Eloise and the Queen (Ladies of Tudor England #1)

Chapter 1

My grandmother skeptically observed that I was a sickly child and that arriving in the world five days before the Lady Elizabeth gave me no benefit.

However, Grandmother acknowledged that I had some skill with a needle and thought it would be advantageous for me to live with my Aunt Kat Champernowne and be useful to the very young Princess Elizabeth.

And so, at four years of age, I was sent to Hatfield, where Aunt Kat had already been installed as Elizabeth’s governess.

There I assisted Aunt Kat and learned to sew the sumptuous garments that would robe the ladies of the court in later days, which would have many consequences for me and the entire kingdom.

At that time, I knew only that my Aunt Kat was a much preferable guardian to my feckless mother, who’d remarried soon after my actor father had died.

Her new husband wanted nothing to do with me, and so I was bundled off, with my grandmother’s assistance, to Elizabeth’s household.

There I learned that Elizabeth was also gifted with the needle and that I was happiest surrounded by fabrics and trim, creating whole ensembles from nothing.

Elizabeth and I sewed together in the dappled sunlight of the house at Hatfield, or Enfield, or at Ashridge Priory, which Elizabeth’s father eventually bequeathed her.

Princess Mary, the daughter of Henry’s first queen, lived with us all as well, but she was older and a bitter young woman.

I came to feel sorry for her, having been forced by her father to become a lady-in-waiting to the daughter of her mother’s rival, but I could never grow to like the prickly Mary.

On occasion, Lady Jane, the princess’s cousin, joined us, though truth to tell, I found Jane, though quite book-learned, dull company compared to the radiant Elizabeth.

Being young Elizabeth’s companion was not always an honor, I was quick to discover, as her status fell, rose, and fell again.

When Henry executed Queen Anne, Elizabeth’s mother, and married his next queen appallingly swiftly, Elizabeth was declared illegitimate and stripped of her title.

Mary rejoiced, but she was not restored to his good graces either, until Henry married his final queen, Catherine Parr, in 1543.

Queen Catherine managed to reconcile the king with his two daughters, but even so, they were only women, and King Henry’s attention and adoration went for his son, Edward.

The princess Elizabeth—Lady Elizabeth, after her star had fallen—formed a friendship with me, though I never forgot how lowly I was compared to her. We sewed together, she read to me from books I didn’t much understand, and I patiently listened to her rant when she was in a fit of pique.

Our life did not begin to take shape, carved into the sharp patterns it would become, until the day in 1547 when we learned that old King Henry was dead.

Elizabeth and I were both nearly fourteen. Her recent portrait showed her in a gown of scarlet damask over a sumptuous gold underskirt, with a pearl-studded French hood pinning back her beautiful red hair—every piece designed and sewn by me.

My talent as a seamstress, my only talent thus far, had grown as I’d experimented and practiced the art through the years.

I’d begun sewing gowns for Aunt Kat and other ladies of the household, including ones for myself with leftover fabric.

Elizabeth praised my work and began to request—then demand—that I create gowns exclusively for her.

The day our lives changed dawned like many others in January: crisp and cold, clouds from the previous day’s rain fleeing before a fresh wind. We were at Enfield, north of London, lodging in Elsyng Palace, a lovely house from which King Henry often went hunting.

I was in the Lady Elizabeth’s chamber after her lessons with her tutor and Aunt Kat, sketching an idea for a new gown.

I wanted to try something in the recent French fashion—sleeve caps puffed above the shoulders and stuffed with wool.

I was not certain the style would become Elizabeth, who had slim shoulders that looked well in the gowns where the sleeves slipped the slightest bit to show her modest bosom.

Aunt Kat was with us, having set her plump form before the fire, her feet on a stool, a book in her lap.

“My brother has come,” Elizabeth announced abruptly from where she stood in a window embrasure. She peered out into the afternoon, which was already clouding over for more rain. Her red-gold hair hung long from her high forehead, parted in the middle to reveal a straight white streak of scalp.

Her lips thinned, and her brows drew together in disapproval. “His uncle has accompanied him,” she continued.

I left my unsatisfactory drawing and came to the window. I noted as I drew close to her that Elizabeth’s milk-pale skin smelled of lemons.

“Aunt Kat, come and see,” I called over my shoulder.

Aunt Kat threw me an irritated glance. Had it been only myself in the room, she’d have remained seated, but Elizabeth frowned at the courtyard, impatient and curious.

My aunt heaved herself up and joined us at the window, her wide skirts pressing mine.

“Whatever does Hertford want here?” Aunt Kat demanded over Elizabeth’s shoulder, her disparagement as heavy as Elizabeth’s.

Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford, was the older brother of the late Queen Jane—Jane, who’d caused Elizabeth’s mother to be sacrificed so that she could bear Henry a son.

Aunt Kat had never met Anne Boleyn, but her love for Elizabeth extended to animosity to those who had harmed her charge, even indirectly.

Jane’s hold over Henry had caused him not only to label Anne an adulteress but proclaim Elizabeth a bastard and no heir to the throne.

Aunt Kat had become Elizabeth’s stalwart defender against all who’d tried to brush her aside.

Prince Edward traveling to Enfield from Hertford Castle, where he’d been staying with his uncle, was not strange.

Edward and Elizabeth sometimes shared a house, either here or at Ashridge, combining his entourage as a royal prince with hers, Mary’s, and often that of Jane Grey, crowding us all dreadfully.

Also not strange for young Edward to be with Lord Hertford. Still, there was something sinister in the way the banners closed around the small prince on his horse, surrounding him and cutting him off from the world. Elizabeth scowled down at the party then turned cooly away.

Something was terribly wrong. I sensed it, Aunt Kat sensed it, and the gentlewomen who came to assist me in dressing Elizabeth to receive her brother, sensed it as well.

While a servant lit candles, we slid Elizabeth into a kirtle of deep blue and helped her fasten on her bodice and sleeves.

I sewed a small tear in the blue satin sleeve, passing the silk thread through my mouth to make it slick.

I turned Elizabeth toward the window so I would have more light, and continued stitching.

Blossoming candlelight reflected her in the glass, clear as a mirror.

Elizabeth had a long, rather narrow face, a small nose, which was slightly hooked, and pale lips. Her eyes, intelligent and alert, flicked over the men and horses below as she stroked one long finger along her smooth sleeve.

In the reflection, I saw myself and Aunt Kat standing to either side of her, robust contrasts to Elizabeth’s aristocratic slenderness. Aunt Kat was a large woman in a stiffened bodice that pressed her belly into a narrow line, and a skirt that belled from her ample hips.

I took after Aunt Kat, being a bit plump and not much taller than Lady Elizabeth. While I appeared as though I had a healthy appetite, Elizabeth was always thin.

Elizabeth’s hair held the red of her father’s, while mine was a dull, dark brown. Aunt Kat and I had the same eyes, round and blue, both of us gazing at the world with frank interest.

Aunt Kat had much book learning, and the pair of us shared a curiosity that everyone but we two found unusual. Aunt Kat assuaged hers by reading widely and learning languages, and I assuaged mine by poking into things that did not concern me.

I helped the gentlewomen drape on Elizabeth’s overdress, encasing her in folds of velvet, soft as lamb’s wool. Despite Elizabeth’s preoccupation with her brother and his arrival, she scrutinized every inch of the gown and inspected the tear I had mended.

“My thanks, Eloise,” she said, as though I’d done her a great favor.

I did not follow Elizabeth and her train of ladies for the meeting with Edward, but as soon as they had descended, Aunt Kat caught my hand and pulled me along the gallery that encircled the upper floor of the house.

Silent as conspirators, we hurried along to another set of stairs and down to the ground floor, where we approached the great hall through a rear door.

On the hall’s dais, where the high table would sit if needed, stood a tall screen. This provided a place to keep food warm before serving, and now Aunt Kat and I used it for the purpose of spying on those in the hall. We peered through the screen’s slats as Elizabeth and her retinue entered.

I had not seen Prince Edward for many months. I’d always thought him a lackluster boy, even at only nine years old, and I did not change my opinion now. Fair-haired and ruddy-faced, Edward had a short chin and a cruel twist to his mouth.

He was quite robust, liking to ride and hunt, easily keeping up with his father and uncles. He wore riding clothes now, and he eyed Elizabeth’s gown, sleek hair, and pearl-studded hood with some aspersion.

Elizabeth gave her brother a deep curtsy that did not lack affection. Edward politely bowed in return before his gaze moved to his uncle.

Tall and bearded, the Earl of Hertford emanated agitation. Even from behind the screen I saw that he held his mouth straight with effort while his fingers twitched.