The Last Heiress (57 page)

“You are all here because of your kinship to us, and you can all be replaced by other women more respectful and gracious. The lady of Friarsgate is here because we asked her to come. She is our true friend.”

“I am sorry, your highness,” Jane Rochford muttered, her cheeks red with the queen’s rebuke.
The bitch! One day I will repay you for that,
she thought.

Elizabeth curtseyed deeply. “Will you permit me to withdraw to Bolton House for the night, your highness?” she asked the queen.

“You may go,” Anne agreed, understanding that Elizabeth wished to defuse the situation Jane Rochford had created. Most of the women here with them would put her outburst down to nerves. She was preg-nant. She had had several very long days. It would be forgotten in a day or two by most of them.

Elizabeth withdrew, leaving Hugh to console his mistress with his lute and sweet voice. She found Nancy with the little Howard girl.

“Where is the old duchess’s tiring woman? Take Mistress Howard to her, and meet me at the barge quay,” she said before hurrying off again.

She could scarcely wait to get out of the palace.

“Where are you hurrying to, Elizabeth Meredith?” she heard someone ask.

Turning, she came face-to-face with Flynn Stewart as she had in the gardens of Greenwich several days ago. “I am going to my barge,” she said.

“Not remaining with the queen? You are quite the meat of the gossips these days, Elizabeth Meredith. None can understand the queen’s reliance upon you,” he told her.

“I am Elizabeth Hay, Master Stewart,” she said quietly. “Friendship, I know, is a difficult concept for courtiers to comprehend. Believe me, I should as soon be home as here right now, but the queen commanded me to come. And why are you here? I would have thought you would be riding hard for Scotland to tell your king of this day’s events.”

“King James is more than well aware of this day’s doings,” Flynn Stewart said, matching his step to hers. “His half sister, Lady Margaret Douglas, is one of Queen Anne’s ladies. You once called me Flynn.

Where are you going?”

“To Bolton House. That weasel-faced Jane Rochford caused a scene over me in the queen’s privy chamber. To ease the situation I asked to be excused. I do not know how George Boleyn can stand her. She is mean and sly.”

“He can’t stand her, but the marriage was arranged to the advantage of both families,” Flynn explained. “You know how it is among the nobility.”

“She will come to a bad end; I sense it,” Elizabeth said. “God’s blood! I want to go home. I hate it here!”

“Then why don’t you go home?” he asked her. “The coronation is over.”

“The queen begged me to remain until her child is born. I could not refuse her,” Elizabeth told him. “Now there is a piece of prime gossip for your master, Flynn.”

He laughed. “The queen is like all mares about to foal for the first time. She needs a steadying and gentle hand. None of those peahens around her can offer her that.” He chuckled. “She needed her friend, a good country woman.”

“Aye, worse luck,” Elizabeth exclaimed dourly.

He laughed. “Cheer up, sweetheart,” he told her. “ ’Tis only a few more months until England’s hope is born. Then you can flee north, and be home in time for the grouse. Ah, here we are. Which is your barge?”

“I have to wait for my tiring woman,” Elizabeth said. “She was taking little Mistress Howard to the old duchess’s servants. The great lady forgot to make arrangements to send the girl home. I was delegated to take her to see the queen crowned, but if I am not by the queen’s side then I intend sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

“A lonely bed.” He leered at her.

Now it was Elizabeth who laughed. “Am I fair game then, Flynn Stewart, because I am no longer a virgin?” she teased him. “My husband is a jealous man, and he is every bit as big as the king. Even more so, if rumor is to be believed.”

“You certainly know that I regretted letting you go,” he said to her.

“Pah! Three years ago I should have believed such romantic twad-dle, but I have since learned that you Scotsmen are passionately bound to your service first, and not to your women. I seduced my husband shortly after I returned to Friarsgate, and even that was not enough to keep him by my side. He had a duty first to his own sire,” she said.

“You seduced the man?” His look was incredulous. “God’s wounds, that it would have been me.” But he was beginning to laugh as he spoke.

She grinned back at him. “I wanted him,” she replied simply.

“Do you love him?” Flynn asked, suddenly serious.

“Aye, I do,” Elizabeth admitted. “I was starting to love you, and you knew it, but you would not have been the right man for Friarsgate, Flynn. And to be the man for me, you had to be the man for Friarsgate.”

He nodded, completely understanding her. “But we are friends, Elizabeth?”

“We are friends, Flynn Stewart,” she told him. “And I still think your king should give you a nice rich wife to settle down with, but I think you are a happier man without a wife, eh? You enjoy the excitement of this court, and all its intrigues.”

“I do,” he admitted.

“Mistress, I found some of the dowager’s servants, and left Mistress Howard with them,” Nancy said, coming upon them.

“Then we are ready to escape to Bolton House,” Elizabeth said, and Flynn helped both women down into the barge.

“I will see you again,” he promised her.

“Aye, you will,” Elizabeth agreed.

They reached Bolton House in good time, and Elizabeth found Philippa awake and waiting for her in the great hall. The sisters embraced, and Elizabeth kicked off her shoes, loosened her laces, and sat down before the fire.

“How is Hugh doing?” Philippa asked her sister.

“The queen adores him. Why wouldn’t she, with that angelic face of his, and his sweet voice? She loves having him by her, and is very kind to him.”

“Then perhaps it will be all right,” Philippa said.

“She didn’t know who he was, sister. When I brought him to her, she said that she had stolen him from the king for his pretty face, and did not even know his name. She was surprised when I told her,” Elizabeth explained. “Hugh has great charm, and has won her over. Anne is not a woman to be fooled. Your son is very lucky.”

“Crispin wants to leave tomorrow,” Philippa said. “He is not one for the court these days, and neither am I, to my surprise.”

“I will be fine,” Elizabeth replied. “The progress is not to be a great or lengthy one this summer, given the queen’s condition. The child is due in September. I will go home immediately after he is born.” She arose. “I am exhausted. I slept in a chair by the queen’s bed last night.

And then today I was given charge over the queen’s younger cousin, Catherine Howard.”

“There will be jousting and dancing for the rest of the week,”

Philippa noted. “You are likely to be kept busy, I fear.”

Elizabeth yawned. “I know. God’s blood, how I long for Friarsgate, and my country ways.”

“And your husband,” Philippa said mischievously.

Elizabeth grinned. “Aye, I long for Baen too. It is time that young Tom had a brother or a sister.” She yawned again, and stood up. “Good night, Philippa. Do not go without seeing me first, please.” She kissed her sibling and went to her own bedchamber.

The Earl and Countess of Witton departed early the next morning.

Elizabeth watched them go, wishing desperately that she were with them. The whole long summer stretched ahead. A summer she would not be at Friarsgate. A summer away from Baen and young Tom. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she wept. She wanted to go home, not to the joust to be held this afternoon in the queen’s honor, or to the banquets and masques that would follow. She was not a part of any of it. She was not a great lady. She was plain Elizabeth Hay, the lady of Friarsgate. She didn’t belong here at court.

And when she had finished feeling sorry for herself, Elizabeth called to Nancy, and they prepared to join the queen once again.

The summer months passed. Many in the court had gone home to attend to their own estates. At first the queen accompanied her husband on the annual progress, but they did not travel far from London, only briefly to Essex and Surrey. Mostly they remained at Greenwich, the king going off with his closest friends to hunt a few days at a time.

It was customary that a queen take to her apartments a month before the birth of a child, to be served only by women. Anne had chosen to have her child at Greenwich, and it was a great relief to Elizabeth when they finally settled into that lovely palace on the river.

The queen’s apartments had been completely redone in their absence. Now everything was prepared in accordance with the rules for royal childbirth that had been set down by King Henry’s grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, in the last reign. The walls and windows of the queen’s rooms but for one window would be covered with rich tapestries. Only women would be allowed into the royal apartments. And Anne would be forced to remain quiet in the darkened chambers as she awaited the momentous occasion of her child’s birth. She kept Elizabeth by her side most days and nights, along with young Hugh St.Clair, who had become her favorite page. He had also become a favorite with the other ladies as well, who enjoyed his sweet voice, and his pretty face and manners.

Elizabeth slipped through the woods to Bolton Greenwich as often as she could. Returning one day, she found Anne in a towering rage, and none could calm her. Of course, they were all terrified that the queen’s outburst would cause her to miscarry. “What has happened?”

Elizabeth asked Lady Margaret Douglas, the king’s niece.

“Someone has told her that the king is dallying with a lady of the court. That his hunting trips are but ruses to be with his lady love,”

Lady Margaret whispered. “You know how jealous of him she can be.”

“God’s wounds!” Elizabeth swore. “Who told her that?” She had heard the rumor herself, but had paid it little heed. Many husbands denied their wives’ company were known to find amusement elsewhere.

But the king was being discreet, for if he was indeed dallying with another, no one knew who she was, or had even seen anything untoward.

“We do not know,” came the reply.

“Well, it has to be one of the women here,” Elizabeth said, looking around. Her gaze lit on Jane Seymour, who sat placidly through the queen’s tantrum, sewing. She had no reason to dislike Mistress Seymour, but she did. There was something sly about her, Elizabeth thought. “I had best go to her,” she told Lady Margaret.

“Oh, would you?” Lady Margaret sounded relieved. “She does love you, and she listens when you advise her, Mistress Hay.”

Elizabeth hurried into the queen’s privy chamber. Anne was sobbing violently, and her hair was loose and disarrayed. There were several pieces of broken crockery upon the floor. “You are upsetting yourself needlessly, your highness,” she began, and she waved the others in the chamber out with an imperious hand.

“Do you know what he said to me?” Anne sobbed. “They sent for him, you know. I told him what I knew. I told him I would not countenance his fucking another woman, and especially now, when the child is so near to being born. He did not beg my pardon, or even console me. He said in that commanding voice of his, ‘You must shut your eyes, madame, and endure, as your betters before you have endured.

You must surely know that having raised you to such utopian heights I can as easily lower you back to the depths.’ Oh, Elizabeth, he does not love me anymore!” And the queen sobbed harder.

The lady of Friarsgate put comforting arms about the queen. “He was angry at being found out, Anne. All summer long he has kept anything he considered distressful to you from you. Some of it quite silly, I might add. Of course he loves you. Now cease your greeting, and think of the child you are carrying.”

“Ohh, Elizabeth,” the queen cried, “you must never leave me!”

And Elizabeth Hay felt a chill race down her spine. Never leave?

God forbid! She would go as soon as the child was safely delivered and in its mother’s arms. She already had Nancy packing for their journey, and had sent for a contingent of her own Friarsgate men, too afraid to ask for a royal escort lest she be denied. She was going home! She needed to be on her lands again. She needed her husband and son.

On Sunday, the seventh day of September, Anne went into labor in the great bed of state that had been prepared for the birth. Around her, the midwives and the physicians conferred, while by her side Elizabeth Hay sat holding the queen’s hand. As her labor grew in intensity Anne squeezed the hand in hers over and over again until Elizabeth thought it would never be of use to her again. The cries of the woman in labor reached the courtiers awaiting word of the birth in the queen’s reception room. Among them a seventeen-year-old Mary Tudor waited to be displaced by a brother. Perhaps then they would let her see her mother. Perhaps then they would finally let her marry her cousin Phillip, as her mother wanted her to do. Phillip was very dashing.

And then between three and four o’clock that early September afternoon the wail of an infant was heard. It was a strong cry, and those in the waiting room began to smile. Perhaps it had all been worth it, after all. The child, a Virgo, would be a great king. They showed the queen her infant, and Anne began to weep. Only those standing closest to her heard her soft words. “I am ruined!”

“Nay!” Elizabeth bent to whisper to the exhausted woman. “She is a strong babe, and but the first of many that you will bear the king.”

Outside, it was announced that the queen had been delivered of a fair maid, a princess she had declared would be called Elizabeth, after the king’s late mother. The king came, and went in to his wife. The child was healthy, he declared jovially, and the prettiest he had ever seen, with her halo of red-gold hair so like his. There would be others, he said, but everyone knew he was disappointed. Anne Boleyn’s star was fading fast, and the king’s eyes were already lighting with pleasure upon one of her ladies-in-waiting: the meek and mild Mistress Jane Seymour.

“We will call the babe Mary,” he told his wife.