The Prince was sitting at a table, with Elizabeth beside him. She sprang to her feet at my approach and curtsied. The Prince scrambled down.
I did not wish for any formality, and I said: “Let us all sit down, shall we? I saw you, Lady Elizabeth, at the King’s banquet, and, my Lord Prince, I am very happy to make your acquaintance.”
Elizabeth said: “You must bow, Edward. This is the Queen.”
Edward studied me intently and said: “She does not look like a Queen.”
“You must not say that,” Elizabeth chided.
I laughed. “Please do not think you must show me ceremony. I am not merely the Queen, am I? We are closer than that.”
Edward looked at Elizabeth and waited for her to reply.
“Your Majesty is gracious,” she said with dignity.
I could see that she clung to ceremony, but when I asked her about her lessons she changed. She was really devoted to her books, and I realized that she was teaching Edward to be the same.
I felt I must not pursue the subject of learning too far, for I feared it was possible that, at seven years of age, Elizabeth would discover my lack of it.
I asked them about their outdoor activities. Elizabeth apparently rode well, as she did everything else; but Edward did not care so much for it.
“They are constantly telling him he must do this and that because one day he will be King,” she said. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “We should not speak of that time,” she added, “because my father would have to die before Edward became so.” Then she looked annoyed at herself for having made such a statement. “Edward likes me to be with him,” she went on. “Then I can look after him.”
“You must be a great help to him,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed coolly. “He relies on me, do you not, Edward?”
He nodded, smiling, and slipped his hand into hers.
She was very self-assured for one so young, I thought. And she was more like her father than the boy was. How perverse life was! If she had been a boy, how different everything might have been. How she would have delighted her father then; she looked so like him at times. I could see nothing of her mother in her. But perhaps there was a certain pride and that indomitable spirit.
And what was she thinking now? That I was her mother’s cousin. What did that make me? Her second cousin perhaps? I wondered if she was thinking, as I was, of that beautiful head on the block and the sword descending. Would she be thinking that I was one of the women who had taken her mother’s place?
I had heard that she had become friendly with Anne of Cleves. I could not believe that she had felt the same toward Jane Seymour. I wished I could stop thinking of my cousin’s coming upon Jane Seymour seated on the King’s knee while he smiled at her as he did so often at me. It was really such a short time ago, and since then Jane had become Queen and so had Anne of Cleves; and now it was my turn.
Feelings of doom descended on me. Oh no, he loved me. Indeed, all I had to do was smile and say what he wanted to hear. And I was fond of him. Who would not be fond of a husband who indulged one so? It was so easy to satisfy his demands. At last I had accepted that there must be no contact with Thomas Culpepper, and he had gone from my life forever. It was the only way—not only for me, but for him.
I was quite happy in my new life. I had never had perfection and perhaps I did not hope for it. Now I looked forward to having a share in that family which I had inherited. It amused me to realize I had stepchildren—that frail little boy and the intriguing Elizabeth.
I did not expect friendship from Mary. She would naturally turn from her father’s wives. But in time, who knew?
Yes, on the whole, I was pleased with life.
Warning Signals
THEN CAME A RUMBLING OF DISASTER. I had been married not quite a month when it happened.
It was mid-morning when the King came bursting into the apartment. His face was flushed; his eyes had almost disappeared into his fleshy face so that they looked like glittering beacons seen through slits; his mouth was a thin straight line.
“What think you of this? By God’s blood, that priest shall suffer for this.”
I went to him, put my arms round him and attempted to soothe him.
“What mean you, my lord husband? You seem very angry today.”
He turned to me, his face softening at once. “I would never believe this of you. He shall suffer for this. Good Lord, spare me from priests!”
“What has he done to disturb you so? I cannot bear to see you thus. Is there aught I can do?”
He put his arms round me and looked into my face. “This dastardly priest has dared to utter words … words …” He spluttered. “Words against you.”
I felt myself begin to tremble.
“Against me!” I cried. “What could he say against me? I know him not. What has he said?”
“What has he said? By God, he has spoken against your virtue … that is what this scoundrel has done. He shall hang for it.”
Uneasiness was gripping me now. “What… what… has he said?” I murmured.
“What has he said indeed … this priest of Windsor?”
Windsor. I felt a little better. I knew no one at Windsor.
“What has he said? Please tell me. I must know. I beg you to tell me.”
“It is just tittle-tattle. ‘The Queen is guilty of conduct unbecoming to her rank. There have been whispers about her.’”
“Windsor?” I said. “But I was not at Windsor. How … ?”
“Sweetheart, you must not let this disturb you. I will not have it. The priest has been placed in Wriothesley’s care. He swore he did nothing but repeat what had been told him. The other … the one who, he declares, said this slanderous thing to him, is under arrest in Windsor keep. We will let them wait there while we decide what shall be done with these scoundrels.”
I was feeling a little easier. I knew no priest of Windsor. That was the fact I was clinging to.
“You do not believe them?” I asked.
“By God’s Grace, I know you for what you are. No one is going to say a word against my Queen in my hearing … nor that of any other … or it will be the worse for them. Nay, sweetheart, there are those who cannot abide the good fortunes of others. These priests, they would tutor us all. We must do this … they say … we must do that… if we would please them: and if we do not always follow them, they will stand up and slander us. Priests … monks … there are times when I have had my fill of them. They would have us all go the way they want. I do not like these self-righteous men. Depend upon it, they see how you have been honored, and they are filled with envy of you. I have raised you up, and, by God, it has pleased me to do so. And priests … and such … should keep their mouths shut. They should look to themselves.”
“This has caused you much sorrow, I fear,” I said in a low and trembling voice.
His eyes took on a misty look.
“Nay,” he cried. “You must not fret. It is slander, ill-founded lies.” He was fierce again. “And I will not have slander spoken against my Queen.”
I had been easily frightened. I waited for what would happen next. I started to think again of what had taken place at Lambeth. Why had these rumors come to the priest of Windsor? Who had spoken them in the first place? Derham? Not Derham. He was a man of breeding, an honorable man. He had really believed he was going to marry me: after all, he was one of the Howards. Nor would Thomas have betrayed me. He would die rather. Then I thought of Henry Manox. Could it have been Manox? He lacked the scruples of the others.
But Manox was not mentioned. And who would have gone to Windsor to whisper to the priest?