by G Lawrence
I grumbled. She did not allow dancing, or music, and I loved both. She did allow me to ride out with Blanche as company though, and so I fled the house as often as I could; escaping the confinement and the tedium, the constant lectures on life and God in the free and open air of the parks, riding hard across the moist earth and breathing in the cold air of the late Spring.
I was a captive still… but this would not be the last time, nor the closest I ever came to danger.
Chapter Forty-One
Hatfield House
1549
I wrote to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector, and the Council, on the matter of Kat and Parry and my other servants. Still prisoners in the Tower, they weighed heavily on my mind.
It was an important letter; I worried for them a lot. Worried about the conditions in which they were kept, how they were, how they looked, how they were treated. My Kat was not good at looking after herself in many ways. I feared for them.
Edward Seymour had finally issued a proclamation of my innocence in the affair with Thomas Seymour, and although I knew this would not convince everyone in the country, it made me happier to see it made public. I did not want the common people thinking I was a vulgar stave. I knew that the rumours about Thomas and me had damaged my reputation in some minds, but I was determined to alter that once more. I did not like to think that the people of England should think badly of me.
But that matter could wait a little. For now, I had my friends to think on.
I started my letter to the Lord Protector by thanking him for his proclamation, and then I turned to the matter of my servants. I acknowledged that Kat and Parry had been at fault; they had erred in their duties of care to me, but I asked the Lord Protector to consider the pains that Kat had taken to bring me up with honesty and learning. I pointed out that Kat would have thought that any undertaking Thomas Seymour had planned with regards to me would have been taken to the Council by him, for he had been a member of the Council, albeit a rather transitory one. And as a gentleman a-wooing a lady, the office and responsibility to approach the Council would have been his to do, not that of a governess. Kat therefore, had erred, but she had been fooled by the actions of a man we all now knew to be guilty of treason, and who had endangered the life of the King. I pointed out that other people too, had been fooled by Thomas Seymour.
My first love became my first scapegoat. But there was nothing I could do for Thomas now… and there were things I could do for my living friends.
I further expressed in the letter that continuing to detain members, or ex-members, of my household in the Tower would mean that the common people would continue to see me as complicit in this scandal, whereas the Lord Protector, the King and the Council had proclaimed my innocence and restored my reputation.
Keeping my servants as captives was not conducive to the restoration of my character.
It was not a letter written lightly, for it put me at risk again. The stains on my reputation had only just been scrubbed clean by the Council’s proclamation, and the scandal was still close enough to tarnish my name. But I could not leave my servants imprisoned in the Tower without friend or hope of freedom.
It was never in my nature to abandon a friend.
I went over the letter again and again, writing and revising and re-writing until I was sure it hit the right notes. Then I sent it, and held my breath.
My gamble paid off. Luckily the Lord Protector Somerset and the Council agreed that the continued incarceration of my servants could be seen as proof of my guilt in the Seymour affair. All they had really wanted was the troublesome head of Thomas Seymour removed from his bothersome body; they were not, as a whole at least, after my removal from either my position or my life, although I do not hesitate to believe that some of them would have sacrificed me quite happily, if Thomas’ death had depended on it.
As it was, Thomas Seymour was dead and they were quite happy to be seen now as gracious and generous to the Princess who had been abused by such a man as he. Their own safety in their positions made them magnanimous to me. The Council released my servants as further proof to the people of my innocence. They were not allowed back into my service, and we were not allowed to meet, as it seemed the Council and my brother still thought them bad influences on my person. But they were free, and they were not left rotting in the terrible place where my own mother had died.
I breathed easier after their release. I found more peace within me… became calmer. I continued riding. I read, I learned lessons with Ascham who was allowed to tutor me under the guidance of the Tyrwhitts… and I thought much on the lessons I had learnt outside of my books in the past year.
For a while they brought my young cousin to keep me company, Lady Catherine Carey was the daughter of Henry Carey, who was the son of my mother’s sister, Mary Boleyn. Some whispered that Henry Carey was in fact the son of Mary Boleyn and my own father the King, which would make him both my cousin and my half-brother. The similarity between the features of my father and Henry Carey were quite striking, and Mary had indeed been the mistress of my father, before he set eyes on my own mother, so it was possible. But Henry Carey had never been acknowledged by my father as being his son. I would never know if he was in fact my half-brother.
As it was, in law, Catherine was my cousin, but in reality she may very well have been my niece and cousin. Such are the complications of life at times.
To me it mattered not. She was blood of my blood whichever way you looked at it, and there are times in life when connections made through the veins of one person to another, are the most important.
She was young and sweet and I was thirsty for company, for some talk and song, for some giggles and friendship. She was brought to my household as a princess should have friends of an age with her who were of noble birth. She became a close friend and confidant… although I shied away from revealing anything of the scandal that had passed.
I had learnt to be cautious. Like my friend the little vixen in the dark night.
Our time passed in peace. Blanche taught me more Welsh and my tongue stopped tripping over the words she spoke to me, and started to lilt with their turn and inflection, but I stopped trying to talk in code near the Tyrwhitts.
Perhaps it was just that I learned to know them better, or that they came to believe in the proclamation of my innocence, but they started to soften towards me a little. Neither of them laughed much; they thought jokes and plays, music and dancing were frivolous things and did not approve of them. Whilst I liked this not, I started to remember the joys of merely reading and being alone with my own thoughts without interruption. Perhaps they brought me back to a sense of gravity and dignity that I had been lacking in my education under Kat.
I even started to understand Lady Tyrwhitt, and although I could never take on her joyless version of religion, I did like one stock phrase she used over and over at me. That it was of benefit to “be always one…” I translated this into Latin - “semper eadem” – it was the same phrase used in my mother’s precious books, given to me by Katherine Parr. The phrase grew on me, perhaps for both connections to my life which it now had, and I liked it so much, that I adopted it as my own personal motto.
Where men and seasons change, where people die, betray and leave, it is of value not to waver from the truth of your own soul, and never to betray the values that you hold dear.
With the Seymour scandal I had allowed my heart to rule my head; it should never happen again. That, I swore to myself.
Semper eadem meant that one should be the master of one’s own emotions, no matter what life presented you, or challenged you with.
In the house of my own body, I should be the only master.
Chapter Forty-Two
Hatfield House
1549
My days at Hatfield became routine. I would rise early, take some small exercise in the gardens, or the long halls and gallery if it was raining, then settle into hours of studies with Roger Ascham, who was re
stored to me. Kat and Parry were still not allowed to visit or communicate with me, but there was a slow trickle of my old servants wending their way back to my service, somewhat secretly as I doubt the Council would have approved. Loyalty and love from servants are telling of the spirit of a master. I regarded my household as being my friends as much as they were my servants and the love I showed them was returned to me threefold in the loyalty they showed me at this time and others. True loyalty is not something that can be bought; it is only something that can be given.
Ascham was good for me too, showing me the peace that could come with diligent study. We started our lessons with translations and discussions on the New Testament in Greek, followed by orations of Isocrates or the tragedies of Sophocles and devoted the afternoons to Cicero, Livy or to learning modern languages. By this time in my life I could speak English, Italian and French all as though they were my first language, and Latin with some degree of fluency. I could read and translate Greek and was learning Welsh and Spanish. In the late afternoon, there would be time for musical studies, or practise in handwriting which I found took my mind into a place of great artistic beauty and concentration.
On good days I would ride out with Blanche, wither to hunt, or just to feel the fresh air rushing over my face and body. We would stop to talk to the common people we encountered along the way, and to take whatever gifts of apples, cakes, cider, or flowers that they or their children offered to us.
The more of the common men and women I met, the more I loved them. I was convinced at an early age that England has the best of all peoples in her borders. A race who rise early to make the best of all they have, work hard for all their pleasures and survival, and fall into bed, worn and tired from their days in the field or at the plough. I knew their lives were not easy, and yet whenever I saw them they offered me their wares and their hearts. I loved to be with them, away from the confusions of my own life.
I remembered how my father would play cards late into the night with the workmen who built his most beautiful palaces, how he had reached his arm about both noble and common shoulders alike and engendered their friendship. I too wanted to nurture a relationship with the people, so that they could see that the spirit of my great father lived on within my own blood. Perhaps I wanted to honour his memory; perhaps I wanted them to say I was like him. But whatever the reason, I longed for the love of the people of England.
During those months of incarceration and despair I had found inside myself a new strength, and a new awareness. The affair with Thomas had been the last vestige of the child in me; a young girl led into betraying those she loved, by the foolish desires and inclinations of her own traitorous heart. I had been tempted and I had fallen. I had been tested and failed. It would not happen again.
As I stepped aside from my first love and looked back at it, I was ridden with guilt for the pains I had caused my good stepmother, who now lay in the arms of God. I mused on the actions I had taken during that time and felt ashamed of myself for having so betrayed all that I held dear. I hoped that surely, in the depth of punishment that I received in this matter, the separation from my beloved Kat; the arrest and abuse of my servants; the deaths of Thomas and Katherine; the forced incarceration with the Tyrwhitts; the damage done to my own name…surely, in those punishments was the hand of God trying to show me what my own selfish desires and actions had led to for myself, and for others.
I had sinned, and I had been punished. God had taught me valuable lessons in this matter and I would not forget them.
But still, despite this reasoning within me, I mourned for Thomas; when I thought of that handsome head lying on the block, it made my stomach churn and my head hurt. But though I mourned for his death, I could not excuse our actions taken together, to act on desire of the body and to forget all other loyalties and duties because of that desire.
After the first few months with the Tyrwhitts, after I had got used to the indomitable Lady and the stoic Sir, I started to appreciate some of the unchanging stability they were offering to my life. Perhaps after all the rush and confusion I had felt whilst held in the arms of desire, this was the tonic I needed to recover myself. Even so though, I missed Kat desperately, I thought of her often since we were not allowed to write or visit. I hoped that she was also taking time to ponder on her own sins for this affair, and to make peace with them, as I sought to.
Over time, I found comfort in my religious studies and in the Protestant state that my brother was creating in England; I started to lean towards the simple and un-glorified. I dressed plainly. Although my dresses were still of the best materials, I wore simple colours, garbing myself in black and white and leaving behind the adornments of rings or necklaces that had previously covered my neck, fingers and wrists. I wanted to show that I was no longer the same frivolous person I had been when Thomas Seymour chased me screaming around the bedchamber. I wanted people to know that I had learned and changed for although I had been exonerated by the King and Council, I knew there were still plenty within this world who doubted my innocence.
It is ever the practise of the young adult to try to show inward character through outward clothing. I was no exception.
Eventually, I started to be invited to court, sparingly at first, and only on formal occasions when seeing my younger brother; and then, as the Council and the King found that they approved of the ‘new Elizabeth’ in plain Protestant styles, I was invited to court more frequently. Although the start of 1549 had been disastrous, as the months wore on towards my sixteenth birthday, I started to breathe more easily.
It was rare that Edward and I were free to act as true brother and sister together. He was the King, and he took all his duties with the utmost of seriousness. We were little left alone and our conversation was often formal and serious. I worried for him at times as the strain of so much responsibility and power at such a young age did seem to take a toll on his strength. He was pale and thin in body, and often distracted and thoughtful in his mind. But Edward had always taken his position most earnestly; it was not in his nature to abandon himself to the pursuit of pleasure over the demands of responsibility. But he responded to my gentle friendship as a flower turns its face to the light of the sun, and began to request my presence at court more and more.
His Councillors, the Lord Protector amongst them, seemed to see that my presence at his side cheered him, and they were happy in this. I was now the model of what a modest Protestant maiden should be; demure, learned and gracious in my humility to our King… the paragon of the virtues they admired. They liked me and my influence at court now a vast deal; certainly more than our sister Mary. Edward and his Council got little joy from our older sister, who by now was barely ever invited to his court.
Mary was a thorn in the side of both Edward and his Council. She was making trouble for them. The problem between my brother and sister was that Mary was much older than Edward and I, and had been raised as a Catholic. All the practises that she loved and clung to belonged to that faith and she refused to convert to Protestantism. Edward and his Council had made England fully a Protestant country, but here was the present heir to the throne not only refusing to bow to their will, but actively promoting the Catholic faith in defiance of their laws.
Mary loved the Catholic faith. I think, not only because it was the faith she was raised in, but because she associated her loyalty to that religion as synonymous with her loyalty to her long-dead and beloved mother, Katherine of Aragon. When our father had become Head of the Church, Mary had been forced, under pain of death, to proclaim that her mother’s marriage to our father had been unlawful, and to revoke her loyalty to the See of Rome. These had not been things that she would ever have abandoned lightly, and I doubt very much if she would have done so had her life not been in dire danger. When our father died, and our younger brother took his place on the throne, Mary saw no need to continue in pretence of her true feelings and loyalties. She made quite clear that she was a Catholic, loyal to Rome and she di
d not fear our little brother as she had done our father.
Her refusal to convert her religion was bad enough, but her household also encouraged Catholics to flock to it, making it a base for dissent against the King and his Council. Not everyone in England was ready or willing to convert from Catholicism to Protestantism. Mary was making herself a dangerous enemy to the peace of England… and she did not seem to take Edward at all seriously when he threatened her.
The trappings and ceremony of the Catholic faith were all the religious practises that Edward and I had been raised to see as false, heretical and vainglorious. The Protestant religion that Edward favoured was simple, stripped of all its pretensions. It allowed one a closer, personal relationship with God. Mary may have thought that Edward was simply led by his Council in matters religious, but she was entirely wrong. Our little brother was as set in his faith as she was in hers, and he was enraged at her defiance of his will.
With the coming of Edward’s reign, the religious changes brought about by our father became solidified into a fully Protestant religion for the country of England and her territories. It was only to be expected, since both Edward and I had been raised in the Protestant faith, and even under our father’s time, it was clear to which side of the Christian conundrum we were being placed into.