state of delirium several days prior had become an affirmative that she would pass. I would see him again. I had missed Ned so and prayed he had not forgotten our love.

Dear God in Heaven, let Queen Elizabeth allow us to marry!

The next morning, a short note arrived from Ned.

My Dearest Lady,

My mind does spend many moments thinking of your face and replaying your laugh. Would that I could see you soon. Mother has advised me to
tread carefully for now. In time, though, we will be together, of that I promise.

Long live the
queen!

Long live love…

Yours forever,

Ned

Chapter Thirteen

And living there with lingering hope,

in foreign country strange:

Where absence might throw present toils,

in some men work a change.

He stood as firm as marble stone,

and kept both truth and touch…

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan soldier and poet

February 3, 1559

Queen Elizabeth breezed by me in her presence chamber with her ladies in tow, but stopped short to return to where I remained, the scent of roses wafting from her glorious red tresses. I quickly dipped into a curtsy, wondering what punishment she would bestow on me for my tardiness. “Majesty,” I murmured.

“You are late,
cousin. I expected you in my room over an hour ago.”

Still looking at the floor, as Elizabeth often seemed in a temper with me, I answered, “My a
pologies, Majesty. My hound Arabel was ill.”

Elizabeth barked out a guttural sound. “You and your s
illy animals.”

Her insult was hypocritical
, considering she was also quite fond of her own pets, but one did not argue with the queen. “I most humbly seek your forgiveness,” I murmured, my mind still on poor Arabel. Oh, how she’d retched this morning! I’d been half-convinced someone had tried to poison her.

Elizabeth clucked her tongue, her eyes taking on a mean-spirited gleam.
“You are no longer welcome in the privy chamber, Lady Katherine. See to it you report only to the presence chamber, or I shall have you removed from court.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Elizabeth straightened and began her procession again
in her magnificent white robes, through the castle to the morning service in her chapel. Margaret Clifford, the Countess of Derby, with her chestnut hair pulled back severely beneath a black velvet bejeweled hat, met my gaze as she passed in line with Elizabeth’s other ladies in waiting. She paused briefly beside me and whispered, “My lady, be wary. The queen has been uttering much against you. ‘Twould be best for you to heed her warning and duck into the shadows when she is near.”

Lady Derby walked away as if she
’d never stopped. Where once I had been allowed to exist beside the body of England’s monarch, now I was banished to the outskirts of court, gazing over heads and shoulders of others whom she placed before me. Her ladies whispered and tittered behind her, glancing at me with fingers over their sordid mouths. They would not have treated me in such a way if not for Elizabeth openly shunning me and very obviously making clear my place was
not
anywhere close to the throne. Would she banish me to the kitchens next?

“Do not stare after her so, my lady
. Those who have their eye on you might make it their goals to show the queen just how much you resent being lowered in status,” Ned said, coming to stand beside me.

Elizabeth had made good on her promise to keep us apart.
As the court waited for the queen and her ladies to make their procession, I tilted my head slightly toward Ned and spoke to his dark leather boots, which contrasted with the polished stone floors. “Her suspicions of me have not waned, despite my kneeling before her and confessing my heart’s desire to serve her and be most loyal to her,” I whispered. “Why does she hate me so? I have never done anything but show her that I am loyal and true, and yet she treats me as a leper!”