Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (50 page)

“Is that your wedding ring?” Sir Owen asked, shock resounding in his voice.

I nodded. “Give this to my lord husband, thy loving natural father to my children.” I sucked in a breath, feeling as though I could not get enough air into my lungs. But I wanted my words to be heard. They must be heard. “Take my plea to the queen, which shall be the last suit and request I ever make to Her Highness, be they from the mouth of a dead woman. Plead with her that she forgives her displeasure toward me, that I hope she has already. I must needs confess I have greatly offended her in that I made my choice without her knowledge, otherwise I take God to witness I had never the heart to think any evil against Her Majesty. Beseech her to be good to my children and husband and not impute my faults and transgression upon them. Tell her I give their care wholly to Her Majesty, for in my life they had few friends and fewer shall they have once I am dead except Her Majesty. I desire Her Highness to be good to my Lord Hertford, for I know my death will be heavy news to him. I pray that Her Grace will be good as to send liberty to gladden his heart. Beg her to show mercy…”

“I shall
impart your message to the Queen’s Majesty, my lady,” he said through a choked voice.

My
eyes blurred, and I sought Mrs. Helen through waning vision. I held out my hand for her comfort.

“I am here, child.” She gripped my hand in hers.

“You will tell him…tell him I love—” My voice broke, and I sucked in a breath. Unable to get enough air into my lungs, I sucked again. But I was so overcome with emotion, so filled with it, eating away at my insides, sorrow took control and I could no longer speak.

“I know, my love, I know.”
Mrs. Helen gathered me in her warm and comforting arms, and we cried together, our tears mixing, both of our chests shaking and rumbling with grief. “You needn’t worry over a thing, love, I will tell him. I will tell all to everyone.”

She pulled me close, wiping away the endless stream of tears, stroking my
once-lustrous hair.

Extra weight made the mattress sink lower as Arabel
and Beau slipped onto the bed to curl up along my back and legs.

There we lay
, my precious dogs and Mrs. Helen, those lovely creatures who had been my comfort and security through the years of misery and doubt.

And there we stayed,
a deep sigh on my lips as, for a final time, I fell asleep.

Epilogue

And now the golf of sighs and sobs,

burst out with great unrest.

For loe, one house held both these bearers of ill-fortune,

yet both asunder were:

And both in like displeasure stood,

yea each of both in fear.

Of Princes wrath and worlds disgrace,

a heavy tale to tell,

A plague past hope of heaven’s bliss,

a torment and a hell…

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan Solider and Poet

March 1, 1568

Cockfield Chapel, Suffolk

Elizabeth I, Queen of England

I am come hither to bear witness in truth to that which hath been relayed to me. That mine own cousin has died.

Katherine.
Kitty Kat.

My eyes must be deceiving me, for here at her tomb are many flowers, many candles lit. The people did favor her much as their heir to the throne. I was right to have feared for my life with her alive. And yet, my heart doth die a little more, if it were possible
, to ache for the love she did receive from the people and from her lover.

The small chapel has been cleared, save for a priest who hovers in a corner, his eyes wide and unbelieving at what he sees. I traveled here in secret, but it shall no doubt be told at many a hearth that I came to offer a prayer for Lady Katherine’s soul.

A draft wafts up the aisle of the church, and despite the coming of spring and my thick ermine cloak, my bones are chilled. A small dog, that looks very much like Katherine’s old mutt, rushes from beneath a pew to bounce around the hem of my skirt.

“Shoo!” I hiss, not wanting to play. But he
does not leave the chapel, although he does stop yanking on my skirts. He runs up to Katherine’s tomb—and so it must be her little dog—and there he lays down his head on his paws, and whimpers.

Even the dog misses this woman. For shame! Will every living, breathing
being attempt to make me feel regret for what has transpired? I have protected myself and my crown just as any other great prince would have done!

I caress the cold stone of her tomb and shiver a little at a flash of something that I fear may come to pass. Lord Hertford, shall never forgive me for keeping them apart, and while I do not fear what he can do to me, for I am
Queen of England and ruler of this realm, I do fear what his great sadness will do for the people of this land.

How
like them, to bring attention to themselves and their causes. But does no one think of me? I have given up so much for the greater good!

Yet, their love affair will be revered and spoken of for years to come and I shall
most likely be slandered. And I shall lie beside no one, never experience the love they had for one another, for I am married to this crown, to this country.

I reach for the hard gold of my simple coronet. There is comfort in something always constant.

I must make certain ‘tis not possible for Hertford and Kitty Kat’s story to be immortalized. I shall make him remarry if I have to—to forget her. For this is a terrible thing I have done, and yet there have been so many terrible things, and I’m sure even more to come from my rule. But I must protect myself. I must protect my lands, my rights, my inheritance, my people. And if in achieving those goals, some must hurt, then so be it.

My knees quake and threaten to spill me to the ground in not so queenly a fashion. My breathing is shallow and rapid, and my eyes sting with unshed tears. Guilt riddles my bones, but I must be strong and steadfast in my choices! For what good is a monarch if not for their word, their rule?

But my heart aches for one so young. For a love lost. For two children, now motherless as I was at their age. I have deprived them of that. I have resigned them to a fate I would not wish on one so young. But at least those two young boys will have the love of their grandmother, Anne Seymour, Duchess of Somerset, if you could call her a loving guardian. I have yet to see true joy in the woman’s face.

But it is more than I ever had, left only to those servants who would care for me and a few brief happy moments with my step-mother, Queen Catherine Parr, who eventually pushed me away.

A deep ragged sigh draws itself from my chest.

I am forever alone, and yet surrounded.

If they had come to me today with news of their secret marriage would I have denied them what I did in years past?

Again I reach out to run a hand along the marble stone. All that is left of dear Kat, that little girl I had once thought to adopt as my own. My own blood.

I know this: if I were once again to endure the pain of seeing two so in love, who hath gone against me and stolen my trust, then indeed, I would keep them apart.

My spine straightens and I frown as I realize this. I cannot regret my decisions, only learn from them. Harsher punishments may come to those who deign to act
in secret. I
am
the Queen of England. I
am
their sovereign ruler, and head of the church. It is
I
who decides the fate of this realm and those who are fortunate enough to live within it.

And never shall I let the young Edward and Thomas
Seymour rule. They are the product of everything I could never have. Love, passion, a family.

Love, that one selfish indulgence that as Good Queen Bess, the Virgin Queen, I shall never fully sink to feel.

“A pox on love!” I say acidly.

With head held high, I whirl from the tomb of one of my greatest
personal enemies. I will leave this place and with it, I abandon the pain, too.

Even in death these two will defy me, it is a premonition, a knowledge of thus that makes me shudder. I’ve created a legend. A tale of star-crossed lovers that ended in tragedy.

And those throughout history will always remember me as a monster in this, and not a woman born of jealousy, pain and regret.

God Bless you, Kat. And see you safely to Heave
n
.

Author
’s Note

As I do with all my historical fiction titles, I took creative license to write my story, PRISONER OF THE QUEEN. But to be honest, the story of Katherine Grey and Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford
, was so dramatic, so filled with passion, treachery, pain, and love that I needed to change and add very little.

At the beginning of each chapter is an excerpt from a poem written by Thomas Churchyard, an Elizabethan solider and poet. The poem tells the tale of Katherine and Ned’s tragic love story. The poem was published in 1575 in Churchyardes Chippes, and is titled a
Doleful Discourse of a Lady and a Knight.
Thomas got into a small bit of trouble with Her Majesty when it was published. It is a very long poem, so only about the first quarter or so is pasted within the manuscript (with the exception of the lines gracing the beginning of the epilogue, which are the last lines of the poem). Additionally, I have translated the poem into modern English, as it was quite difficult to read the way it was originally published. Finding period accounts is a must for me when doing any project, and what a gem to have found Churchyard’s poem.

There are many who in history and in fiction have portrayed Katherine as frivolous, “featherbrained,” promiscuous, selfish, and covetous of the throne. I feel this is false. She watched her sister be thrust into power and die from it. Why would she want that for herself? She willingly went out to marry the man she loved behind Elizabeth’s back, knowing there would be consequences. While some of her behavior may have been brash and reckless, she was an intelligent woman. She was, in fact, well educated. She did spend more than she had and was often in need of funds. But this was said of many during that time period—including Lord Robert Dudley and even Henry VIII.

I think there was a lot more going on in Katherine’s head than she is given credit for and that she never guessed Elizabeth would punish her as harshly as she did. I think she hoped that while Elizabeth would be angry, she could convince her cousin that she did not covet the throne.

All through her trials, she remained loyal and faithful and loving to her husband. They corresponded (and saw each other in the Tower) whenever they could. As far as their visits in the Tower, by her own admission and his, it was only two times, and on the third attempt, the door was locked. I increased this for purposes of my story, because they were able to conceive another child under such circumstances, and perhaps I wanted to grant them a little more joy.

I have changed a few dates to make the story flow better, but for the most part have remained true to dates. There are several letters quoted in this story that were actual letters written by the characters, and then there are also many letters I’ve written myself. The letter from Jane to her sister is in fact real—although I cut a large part out of the middle to avoid repetition. In addition, Kat’s long letter to Ned after they are removed from the Tower was written by her hand. The circlet ring with the inscriptions was real.

Her lady’s maid, Mrs. Helen, is a fictional character based on the woman who most likely foster-mothered and nursed Katherine and her sisters.

According to some historians, Katherine did plead that her marriage to Henry Herbert had been consummated, even though it had not been. She begged for the marriage to remain intact, under the pretense that they loved each other deeply and that she could be with child. I considered putting this into the story, but chose not to for purposes of making her love to Ned unique. Also, if the plea was made, it was likely made in desperation for her life and safety.