Chapter 23 #2
Kate’s spirits suddenly lifted. Her mother had often said that when God closed one door, He opened another, and now it seemed that some good would come out of this dreadful change.
“I could ask for nothing more,” she said, leaning into Francis and resting her head on his shoulder. “Yet I cannot but think of all the poor souls who will be lost for want of the freedom to worship as they please. Oh, Francis, what shall we do? How will we continue to practice our faith?”
“We shall go on as normal,” he said firmly. “We must pray that Mary exercises tolerance. She is coming to the throne on a tide of public acclaim. She is much loved. She will not want to jeopardize that. Let us see what transpires. It may not be as bad as we fear.”
—
Again, Kate wrote to Elizabeth. Aware that she was now next in line to the throne, she couched her letter in more deferential terms, yet kept it affectionate.
She hoped that her dearest cousin was well; she expressed her deepest condolences on the death of the King, and said that she rejoiced in Mary’s accession, and hoped that she would see Elizabeth soon.
It was weeks before she received a reply.
When she did, she saw that it was dated at Whitehall.
Elizabeth apologized for the delay. She explained that, as soon as she had heard of Mary’s triumph, she had ridden to greet her as she approached London and accompanied her when she entered the City in triumph.
“Northumberland tried to flee, but he is taken,” she added.
“All the Dudleys are in the Tower, as are the Lady Jane and her husband.”
Soon afterward, they heard from Cecil that Northumberland had been beheaded.
There was no word of what would happen to Jane.
Francis, who had not returned to court or been summoned there, read out Cecil’s letter to Kate: “The Queen has made a good beginning. She is determined to rule well and has a remarkable capacity for conscientious hard work. She attends as many Council meetings as possible and writes many official letters in her own hand. She is bountiful to those who come to her with petitions or grievances and rarely turns anyone away. Yet I fear that, being a woman, she will be incapable of governing effectively.”
He laid it on the table. “I agree with Cecil. Women are not fit to rule. A woman is never feared or respected as a man is, whatever her rank. In time of war, it is entirely impossible for a woman to govern satisfactorily. All she can do is shoulder responsibility for mistakes committed by others. And this woman has no training for queenship. She is a political innocent. I see trouble ahead.”
Kate could not help feeling a little indignant at his words.
She could agree that Mary was not fit to be queen, yet look at what she herself and a lot of other women could—and did—do!
They ran estates and households, brought up children, ordered servants, and supported their husbands.
Why should they not be respected as much as men were?
And was it really impossible for a woman to govern?
Were kingdoms not unlike households? She sat there simmering quietly.
Life with Francis at home was not proving to be as idyllic as Kate had envisaged.
He was restless, bored, and edgy. She suspected that he had been hoping for a summons to resume his duties at court, for had not the Queen forgiven the entire Privy Council for its disloyalty in supporting Jane?
Yet Francis was probably too much of a firebrand.
He had never shied from making his views known, sometimes vociferously.
Kate kept busy, feeling as if she were treading on hot plowshares.
She made sure that the children did not bother their father when he was in one of his low moods and did everything she could to cheer him.
But she instinctively knew that his life here was not enough for him.
He was used to being at the very center of events, and he was feeling deprived.
That August, Will came to see them, bringing Dot. He was still at court, serving as a Gentleman Pensioner.
“I am waiting to see what transpires,” he said, accepting a goblet of wine from Kate.
“Has Queen Mary made any statement on religion?” Francis asked.
“No, but Mass is being said in the royal chapels.”
Francis made a disgusted sound.
“I know,” Will said, “but the word is that the Queen means to be tolerant, although many councillors and courtiers are now rushing to declare their error in converting to the new religion and are going about sporting rosaries and crucifixes. You never saw such a lot of time-servers. But Francis, not everyone is so hypocritical. You should come back to court. Your post hasn’t been filled. No one will force you to attend Mass.”
Francis looked torn.
“Will speaks sense,” Kate said. “You’ve been moping around here. I’ll be glad to get you out from under my feet.”
Francis assumed a hurt mien. “And I thought you wanted to have me at home.”
“I do, but not when you’re behaving like an angry bear.” Kate laughed. “Besides, at court you’ll be able to see which way the wind is blowing. At the slightest sign of trouble, you could resign.”
Her husband was nodding. “You’re both right. I shall return.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Will grinned, clapping Francis on the back.
—
As they sat down for dinner, Kate asked Will if he had seen Elizabeth.
“She is one of the reasons I’m here. She is still at court. She’s very popular, and when the Queen appears in public, she is often with her, occupying the place of honor at her side, while Mary holds her hand affectionately.”
Kate was glad that Dr. Palmer was away visiting his family. She would not have included him in this conversation. “Has Elizabeth attended Mass?” she wanted to know.
“Not yet, as far as I’m aware, but I’m sure she has no wish to alienate the Queen.”
“She’ll not want to lose her Protestant supporters either,” Francis said.
“If only she would answer my letters,” Kate said. “I’ve sent three but received no reply.”
Will smiled at her. “That is not surprising. In her position, it would be unwise to commit anything but the most innocuous news to paper. But before I left court last week, I encountered her in a gallery, and she pushed this into my hand. I think she had been waiting for me.” He handed Kate a dog-eared piece of paper, folded up small.
It bore just the name “Kate.” She opened it up and saw the alphabet written beside lines of symbols that made no sense.
“She said I was to give you this also,” Will added. It looked like a letter, written in those strange symbols.
Francis was looking over Kate’s shoulder. “It’s a cipher. We need to decode the letter.”
“Let me do it,” Dot said. “I used to make up codes with my brothers. I find them fascinating. But I’ll need pen and paper.”
“Let’s eat first,” Kate said, even though she was itching to find out what Elizabeth had written.
“A capital idea!” Francis replied.
After dinner, they all retreated to Francis’s study, where Dorothy sat at the table and began deciphering the letter.
Kate read it avidly.
“Keep the code in a secret place,” Elizabeth had written.
“Burn this letter when you have read it, and any others I send you. I cannot write openly, for these are dangerous times for those of our faith. My sister is putting pressure on me to embrace the Catholic religion and is not pleased when I refuse. She says it is unthinkable that her heir should be a Protestant. I fear that she is becoming antagonistic toward me. Ours can never be an easy sisterhood because the past will always lie like a sword between us. Our religious differences can only make matters worse. But I have to stay at court, under her eye. I will write more when I can. I think of you often and long for the old days at Hatfield. When I send to you next, my messenger will give you the password Semper eadem.”
Always the same. Elizabeth’s personal motto had long been familiar to Kate.
Much troubled, Kate passed the letter around. “I don’t like what this portends,” she murmured.
Will looked up. “I can see why Mary wants her heir to be a Catholic, but that surely doesn’t mean she expects us all to convert back to the old faith.”
“I fear this is what carpenters call the thin end of the wedge,” Francis observed darkly. “If Mary starts with small things, she may look for bigger ones.”
“I still say that we should wait and see,” Will insisted. “Come back to court, my friend. Forewarned is forearmed!”
—
Francis had been back in his post for a week when Elizabeth’s messenger arrived, a young man who wore no livery yet muttered the correct password and gave Kate a letter with a plain seal before remounting his horse and departing.
Kate took the letter up to the solar and read it with grave misgivings.
The Queen was showing Elizabeth marked hostility because of her obstinacy over religion.
The French ambassador, Monsieur de Noailles, had begun to court Elizabeth’s favor.
He was no friend to the Queen because of her devotion to the Emperor Charles V, France’s enemy, and was doing everything in his power to discountenance her.
“I believe he is trying to set me up as a rival for the crown,” Elizabeth had written, “but I am not such a fool that I cannot see that the King of France will not lift a finger to put me on the throne, not when he wants to secure the succession for his daughter-in-law, the Queen of Scots. He means to incite me to rebellion against my sister, or wishes me to set myself up at the head of an opposing faction. His purpose is to keep Mary too occupied to consider supporting the Emperor against the French. Well, dear cousin, I will keep my counsel. You shall hear from me again soon.”