In the Shadow of the Crown (60 page)

“I see her point.”

“But now everything has changed.” I smiled radiantly. I was so happy. Soon my child would be born; and if Elizabeth were married to Emmanuel, I could think of her with pleasure. We could exchange personal, sisterly letters, and everything would be as it should be.

It was wonderful to be in agreement with Philip. How well he understood my feelings!

Sir Henry Bedingfield brought Elizabeth up from Woodstock, and in due course she arrived at Hampton Court.

Before I summoned her, I sent Gardiner to her. I told him that he must ask her to confess her fault and then I would consider her confession and perhaps forgive her.

He came back to me and told me that his interview with the Princess had been unproductive.

He said, “I told her that she must confess her fault. She replied that, rather than confess to something she had not done, she was prepared to stay in prison for the rest of her life, for she had never committed any fault against Your Majesty in thought, word or deed, and that therefore she could crave no mercy at your hand, but rather desired herself to be judged by law. I told her that you marvelled at her boldness in refusing to confess—for in doing so she implied that Your Majesty had wrongfully imprisoned her.”

“And what did she reply to that?” I asked.

“She said, ‘She may, if it pleases Her Majesty, punish me as she thinketh good.' ‘Her Majesty says you must tell another tale ere you are set at liberty,' I told her, to which she replied she would as lief be in prison as abroad, suspected by the Queen. I said that she implied she had been wrongfully imprisoned, to which she answered that she spoke the truth, would cling to the truth and seek no advantage through lies.”

I listened attentively. Philip wanted to know what had passed between Elizabeth and Gardiner and listened with great interest when I told him.

I learned from one of the women who was in Elizabeth's household and
who reported to me that which she thought would interest me that, after the interview with Gardiner, coupled with the fact that I had summoned her to Court, Elizabeth believed it meant that another charge would be brought against her, and she was sure her enemies were determined to put an end to her. She kissed her ladies fondly, saying it might be that they would never meet her again on Earth.

I was very distressed that she should think this of me when what I wanted was to stop this suspicion between us, and for her to be at Court and that we should be as sisters.

“I must see her,” I said to Philip.

“I should be the one to question her… not Gardiner.”

I was delighted that he agreed with me.

“Summon her,” he said, “and while she is with you I will watch. I will be hidden behind a screen. I would hear what passes between you.”

I thought it was wonderful for Philip to care so much for me and to understand my feelings for my sister far better than others did.

So when Elizabeth was brought to me, Philip hid himself behind a screen placed so that, when Elizabeth stood before me, she would have her back to it. It meant that he could take occasional glimpses at her as well as hear every word that was spoken.

It was ten o'clock at night when she came to me. I could see she was distraught and, having heard of her farewell to her women, I understood that she thought her end was in sight.

I was immediately overcome with pity, remembering the bright child who was the delight and terror of Lady Bryan's life, and I felt a certain nostalgia for earlier days and wished that life could have been different for us all.

She fell to her knees and, before I could speak, began professing her absolute loyalty; she swore by God and the Holy Virgin that she had never been engaged in any plots against me.

I tried to fight the sentiment in myself. She looked very attractive with her red hair falling about her shoulders. I tried to speak sternly. I said, “So, you will not confess your fault, but stand firmly on your truth. I pray that it may become manifest.”

“If it is not,” she replied proudly, “I will look for neither favor nor pardon at Your Majesty's hands.”

“You are so firm…so fervent in your protestations of innocence that you have been wrongfully accused…”

She looked at me with a certain slyness. “I must not say so to Your Majesty,” she said.

“But you will say so to others seemingly.”

“No, Your Majesty. I have borne and must bear the burden. What I
humbly beseech is Your Majesty's good opinion of me, as I am, and ever have been, Your Majesty's true subject.”

“How can I be sure?” I murmured.

Then she seized my hands and burst into a passionate appeal. I must understand, she said, that I was to her firstly a dear sister. She remembered my kindness to her when she was an outcast. That she would never forget. She wanted a chance to prove to me that I had never had a more devoted servant. In the great happiness which had come to me, she thought I and my noble husband would be kind to a poor prisoner who was loyal toward her sovereign and tender toward her sister.

She was eloquent. She was, after all, fighting for her life. She believed at that time that I had brought her up from Woodstock with the purpose of sending her to her death.

I was touched, and hurt that she could think this of me. I told her to rise and I embraced her.

I said to her, “No more. Whether you are guilty or not, I forgive you.” I took a ring from my finger. It was a beautiful diamond. I had given it to her on my coronation, telling her that, if ever she was in trouble, she was to send it to me and if possible I would help her. It had come back to me at the time she was taken to the Tower, and I had kept it ever since. Now I gave it back to her.

There was a radiance about her. She had come to me expecting to be sent to the Tower, and instead she had the pledge of my friendship. Her eyes were filled with tears. I was deeply touched, and suddenly she flung herself into my arms.

“You are once more my sister,” she cried. “I have your love and I am happy again.”

When she left me, Philip emerged from behind the screen. There was no doubt that he was greatly interested in Elizabeth. His eyes shone and he almost smiled. But it was not easy to know what he really thought of her.

He said, “You did well. You acted with dignity and tolerance.”

“And what did you think of my sister?”

“I think that much of what I have heard of her is true.”

It seemed an evasive answer, but I was delighted with his approval.

IT WAS ABOUT this time that I noticed one of my ladies behaving in a strange and almost secretive manner. This was Magdalen Dacre. She was outstandingly beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful of all my ladies. She was very tall and made dwarves of some of us, and she would have been remarkable because of her statuesque figure if for nothing else. Magdalen had all the virtues. She was religious and efficient. Perhaps some would say
she was a little prim, but I liked her for that. I would not have wished to be surrounded by frivolous women.

I noticed that she was absent on one or two occasions. I asked for her and was told she was resting. She seemed to need a good deal of rest. I wondered if she were unhappy about something.

She was hardly ever present when Philip was there, but I noticed that when he was he treated her with great courtesy. He was courteous to all my ladies, but he did seem especially so toward Magdalen.

I wondered mildly about her, and then I ceased to think of her for something very important was about to happen.

I had not yet achieved my mission, which was to return England to Rome. It was too dangerous to do so at the moment. I did not want to plunge the country into civil war. At the same time I did feel that there should not be too much delay.

The news from the Continent delighted me. Reginald Pole was coming home.

He had been out of favor with the Emperor, for at one time he had made it clear that he opposed my marriage to Philip. I believed that his opposition was due to the fact that he thought I was too old for childbearing and that to attempt it would be dangerous to me. None wanted the return to Rome more than he did, but he believed it could be done without the marriage.

I daresay the Emperor thought that, if he came to England, he would be my chief adviser, which was very likely, and I was not sure that the Emperor wanted that. Reginald would doubtless have returned to England earlier but for these considerations. After all, he was no longer an exile. He had left the country only because he upheld my right to the succession; now I was Queen the way was clear for his return.

And now he was coming.

It was November, and I was now certain of my pregnancy. I was wildly happy, and the thought of seeing Reginald after all these years added to my joy. He was not strong and had had to take the journey by easy stages. There should be a royal yacht at Calais to bring him to Dover.

I was delighted to hear that he had arrived safely in England, and as he made the journey to Gravesend he was in the midst of an impressive cavalcade. At Gravesend the barge I had sent for him was waiting and, with his silver cross fixed on the prow, he sailed to Whitehall.

Gardiner received him at the water's edge, and at the entrance of the palace Philip was waiting for him. I myself stood at the head of the stairs.

With what emotion we embraced! The years seemed to slip away, and I was young again, dreaming of him, telling myself that one day he would be my bridegroom.

That was in the past. How old Reginald looked—yet handsome in an aesthetic way. He was frail, thin and of medium height, but he looked tall beside Philip. His hair and beard, which I remembered as light brown, were now white; but he still had the same gentle expression which I had loved.

“Welcome home,” I said.

“It is wonderful to see you. I know that, now you are come, all will soon be…as it should be.”

He congratulated me on my marriage. I raised my eyebrows, reminding him that he had warned me against it.

“I was wrong,” he said charmingly, reading my thoughts. “It has worked out in the best possible way. I am happy for you.”

He meant it. I wonder if he remembered the plans to get us married, how my mother and his had planned when we were both much younger. But nothing had come of it, and he had gone on his way—indeed he had had no choice, for if he had stayed he would have gone to the block with most of his family. And now I had Philip—whom I would not have exchanged for any man in the world.

It was wonderful to know that he was back, and perhaps even more so to realize what his coming meant, for he had come to help restore the Pope's supremacy in England which, I had convinced myself, was the reason why God had preserved my life and set me on the throne to work His will.

Gardiner came up the stairs.

He was to take Reginald to Lambeth Palace.

MY PLEASURE IN SEEING Reginald was married by the change in him. He was still handsome, still noble, but I sensed a deep sadness, and there was in him a bitterness against my father.

We met frequently and there were times when he and I were alone together. Then he talked of his family, all of whom—with the exception of Geoffry, who had tried and failed to take his own life and was now living abroad in exile—had been murdered. What affected him most was the death of his mother, who, he said, had been butchered on the scaffold.

“My mother,” he said, “was a saint. She was the most pious of women who had never harmed a living soul… and to be murdered so.”

I wept with him, remembering so much of my life with her.

“But it is over, Reginald,” I said. “Life dealt harshly with you and yours, and we do no good by remembering.”

He said, “I see myself as the son of a martyr, for such was my mother and I shall never forget her.”

“The past is over,” I said. “Many died and your family among them. We cannot bring them back. We have to think ahead. We have to continue with this great task which God has set us.”

He was certainly zealous in that cause. Three days after his arrival, the two Houses of Parliament were assembled to hear Reginald speak. He told them he had come to restore the lost glory of the kingdom.

A few days later Philip and I were presented with a petition from the two Houses to plead with the Legate to absolve the country from its schism and disobedience.

We were moving toward our goal. High Mass was celebrated at St. Paul's. The Act restoring supremacy to the Pope had not yet been passed but it was on the way.

There was a ceremony at St. Paul's at the end of November to celebrate my condition. It was very moving. The Virgin Mary was referred to, and the similarity of our names seemed significant. “Fear not, Mary,” the angel had said, “for thou hast found favor with God.”

The fear meant that they were all remembering my age and the dangers of childbirth, even to the young and healthy. They would certainly be remembering the last prince to be born, my brother Edward, whose coming had meant the death of his mother.

I listened to the prayers with emotion.

“Give therefore unto Thy servants, Philip and Mary, a male issue.” I was always a little apprehensive about this manner of giving commands to God. Few would have dared treat me in the same manner! “Make him comely and in wit notable and excellent.”

All I wanted was a healthy son; and I was the happiest woman in the world at the prospect of having one.

CHRISTMAS HAD COME. I was delighted that my sister would be at Court to celebrate it with me. She did not appear often in public—only when her presence was commanded. Then she was subdued, and there was a secretive air about her. Philip was immensely interested in her. I often noticed his eyes following her.

I told myself: He is a little suspicious of her; he fears she may be plotting against me.

Dear Philip, he was so careful of me, and I was very happy that I had conceived so soon. It was a sign of fertility.

I was feeling quite ill at times but I rejoiced in my suffering. It was all part of pregnancy, which could be very trying to some women. I expected it would be particularly so for me, in view of my previous weakness.