“Nay, I would have you both my daughters.”
“I would liefer be the only one.”
Yes, Honey gives me twinges of alarm. Her hate would be as fierce as her love.
There could not be peace for long. My mother had come over to tell me that Simon Caseman had gone away “on business.” She was anxious, I could see, and I wondered what this business entailed.
Simon Caseman was clever. He had not come out openly on the side of Queen Jane but I was sure that had she succeeded in holding the Crown he would have supported her wholeheartedly. Now I wondered whether there was some fresh conspiracy afoot.
I was soon to discover. Sir Thomas Wyatt was leading a rebellion against Queen Mary.
My mother came hurrying over to the Abbey with the news that the Queen was in the Palace of Whitehall and Sir Thomas Wyatt’s men were marching on the city. The Queen was in despair.
“She knows that this is the end of her reign.” My mother’s voice rang out triumphantly.
I said: “Where is your husband?” She smiled secretly.
“I worry about you, Damask,” she said almost immediately. “I want you to bring the girls and come over to Caseman Court. When Sir Thomas Wyatt is triumphant I would not have you here.”
“And if Sir Thomas does not triumph?”
“You will see.”
“Mother,” I said, “where is your husband?”
“He has business to do,” she answered.
“Business?” I asked. “With Sir Thomas Wyatt?”
She did not answer and I did not press her to because I was afraid.
I said: “Sir Thomas would set Queen Jane or the Princess Elizabeth on the throne. And do you think that if he did so the people would stand by and let the rightful Queen be thrust aside?”
“I wish you would come with me to Caseman Court” was her answer.
But my mother was disappointed for on the cold February day which followed that when my mother had implored me to take care, the rebel forces marched in London and there was fighting in the streets of the capital. I heard that the Queen was intrepid and it was she who had to comfort her weeping ladies. Later I discovered how near Wyatt had come to success, and might have done so but when cornered in Fleet Street, surrounded and cut off from his fighting forces, he had given himself up believing the battle to be lost.
My mother was indeed distraught and knowing that Simon was not at Caseman Court I went over to see her.
“What has gone wrong?” she cried. “Why does the Papist woman always succeed?”
“Perhaps,” I answered, “because she is the true Queen.”
Shortly after that Jane, the Queen of nine days, was executed with her husband. That was a sad day for even those who were fanatically Papist were well aware that the innocent young girl of sixteen had been enemy to none; she had not desired the Crown which had been forced upon her by an ambitious father-in-law and husband; yet she had been led blindfolded to the dock and that fair head had been severed from her shoulders.
The Princess Elizabeth was implicated in the rebellion; and indeed it was said that the object of it was meant to place her, not Jane, on the throne.
Bruno said: “She is a wily woman and greedy for the throne. It is a pity that they did not take her head instead of Jane’s.”
“Poor Elizabeth,” I remonstrated. “She is so young.”
“She is twenty years of age—old enough for ambition. The Queen should not allow her to live.”
But the Queen did allow her to live for Sir Thomas Wyatt, who that April laid his head on the block, declared with his last breath that the Princess Elizabeth was innocent of any conspiracy against her sister.
Simon Caseman had returned to Caseman Court. I wondered what part he had played in the Wyatt rebellion.
It was a marvelous thing that he could be involved and extricate himself before the involvement became an embarrassment. I was convinced that what he wanted was to see the end of Mary’s reign, to prevent this return to Rome which was threatened and to see a Protestant ruler set up in the Queen’s place.
The obvious choice was Elizabeth.
It was Bruno’s belief that Elizabeth took her religion as she took her politics—from expediency. The Queen was Catholic and her proposed marriage to a Spaniard was unpopular; if Elizabeth were going to stand in contrast to her sister she must support the Protestant faith. And that was why she did so.
She had become important. People were looking to her more and more. There were many of Mary’s supporters who would have liked to have her head; but the Queen was not vindictive. Some said she remembered the days of Elizabeth’s childhood when she, Mary, had had a fondness for an engaging little sister.
And so although Queen Mary had placed herself firmly on the throne and strong men and factions surrounded her with the purpose and intention of keeping her there, there were uneasy moments. And the thoughts and hopes of many men and women were turned to the daughter of Anne Boleyn.
My mother came to the Abbey with the usual baskets full of good things. She had a story to tell. She had the twins with her for they seized the opportunity to come to the Abbey whenever they could and they carried her baskets for her.
The girls came to see what she had brought and to listen to her news.
“My word,” she said, settling down, “there are goings-on in the city.”
“Tell us, Grandmother,” commanded Catherine.
“Well, my dear, ’tis a haunted house in Aldersgate Street, though maybe it is not haunted. It may well be that it is an angel of God abiding there. Who can say?”
“Do get on,” cried Catherine. “Oh, Grandmother, you are so maddening. You keep us in suspense always with your stories.”
“She will tell it in good time,” I said. “Don’t harass her.”
“Good time,” cried Catherine. “What is good time? Now is good time in my opinion.”
“And who is wasting time now?” asked Honey.
“You!” cried Catherine. “Now, Grandmother.”
“It’s a voice that came from the bricks,” said Peter. “I heard it. Didn’t you, Paul?”
Paul agreed with his brother as he agreed in everything.
“What sort of a voice?” insisted Catherine.
“Well, if you had let me explain from the beginning,” said my mother, “you would know by now.”
“Which is perfectly true,” I added.
“Well, tell us,” cried Catherine.
“There is a voice which comes from the bricks of this house. And when the people cry, ‘God save Queen Mary,’ it says nothing.”
“How can it be a voice if nothing is said?” demanded Catherine.
“What an impatient child she is,” said my mother frowning. “You do not wait to hear. Now when the crowd shouts, ‘God save the Lady Elizabeth,’ the voice says, ‘So be it.’ ”
“Who is it then?” asked Honey.
“That is the mystery. There is no one in the house. Yet the voice comes.”
“There must be someone,” I said.
“There is no one. The house is empty. And when the crowds shout, ‘What is the Mass?’ the voice answers, ‘Idolatry.’ ”
Catherine had flushed scarlet. “It is some wicked person who is tricking people.”
“It’s a voice,” said my mother, “and no one there. A voice without a body. Is that not a marvelous thing?”
“If it talked sense it would be,” said Catherine.
“Sense! Who is to question the divine word?”
“I do,” said Catherine. “It is only divine for Protestants. To the people of the true faith it is…heresy.”
“Be silent, Cat,” I said. “You are disrespectful to your grandmother.”
“Is it disrespectful then to tell the truth?”
“Truth to one perhaps is not truth to another.”