Chapter 22 #2
After leaving the kitchens, she walked to the herb garden with a list the cook had given her and began to pick the selected plants, the air around her redolent with their scent.
The smell of rosemary evoked the last time she had been in a herb garden, which was when she had visited Elizabeth last autumn at Ewelme.
Elizabeth had never come to Greys Court or Caversham, despite repeated invitations, so when Kate learned that Edward had given her Ewelme, she was thrilled to think that her unacknowledged sister would be residing so near to her.
But Elizabeth had not returned to Ewelme since then, evidently preferring her other houses, and Francis was worried that, if she stayed away too long, it would fall into disrepair.
He urged Kate to warn her of that, but Kate did not like to appear to be putting pressure on her to visit.
As she had long known, their friendship was to be played out on Elizabeth’s terms. Nevertheless, they were still close, still very much in touch by letter, and the affection between them was as warm as ever.
Their shared faith had brought them even closer.
Yet not once had Elizabeth ever hinted that she knew they were sisters.
She had, however, expressed her approval of Francis’s staunch devotion to the Protestant faith, and that, Kate knew, was praise indeed, given Elizabeth’s usual antipathy toward him.
As she knelt there with her scissors and trug, Kate felt glad that Elizabeth had recovered her good reputation.
She had had a hard time after Queen Katharine died in childbed.
The following year, when her widower, Lord Seymour, was arrested for treason, it emerged that the handsome, ambitious rogue had made inappropriate advances to Elizabeth at Chelsea, under the poor Queen’s very nose, she deeming them innocent—or so it was said.
There had been scandalized gossip about morning romps in Elizabeth’s bedchamber—scandalous because she was second in line to the throne and to seduce or marry her without royal permission was high treason.
That rogue had taken advantage of her when she was not yet fourteen, and Kate was convinced that she had been drawn to him, unable to prevent herself responding to his advances.
In recent years, she had tried to talk about what happened with Elizabeth, but Elizabeth would never be drawn on her feelings for Seymour.
It had ended, of course, in tears and worse.
Kate had received a distressed letter from her cousin, telling her that the Queen had sent her away from her household, having come upon her in Seymour’s arms. To make matters worse, Katharine Parr had been pregnant at the time.
Elizabeth had been sent to Cheshunt, to the home of Kat’s sister Joan, who was married to Sir Anthony Denny.
Elizabeth had not wanted to go there, and she had been distraught at the thought of losing the love of her stepmother.
All of this Kate learned from several frantic letters.
After Seymour’s arrest in 1549, Elizabeth, still only fifteen, had been mercilessly interrogated by the King’s Council in the hope that she would further incriminate him by admitting that he had unlawfully plotted to marry her.
Kat and Thomas Parry, Elizabeth’s comptroller, were imprisoned in the Tower and questioned, too.
Terrified though she was, Elizabeth had held her own, displaying her unique, instinctive mental dexterity.
Kate had not heard from her at this time.
Later, Elizabeth explained that she had been too frightened to commit anything, however innocuous, to paper lest it be misconstrued and used against her.
She had given nothing away; she had been unable to save Seymour from the terrible consequences of his misdeeds, but she saved herself.
And then she had reinvented herself as a virtuous Protestant princess in order to salvage her tarnished reputation.
On the few occasions when Kate had seen her, right up to the previous autumn, she had been soberly dressed in black and white, with little jewelry.
The fabrics, however, were sumptuous, and the black dyes costly, and Elizabeth had plainly been aware that she looked striking in such elegant attire, which set off her long red hair and slender hands to perfection.
At nineteen, she was not beautiful: she had the thin face of the Boleyns and her father’s Roman nose; but she was witty and vivacious, and men were undeniably drawn to her.
Yet she showed no particular favor to any of them, for she was still determined never to marry.
Kate was beginning to believe that she meant it.
—
Two days later, Kate kept going to the window in hopes of seeing Francis and their guests approaching. It was nearing dinnertime when they arrived and she found herself swept into her husband’s strong embrace.
“Oh, Kate, it is so good to see you!” he breathed in her ear, then kissed her heartily on the mouth. “Come and greet our guests.”
Kate turned and saw Dorothy alighting from a litter; and there was Will, the same as ever, offering her his hand and looking down on her with the utmost tenderness. When he saw Kate walking toward them, he gave a shout and kissed her fully on the lips.
“Kate, always a joy to see you,” he declared.
Kate kissed them both on the cheek. Her stepmother was still only thirty-one, fourteen years younger than Will, and very pretty.
Will had decided that he wanted an heir, like all landed men, and therefore had thought it best to take a young bride, yet no one had thought he would find someone as charming as Dorothy, with her pointed little face, wide-set eyes, and dark curls.
“Dot!” Kate greeted her. “You are most welcome!”
She led them into the great hall, where the children greeted them enthusiastically, vying with each other for their father’s attention. She showed them to the guest chamber in the tower, where an ewer of water, a basin, and towels of fine Holland cloth had been set out for them.
“Dinner is about to be served,” she told them. “Come down when you are ready.” From the way Will was looking at Dot, she thought that might not be for some time, but they appeared only a few moments later, hand in hand.
Dinner was a lively affair, and as dish after dish of choice meats was served, Kate enjoyed herself hugely.
It was wonderful to have Francis home and to feel the sweet pinch of his hand on her knee beneath the tablecloth; and it was good to see Will looking so happy and enjoying a lively debate on religion with Dr. Palmer.
Life was marvelous—and it would remain marvelous if the King lived.
Will and Dot were eager to speak of the charms of their four-month-old son, Edward.
“We named him after the King,” Dot said.
“How is the King?” Kate asked.
Francis and Will exchanged glances. “Not well,” Francis said. “But I cannot tell you much more because he has not been seen in public recently. No one knows what is happening. Northumberland says nothing.”
Kate shivered, despite the warmth of the fire and the convivial company.
She had never met the Duke of Northumberland, but knew he was a firm ruler, and a militant Protestant.
Francis had told Kate that he had vigorously opposed the Lady Mary having her Masses; it sounded as if he had made her life a misery with his threats.
But why was he keeping silent about the King’s health? That sounded ominous.
“Do you think his Majesty is very ill?” Kate asked, looking anxiously at Francis.
“I fear so. If he were not, we would know about it.”
“We must brace ourselves for change,” Will said.
“That will be nothing new to me. I found favor under Somerset, but when he fell, I made speed to get into the good graces of Northumberland. It was he who gave me an annuity in recognition of my good service to the late King Henry, and he has entrusted me with special missions.” A shamefaced look came over his face.
“I regretted what happened to Somerset, but I agreed with Northumberland that he had misgoverned England. For his overweening ambition, his vainglory, his rash wars, his enriching himself with the King’s treasure, and doing all by his own authority, he deserved to be brought down.
And then, of course, there were those charges of treason. ”
Kate and Francis said nothing. Kate knew that her husband did not share Will’s views of Somerset, although he supported Northumberland. He had told her that Will had felt it his duty to report to Northumberland compromising words uttered by a servant in defense of Somerset.
“But this will be a different kind of change,” Francis said at length. “Somerset and Northumberland have promoted the new religion. Mary is a devout Catholic. Do you see her tolerating what she must see as heresy?”
“I barely know her,” Will said gloomily.
“She has fought doggedly for the right to have her Mass. That must tell us something. But the question we must ponder first is, will this kingdom accept a woman as its sovereign lady?”
“It’s not natural,” Will muttered. “Saving your presence, ladies, women are not born to rule.”
“No, they are meant to be subject to their husbands, as they are the weaker sex,” Francis said, picking up the ewer of wine and refilling their goblets. “How does wielding dominion over men ride with that? What if a queen regnant marries? Is her husband to be subject to her?”
“I say again, it is against nature,” Will opined. “Yet, according to law, Mary is next in line.”
“That’s as may be, yet she is still, by law, a bastard. Some may take issue with that.”
“We can only hope so.” Will was shaking his head. “But don’t hold out too much hope. There will be those who will stand up for her right.”
“She’ll have to contend with Northumberland first. I can’t see him recognizing her as queen. It will be the end of his career.”