Chapter 20 #2
“She ought to show herself, then,” Colby said grimly. “Stories are circulating in London that Mary is dead.”
I huffed a laugh. “What nonsense. If Mary were dead, Philip would depart, taking his Spanish court with him.” I went somber.
“The villagers near Hampton Court despise the Spaniards. I cannot help feeling sorry for Philip’s gentlemen and their ladies, though at the same time, I do wish they would go away. ”
“That time might come sooner than you think,” Colby said, his blue gaze on the flames. “Philip has other kingdoms to worry about, and England is only a small corner of the Empire.”
“England is an independent nation,” I said indignantly. “And part of no empire.”
Colby flashed his smile at me. “You echo the sentiment of the English people.”
“And of Princess Elizabeth, I am afraid.”
Colby nodded, returning his attention to the fire. “True.”
I let out a sigh. “Even Philip knows he is not welcome, but Mary will not admit it. She is so certain God will not desert her, so certain she is right.”
“God has deserted her.” Colby’s tone was so stern I blinked at him in surprise.
“He must have, and for good reason. She has revived the heretic laws. We have not spoken of it in this house, because it is so terrible, but she has already had people tried and burnt alive in London.” His large hands tightened on his knees.
“Ordinary people, Eloise, who refuse to give up their beliefs and who cannot afford to flee to someplace like Geneva. The Archbishop of Canterbury and his cronies have been imprisoned at Oxford for creating the Book of Common Prayer at Edward’s command. It is madness.”
I’d heard about Archbishop Cranmer’s arrest, because he’d been housed not far from us at Woodstock. I’d learned that he’d quickly recanted his reformed faith, but it is easy to recant anything when your fingers are being crushed.
“You are in no danger of being arrested yourself, are you?” I asked in concern.
I’d not put it past Mary to imprison Colby out of pique because he’d been in Elizabeth’s company of gentlemen. Once interrogators began torturing him, what truths might be revealed?
I wondered if Colby’s adoptive parents had recorded his birth and baptism, claiming him as their own son, or whether anyone traveling to Shropshire could discover that he’d been a by-blow.
I also wondered if the milkmaid who’d borne him had officially revealed the identity of Colby’s true father, and whether anyone had written this into some record or other.
No one had any reason to check Colby’s antecedents, but if Bishop Gardiner and Mary’s council decided to try him for heresy, who knew what might come to light?
“Do not fret, Eloise.” Colby took my cold hand between his warm ones. “I mouth pious Catholic prayers and attend mass like a good lad. Martyring myself for the cause will help nothing. I do what I must to stay alive.”
“Good,” I said fervently.
“Good because I work for Elizabeth?” Colby’s lips quirked, a sparkle entering his eyes. “Or good for my own sake?”
“On both counts.” I regarded him without blushing. “On both counts, James.”
I strangely did not mind whether Colby returned the affection I felt for him or not. I wanted his safety, and his happiness, more than I cared about anything for myself.
Colby kissed me with more warmth than usual when we parted. He studied me thoughtfully, but I refused to be embarrassed.
At the end of July, Mary left Hampton Court, commanding Elizabeth to accompany her. No trumpeters or heralds raced before us, and no lavish pageantry proclaimed the queen’s progress as we sailed downriver, back to London.
Mary’s depression ran deep. She stoically faced the humiliation that she’d been wrong about her pregnancy, but another followed close behind it—Philip announced to Mary that he was leaving England.
It would not be for long, he adamantly promised, but everyone in the court except Mary herself understood he was deserting her. The marriage and the attempt at an heir had been a failure.
Nobody but Mary was sorry the Spaniards departed, sailing from Greenwich where we’d traveled to see them off. Mary mourned for days after they were gone, her dream of marriage, a child, and perfect happiness dashed from her.
“Such a thing shall never happen to me,” Elizabeth vowed quietly as we watched Mary’s gaze return again and again to the window of her chamber.
Below her, the Thames on which Philip had taken ship ran wide and full.
“I shall never ruin myself with a bad marriage. A woman must always be careful whom she marries, especially a queen.”
I silently agreed. I’d received an alarming letter from my mother not many days ago positing that it was high time I married. I hoped it to be a passing whim on her part—or rather, her husband’s. I knew quite well who had prompted the letter.
I determined that I, like Elizabeth, would refuse any suit I didn’t wish, and asked Elizabeth to stand by me against my stepfather.
Not many weeks after Philip’s departure, I was allowed to meet Aunt Kat in London and ride with her to Hatfield, where we would join Elizabeth. Mary had finally allowed Elizabeth to leave her side—as long as she stayed at Hatfield and behaved herself, she’d admonished.
Aunt Kat and I had a tearful reunion, with much embracing and many kisses. I quickly realized, however, as we rode north from London, that Aunt Kat’s house arrest had not made her any more docile and compliant than had Elizabeth’s.
“It does a body good to go about where one wishes.” Aunt Kat sighed with contentment as we rode our palfreys at a slow pace, the outriders happily dawdling along with us. “Our time is coming, Eloise, you mark my words.”
“What do you mean?” I asked absently, paying more attention to the soft green of the countryside than her nattering words.
“Mary is barren, her husband is gone, and old Bishop Gardiner is at death’s door.” Aunt Kat sounded meanly pleased about all this. “Our princess shall be queen, and sooner than you think.”
I turned to her, my alarm rising. “How do you know this, Aunt Kat? You have been confined longer than I have.”
Aunt Kat sent me a sage nod. “I have my ways. I know that Mary wishes to confiscate the lands of good people who fled to Geneva and other more tolerant places, but she has enough opposition not to act too hastily. Well, we’ll see if she has her way, but I think not.
A mistake, the burnings at Smithfield. London chokes on the smoke of her victims, and Mary will not last.”
I could see that Aunt Kat had not lost her taste for meddling.
“James Colby has been often to visit me,” Aunt Kat continued. “He was able to bring me messages. No, Elizabeth’s cause has not died.” She smiled, a woman content.
“Mary watches her,” I cautioned. “Philip might have persuaded Mary to let Elizabeth out of prison, but Philip is gone, not to return, I think.”
“Mary will obey Philip whether he be near or far,” Aunt Kat said. “Mary lives to hear a word of praise from him. But there are plenty who want Mary gone, and they hardly keep a secret of it.”
“You hardly keep a secret of it either,” I pointed out.
Aunt Kat seemed perfectly willing to chat openly of treason, with riders around us, although they were out of earshot. Her boldness showed me more clearly than the crowds who’d come out to laud Elizabeth as we’d ridden to Greenwich how much love for Mary had waned.
Mary had snatched shopkeepers out of their homes and burned them for reading the Bible in English and refusing to recant. These people were not wealthy enough to flee England and live in comfort abroad, which meant they had to remain and face Mary’s wrath.
Mary had bullied Parliament into allowing her marriage to Philip, who cared nothing for England but how it profited his father’s empire. Now, that prince had run off to the Netherlands to make them behave, and Mary had not produced an English heir.
Therefore, Elizabeth had become the new hope. I felt a qualm of direst foreboding.
Christmas that year was particularly festive.
Elizabeth was home with her favorite ladies and gentlemen, including the Parrys, Roger Ascham, and the Countess of Sussex, Anne Calthorpe, who was estranged from the husband who’d led Elizabeth to the Tower.
Aunt Kat and Uncle John were reunited, and Elizabeth even had visits from Dr. Dee, the famous astrologer.
As Advent wound on, people came and went from the surrounding countryside—including a Mr. Kingston, two young men called Verney, Sir Christopher Ashton, who was fervently devoted to Elizabeth, and James Colby.
At Hatfield, excitement mounted, and because of Colby, I knew everything that was being planned from the start.
“The French ambassador is with us,” Kingston said as we sat at table in Aunt Kat’s private chamber at Hatfield one night in December.
Outside, the world was cloaked in darkness, and a cold rain had fallen, but it was still not icy enough for snow.
“Sir Henry assures us that the money will come from France’s coffers. He will lead a force from there.”
The reason for this new eagerness to form an uprising was Mary’s continued obstinacy.
She’d raged at her Parliament this autumn when they’d fought her taking away lands belonging to the Protestant exiles, and again when she’d declared she wished to return her own lands to the monasteries that had been broken up by her father.
The men of Parliament had tried to point out that the Crown actually had very little money. Returning the monastic lands would be a financial disaster.
But Mary adamantly wished it—God had informed her that this was necessary to heal the rift between monarch and church that her father had created.
Mary had gone so far as to lock the men of Parliament into the debating chamber until she had her way.
They’d resisted, and now they wanted no more of her.
“Mistress Rousell is our go-between with the princess.” Kingston gazed straight at me. “You know how to keep her informed, with no one the wiser?”
“Better than you can know, Mr. Kingston,” I assured him.
“Eloise is trustworthy,” Colby said, and my pride warmed at his words.
They had great courage, I thought, to sit here over ale in Elizabeth’s own house and plot to overthrow the queen. Sir Christopher promised he would depart to France and meet with Henry Dudley, a cousin of Robert, and together they would raise an invasion force.
Kingston, with Colby’s help, would put together an army in the west, and other loyal gentlemen would gather in the south and east. The French king would pay for much of this rebellion, in return for us driving Hapsburg Philip and Mary his wife out of England.
The armies would take London and Mary’s person this time, placing Elizabeth on the throne before Philip could act.
Kingston fished a coin from his pocket. It had been severed in two, the cut half ragged. “When I am sent the other half of this, they will be ready in France. And we will see an end to this hideous farce.”
I believed them rash and foolish, but I knew better than to state that opinion among these half-drunk, conspiracy-mad gentlemen. They wanted Mary gone, dead if she had to be.
I thought again of Mary as we’d left her in Greenwich, ill and melancholy. Her only desire now was God’s work, she’d made known. She vowed to return the lands and money the Crown received from the raided monasteries and to convert those stubbornly clinging to the reformed religion.
“They should be punished with fire,” she’d said fiercely the day after Philip had gone. “It is God’s will. The flames will free their souls.”
The men in this room wanted her stopped, and they were willing to pay any price to do it.