“Your Majesty should be wary of her,” said Susan.
“I know. I know. But she is my sister. It is for that reason I do not care to think of her as a prisoner in the Tower.”
“Perhaps she will marry.”
“Ah, if only she would marry abroad!”
It was an idea which persisted to haunt my mind.
I discussed it with the Council. Many of them thought she would be safer dead, but marriage did seem a way of disposing of her.
I said, “I will see my sister. Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy and Prince of Piedmont, would be pleased to marry her, I am sure. He would be a good match for her. She would then leave the country; people here would not see her and therefore not consider her as a rallying-point for rebellion.”
The more I thought of the idea, the more plausible it seemed. Emmanuel Philibert was one of those who had been chosen for me long ago, and I had forgotten now the reason why the match was put aside. There had been so many such cases.
So Elizabeth left the Tower and came by barge to Richmond, where the Court was at that time.
I sent for her.
She looked a little pale; her sojourn in the Tower had had its effect on her. It was natural that it should. How could she have known from one day to the next when she might be taken out to share her mother's fate?
She looked at me without reproach, almost tenderly, and I warmed toward her.
I said, “I greatly regret it was necessary to send you to the Tower.”
“Your Majesty is so just that you cannot endure injustice. I am innocent of all my enemies are contriving to prove against me. Your Majesty will know that my sisterly affection would never allow me to do aught to harm you.”
I nodded and said, “It is your future of which I am thinking.”
“Your Majesty, I should like to retire to the country. The air of Ashridge has always been beneficial to my health.”
I waved a hand impatiently and said, “I have a proposition to set before you. You are no longer a child. It is time you married.”
She turned pale and recoiled in some dismay.
“Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy and Prince of Piedmont, would be a worthy match,” I went on.
I saw her lips tighten, and a look of determination came over her face.
“I have no desire to marry, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense. It is the destiny of every woman.”
“If that is her wish, Your Majesty. For myself … I would prefer to remain a virgin.”
“You speak of matters of which you have no knowledge.”
“I have an instinct that the state is not for me. I will not marry.”
She was looking at me steadily, and I could see the defiance in her eyes. Was it because she did not like the idea of Emmanuel Philibert, or was it marriage itself which was so repulsive to her?
I remembered the scandal about her flirtation with Seymour. I had seen her eyes sparkle with pleasure at the admiration of men. Why this sudden, almost prudish attitude? One should not force people to marry. My thoughts went to poor Jane Grey who had been starved and beaten and forced to marry Guilford Dudley. But how could I compare Elizabeth with Jane Grey?
If Elizabeth refused to marry, I could not force her. I was disappointed. It was an unsatisfactory meeting, and I dismissed her.
Why would she not marry? Because to marry Emmanuel Philibert she would have to leave the country and she did not want to do that. She wanted to be on the spot for any contingency.
But I was going to marry. I was going to enter a state of bliss, and I was sure that anyone who wanted children as much as I did must soon become a mother.
My happiness at the prospect made me lenient. Elizabeth should not be coerced, nor should she be forced; she should not return to the Tower. She was dangerous, of course, and I must take precautions. I knew what I would do. I would send for Sir Henry Bedingfield of Oxborough in Norfolk, who had been a loyal supporter of mine ever since I had been proclaimed Queen. He had been with my mother at Kimbolton during the last years of her life, and one of the first to rally to my side on the death of my brother. It is such things one remembers. When he came to me, the outcome was by no means certain, and I had been considerably heartened by the sight of him and his 140 armed men. He was severe and serious, but one of those men whom one would trust absolutely and whom a woman in my position wants to have about her. I had made him a Privy Councillor, and I knew I could safely put Elizabeth into his hands.
I explained to him that I wished my sister to be released from the Tower but that a strong guard must be kept on her, and he was the man I was going to trust with the task.
“Sir Henry,” I said, “I want you to serve not only me but the Princess Elizabeth. I fear there are some who, perhaps in their zealous care for me, might seek to do away with her. I want her to be guarded from such. It would cause me the utmost grief if aught happened to her and, although I were innocent of this, I should feel myself to be guilty.”
“Your Majesty shall have no fear,” he replied.
“I will guard the Princess with my life.”
“Thank you, Sir Henry. I put my trust in you.”
And I did.
Elizabeth complained bitterly, I know, of the stringent measures employed. She did not seem to realize that they were guarding her not only for my safety but for her own.
I was relieved when she had left for Woodstock under the guard of Sir Henry Bedingfield.
NOW THAT THE WYATT rebellion had been brought to a satisfactory end, Courtenay was removed from the Tower to Fotheringay. I intended that in time he should be released. He was little more than a boy—and a foolish, reckless one. I could not bear to think of that handsome head being severed. Antoine de Noailles had once said he was the most handsome man in England—and he was right. I had seen it in writing when Renard had intercepted some of his letters to Henri Deux. I really wanted to shut him away until he became less significant, and then release him and perhaps send him abroad.
Elizabeth was safe in the care of Bedingfield, and soon Philip would be arriving for our marriage.
But nothing seemed to run smoothly. The dissensions in my Council were growing. Paget and Gardiner were deadly enemies, and Philip appeared to be expressing marked indifference, for he made no move either to write to me or to come to England.
De Noailles… that man again… had now been forced to accept the almost certainty of our marriage, and it did not please him at all. However, realizing that all his attempts to stop it had failed, he shrugged his shoulders and said Philip and I deserved each other, which was meant, I am sure, to be uncomplimentary.
His brother Gilles, who proved to be a handsome and charming young man, had come to England. I could have wished he was in his brother's place.
He came to see me on a matter quite apart from state affairs. He told me that his brother, Antoine, had a newly born son and he would be so honored if I would help in the choice of godparents. Antoine would have asked me himself but he was afraid I did not regard him very favorably at the moment.
I was always delighted to be involved with babies and, in spite of the strained relations between the French ambassador and myself, and forgetting his blatant spying during the Wyatt rebellion, I said I should happily have undertaken the part of godparent myself but for the fact that I should shortly be going to Winchester, for what purpose he would know.
Gilles de Noailles bowed politely and smiled, as though he were delighted to see me so happy. How different from his brother, who had done everything he could to stand in the way of my happiness!
I chose the Countess of Surrey to act as my proxy for the christening, and Gardiner and Arundel were godfathers. My Council was amazed that I could give so much time to this man's affairs when he had proved himself to be no friend to me.