The Lord Chamberlain, the Lord Treasurer and all the company which stood about the grave held their rods and staves in their hands, and when the mold was cast down, each in turn broke his staff upon his head and cast it on to the coffin. De Profundis was then said and when the planks were laid over the pit, Garter, standing among the choir, proclaimed the little King’s titles.
“Edward the Sixth, by Grace of God King of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and Sovereign of the most noble order of the Garter,” repeated Garter’s officers; and three times they said this while the trumpets rang out.
A new reign had begun. A mighty ruler was laid to rest, and in his place stood a pale-faced boy.
It seemed to many who watched that ceremony that among them were the ghosts of murdered men and women.
CHAPTER
VI
THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH WAS DEEPLY PERPLEXED.
There had come to her that day a proposal of marriage. It was her first proposal of this nature, because it was an appeal to her direct. There had, in the course of her thirteen years, been other suggested marriages, but she had never been called to give her opinion on these. When she had been a few months old and high in her father’s favor, he had negotiated a marriage for her with the Duke of Angoulême, the third son of King François. That could not be expected to materialize after the King had called her a bastard, and it had long been forgotten. Later she had been promised to the heir of the Scottish Earl of Arran—a poor match for a royal Princess of England—and that, as perhaps had been intended from the first, had also come to nothing. Later there had been a more ambitious plan to unite her with Philip of Spain, son of the Emperor Charles, but that was also doomed to failure.
But this proposal she had now received was different from all others. This was a declaration of love; and it had been made by the man whom Elizabeth could now admit that she herself loved. The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Thomas Seymour, craved the hand of the Princess Elizabeth in marriage.
She sat at a window of her apartments in White Hall, those apartments which her stepmother had begged the King to give her, and which she used when she was with the court and the court was at this palace.
For a short hour she was giving herself up to romantic dreams; she was allowing herself to think that she could marry whom she pleased.
He was handsome, that man. Handsome? That was inadequate to describe him. There were many handsome men at court, but there was none like Thomas Seymour. He was so gay, so jaunty, and there was about him that air of wickedness which delighted her as it must delight so many more. She loved his boldness, the strength in those arms that seized her, the speculation in the laughing eyes as though he were wondering how far he dared go. There was so much in him that called to the like in her; and while he made discreet love to her with the most indiscreet look in his eyes and the most suggestive tones in his voice, she was always aware of that ambition in him which she understood and applauded because that very same ambition was a part of her own nature.
He would be bold and passionate, and so would she. Her need of him, his need of her, were like a pair of mettlesome horses held in restraint by the reins of ambition. And because they were so checked their progress was the more exciting.
I want him, she decided; but I want so much besides.
She was her father’s daughter; she was her mother’s child. In her was that streak of levity which had characterized her mother; there was that desire to be admired and, because that desire for admiration was stronger than the sensuality which she had inherited from her father, she wished always to keep the admiration at fever heat; therefore the pursuit interested her more than any possible fulfillment. Even now she did not wish the Admiral to be her husband; she wished him to remain her suitor.
Yet it was not endurable to continue in a state of uncertainty.
When she had heard the conditions of her father’s will she had been filled with elation. Failing other heirs, she was placed third in the line of succession. She was to be treated with a respect and consideration almost equal to that which was to be bestowed on her sister Mary. Three thousand pounds a year was to be hers, and that seemed riches after the penury she had endured; a marriage portion of ten thousand pounds was to be given at the appropriate time. But there was a condition: This would only be hers if she married with the consent of her brother Edward and his Council. If she married without such approval, she would forfeit her dowry and, in all probability, her income.
She had turned this matter over and over in her mind.
She longed for Seymour; yet she longed also to stay where she was in the succession to the throne.
Queen…Queen of England… and Queen in her own right—not lifted up, as her mother had been, to be cast down again at the whim of a husband. No! Queen—true Queen of England for the rest of her life!
The chances of success were good. Edward was sickly and it was hardly likely that he would produce an heir. Mary was thirty-one— old to marry and have children; and Mary’s health was not of the best. Elizabeth was but thirteen years old. Oh yes, the chances of Elizabeth’s becoming Queen of England were good indeed.
And if she married? What then?
The Council, she knew, would never approve of her marriage with Thomas. The King could be persuaded. She laughed to think of the little boy’s being persuaded by herself and Thomas. That would be an easy task.
But she immediately called to mind those grim men, the real rulers. Thomas’s brother would never agree. And Gardiner, Wriothesley, Cranmer? No! They would refuse consent. And then? Doubtless she and Thomas would find themselves in the Tower if they disobeyed, and all knew what could happen to prisoners in that doom-filled place.
There was so much to think of, so much to consider.
Her governess, Kat Ashley, came into the room and, finding her charge brooding in the window seat, asked if aught ailed her.
“Nothing ails me,” said Elizabeth.
“Your Grace looks to have a fever. Your cheeks look hot and your eyes are so bright. I am not sure that you should not retire to your bed.”
“Pray do not bother me, Kat. I am well enough.”
“Your Grace is bothered concerning the letter you have received?”
“And how did you know there was a letter?”
“In my love for Your Grace I keep my eyes open and my ears alert. Tell me, darling, it is from the Admiral, is it not?”
Elizabeth looked at the woman and burst into sudden laughter. There were moments when she was very like her mother, thought Kat Ashley.
“And what if it should be?” asked Elizabeth.
“He’s a darling man, Sir Thomas, and I could love him myself, but he has no right to send you a letter.”
“Lord Sudley now, if you please. You know that the first thing my brother did was to raise his dear uncle. Not Sir Thomas Seymour merely, but my Lord Sudley. My brother, like you, my saucy Kat, loves the darling man dearly!”
“Well, all the Council have been raised, have they not? There is Lord Hertford become the Duke of Somerset, and Sir Thomas Wriothesley, my lord Southampton.”
“Yes, but Master Wriothesley is deprived of his Seal, while my brother gives love to Thomas Seymour as well as land and title.”
“And does the King’s sister love the man as much as her brother does?”
Kat Ashley was a born gossip, a lover of tittle-tattle; she was vitally interested in the affairs of those about her and inquisitive in the extreme, though goodhearted; she was always eager for exciting events about which to marvel or commiserate, and if they did not happen quickly enough she was ready to apply a little gentle prodding. But the welfare of her little Princess meant more to her than anything on Earth. Elizabeth knew this; and because one of the great desires of her life was to receive the loving admiration of those about her, she was always as affectionate and considerate as she could be to Kat Ashley.