Chapter 5
Catherine’s death plunged Elizabeth into illness so severe that Lord Protector Somerset had to send a physician to attend her at Cheshunt.
In those dark days, Elizabeth liked me to sit beside her while she lay abed in her chamber. Her illness made her thinner, but the lines around her mouth had been etched there by wariness and grief. She grew quiet and watchful, as though she knew some terrible fate approached her.
Catherine was buried at Sudeley Castle, with all honors. Seymour attended, appropriately grieving, from what Aunt Joan told us. But reports servants gave of Catherine’s last illness dismayed me.
Catherine, in her delirium, had apparently raved that the love she bore her husband had been ruined, that he was false and had used her for his own ambition. Seymour had pursued Elizabeth under her nose and had wished Catherine to die—indeed, had he poisoned her?
Then Catherine would come to herself and say that no, she was only dreaming, and declare she loved her Thomas dearly.
In the end, Catherine had willed Seymour everything she owned, including the lovely Chelsea Manor, and had died with words of forgiveness on her lips.
The stories alarmed me not a little. Catherine’s fevers had brought to the surface ugly truths that had been kept buried in her troubled household.
Despite our sorrow at the queen’s death, I was happy when King Edward sent word that Elizabeth was allowed to move to Hatfield again, where she would set up her own household. I was sorry to leave Cheshunt, a peaceful place, but Hatfield had many possibilities.
At Hatfield, Elizabeth would be a princess in truth, with her own entourage and gentlemen at arms, and she would begin managing the estates willed to her by her father. Despite whispers that Seymour was once again trying to gain more power at court, I hoped happier times approached.
Hatfield was a fine red brick house north and west of Cheshunt and twenty or so miles directly north of London.
The estate had long country lanes for rambling and good hunting in the forests nearby.
We were isolated from the rigorous pace and stink of London but close enough for an easy visit to Whitehall or Greenwich.
Elizabeth professed to be fond of the property where she and I had spent our innocent days of childhood, before we’d understood what a frightening place the world could be.
“The Lord Admiral will no doubt seek permission to marry her now,” Aunt Kat said to me a few weeks after we’d settled Elizabeth into the house. “Mark my words.”
I was in our rooms, laying out fabrics for one of Elizabeth’s new gowns, which she’d wear on upcoming visits to her brother. Elizabeth was fifteen, an adult by royal standards, and she’d need to be arrayed in finery.
My entire body thrummed as I brushed my fingers over the brocade, dreaming of the gowns that would take shape. It was an exciting time, and I’d have the opportunity to show the entire court what I could do.
An arranged marriage for Elizabeth would likely not be long in coming, I reasoned as I listened to Aunt Kat. Given Thomas Seymour’s rivalry with his brother, the Lord Protector, I doubted the Protector would allow Seymour to extend his hand to Elizabeth.
“I thought you disapproved of Seymour’s schemes,” I returned.
Aunt Kat shrugged. “If he offers to take Elizabeth respectably to wife, what can there be to disapprove of? The Admiral is a handsome man, wealthy, and intelligent. I’d rather our lady marry him than any other man in the kingdom.”
“He has spoken of it to you?” I asked in concern.
“Nay, why should he speak to me?” Aunt Kat’s eyes went wide.
“I hear of his wishes from my dear friend, Master Parry. I told my Lady Elizabeth she ought to write a consoling letter to the Admiral, and do you know what she said?” Aunt Kat hesitated long enough for me to give her a curious glance then trundled on.
“She told me she did not dare write, for people might believe she meant to woo him.” Aunt Kat nodded wisely.
“She knows the lay of the land better than most.”
I thought back to Elizabeth’s speculations on marriage she’d shared with me at Cheshunt before Catherine’s death. She’d been most adamant then to remain free of wedlock, but that was before Seymour became eligible again.
“So, she will not write to him?” I asked.
“No.” Aunt Kat beamed me a happy smile. “Which will make him pine for her all the more.”
“She is much younger than he is,” I pointed out with some displeasure.
“Nonsense, that is no matter. Our Elizabeth is at a ripe age to marry, and Seymour is not so old that he has lost his looks and prowess.”
I began pinning together the layers of velvet and brocade that would become sleeves fastened back to reveal gold silk beneath them.
“I believe Lord Sudeley has charmed you,” I said warningly. “He seems to have pulled you firmly on his side. Perhaps more than is prudent.”
Aunt Kat flushed. “Do not be silly. He has said naught to me about it, not one word.”
She mercifully ceased chattering, but I felt a twinge of disquiet. I had become inured to Seymour’s charms after my encounter with him at Chelsea, but I continued to witness the fascination he held for others.
My aunt’s speech implied that Seymour was also busily beguiling Thomas Parry, treasurer of Elizabeth’s household. The man was likely pumping Master Parry for knowledge of Elizabeth’s finances, as well as Aunt Kat for knowledge of her person.
The combination spelled trouble, well I knew. But I, the seamstress, who should remain sewing in the corner, could not do much but watch and worry.
As our sojourn at Hatfield continued, Elizabeth’s health gradually improved. She resumed lessons in Greek and Latin under a new tutor, Roger Ascham, after her previous instructor, Master Grindal, had sadly passed away.
Elizabeth penned affectionate letters to her brother, walked in the growing chill of Hatfield’s gardens, and never spoke one word about Thomas Seymour, to my great relief.
November skies grew gray and bleak. I soon was happy to stay indoors near the fire as I sewed, peering through thick windows at the bare trees against a pale blue sky.
Aunt Kat spent more and more time in seclusion with Master Parry, and when Master Parry took a journey to London, Aunt Kat shot bold hints at me that things would change for Elizabeth once he returned.
“What is your aunt conspiring?”
I jumped in the darkness of my chamber as Uncle John paused in the doorway and fixed keen eyes upon me. The chill had made my fingers ache, and I set down my needle, rubbing my fingertips on the velvet I’d been stitching.
“Is Aunt Kat conspiring?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.
Uncle John shut the door against the draft and drew the hearth stool close to my wooden chair.
The window had gone dark, cold air seeping to us that the smoldering fire could not quite disperse.
I was lucky to warrant a fire in my tiny chamber, as Elizabeth had declared I must be kept fit to sew her gowns.
Uncle John heaved a long sigh as he stretched his feet toward the flames.
“My wife is a good woman, but she cannot leave well enough alone. She loves Elizabeth as she would a daughter, and like a mother with a daughter, she would do anything to advance Elizabeth’s position. Even if she goes to the block for it.”
“The block?” I squeaked in sudden agitation. “Why on earth do you say that?”
Uncle John sent me a tired look. “Because Seymour is ruthless, niece. He will overreach himself, and my Kat might be caught in his betwixt and between. And he will catch Elizabeth with her.”
My heart sped as I realized that Uncle John was right. Aunt Kat loved Elizabeth mightily and easily blinded herself to danger because of that love.
“It may come to nothing where Aunt Kat is concerned,” I ventured, hoping I was right.
I recalled my alarming vision of Aunt Kat in a prison cell, and hoped that had been caused by a bad vegetable at supper, not a premonition.
“Elizabeth is indifferent to him, and would refuse even if his lordship offered.”
“Eloise.” Uncle John’s tone sharpened. “You have more intelligence than that. Look at me again and declare there is nothing to this. That Her Grace Elizabeth does not blush when Seymour’s name is spoken, that she does not smile at any who speak highly of him. Tell me this.”
I glumly shook my head, because I knew I could not. “What can we do, Uncle?”
“We extract your aunt from danger, and we warn Elizabeth to take care. I have much affection for Kat, and she has a good heart, but sometimes … ”
“Yes,” I agreed, clutching my fabric. “Sometimes … ”
Sometimes a good heart led to a downfall. Seymour’s sojourn in Catherine’s household and all that followed had forced my eyes open to a new world.
I could not remain an innocent child forever—I had to keep my wits about me in this whirlpool that ever surrounded the royal court. Theirs was a world of gentlemen who’d not hesitate to use a very young woman to achieve what they wished, no matter who they injured irreparably.
Perhaps Aunt Kat had such ambition as well, so that one day she could point to Elizabeth’s rise and proclaim, “I did that.”
A new world, and a dangerous one.
“Durham house was to have been mine,” Elizabeth snapped at Master Parry a few days later, her brows drawn into a scowl.
She’d turned from the window where she’d been conversing with a few of her ladies, consciously moving so a beam from the winter sun touched her unbound hair.
“I was promised it. Does His Grace the Lord Protector not remember this?”
Master Parry betrayed as much agitation about this new state of affairs as did his mistress. He twisted the gold chain that hung from his neck, his round face a bright red.