Chapter 33
She had done it. She had escaped, with Thomas taking the reins, and she had got word to Francis of what she was doing.
She spent the night at a nice inn in the village of Kensington, and he met her there the following morning.
It was a joy to be free, to be going away together. It felt like an adventure.
She briefly wondered if the Queen might send someone to check that she was going home on her own, but there was no sign of anyone, and she did not really think that Elizabeth would go so far; she had many more important things to do.
It was like being newlyweds again. They slept in inns along the way, using false names, lying in each other’s arms, and enjoying being just the two of them. The sense of freedom was delicious, heady.
In Reading, which lay only a few miles south of Rotherfield Greys, they made for the site of the ancient abbey.
“I thought it would be in ruins,” Francis said, “but Cecil told me that, after the dissolution, King Henry converted the buildings into a royal palace for his own use when on his travels.”
“It will be a big house, then,” Kate said.
They had not realized it would be quite so big.
It was palatial and it was easy to see, without the steward having to explain, that Abbey House, as it was now called, had been formed from several buildings, notably the gatehouse, the Abbot’s Lodging opposite, and part of the range abutting the old cloister, which included a fine old hall, a large chamber that had once served as a refectory, a parlor, a dining room, ten bedchambers, a garret with a large gallery, and several other small rooms, all standing around two courtyards. There was also a garden.
“It will be big enough for all the family,” Francis said, gazing around.
“If we can ever gather them together,” Kate chimed in wistfully. “And this is all ours?”
“Yes. The Queen has granted it to us.”
“But will she let us live here?”
“It is to be my base as her officer in these parts. Greys Court will remain our mean residence. We can use this one as a town house. It’s only a day’s ride from Windsor and accessible to London by river.
There’s a large park with good hunting. I’ll wager we’ll be entertaining the Queen here one day. ”
Mention of the Queen made Kate feel guilty.
She should not be here. She was enjoying her holiday because she had deceived her mistress.
And yet, why should she not spend time with her husband?
If Elizabeth insisted on keeping them apart and refused to acknowledge the great love between them, they had no choice but to resort to deception.
They snatched a few days at Greys Court.
It was an absolute joy to be back at home with the children, to gaze upon their shining faces and feel their arms around her, and to see the lovely old house looking so well kept.
Bilkins was doing an admirable job, and both Kate and Francis were grateful.
And there was Thomasina, as comfortable a presence as ever, and ready for a good gossip.
On the day before they were due to leave, Kate was violently sick.
She feared it was a judgment on her for pretending she was ill, but when it happened again the following morning, it dawned on her that she had missed a monthly course and that she might be with child again.
She confided in Francis, and he insisted that she stay on at Greys Court.
“I can’t do that,” she protested. “I feel bad enough about leaving the Queen on a false pretext.”
“Then we will make the journey in slow stages, so as not to tire you,” he insisted. “You must take care of yourself, darling.”
She basked in his care for her, just as she prayed that she really was pregnant, hugging to herself the comforting thought that, if she was, she would have the perfect excuse to leave court for several months.
—
When she got back to court, she found Elizabeth laughing with her brother, Harry, in her privy chamber.
He was not only Sir Harry now, having been knighted soon after the Queen’s accession, but also Baron Hunsdon and the proud owner of the royal manor of Hunsdon in Hertfordshire, where Kate had stayed with Elizabeth many times when they were young.
The two seemed to be getting on famously. When Kate rose from her curtsey and Elizabeth had greeted her, asking if she was completely recovered, Harry hugged her.
“You look blooming!” he told her.
“I am greatly restored to health,” she said hastily, lest the Queen smell a rat. Harry could be plainspoken; he had no tact. He had an honest, stout heart, yet Kate deplored his swearing and the obscenities with which he peppered his speech, although Elizabeth clearly liked them.
“I was about to tell her Majesty about a wooden statue they have at the Tower,” he told Kate. “It’s dressed up in old King Harry’s clothes and if you press a secret mechanism in the floor, his codpiece rises up in all its lusty glory!”
Kate felt herself blushing, but Elizabeth roared with laughter. “That’s priceless!” she gasped. “My father would not have approved, though. He was an old prude. By God, Harry, I like a man to be blunt—and I love you two the best in all the world.”
It was at moments like these that Kate could forgive Elizabeth for her selfishness. There was a lot to love in her, and to admire. She went into the Queen’s embrace, with Harry patting her on the back.
“I’m so glad you are well again and restored to me,” Elizabeth murmured.
They settled down to a game of cards. Kate was thinking that it was small wonder that the Queen loved her Carey cousins, since her royal relations were a constant source of anxiety and suspicion, and therefore not to be trusted.
But she and Harry posed no dynastic threat; the Queen knew she could count on their love and their loyalty.
She was still hoping that Elizabeth would give some tacit acknowledgment that she knew of the closer bond between herself and Kate.
She mentioned it to Francis on one of the rare nights when they managed to go to bed together, lying in the crook of his arm with the candlelight flickering on their entwined bodies.
“Kate, be reasonable,” he whispered. “You know that acknowledging the existence of a child born to Henry VIII and your mother would be a major embarrassment to her, and why she has never sought to have Parliament declare her legitimate. It would be politically, and personally, disadvantageous to her to acknowledge you as her father’s natural child by your mother. ”
He sighed and pulled her to him. “I know you crave that closer bond with her, but such a revelation would draw unwelcome attention to her bastard status, and that’s the last thing she wants at this time, when she sits insecurely on her throne.
Just be grateful that you are very close to her and that she loves you as her cousin. ”
“But do you think she knows I am more than that?”
“Who can say? She keeps her secrets well.”
“I know,” Kate fretted. “And maybe I ought to keep my paternity a secret to avoid further sullying my mother’s memory. Yet I do just wish that, privately, Elizabeth would give me some hint that she knows we are sisters.”
“You’re wishing for the moon, darling,” Francis said, and kissed her, then rose up on his elbow and doused the candle.
—
By March, it was a certainty that Parliament would establish the Protestant Anglican Church in England. A peace with France was soon to be concluded. The hot topic of the moment was the Queen’s marriage.
“I am not going to marry King Philip,” she declared to Kate and Kat one evening as they sat up late by the fire drinking hot aleberry. “He doesn’t really want a heretic for a wife and, as you know, I have no wish to marry at all.”
“So you are not considering the suit of the Emperor Ferdinand?” Kate asked.
“No! He is a pious bigot who is fit only for praying for his own family,” the Queen retorted.
“But I hear that he is to offer me his younger son, the Archduke Charles. He thinks thereby to bring about my conversion to Catholicism. Hah! But I hear that Charles is not overly religious and that he might turn Protestant after the wedding.”
“So you might consider him?” Kat pressed.
“I want to keep the Emperor friendly,” Elizabeth smirked.
—
One day in late March, while sitting by the fire, engrossed in a history book, Elizabeth looked up mischievously at her ladies. “I have a new suitor.”
“Who is it?” they wanted to know.
“The Earl of Arundel,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
There was a pause. “So you will consider marrying a subject?” Kat asked.
“Who said anything about marriage?” Elizabeth retorted.
“The Earl of Arundel might well have it in mind,” Kate ventured.
“Indeed, he might!” Elizabeth laughed. “I am told he has a good opinion of his chances!”
“But he is too old for your Grace,” Lady Carew pointed out.
“He is forty-seven and a widower with married daughters.” Elizabeth was twenty-five.
Kate was aghast. “He has no good looks, no manly physique, nor any courtly manners to commend him.”
“Lady Knollys speaks truth,” Lady Carew agreed. “He is a flighty man of no ability, rather silly and loutish.”
“Ah, but what he has to offer me is his wealth,” Elizabeth told them. “And he has a family lineage stretching back as far as the Norman conquest.”
“Neither is sufficient compensation for his boorish stupidity,” Kate said.
“You think I am taking his courtship seriously?” Elizabeth grinned. “I account him a buffoon, even though it pleases me to string him along. And he is not the only subject who would lure me into marriage. Sir William Pickering fancies his chances, too!” At that, the women burst out laughing.
“He’s been champing at the bit since December,” Blanche said.
“He is rather debonair,” Kate put in. “And he did support you, Bess, during the late Queen’s reign.”
“I seem to recall,” added Kat, slyly, “that when he first presented himself at your court, you granted him a private audience that lasted for four or five hours.”