Chapter 23 #2
I could only stare at Grandmother in amazement which quickly softened into gratitude. She, like Elizabeth, loved well, but hated to be caught admitting it.
I plunked down my wine, launched myself from my chair, and bent to catch her in my arms.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” I sobbed. “You have ever been so good to me.”
I felt her start, then her warm, plump arms came around me, her embrace so like Aunt Kat’s.
“None of this, now,” she said softly in my ear. “Someone had to be good to you. Wasn’t likely to be your mother, was it?”
I laughed through my tears as I released her. “Still,” I said. “I am grateful.”
“Sit down and eat them pastries,” Grandmother said sternly. “Helene sent someone all the way to the village for them.”
I wiped my eyes, still smiling, and docilely resumed the chair and my repast.
I returned to Hatfield after spending a few days with Grandmother, resolving myself to confess to Elizabeth.
It took some time, because she was often in consultation with her advisors like Cecil about her properties and money, Elizabeth ever diligent. Or she’d be speaking with Uncle John or Master Parry about what went on with Mary. She might be isolated, but never ignorant.
At last, I insisted she be fitted for a new gown, made in case Mary recalled Elizabeth to court.
I knelt on the floor at Elizabeth’s feet but kept my pins and scissors inside their wooden box. “Your Grace, I have something to confess,” I said.
My voice wasn’t very strong, and Elizabeth had to lean to hear me.
“What is it?” she asked with sharp suspicion.
“I have married James Colby.”
I spoke the words in a rush, fearing I’d never say them if I didn’t simply blurt out the truth without preliminary.
Elizabeth’s eyes flickered in relief. I wondered what she’d thought I meant to tell her—that my mother and stepfather had convinced me to convert? That I’d betrayed the conspirators who continued to come up with daring and overly rash plots?
“Married,” she repeated, her voice hard. “When you knelt in this very room and promised me you would never leave my side.”
“I haven’t left you,” I said with fervor. “I never will.” Rapidly I told her the whole tale, of how I worried, with justification, that my stepfather would coerce me into marriage, and how I’d gone to Colby to prevent such a thing, without any plans to leave Elizabeth’s side.
When I finished, out of breath, Elizabeth gazed down at me with a cool expression. I saw anger in her, but not the lashing rage I’d braced myself for.
“You could have come to me.” The words were cold and clear, like the rain beating on the windowpanes. “You could have showed me your mother’s letters and told me your fears. Did you think I could not prevent an unwanted marriage?”
I’d reasoned she could have done nothing at all, not when Mary watched her every move and gave her no concessions. I kept my head bowed, not answering.
Elizabeth’s hands were near my face, and her slender fingers curled into her palms. I expected to be cuffed at any moment for my impertinence and my conviction that she could not have helped me.
Then her hands relaxed, and Elizabeth let out a long sigh. “If Mary had condoned your stepfather’s choice, then no, I could not have prevented it.” Another sigh, with a growl to it. “Cease staring at my feet, Eloise, and look at me.”
I raised my head, my mouth trembling as I gazed past the white velvet, gold embroidered bodice to her very pale face, framed with flame-red hair.
“Your marriage to Colby can be put aside if there were no witnesses, or a record, or a clergyman,” she stated.
“We had all of that,” I assured her. “Master Colby is no fool.”
“Indeed, he is not. It can also be undone if the parties do not live as man and wife, if you understand what I mean.”
“Like Jane and Guildford.” I nodded. “The marriage has been … consummated.”
I flushed. While my time snuggled with Colby represented some of the best moments of my life, thoughts of it embarrassed me. And yet, I had no regrets whatsoever.
Elizabeth’s mouth hardened. I saw the envy in her eyes for what I’d experienced, but also conviction that the step I’d taken was irreversible.
“What of Colby?” she demanded. “Does he expect you to reside in his home and preside over his suppers? While he claims he is in council all day but really means the public house in the village?”
I shook my head fervently. “No, Your Grace. He knows I won’t relinquish my place in your household. I will stay with you—if Your Grace will have me.”
I bowed my head once more, my fear unfeigned. I loved Elizabeth as much as I loved Colby, if in a different manner, and it would break my heart if she sent me away. I wasn’t certain the joys of marriage would compensate.
Another growl left her throat. “I will think on this, Eloise. Colby is a gentleman of my household, and he should have come to me first. You both should have.” I dared raise my head again to find her brows pinched in one of her foul tempers.
“It was inevitable, I suppose. I saw how you watched each other whenever you were together, but I hoped you wouldn’t do anything quite so rash. ”
“I can pack my things and be gone in a trice,” I said, my voice shaking. “If you desire it.”
“Go where? Shropshire? There’s a ruined castle of my ancestors at Shrewsbury, but I hear it does not amount to much.
” Elizabeth became firm once more. “No, Eloise, you will remain here until I see fit to dismiss you.” She took a step back.
“Now go from me. I do not much wish to be near you at the moment.”
I unfolded myself from the floor, my heart thumping in relief. If she’d been outraged and furious, she’d have banished me at once, not debated the point. Elizabeth might still banish me, but she’d think it over coolly instead of impulsively ordering me from her house.
“I should unpin the gown first,” I said.
“No.” Elizabeth flicked the skirt from my reach. “Send Mistress Blanche to me, my most loyal lady. And tell your aunt I wish to speak to her.”
“Aunt Kat did not know,” I quickly assured her. “None knew but Colby and me, and now you.”
“And your mother and stepfather, of course,” Elizabeth snapped. “Go, before I change my mind and toss you out into the rain.”
“At once, Your Grace.” I bowed low and then fled, remembering at the last instant to snatch up my box of scissors and pins before I went.
I hugged the carved box to my chest as I slipped into the outer chamber and rested my back against the door to catch my breath. The interview had been terrifying, but I reflected that I preferred begging Elizabeth for mercy a hundred times more than facing my stepfather who openly despised me.
Life continued at Hatfield much as it had before.
I remained with Elizabeth, who at first eyed me with displeasure whenever I entered a room.
Gradually, her disappointment in me gave way to acceptance.
Colby continued to work for her, bringing her intelligence about all that went on in the realm.
I resumed my needlework, sewing gowns, caps, and hoods.
Mary never invited Elizabeth back to her, but Elizabeth continued to ask for new designs from me.
Once Elizabeth convinced herself that Colby and I were in no danger of rushing off in a fit of passion and deserting her altogether, she ceased her silent torture of me.
Truth to tell, I looked forward to my infrequent encounters with Colby, when we could be private together, but I was careful never to let on to Elizabeth about my yearnings for him.
As spring wore on, Elizabeth grew more confident as public opinion turned firmly against Mary.
The many terrible burnings, especially those of Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester; Nicholas Ridley, who’d been Bishop of London; and finally, Archbishop Cranmer that spring, resulted in Mary being openly hated. It did not help Mary that these men—supposedly evil heretics—all died heroically.
Bishop Latimer had said to his fellow condemned, “Be of good comfort … We shall this day light such a candle by God’s grace in England as I trust shall never be put out.”
Then, in late March, Mary began making arrests of our group of conspirators.
As with all would-be rebellions, the greatest problem stemmed from trying to raise money.
When Thomas Seymour had planned to rise against his brother, Somerset, he’d not only recruited pirates, but he’d bribed a man at the Bristol mint, who’d betrayed him.
This time, Christopher Ashton, our leader, had tried to corrupt those at the Exchequer.
This part of the plan was found out, and arrests began.
At first, I was blissfully ignorant of the crumbling plot. I had concentrated on proving my devotion to Elizabeth, as well as enjoying my newfound haze of love.
Colby and I were able to meet on occasion and share a bed, and the stolen encounters were beautiful. I was new enough to bodily desire that it transported me to great joy, and I thought there was nothing more wonderful than a husband and wife in love.
Colby was always gentle, though he could be teasing and playful, and we laughed a great deal. Marriage so far had been a heavenly state. I was hard-pressed to keep a smile from my lips and a tune from my throat as I stitched jewels into fabrics and chivied my assistants.
Aunt Kat, Uncle John, and many of Elizabeth’s ladies now knew Colby and I had wed. Both Aunt Kat and Uncle John heartily approved of him, to my relief. The ladies all teased me, but I did not mind.
The gentleman who brought the news of Mary’s arrests shattered this fragile happiness.
“They’ve thrown them into the worst of cells,” our messenger reported grimly to Elizabeth in her sunlit chamber. “The queen cares nothing for their rank or family—all have been shoved into a noisome pit that would turn your stomach, and one of them has already been racked.”
Elizabeth listened, her face like cold marble. “What men has she arrested?” she asked, voice brittle.
“Edmund and Francis Verney,” the gentleman replied, his words quiet and angry. “Henry Peckham. James Colby. It’s Colby who’d been racked and then tossed into the foul hole.”
I dropped the stomacher I’d been stitching, and the steel bands struck the floor with a clatter. I’d risen when Elizabeth had, but now my legs gave way, and I sat down hard on my bench.
Elizabeth glanced at me, eyes like night, then signaled to Aunt Kat. Aunt Kat quickly retrieved the fallen stomacher, but I sat frozen, the needle like ice in my fingers.
Colby, my wily, careful Colby, imprisoned and tortured. He’d be tried, certainly condemned, and then executed. The husband I’d loved for a few short, sweet months, the friend I’d known for years, had been abruptly torn from me.
Sudden pain burst through my abdomen, bringing bile to my tongue. The bench seemed to slide out from beneath me, and I covered my mouth with my hand as I tumbled to the floor.