I was thoughtful as we rode back to the Abbey, thinking of Queen Elizabeth—not so very much older than myself—who now bore a great responsibility. There was something inspiring about her and I fell to thinking of her remark about the imprisonment she had suffered and how God had been merciful and brought her from her troubles to greatness. I pictured her as a prisoner entering the Tower by the Traitors’ Gate and wondering, as she must have, when she would be taken out to Tower Green—as her mother had been—and commanded to lay her head on the block. How would one so young feel with death imminent? Would she, this bright young woman burning with zeal for her great task, have felt as wretched at the prospect of losing her life as I did at the loss of Carey?
But she had come through her troubles. God had been merciful; out of the great shadow of the Tower she had walked, to return as mistress of everyone and everything in this land.
Witnessing the entry of the new Queen into her Capital had lifted my spirits.
I listened to the conversation at dinner, which was led by Kate. She scintillated, and hating her as I did, I had to admit to her undeniable charm. She was the center of attraction at the table. She chattered on indiscreetly, for who could be sure what the new reign would bring forth and what servants who listened would report? At least they had during the reign of Mary. Why should we all think that Elizabeth’s was going to be so different?
“So at last she has safely reached the throne,” Kate was saying. “Anne Boleyn’s daughter! Mind you, she has a look of her royal father. The same high temper. It’s in the color of their hair. It’s almost identical. I once danced with His Majesty, her royal father, and do you know I verily believe that if he had not at that time been absorbed by the charms of Catherine Howard he would have cast his eyes on me? How different everything might have been if he had!”
My mother said: “Your head and shoulders might have parted company by now, Kate. We’d rather have you in one piece.”
“I was always fortunate. Poor Catherine Howard! It was her head instead of mine. What a man that was for dispossessing himself of wives.”
“You speak too freely, Kate,” said her brother Rupert.
Kate lowered her voice and looked conspiratorial. “We must remember,” she said, “that this is Harry’s daughter—Harry’s and Anne Boleyn’s, what a combination!”
“Our last Queen was his daughter too,” put in Kate’s son Nicholas, whom we called ’Colas.
“Oh, but then,” said Kate, “all that mattered was that one was a good Catholic.”
My mother tried to change the subject and asked my grandmother about some herbs she wanted. Grandmother was very knowledgeable about anything that grew and she and my mother were immediately deep in a horticultural discussion, but Kate’s voice soon rose above theirs. She was talking about the dangers through which the new Queen had passed, how when her mother had gone to the scaffold her future had been in great danger, how she had been declared illegitimate, and how with the death of Jane Seymour she had been kindly treated by the King’s three last Queens and had lived at the Dower House with Queen Catherine Parr after the death of the King.
“And I think,” said Kate mischievously, “it would be unwise to discuss what happened there. Poor Thomas Seymour! I met him once. What a fascinating man! It’s small wonder that our little Princess … but of course that is gossip. Of course she never really permitted him to enter her bedroom. That was all gossip about the Princess’ being delivered of a child. Who would believe such nonsense … now! Why, those who perpetrated such evil tales should be hung, drawn and quartered. It would be treason to repeat them now. Imagine when they brought the news to her that he had died on the block. ‘This day died a man with much wit and very little judgment,’ she said. And she said it calmly as though he were just an acquaintance. As if there could have been anything deeper between them!”
Kate laughed and her eyes sparkled, “I wonder what it will be like at Court now. Gayer than under Mary. That much is certain. Our Gracious Lady will be so eager to show her gratitude to God, to her people and to Fate for preserving her for this great destiny. She will want to be gay. She will want to forget the alarms of the past. Mercy me, after the Wyatt rebellion she came as near to the block as I am to you now.”
“It’s all in the past now,” said my mother quickly.
“One does not escape from the past, Damask,” retorted Kate. “It is always there like a shadow behind us.”
But, I thought, your miserable sins have cast a shadow over my life and you never look back to see the shadow behind you.
“Why,” went on Kate, “did you see Lord Robert beside her? She dotes on him, they say.”
“There’ll always be gossip,” said Rupert.
“He has sprung quickly into the saddle,” laughed Kate. “And what would you expect of Northumberland’s son?”
I watched Aunt Kate with growing resentment. How reckless she was, how frivolous! She could bring trouble to our household with her careless talk. And she would doubtless slip out of it unscathed. Whatever was said brought me back to my tragedy.
When Kate and ’Colas left for Remus Castle I felt better—not happy of course, only relieved that Kate had gone.
As it was November there was little to do in the garden. I remained listless. The Abbey seemed to me a gloomy place. The house itself—built like a castle resembling Remus, which was Carey’s now—was gradually becoming more like a home since my father had gone away; it was when one looked out of the windows and saw the outbuildings, the refectories and the dorters and the fishponds that it seemed so alien.
My mother’s interest was now focused on me. Her great desire was to end my misery and to show me a new way of life. To please her I used to pretend that I was getting over it, but she loved me too well to be deceived. She tried to interest me in the uses of herbs which she had learned from her mother, embroidering and tapestry; and when she found that I could not give my mind to these things she decided that she would tell me of her anxieties, which was the greatest help she could give me.
I was in my room when she came in, her face grave. I rose in alarm and she said: “Sit down, Cat. I’ve come to talk to you.”
So I sat down and she said: “I am concerned, Cat.”
“I see that, Mother. What worries you?”
“The future. … I heard today that the Bishop of Winchester has been arrested.”
“For what reason?”
“You can guess that the religious conflicts will continue. He supports the Pope. It is the old tug of war. Oh, God, I had hoped that we had passed through those evil times.”
“They say the new Queen will be tolerant, Mother.”
“Monarchs are not often so when their thrones are in danger. They are surrounded by ambitious men. There has been much tragedy in our family, Cat. My father lost his head for harboring a priest; my stepfather burned at Smithfield for following the Reformed Faith. You know Edward is a Catholic. When Honey married him she embraced his faith. That was safe in the last reign; but now we have a new Queen on the throne.”
“So you are worried about Honey.”
“All my life there have been these persecutions. I fear that will continue. As soon as I heard that the Bishop of Winchester had been arrested I thought of Honey.”
“You think that the new Queen will begin to persecute the Catholics?”
“I think her ministers may well do so. And then we shall have all the old fears returning.”
Then we talked about Honey and how happily she had married and my mother’s apprehension was eased when she thought of Honey’s happiness.
That helped a little.
It was Christmas time and we celebrated it in the great hall at the Abbey. The smell of baking filled the house and it was going to be a merry Christmas, said my mother, to celebrate not only the birth of Our Lord but the accession of our new Queen. I believe she thought that by acting as though she were sure everything was going to be wonderful, it would be.