Chapter 21
Kate had written to Elizabeth to express her sympathy to her over her—their—father’s death.
She wondered—and hoped—if Elizabeth would now acknowledge their sisterhood.
But when the letter came, it was addressed to her “dear cousin.” Maybe, Kate told herself, she did not know that they were more closely related.
She wondered if it was now safe to tell Elizabeth.
But would she be believed? And would it look like presumption?
No, she decided, it was best to say nothing.
The bond between them was close anyway. She must be grateful for that.
She was thrilled when Elizabeth invited her to stay at Hatfield.
She found her hostess very grown up for a thirteen-year-old, but looking somber in her black mourning gown, against which she made a habit of displaying her long slender hands.
She was very vain and very witty, and Kate could not help reveling in her company. It had ever been so.
“I will not be here very long,” Elizabeth told her over dinner on that first evening. “I am going to live with the Queen at Chelsea in the palace my father left her.”
“Is she very distressed by her great loss?” Kate asked, unfolding her napkin.
“She is philosophical. She has great faith.”
“That is a blessing. And you? How is it with you, my lady?”
“I am telling myself that he is in Heaven. That is a comfort to me. And I will do all in my power to keep his memory alive.”
Kate was aware that the late King’s death had left Elizabeth second in line to the throne after the Lady Mary. Elizabeth’s status was now the highest it had been since her mother’s fall. She was a very important young woman.
“Of course, he was my father,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I do miss him very much.”
“I am sure. I am so sorry.” Kate reached out a hand and took hers. “I lost my father when I was very young.”
“But you barely knew him.” Elizabeth’s was clearly going to be the greater tragedy.
Kate swallowed the truth. “You’re right, I didn’t; I have only vague memories of him. I am thankful that I have a loving stepfather in Will Stafford.”
“Stafford? Of course. He is a good man. Yet a stepfather cannot replace a real father. I am grateful to have known mine for so long. And I do not think I would tolerate a stepfather well.” It sounded like a reproof, as if Kate was somehow wrong to feel filial love for a man who had not sired her. If only you knew! she thought.
“Lacking my own father, I am lucky to be loved as a daughter by such a man,” she said.
Elizabeth did not answer. She’s jealous! Kate realized. It was time to change the subject.
“King Edward has made a good start,” she said.
“Indeed, he has.” Elizabeth brightened. “I rejoice that England is turning Protestant. I believe that my father would in time have embraced the new religion. He knew that opinions were changing. Why else would he have had my brother educated by Cambridge reformers?” She helped herself to roast pork.
“And you, Coz? Where do you stand in this great debate?”
“I am for the reformed faith,” Kate said proudly, “as is Francis.”
“So I have heard. It is as well. Soon, the old faith will be outlawed, and the Mass will be banned. This will go hard with my sister, Mary, for she is staunch for the old religion. Yet I am glad of it. It will be an end to superstition and idolatry. And yet…” Elizabeth grew thoughtful.
“We both know what it is like to have to keep our true beliefs a secret. I would never persecute anyone for their faith, if I became—” She fell abruptly silent, but Kate knew what she had been going to say.
If I became queen. It would be strange if she had not given the matter some thought.
Their eyes met.
“It was just an idle fantasy,” Elizabeth said, blushing.
“Edward is healthy. He will marry and have children. And Mary goes before me in the succession. I will never be queen of this realm. Instead, I shall live a fine life as a country gentlewoman in this English Eden. My father left me great wealth, you know. I intend to enjoy it. And in time I will become the favorite aunt of Edward’s children.
And I shall have suitors, lots of them—but I will never marry! ”
Kate was surprised to hear her say this now. She had imagined that it had been the sentiment of a frightened child, and that Elizabeth would have grown out of it.
“I am sure you will change your mind when the right suitor comes along,” she said, grinning.
“No, I do not wish to marry.”
“But why? All women wish to marry. It is our destiny.”
Elizabeth had flushed a deep pink. “I cannot tell you my reasons. I could not confide them to my twin soul.” She sounded quite distressed.
Kate wondered what people had been saying to her about marriage.
But of course, nothing could paint a darker picture of it than the example of her own family.
To this young girl, marriage must be equated with infidelity, incest, divorce, bloody beheadings, and death in childbed.
And yet, she, Kate, had seen much more of all that than, thankfully, Elizabeth ever had.
She had witnessed the shocking reality; and it was her family, too.
Yet she had not been put off wedlock. She had a blissfully happy marriage with Francis.
Elizabeth was young. She had not known love. She would learn.
Kate dropped the subject and asked if there was any court gossip.
Elizabeth looked gloomy. “None, now that there are no ladies at court to cause scandal. In fact, I hear that all the talk is of politics and religion. Not that I lack an interest in those matters, but there are far more interesting things in life.”
They finished their meal, then played backgammon and cards. It was like old times. Kate forgot she was a matron of twenty-three with five children; she felt like a young girl again.
Her peace was shattered when, as Elizabeth was gathering up the cards, she casually announced that Protector Somerset had decided to revive the war with Scotland. “He is to go north with an army later this year.”
“No!” Kate cried.
Elizabeth stared at her. “Why should you object? My father envisaged England and Scotland being united through Edward’s marriage to the Queen of Scots. It’s a brilliant plan, and it would put a stop to the eternal warfare between our two kingdoms.”
“The Scots don’t want such a union.”
“They are too short-sighted.”
“We would not want them to invade us and try to take our realm.”
Elizabeth’s steely gaze was just like her father’s. “That smacks of treason, Kate. I recall that your husband distinguished himself in the last campaign.”
“Yes, and I really don’t want him putting himself at risk again!” Kate burst out. “That’s the real reason why I hate this war. Forget treason! It’s because I cannot live for weeks at a stretch in terror for the man I love.”
She wished she had said nothing at all, for Elizabeth was giving her a cool appraisal. How could she be expected to know what it was to love, or to fear for the life of the beloved? She was thirteen, for Heaven’s sake! And yet she had the air of one who was all-knowing, all-seeing.
“Forgive me,” Kate said, “I forgot myself. Of course, I support the King in this war. I do see the wisdom of it. You must excuse my womanly frailty.”
“All is forgiven,” Elizabeth said lightly. “I know that neither you nor your husband would ever forget your duty to his Majesty.”
In her relief that the slight contretemps between them had been defused, Kate was barely aware that in all their talk that evening, Elizabeth had not once mentioned Francis by name.
Always, she had said “your husband.” It dawned on her later, lying in bed, that the girl was as jealous of Francis as ever, and that she still resented him for taking Kate away from her, as she perceived it.
And not once had she asked about the children.
The next morning, as they parted, Kate invited Elizabeth to spend a few days at Greys Court.
“It would be a pleasure,” Elizabeth said, smiling, “but I am not sure when I can get away. Let us see how things settle down at Chelsea.”
Kate’s sixth sense told her that Elizabeth would never come to Greys Court. Maybe she did not wish to see Kate enjoying all the blessings of a happy marriage and family life that she herself professed not to want.
“I hope you will be very happy at Chelsea,” she said.
“I know I will!” Elizabeth’s face had lit up. “My stepmother the Queen is a wonderful woman.”
They embraced, and Kate rode away, wishing that things could return to how they had once been between them.
That could never be, given Elizabeth’s elevated status to her, but deep affection still lay between them.
They had promised to keep in touch by letter, and Elizabeth had said that she would invite Kate to Chelsea.
As her little procession moved westward, Kate felt her spirits rising. She could not wait to resume her real life and be reunited with her children. And soon, hopefully, Francis would be home again.
—
Harry had reached twenty-one. There had been a celebration in his lodging at court. Francis had gone, and it sounded as if they had all got rather drunk.
“Will is back at court,” he had written. “He joined us. You’d think that a knighthood and being elected to Parliament might have gone to his head, but he’s still the same old Will, dependable and kind as ever.”
Harry, he added, was moving into Rochford Hall, which Mother had left to him, knowing that Kate was well set up at Greys Court.
He was shortly to take up residence there with Anne, who was with child already.
Kate thought she might go and visit them, but Rochford was a long way from Oxfordshire. Maybe later in the summer.
There were rumblings of war all through the spring, but Kate was hoping that they would come to nothing. She saw little enough of Francis as it was, without his going all the way to Scotland, with all the worry that entailed.