Chapter 4 #2
There were no words of comfort for Kate.
Mother seemed not to have understood the horrors she had witnessed.
If only they could meet; maybe it would be possible now that Anne was gone.
Then Kate might look for more support from Mother.
She brushed away a tear. She must be charitable.
Mother was doubtless shocked by the news and incapable of thinking of others.
And yet there remained a small, niggling feeling that Mother rarely considered anyone’s needs but her own.
Kate replied that no one knew why the marriage had been annulled.
She reassured her mother that Anne had spoken kindly of her toward the end, and that she too had wished that they were reconciled.
She ended her letter by asking when Mother and Will were coming home, for their exchange of letters had made her realize that she needed her mother at this time.
But Mother replied that she did not know when they would return to England; Will was serving in the garrison and could not be spared.
Besides, she was happy to stay where she was for now, given the circumstances.
Kate perceived in that reply her mother’s innate selfishness. There had been no suggestion that she herself might cross the sea to Calais and join them. She cried herself to sleep that night.
—
Elizabeth’s household was at Hatfield in July when the Lady Mary paid her little half sister another visit.
As she trotted into the courtyard on a white palfrey, followed by four gentlemen, two ladies-in-waiting, and a female fool, Elizabeth raced out of the front door and danced up and down in her excitement to see her.
Mary dismounted and stooped to kiss her.
She looked even more sad and haunted than she had before Queen Anne’s fall, and no wonder.
She had probably thought that the removal of her stepmother would soften the King’s heart toward her—but no.
The word was that he had just forced her to sign a declaration that his marriage to her mother had been unlawful, which must have gone against everything she held sacred.
“Make obeisance to my Lady Mary,” Lady Bryan commanded, and Elizabeth sketched a wobbly curtsey.
“My, you have grown, sweeting!” Mary exclaimed in her gruff voice, stroking Elizabeth’s hair and straightening her silver pendant. “You’re nearly three now, aren’t you?”
Mary embraced Lady Bryan, who had been her lady mistress too when she was little. “How lovely to see you.”
Elizabeth was tugging at her sleeve, demanding her attention again.
Mary smiled at her. “I have brought you gifts, Sister.” She beckoned to a lady-in-waiting, who carried over a wooden box.
Inside, wrapped in velvet, was a rosary of amber beads and a jeweled crucifix.
“For your chapel,” Mary said, pointing to the latter.
“Pretty,” said Elizabeth, touching the beads.
“How does my sister, Lady Bryan?” Mary rose to her feet. “And you yourself? It is good to see you again, but I would it were in happier circumstances.”
“I too, your Grace. We are well enough, both of us, I thank you,” Lady Bryan answered, leading the way into the house.
Kate saw Elizabeth watching them and wondered if she had picked up on Mary’s words, for she looked troubled. Kate grasped her hand and took her indoors. “After dinner, we shall go to see the puppies in the stables,” she promised.
While roast goose was being served with appropriate ceremony to Mary in the great hall, Elizabeth was sent to the nursery to have her dinner.
Mary told her avid listeners that she had seen the new Queen.
“Queen Jane is a delightful, kind lady, not at all like her predecessor,” she said, with a grimace.
“The King summoned me to Hackney to meet them both. It was the first time I had seen him in many years. They were both very kind to me. I know that I have Queen Jane to thank for my reconciliation with my father.” Her eyes misted with tears.
He should never have become estranged from you, Kate thought angrily.
“Tell me, does Elizabeth know about her mother’s death?” Mary asked.
“No, my lady, we have had no instructions,” Sir John said, passing the salt.
“But she must be told.”
“Yes, but what shall we tell her—and who is to do it?” Lady Bryan looked distressed.
“I will speak with her,” Mary said. “I’ll do it this afternoon.”
“That will be a weight off our minds.” Lady Bryan nodded. “I thank you most heartily.”
Mary laid down her knife and shook her head sadly. “I hardly know how I am going to tell her, Margaret,” she said miserably, looking to her former governess for support.
Lady Bryan rested a comforting hand on hers. “I wouldn’t be too explicit if I were you, Madam.”
“Oh, no,” agreed Mary fervently. “Do you think she will understand?”
“There is much she understands,” Lady Bryan replied. “My little lady is more than ordinarily precocious, as Kate here knows well. As sharp as nails, that child, and clever with it.”
“But a child for all that,” Mary said, “so I will break it to her as gently as I can, and may our Holy Mother and all the saints help me.”
Seeing her so distressed, Lady Bryan sought to steer the conversation away from the subject, but while she and Sir John chattered on about household matters and the state of the weather, Mary toyed with her food, having little appetite for it.
—
As soon as dinner was finished, Elizabeth was brought back.
Kate did not envy Mary her task, and dread mounted as she played with Elizabeth.
Mary sat with Lady Bryan, watching them.
Kate’s heart twisted at the thought of the innocent, unsuspecting child learning the terrible truth about her mother.
Her world would never be the same again. How would she take it?
Mary stood up. “I will speak to her now. I have brought my fool to afford a diversion later, if need be,” she said.
Elizabeth had been inspecting her new beads, but now her ears pricked up. She liked fools. Their antics made her laugh.
“Come and walk with me in the park,” Mary said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the front door. “Lady Bryan, Kate, you can come with us and bring some of the maids.” She smiled, then murmured in Kate’s ear, “Keep your distance, but within sight in case you are needed.”
“Yes, your Grace,” Kate said, wondering why she kept being picked for difficult duties and wishing that Mary had chosen one of her own ladies.
But Mary had remarked earlier how attached Elizabeth was to Kate, and really the child should have someone she loved nearby when the news was broken to her.
And Kate, more than anyone, knew how to distract her.
They walked in the sun-browned park. The day star was blazing down, there was barely the stir of a breeze, and Kate was sweltering in her long-sleeved silk gown.
It was as well that she had made Elizabeth wear her wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her face from the sunshine and the glare, while poor Mary, wearing a smart French hood with a band under the chin, was suffering decorously.
Her lips were pursed, and she looked unhappy.
At Lady Bryan’s nod, Kate and the others sat on the grass as Mary and Elizabeth wandered a little way off.
Kate could not hear what they were saying, but she saw Mary caress the long red curls that were escaping from the sun hat.
Then suddenly, she sank to her knees and hugged her sister tightly.
Elizabeth struggled free. She did not like to be squeezed like that; she was a self-contained child.
Yet Mary clearly did not notice, for she was weeping.
Kate noticed Lady Bryan watching them intently.
Mary dabbed her eyes with a white kerchief, rose, and drew Elizabeth to a stone seat placed in the shade of an oak tree to afford those who rested there a grand view of the redbrick palace of Hunsdon spread out beyond the formal gardens.
She lifted the child onto it and began speaking in earnest. Lady Bryan and Kate exchanged concerned looks.
After a few minutes, Elizabeth suddenly slid off the bench and ran to Lady Bryan, burying her face in her skirts and bursting into violent tears.
“Mother! Mother! Where is my mother? I want her!” she wailed piteously, her small body trembling. “I want her! Get her!”
Both Lady Bryan and the Lady Mary knelt down, doing their best to comfort the stricken child, while Kate reached across and stroked her red curls; but she would not be consoled. “Where is my mother?” she wailed.
“She is dead, my lamb,” wept Lady Bryan. “She is with God.”
At this, Elizabeth began to scream. “I want her! I want her!”
“You must pray for her,” faltered Mary.
But Elizabeth was beyond speech, howling her heart out.
—
Back at the house, Kate heard Lady Bryan asking Mary what she had told Elizabeth.
“I simply said that her mother had done some very bad things and that she had been punished for them. I said that she was dead and at peace. Elizabeth knows what death is. She said, ‘She won’t come to see me again, then?’ I told her no, but that our father still loves her, as do I, you, her ladies, and so many other people.
I said she must pray for her mother, and she said she would. Then she ran from me.”
“Of course, you did not raise the issue of her bastardy,” Lady Bryan stated.
“No. She is too young to understand it. Let us spare her that burden until she is older,” Mary said, her voice bitter.
They were all very kind to Elizabeth in the days that followed.
Kate devised new games to play, Lady Bryan found her special tasks to do in the house, the cook served her favorite foods, her sister’s female fool made merry jests and capered before her at mealtimes, brandishing her jingling bells, but it was Mary whom she wanted.
Mary spent hours playing with her, rescuing her from the tedium of the well-meaning Sir John’s dull stories.
“What shall it be tonight, my lady? ‘Patient Grizelda’ or ‘Theseus and the Minotaur’?” he had asked.
“I had Theseus yesterday, again,” declared Elizabeth, sighing. “Read ‘Patient Grizelda.’ ” Kat Champernowne was making faces at Kate.
“Listen carefully,” Sir John said, opening the book. “This is a fitting tale for a little girl such as yourself, who might profit by its example of an obedient wife.”
“The Lady Mary reads stories much better than you do,” his audience pronounced, fidgeting, before he had completed the first page. “So does Kate!”
“Allow me,” Mary said with a smile, taking the book. Sir John withdrew gratefully.
—
There were no further storms of tears. With the resilience of childhood, Elizabeth allowed herself to be diverted and, although subdued, responded to the comfort afforded her by others.
“Praised be God,” Lady Bryan said, “the worst moment is surely over.”