Chapter 12
For the next tense few days at Hatfield, Elizabeth and I anticipated news of Mary’s defeat or of Northumberland’s, but unnervingly, no news came at all. Elizabeth quietly mourned her brother’s passing, and we waited.
I thought through Colby’s bidding that I look after Elizabeth and be his go-between, and I did not like any of my conclusions. I didn’t trust Colby, but well I knew that times were dangerous and Elizabeth needed her friends close about her. I determined to be a good one.
When I could finagle a private moment with her, I told Elizabeth all that had transpired with Jane and her family. Elizabeth turned her face away when I relayed that Robert had ridden off with the soldiers, though I did not know if he’d act for or against Mary.
He’d likely do what his father ordered, I mused. How could he do otherwise?
Whether Robert fought for Jane or Mary, I believed his first loyalty would be to Elizabeth. What I’d seen in his eyes, combined with Colby’s words and actions, told me that.
At last, nine days almost to the hour that Jane had been proclaimed queen, messages at last flowed to Hatfield.
The gentlemen of Edward’s council, who’d been kept more or less prisoner with Jane in the Tower, had slipped away one by one, once Northumberland had gone off to subdue Mary.
This included old Paulet, who’d escaped to his country home.
Once free, these gentlemen, surmising that Northumberland’s plans would come to naught, had declared for Mary.
In East Anglia, Mary won the day. Many of Northumberland’s own soldiers and officers had turned on him to join Mary.
Northumberland finally conceded he’d lost and had reportedly proclaimed loudly, “All hail Mary, the queen!”
At the Tower, the Duke of Suffolk tore down the gold canopy they’d erected for Jane. “These things are not for you,” he told his daughter in sorrow.
I imagined that Jane, despite her fright, could only bleat relief that she did not have to be queen. I heard that she sat down immediately to write to Mary to beg forgiveness for what her father and mother had made her do.
The people of England cheered Mary. Catholic or no, she was the rightful heir, and Northumberland had no business meddling with the succession. They had tolerated Jane as queen for a week or so but now danced in the streets to rejoice that Mary had prevailed.
“What of Jane?” I asked Uncle John when he returned from London. I thought of the anxious girl I’d deserted and the flash of stubbornness she’d revealed when she’d refused to let Guildford be named king. “Surely Mary will never believe that the plots were Jane’s. She knows Jane better than that.”
“Jane remains in the Tower,” Uncle John informed me wearily as we gathered in Aunt Kat’s chamber where Uncle John refreshed himself with wine.
“But Mary has said she will be merciful to Jane and Guildford. She has already released the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk—as arrogant as they are, they would have been harmless without Northumberland. Northumberland will pay, of course, and he knows it.”
“It wasn’t Jane’s fault,” I repeated.
Aunt Kat sniffed. “Well, why do you not run to Whitehall and tell Mary so? I am certain she will listen to you and release her right away.”
Her sardonic tone made me flush. “I feel sorry for Jane, is all.”
“As do I.” Aunt Kat softened. “Pray for her, Eloise. Her innocence is sure to touch Mary, and all will be well.”
“It will be,” Uncle John reassured me. “Mary will release her, in time, you will see.”
I thought of Jane weeping pathetically at her father’s feet, and I realized that her very innocence could be her downfall. Both Northumberland and Suffolk had believed she’d be the perfect pawn-queen.
Had Northumberland chosen Elizabeth as his pawn, things would have been much different.
Elizabeth, in the first place, would never have been coerced into marrying Guildford. She’d learned a hard lesson with Seymour about how gentlemen used women to put forward their own ambitions. She’d not have meekly gone to the altar.
I wondered if Elizabeth might have been tempted had the suitor in question been Robert Dudley, but with Robert safely married to Amy, that was not to be.
Now, Sweet Robin was in the Tower with his father, having raised men against Mary in Norfolk. He waited, with Jane, Northumberland, and Guildford to discover what Mary would do.
In the meantime, I hastily designed clothes for Elizabeth, who would ride in Mary’s coronation procession.
I had progressed in the world enough by now to have two seamstresses working under me. I drew designs for gowns and chose the fabric for each from the vast quantities provided for Elizabeth’s use, and they cut and stitched to my direction.
I sewed beside them when we were in a great hurry. I could put together a bodice quickly to near perfection, and other ladies of the court envied Elizabeth having me all to herself.
Elizabeth once speculated, in those days before Mary’s coronation, that Mary might steal me away to make her clothes fit for a queen.
“Never,” I vowed. “She’d never request it anyway. Everyone knows I am of the reformed religion. She would have much difficulty converting me to popery.”
“Guard your tongue,” Elizabeth admonished me in a low voice. “My sister will bring back the mass, and you will be required to say it.”
“You as well?” I challenged.
Elizabeth went quiet, her expression guarded. “That remains to be seen.”
I had learned that with Elizabeth it was often a battle of wills, even if she fought silently. She was a good fighter, and I wondered who would win in any wars between herself and her much older sister.
The wardrobe I assembled for Elizabeth remained in keeping with her role as the virtuous Protestant princess.
However plain the garments were, though, I made them of lush satins, velvets, and tissues, including the velvet with the burst of flowers I’d been working on when we’d heard the news of Jane.
I designed the bodices to be unadorned and narrow, with overskirts that draped modestly over rather plain underskirts.
I kept the sleeves close-fitting and uncomplicated without the voluminous oversleeves Mary’s ladies continued to wear.
The colors I used for Elizabeth were pale, including much white and silver, thinking it could not hurt to draw attention to her virginal state.
At the end of July, we made ready for Elizabeth to ride to London, accompanied by two thousand riders and most of her household of ladies and gentlemen.
Aunt Kat had stayed behind, claiming she needed to rest before the strenuous undertaking of the coronation, and she tasked me to look after Elizabeth in her place.
Our journey would be not only to greet Mary as queen, but to remind all we passed that Elizabeth was her sister and heir to the throne.
To that end, the company was splendid. We had outriders with swords, the gentlemen of Elizabeth’s household in armor, the ladies in their finest. I was on horseback among the gentlewomen, dressed like a lady myself in dark greens, the style of my garments of similar plainness to Elizabeth’s.
Elizabeth rode bareheaded, surrounded by men with banners to both protect and proclaim her.
Crowds turned out to watch as we left Hatfield and moved along the roads to London. Villagers cheered as we rode through their hamlets, and children ran forward to hand Elizabeth gifts of garlands and fruit. She took the adulation as her due and smiled beneficently at all she passed.
“They like a princess to look like a princess,” she told me when we stopped to rest along the way. “They shall always have that, I assure you.”
As we rode on, I lagged a little behind the other ladies, and an outrider came close to me. A fold of his streaming cloak flowed back to bare a sword and the raw-boned body of James Colby.
“Greetings, Mistress Rousell,” he said formally.
I did my best to nod at him equally as formally. Colby steered me apart from the others, so that we could speak in relative privacy.
“I do not remember you joining Her Grace’s household,” I remarked to him.
“But I have joined it, at the request of John Ashley.” Colby gave me a slight bow from his saddle. “Ashley is a friend of my father’s, and he obtained me the position.”
I had not heard this. I would have to question Uncle John about Colby when we I had a chance.
“Why are you not in the Tower with the Dudleys?” I asked him. “Keeping Jane and Guildford company?”
“I managed to be on Mary’s side when it mattered.” Colby shrugged as he gave the evasive answer. “I am pleased Northumberland did not prevail, no matter what I think of Mary’s religion. Most of the council and Parliament agree with me, as you’ve no doubt heard.”
“Did you betray Robert and his family?” I glowered at him. “Did you desert them to ride to Mary’s side?” While I was happy Mary had prevailed over Northumberland’s and the Duchess of Suffolk’s schemes, I disapproved of Colby so callously abandoning his friends.
“There was no betrayal.” Any lightness left him. “What I did was meant to happen, though I can say no more of it here.”
“You seem determined to draw me into dangerous intrigue. Why do you trust me?”
Colby sent me another glance, this one assessing. “You have proved yourself. Elizabeth told me of the ladies in her household she put her faith in, and you were the first she mentioned.”
“She spoke to you?” I asked in surprise. I was equally surprised that my name had been at the top of her list.
“The princess granted me a short audience with herself and her estate manager, Cecil. She knows where my loyalty stands.”
Elizabeth had not mentioned this to me, nor had Uncle John. Who Elizabeth had in her household was her business, I told myself, but for some reason, this omission of information about Colby rankled.
“But do I know where you stand?” I asked in a hard voice.