by G Lawrence
Edward, however, was very much taken with his new head of Council. Warwick talked to him like an adult and a King, showing deference for his intelligence and his religious sensibilities. But I could see that Warwick was also an excellent manipulator, and he was working on Edward, working away little by little, so that eventually, the head of the Council, should become the voice, and perhaps the will, of the King.
Trusting in those who set out to charm us usually ends in betrayal, for why else should they need to charm but for reasons of their own?
After that Christmas at court, it was in February of 1550 that I finally came into my full inheritance.
It was vast.
Dozens of manors, houses and stretches of land slipped into my hands detailed on white parchments. Ewelme in Oxfordshire, Ashridge, Hemel Hempstead, Great Missenden, Berkhamstead, Princes Risborough, manors at Huntingdonshire, Collyweston, Uppingham, Preston, Maxey and to my delight, estates in Peterborough that made me the neighbour of my advisor Cecil. It was with ease that I could visit his family home when I would visit my estates there. But this was not the end of my list, oh no! Estates in Newbury, Dorset, Hampshire, Lincolnshire, Enfield, Somerset House followed and finally, Durham Palace in London.
There had been a time, when I was a small child, after my mother was taken to be killed on the orders of my father that my protector, Lady Bryan, had to beg for clothes for me from the very author of my mother’s fall, Master Thomas Cromwell. I had been so overlooked then that I was not bought clothes to fit the growing body of the child I was.
Now, I was a princess in full possession of vast and substantial estates, money, men and titles.
I had emerged from my childhood in disgrace and wretchedness, a prisoner accused of treason. Now, I was the beloved sister of the King; a rich woman and a powerful woman in my own right. But the grants of land and riches held a nasty little barb in their tail; it was made clear in my grants that these lands and the wealth that came from them were entitled to me only until the day on which the Council and the King provided me with a suitable match and husband. When I married, the Council would choose which of those estates may be granted to my husband as my dowry, and which would return to the hands of the King.
On the day I married, I would lose all of the power and property that I had been gifted in my own right as a princess.
On the day I married, I would lose all my own power and influence, placing them into the hands of some unknown man who would have absolute command over me for the rest of my life.
On the day I married… I would have nothing that was truly my own.
Chapter Forty-Five
London
1550
Early in the new year of 1550, soon after acquiring my inheritance, I made a deal with John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, to exchange houses.
The new rule and his new position were going smoothly and happily for Warwick, as they were for me, but there was something missing in the vast inheritance that I had; one thing I wanted more than anything else, and Warwick was in possession of it.
Hatfield.
Hatfield House was the place I had first lived in when I was a babe. Although my early memories do not contain anything I could say was firm or secure, the house brought back feelings to me; feelings that were not all good, but nonetheless were strong enough that I did not feel it should belong to any but me. I had spent time there as a child with Edward. Mary had looked after me there as a cherished and loved younger sister; I had been held as a captive there. As I said, not all the memories were good, but all were strong.
It was as close a thing as I had, to a real home.
There were reasons practical as well as sentimental for the desire for the house and estate. Hatfield was only twenty miles from London; far enough away to retreat if there was trouble, and yet close enough to be near to the seats of power when needed. It was closer to the capital than Mary’s residence and so I had an advantage over her in keeping a close eye on the unfolding politics of the new reign. With the advice in my ear of Cecil, Parry, Denny, Ascham and Paulet, I was becoming aware of the need to have eyes on the centre of power at all times. I was now sixteen, in possession of my own inheritance and money, favoured by the King my brother and rising high in the popularity of the people.
But I also was much attached to the house.
I loved the gardens at Hatfield. Great, flowing, well structured gardens with a huge park for riding and escaping from worldly troubles. In all lives surrounded by the stresses of power games, being able to ride out, almost alone was one of life’s ultimate rewards for the price of surviving each day.
So, I went to see Warwick at Richmond Palace. He had great and gracious apartments now, as the closest advisor to the King; the King’s goodly right-hand, as one might say. The dejected Somerset had by now been released from imprisonment and allowed to rejoin the Council with Warwick’s permission. You may think this a strange move for such a man as Warwick, to invite the man he had displaced back to a position of potential power… but however clever he was with politics, he also found a deep satisfaction in watching those he had toppled scrape for his approval. And so was it with Somerset; brought back to the Council so that Warwick could watch him lick at the heels of his boots for favour, all the time knowing that Somerset hated him. For some men, hatred is more important than love. It was so with Warwick, for he had worked his way from the shame and ignominy of his father’s fall to become, almost, the most powerful man in England. Such men often revel in the disgrace of others.
Warwick’s father had been an excellent servant to my grandfather, Henry VII, but when my own father came to the throne, Warwick’s father had found himself without a head, on charges of treason. My father always knew how to appease the common man, and taking the head of one of the old regime that the country had grown tired and disillusioned with had been seen as an excellent and most popular start to a new reign.
Was Warwick’s father really a traitor? His crimes had hardly been heinous. But it is the monarch who decides on treachery, and my father had sacrificed the head of that Dudley to the altar of popular belief.
This Dudley, Earl of Warwick, had worked his way up from those shameful beginnings to take on his father’s repealed titles once more. I had worked my way out from under the scandal of Seymour, out from the scandal of my mother’s reputation. Perhaps we had more in common than we thought. But this did not make me trust him, if anything it made me more wary of him.
Warwick seemed amused by my offer, and was happy enough to leave Hatfield in my hands. I swapped it to him for Caistor, a remote estate that I had never seen and cared nothing for, but would pay him rich dividends from its lands.
His brown eyes glinted at me, sparkling with amusement when he looked me over. He was a handsome man; all the Dudleys were. With brown eyes and dark hair, a short beard and a tall and powerful frame, he was just the kind of man able to make my heart quicken. But I had learnt, from the tutelage of Thomas Seymour, how to hide the rush of passion I might feel when I saw a man I desired. No spark of colour flooded to my cheeks when I talked property with the Earl of Warwick.
His sons were often at court, deposited into good offices that gained the family more wealth and titles. I saw Robin in the halls of court when I visited, sometimes with Edward, and that gave me much pleasure. The young Dudley was married now to a pretty little wife. But I was not interested in her… Robin was a pleasure to look on, not yet as sure and confident as his father, he still radiated appeal. So dark, with his body lithe and strong, almost, but still yet not quite a man…. Ah yes, I have to admit to you, even then I watched Robin Dudley with a quiver of excitement in my heart. He was no match for me in status, and was now married too into the bargain. But sometimes we look on things we know we cannot have perhaps with more pleasure than those we are able to get. Their very attraction somewhat enhanced by the very fact they are unattainable.
But I would no more be held in public scorn due to a man. I had learned restrai
nt and control. I had learnt coolness and reserve. So, I looked, but I told my private thoughts to none.
Warwick and I exchanged houses and I took up my main residence at Hatfield. From this canny vantage point I would be able to keep a close eye on the factions and gossip of the court; my advisors and I should be able to take quiet leave of any problems in the capital; and I would be able to work on strengthening my relationship with my brother. With the growing discord between Mary and him over religious matters, with her defiance of his rule and beliefs, with the growing power of Warwick over the King, it was important that I was close at hand to preserve the power I presently held.
Chapter Forty-Six
Hatfield House
1550
One morning I rose early, as was my habit, with a great sense of expectation and excitement. My ladies dressed me, I washed my hands and face in water infused with herbs, I took a lozenge of mint and lemon-balm to sweeten my breath and rolled it around in my mouth.
When I was ready, I looked into my mirror and saw a young woman there of grave expression. Red hair like fire flowing from her head, dressed in simple colours of fresh white which made the pale nature of her skin and the black snap of her eyes stand out so much better than any complex cloth or gold and jewels could have nurtured.
I was taller, grown more, grown graver and more adult than when she had last seen me. Should she recognise her Elizabeth under all this womanly visage? Would she still see the child she held in her arms and spoke comfort to in the hours of her greatest sorrows?
Would she have changed too? Would she still be my greatest friend, the woman who raised and protected me?
Would she still be my Kat?
I went downstairs, but I could little break my fast of the night before. I was too nervous and too excited to eat. Denny and Paulet would not bother me with any further business today, for I had wanted to greet my friend as was her due.
There was no greater business in my head or my heart today, than the business of returning the heart of the house to her place.
It had been almost two years since we had been pulled apart; Kat taken to the Tower with Parry, questioned and abused. Who knew what they had done to my gentle Kat in there to make her talk against me? Two years we had been apart without being allowed to visit or see each other, without being able to write even a few words of comfort to each other. Such was the degree of her disgrace at having allowed Thomas Seymour such liberties with a princess of royal blood.
I had grown in the time we had spent apart, and not only with years. I knew well the levels of danger that her behaviour had encouraged my person into now, and I was unlikely to ever step so far into the jaws of peril willingly again, but to me, she was the woman who had raised me, cared for me, sung to me and above all things, loved me… not because I was a princess, but for my own self. She had made mistakes, as had I, but she was still the most important person in my world.
I was sixteen now, fresh faced and clear of thought. I wanted those around me whom I knew loved me and would protect me. This was a dangerous world and loyalty counted for a great deal in my eyes. Although Kat had eventually betrayed me to her captors, I did not hold a grudge. I knew somewhere deep within my heart that she would never fail me again. I knew this because she would never have returned to my service if she thought she might be a danger to me. That was the depth of her love.
In the distance, I saw their party from the window. Parry and Jon Ashtley would be there also, riding at her side and no doubt having to remind her of my love for her. Kat was likely to be nervous coming back to my house, fearful that I would love her less. I felt my heart skip in a nervous, yet excited way as I watched the figures of my childhood household ride towards me once more. I was nervous to see her once more, anxious to assure her that my love for her was unchanged. I did not want my Kat to worry anymore.
There are some people with whom the importance of retaining a friendship is dependant upon seeing them every day, feeling their presence and hearing their voice. But true friendships, I believe, come from people who are not able to be always or forever with each other, and although the passage of time may cause them to spread apart for months, or years, when they come back together again, they are able to fall into conversation as though they had only seen each other the day before. In that ease, that acceptance and awareness of minds, therein lays true friendship.
I rushed from the house and into the courtyard as they entered it. As they climbed from their horses and started to bow to me, I ignored them, searching the crowd for the one pair of eyes I had longed to see more than any other.
And there she was. I stopped in my tracks as I saw her. Her gown was severe and black, her face had more lines and her figure was stouter, but her brown warm eyes were everything that had ever meant love to me. I saw her eyes fill with tears as she saw me. Her lips puckered with all the words she had wanted to say, had most likely practised saying, and now, was entirely unable to say.
Without ceremony I took two steps across the courtyard and threw myself crying with joy and pain into the arms of my governess and my best friend.
As the others around us dropped down, bowing to me as their princess and liege lord, I grasped the form of Kat Astley with all the strength in my long-fingered hands and slender arms. She melted into me and we stood, two women in a courtyard, clinging to one another as a drowning sailor clings to a mast in a storm.
There were no words. Those came later and they came in floods.
Silence is the only true sign of such joy that can never be expressed.
When we broke apart weeping, I took Parry, and then John into my arms as well, but returned soon enough to Kat.
I had my family once more.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Richmond Palace
February 1603
Home.
It is a simple word and yet one filled with thoughts and hopes, with memory and with complexity.
The home we are given to grow up in is not always the home we settle in later in life. For some, the home of childhood is a happy place which will ever be their comfort and safety. Others, not gifted with that same luck may later carve out their own home and hopefully, fill it with the love they were not offered when they were children.
But in whatever form, we all need a home.
I think that we come to understand that home is as much the people that we love as the bricks that shelter our bodies. It is the warmth in the eyes of a friend and the welcome at the end of a day. In many ways we make our home in the hearts of those we love, and doing so, we find our home wherever we find our friends.
When I chose to deal houses with Warwick and won Hatfield House from the deal, I was indeed trying to come home. To a place and a time which were no more innocent than the days that followed, but which seemed more innocent because I was more innocent, back then. I wanted to have a place where I could remember with ease the events of my childhood, remember the person I was before I started to lose my innocence in the naughty world around me.
But whilst we can scrape a meal from the past, we cannot truly fill our plates without the present and the future. When I took Hatfield back as my own, I filled it with the people who cared for me. With servants who had proven their loyalty, with friends who visited not only because I was the Princess, but because they liked me. Hatfield became the base of my operations to keep careful eye on the throne and the events at court, but it became so much more than that to me. It is impossible and implausible to attribute human emotions to a house made of brick and mortar. But whenever I came back to Hatfield I felt as though the house itself was reaching its arms out to meet me, welcoming its mistress back… home.
We all need a home. It is as deep and basic an instinct to us as needing companionship and affection. It is the steady and unchanging rock against which we place our backs so that we might face the world with a chin held high and eyes that do not waver. It is the root of our strength and the place where we can be ourselves in truth.
Some people find it in their childhood, and some people find it much later. But whether home be a place made of bricks, or the warmth of a friend’s heart, we all need one.
Home makes us human, and it makes us strong.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Hatfield House
1550
I was surrounded by clever and cautious men.
My household at Hatfield was becoming a little hub for those who were interested in gaining favour at court, via the King’s Sweet Sister Temperance as he called me, and for those who were interested in the preservation of the Protestant rule.
Mary, by contrast, was bringing together all those who wished to see a return to the authority of Rome. Her house at Hudson was a pilgrimage for those who wanted to continue to worship in the Catholic faith. It was now officially illegal to worship as a Catholic in England. The official religion and accepted practise was Protestant, but Mary stood out in defiance of the laws of her own brother the King, and continued to practise her religion as she always had done; in High Mass; in rosary beads; in Latin sermons; in idols and incense… and in the dangerous and addictive grip of the prospect of martyrdom.