Chapter 7
In October, at Lady Bryan’s summons, Kate took Elizabeth down to the great hall at Hatfield. Lady Bryan was waiting for them with Kat and Lady Troy. She stroked Elizabeth’s cheek.
“Lady Troy is to be your new mistress,” she announced.
“My new mistress?” Elizabeth was startled. “But you are my lady mistress.”
Lady Bryan took a deep breath. “Not anymore, dear child, I’m afraid. I am to be governess to the Prince, and rule over his new household. That is why Lady Troy is to take over.”
Elizabeth stood there silently for a long pause.
Kate could see that this was unwelcome news, and no wonder, because for as long as Elizabeth could remember, Lady Bryan had looked after her.
In all but blood, she had been a mother to her, the person who had cared for her, nurtured her, comforted her, and disciplined her.
All her life, Lady Bryan had been there, and now she would be there no more.
It must be incomprehensible to such a young child.
“Has my father commanded it?” Elizabeth asked.
“He has, my dear,” Lady Bryan said gently.
“It must be a mistake,” declared Elizabeth. “Lady Troy can look after the Prince. You must stay here.” There was another silence.
“The Prince needs an experienced lady of rank to be his lady mistress,” Lady Bryan said. “Long before you were born, I had care of your sister, the Lady Mary. Then I transferred to your service. Now I am commanded to Hampton Court to look after the Prince.”
There was pride in her voice as she said it, and Kate feared it must be plain to Elizabeth that this was not just the King’s doing, but Lady Bryan’s own wish. Her brother was more important than she was—she was old enough to know it—and for Lady Bryan this was promotion, and a great honor.
For once, Elizabeth looked defeated. She was intelligent enough to know that it would be futile to protest further, and that she must accept the situation.
But clearly she was hurting inside and realizing that her small world would never, ever be the same.
Once again, her universe had shifted, as it had done violently when she had learned of the awful fate of her mother and, to a lesser extent, when Queen Jane had died.
She did not make a fuss. She went up to Lady Troy and hugged her, then bowed her head regally when she sketched a curtsey.
“It will be an honor to serve you, my Lady Elizabeth,” Lady Troy said. Elizabeth gave her a small smile. Lady Bryan beamed, too.
The tears threatened to spill two days later, as the little girl waved Lady Bryan goodbye, standing in the doorway of the great hall.
She looked desolate. But Kat was there for her.
And I will be, too, for as long as God wills it, Kate told herself, although she would also greatly miss Lady Bryan, who had been a reassuring, steadfast presence in her own life, like a second mother.
As soon as Lady Bryan’s litter had disappeared in a cloud of dust, Lady Troy turned to Elizabeth and smiled kindly.
“Let’s all walk in the gardens,” she said brightly. “It’s such a fine day. Why don’t you fetch a ball. We can play some games, if it pleases you, my lady.”
Elizabeth looked at her in wonder. Lady Bryan had never suggested such a thing, and imagining that stately lady, skirts and sleeves flying, throwing or kicking a ball, was so hilarious that Kate could not suppress a giggle as she ran to find the ball.
And the game was so much fun, with the four of them, including Kat, laughing and panting as they raced across the greensward, chucking the ball at each other and failing, more often than not, to catch it.
Kat had astonishing energy for one of her years; she was not even above crawling through the rosebushes to retrieve the prize, much to Elizabeth’s astonishment.
Out of breath and still in high spirits, they sank onto a bench in a sunny arbor.
“Champernowne’s a funny name,” Elizabeth observed, kicking her feet.
“It’s an old Devon name,” said Kat, “and mine is an old family. Did you know that we are cousins, related by marriage, my Lady Elizabeth?”
“Are we?” asked Elizabeth, looking delighted. “How?”
“Through your lady mother’s family,” Kat said carefully.
Elizabeth seemed surprised, but she said nothing. For a long time now, she had not mentioned Anne Boleyn. Nor had Kate, Kat, Lady Troy, Lady Bryan, or any other members of her household spoken of her since that dreadful day when Elizabeth had been told she had been put to death.
Kat changed the subject. It was highly sensitive, and she had her own strong views about Anne Boleyn, her kinswoman, and about the man who had sent her to her death, views she voiced only in private to Kate.
Kate knew she was determined that one day, Elizabeth should find out the truth, and if that was to happen, Anne’s must not be a forbidden name.
“Come,” Lady Troy said, “it will soon be dinnertime.”
—
Shortly afterward, the Lady Mary took Elizabeth to stay with her at Hunsdon, a dozen miles away, and this time Kate was chosen to accompany her, with Lady Troy and Kat.
Mary seemed to think that Elizabeth was missing Lady Bryan very much, but Kate knew that, although this was sometimes the case, the little girl found Lady Troy far more jolly.
It was true what their elders said: children were resilient.
Life at Hunsdon was boring. There was little there for a four-year-old to enjoy.
Mary did play with Elizabeth, but she also expected her to attend frequent interminable services in the chapel, and to spend long hours at her private devotions.
Elizabeth fidgeted with impatience as the devout Mary knelt, a still, rapt figure, at her side, and Kat would frantically press a finger to her lips to keep the child quiet, while Kate tried to stifle a giggle.
As they processed out of the chapel after Mass one day, Elizabeth asked, “Why do they ring those bells?”
Mary looked shocked.
“Have you not been taught, Sister, that the bells signal the elevation of the Host?” she asked, frowning.
“Father Parker says it’s wrong to have bells at Mass,” Elizabeth said, quite innocently.
Mary pursed her lips. “It is very wicked of him to say such things,” she said firmly. “The bells signify the holiest moment in the Mass. Come with me.”
Kate and Kat followed as she led the child back into the empty chapel, to the altar rails.
“When the priest holds up the bread and the wine before the people,” she explained, “he does it to show that a miracle has taken place, for during Mass, as Our Lord promised at the Last Supper, the gifts of bread and wine become His very body and blood, given for us for the redemption of our sins.”
Elizabeth looked doubtfully at the altar with its white damask cloth, rich frontal, and golden crucifix.
“But how can that be?” she asked. “They are still bread and wine. I have tasted them.”
Mary looked shocked. “But that is the miracle!” she exclaimed. “When they are consecrated, they still look like bread and wine, but they have become the real body and blood of Jesus Christ. I’m surprised that Father Parker has not explained this to you. It is at the core of our Faith.”
Kate was praying that Elizabeth would forbear from telling Mary that Father Parker had said something rather different, and thankfully the little girl held her tongue, perhaps sensing that Mary would be cross if she told the truth.
Mary turned to Lady Troy. “I am horrified that the child is so ignorant,” she reproved. “Were you not aware? Father Parker appears to have failed signally in his duty. Pray assure me that Elizabeth at least knows her catechism and the Lord’s Prayer.”
“She does, Madam,” Lady Troy said. “And I am sorry if we have been remiss, truly sorry. I genuinely believed that the chaplain had instructed her fully.”
“Not fully enough, I fear,” Mary rejoined.
“You must speak to him urgently upon your return. In the meantime, my own chaplain will school her rigorously in what she should know. She has no mother, and I feel responsible. I am determined to see that she is guided in the right way. For now, I suggest you keep her at her prayers, for the good of her soul.”
“Yes, Madam,” said the lady mistress meekly, dipping a curtsey. But when Mary and Lady Troy had gone, Kat kept Elizabeth at her devotions for only a few minutes.
“I think we will have a story,” she said, “one about a saint, as it is Sunday. I will tell you of St. Ursula. It is a special story for you because you were born in the Virgins’ Chamber at Greenwich, which is hung with tapestries telling the story of St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins.”
Elizabeth knelt by the hearth next to Kate. She loved stories.
Kat began. “St. Ursula was a princess, and her father arranged a marriage for her, but she wished to remain a virgin, so he and her betrothed agreed to allow her three years in which to enjoy her virgin state.”
“What’s a virgin?” Elizabeth asked.
“A lady who is unmarried, pure and virtuous,” Kat told her. “St. Ursula spent that time sailing the seven seas with ten other noble virgins, and each of them had with them a thousand maidens.”
“It must have been a very crowded ship!” observed Elizabeth.
Kat smiled. “Indeed, it must. But after they made a pilgrimage to Rome and had lots of adventures, their vessel was blown by strong winds up the Rhine to Germany, where in those days the people were wicked pagans and did not believe in God. Discovering that St. Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins with her were Christians, they tried to make them give up their faith, and when they refused, they put them all to death.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment, and Kate wondered if she was remembering that she had heard those words before. “All of them?” she asked, after a few moments.
“All.” Kat paused. “Hundreds of years later, their bones were found and they were made saints by the Holy Church.”
“How were they put to death?”
Kate held her breath as she realized why Kat was telling this story.
It was one she herself shrank from hearing because of the terrible memories it called to mind, and she wondered if Kat was right to tell Elizabeth the truth when she was still so young.
And yet, she reasoned, it was better that Elizabeth learn it from her, than from someone who believed in Anne’s guilt.
“One by one, they were made to kneel, then their heads were cut off with a sword.”
“That’s horrible,” said the child, making a face.
“Ah, but they didn’t feel a thing. It was very quick,” Kat reassured her.
Elizabeth turned a tragic face up to her governess. Kat stroked her hair and gazed into the girl’s dark eyes.
“Is that—is that what they did to my mother?” Elizabeth asked.
“It was, child,” Kat said, still stroking her hair. “Poor soul, she died very bravely. And she suffered no pain, for it was all over in a trice.”
Elizabeth was silent again. “She did bad things,” she muttered in a low voice.
“No, she did not!” Kat said firmly. “It was said that she had been unfaithful to the King, and that she had plotted to kill him. But I am absolutely sure that those accusations were made up by her enemies in order to get rid of her, and that they made such a clever case against her that your father the King believed it.”
“Who were they?” Elizabeth asked.
She’s wise as an owl, Kate thought.
“Some who were about the King at the time.” Kate was relieved that Kat didn’t mention the name of Master Secretary Cromwell, for Cromwell was still the King’s chief adviser and already, she feared, Kat had said too much.
“So they were telling lies!” Elizabeth had already had the importance of telling the truth drummed into her.
“The peers of the realm found Queen Anne guilty. But there were many who said that it was all just an excuse to get rid of her.”
Elizabeth was unsatisfied. “So, you don’t think my mother did those bad things?” she persisted.
“No, I do not,” Kat whispered. “But I would get into terrible trouble for saying that, so you must never repeat my words. My lady, your mother was innocent, of that I am convinced. Never forget it.”
“I won’t,” Elizabeth declared solemnly. “But it was wrong to put her to death when she hadn’t done anything.”
“Sometimes, child, justice is not well served and kings, who have the power of life and death, have to make harsh choices. I am sure that his Grace your father felt he was doing the right thing at the time. You must not blame him.”
Kate almost snorted. She absolutely blamed the King—yet she also understood that Elizabeth needed to love and trust her father.
“I wish I could tell him he was wrong,” said the child, but then, seeing the look of fear on Kat’s face, hastened to reassure her. “But I promise I won’t.”
“Bless you, child,” Kat breathed. “Come, now, let’s go and play ball. I’m sure we’ve allowed long enough for your prayers!”
—
Kate was relieved when they returned to Hatfield. The atmosphere there was so much lighter than at Hunsdon. It had been like staying in a nunnery!
At supper that evening, Sir John regaled them with the latest news from court.
“His Majesty’s suit has been rejected by the Duchess of Milan. Her portrait had so captivated him that he cast off his mourning garments and asked for her hand. But you will not believe her reply. She said, ‘Tell his Majesty that if I had two heads, one would be at his disposal.’ ”
Everyone gasped.
“Well, I never!” Kat said. “She has some daring—and impertinence! And he the greatest match to be had in all Europe!”
Kate had her own view on that, but she kept it to herself.
“There are other princesses,” Sir John said. “I hear he is once more considering the Princess of Cleves.”
“Well, I’ll believe it when it happens,” Kat said.