And at Wanstead we saw the Queen’s meeting with her sister Elizabeth. It was a historic moment, I thought—the daughters of Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn meeting at Wanstead.
I’ll swear that more eyes were on the Princess Elizabeth than on the Queen. That red-haired young woman of twenty reminded me in some ways of my own Catherine. She was no beauty but possessed of vitality and charm which was in great contrast to the silent manners of the new Queen.
Mary was dressed in violet-colored velvet which did nothing to enhance her aging looks, for she was thirty-seven years old. But the cheers were loyal and when the sisters kissed they rang out even louder.
The sisters left Wanstead and rode toward the city. We joined in the press of people with our servants closing around us to ensure that we were given passage. I made the girls ride on either side of me, and so we came through the city portal at Aldgate and into London. Our young people chattered excitedly all the time. It was wonderful to see the streamers hanging from the windows and there were many groups of children to sing songs praising the new Queen; and in the Minories all the crafts of the city were represented in their appropriate costumes.
We followed all the way down to the Tower; on the river gaily decked crafts seemed to prance with delight and sweet music could be heard everywhere as the guns boomed a salute.
I wondered whether from some window in the Tower the Queen of nine days looked out on all this rejoicing and wondered what her fate would be. Of one thing there could be no doubt. London was welcoming the new Queen and heralding in the new reign.
Catherine said suddenly: “What a pity that Peter and Paul did not come with us. How they would have loved the procession.”
I shivered, and wondered how my mother was taking the news of the acclamation of a new queen while she who had reigned so briefly was awaiting her fate with dread.
Kate stayed with us for a while at the Abbey. She talked continually of the changing world. Under the last reign the Reformed faith had been the favored one; this was a return to Catholicism, and those who had been in high places during the last reign now found themselves out of favor.
Everyone was afraid to speak freely. It was seen how quickly one could fall out of favor and it was inevitable that after such a clash between two queens and two religions the blood should flow. Edward was buried at Westminster and the Queen had a solemn service performed for him in her private chapel with all the rites and ceremonies of the Church of Rome.
A few days later the Duke of Northumberland was beheaded.
Kate stayed for the coronation, which was in October, and we saw the Queen carried in her litter which was covered with cloth of silver and drawn by six white horses. Her gown was of blue velvet edged with ermine and she wore a caul of gold network on her head; it was set with pearls and precious stones.
I glanced at Kate and wondered if she remembered that other Queen whom we had seen years ago when Tom Skillen had been blackmailed by Kate into rowing us to Greenwich. How different that elegant radiant Anne from this aging, tired woman!
Kate whispered that the caul must be weighty with all those stones; and indeed the poor Queen looked as though it made her head ache.
And in an open chariot decorated with crimson velvet rode that other Queen’s daughter—the young Elizabeth—and with her was her stepmother Anne of Cleves—the only one of Henry’s poor sad queens to survive to that day.
It was a great pageant, but I wondered, and I am sure many did on that day, what lay in store for us all.
Of course I had known that a new reign would mean changes; for us at the Abbey it was as though we had a narrow escape from disaster. I was glad Simon Caseman remained subdued. He was wise in that he went about his estate neither condemning the new Queen nor praising her. Either would have been to call unwelcome attention to himself. An increased complacency was apparent in Bruno. He was regarded with an even greater wonder than before and I gathered from Clement that it was believed he had brought about another miracle which had saved the Abbey. It was the third. The first had been when he had come in the form of a baby in the crib and because of this the Abbey which had been in decline began to prosper; then he had returned to the Abbey after it had been disbanded and, lo, many had found it possible to return; and now when an enemy had threatened to destroy what he had built up, by a miracle the King had died in the nick of time and a new Catholic Queen was on the throne.
Bruno had done this—Bruno the miracle worker.
The first change was an act which abolished the Reformed liturgy, that which Edward and his Parliament had declared had been inspired by the Holy Ghost, and revived the old form which had been used in the days of Henry VIII. This was of greater significance than at first appeared because it was a pointer.
At the beginning of the following year we heard that there was to be a marriage between Mary and Philip of Spain, that most fanatical of Catholics.
There was an outcry about this and I knew that it gave great hope to those who wished to see the Reformed Church established. Mary was popular; she was the rightful heir; but the people of England had no desire to be dominated by Spain. The Parliament raised its voice to ask the Queen not to marry a foreigner, but this appeared to be of no avail.
I rarely went to Caseman Court. I was afraid of meeting Simon Caseman, but my mother and the twins were constant visitors to the Abbey.
Peter and Paul, so alike that one could not tell the difference between them, were about the same age as Carey and the children were almost as of one family. My mother had some time before asked that the twins should share my daughters’ tutors and this had been arranged, and when Kate stayed with us Carey would join them in the scriptorium. I regretted that neither of my girls shone in the schoolroom. They were bright without being clever. Carey excelled far more at outdoor pursuits rather than lessons; Peter was the cleverest of the children; though this was not discovered for some time and both were thought to be clever children until it was discovered that Peter did most of Paul’s book-work for him and was always ready with a whispered answer for his twin. Paul was the sportsman and could rival Carey in outdoor pastimes. It always seemed to me that the twins had the shared attributes of one very accomplished person.
My mother doted on them; so did their father. He might be grasping, avaricious and of an unpleasant character, but he certainly loved his sons.
I often thought how happy we all might have been together, but for the covetousness of Simon and the overwhelming pride of Bruno. If Bruno could have been a normal husband and father and Simon could have forgotten that others had what he wanted, if we could have settled down and accepted what we had and made the most of it, how different everything could have been. There were outside events of course, and these could strike in such a devastating manner that, in my opinion, families should stand firmly together as a bulwark against them, and not allow themselves to be fraught with internal conflicts.
My mother’s naïveté often gave me an insight into what might be happening at Caseman Court and it alarmed me.
When there was talk of the Queen’s marriage my mother could not hide a certain exhilaration, and I could tell at once that she hoped that the Queen would be overthrown. I knew that she was voicing her husband’s feelings for she would consider it her duty to share his opinions.