by Jeane Westin
She was drawn into his sparkling light brown eyes with golden lights, his beard smelling of the oil of Spice Islands sandalwood trees, and the salt ocean between. Underlying that fragrance, she breathed in the scent of wine on his breath, and horse on his clothes. Beware, foolish maid, Elizabeth’s voice echoed inside her. You are led to disaster by a nose.
“Kate, I mean to gain the queen’s permission to court you. Our families, those who are left,” he added ruefully, “could have no possible objection, for we are well matched in rank and age. As we always have been.”
“My lord, there was no agreement between our families, and as a dutiful daughter, almost fourteen, I married as my father commanded.” She’d been no dutiful daughter, but frightened and beaten for days before she agreed to stand at the altar with Pembroke. Kate tried to lean away from Ned, but she was held in place by his warm hand on her back and his next words.
“And now both our fathers have lost their heads for their ambition, and though your mother, Lady Frances, lives she seldom sees you. We have little family left . . . but we can have each other.” Pain showed briefly on his face; still his voice became more gentle. “Hear me, Kate. Before God and as I stand here, I intend to win you, to have you lawfully in my bed. I will take you to Eltham, my manor in the green countryside, and make you my wife.”
Surely this was enough to capture a woman’s heart, any woman but one of the blood royal. “Know this, Ned. If you are ambitious for the throne, you will not reach it through me. I do not want to be heir and the queen will never name one. She says naming an heir is like choosing her own winding sheet.”
His eyes flared with anger. “Do not judge me by other men. Do you think ambition is why I want you? Do you think that is the reason I came to court when I have not come before? I waited until I was assured Elizabeth planned no marriage for you . . . that you were at last free. God knows I have never been.”
Kate laughed almost feverishly. Summoning more strength than she’d thus far shown, she broke away. “Do not, for pity’s sake, go to the queen again on such a matter. You are a man and cannot understand Elizabeth’s mind.”
“I know mine. And I know yours.”
“Again, you take much on yourself, my lord. I have vowed to stay in the queen’s service for my life long, to live and die a virgin in Her Majesty’s image. Don’t you see? Only then can I survive.” Kate slipped from his hold and swept past him into the presence chamber.
“Have a care for the pansy juice,” he called softly after her.
In the flame-lit banqueting hall a troop of dwarfs, including Thoma sina, one of the queen’s fools, was dancing a lively morris dance. They wore oversize wooden clogs and stomped to drum and fife with first fluttering handkerchiefs and then pounding sticks, finally tumbling into a merry heap, to the queen’s great entertainment.
Kate clustered with the other ladies of the bedchamber to attend the queen behind the high table. Elizabeth sat on her throne in the middle, the Earl Marshall, Duke of Norfolk, and Howard family kin to the queen on one side and the dour Earl of Lethington, the Scots emissary from Queen Mary, to her right. Edward was far down the lower table, staring at her. She shook her head in slight warning and turned her gaze away before Elizabeth, who seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, could notice their exchange.
When the Royal Chapel boys’ choir began to sing in their sweet treble voices, the queen, who usually gave complete attention to music, turned to the Earl of Lethington, raised her wineglass and said in a voice loud enough for many to hear, “My lord, we wish you to convey our best wishes to your mistress for her very good health and to propose a meeting between us. The business of queens should be done by queens. There is no better understanding in the world than would be between our cousin and ourself. Any problems would be quickly resolved in goodwill and like minds.” The queen bent her head, heavy with wig, crown and jewels, to better hear his answer.
The Scots earl nodded graciously. “I will convey your generous proposal to Her Majesty immediately upon my return. May I also say that Your Grace is ready to name Scotland’s Queen Mary and the lawful sons of her body as your rightful heirs?”
The hall fell into total silence, cups and knives in midair.
“My lord, we always consult with our council and Parliament about the question of succession.”
Kate could not help admiring the queen’s accomplished sidestep. Elizabeth could not be trapped by any ambassador.
The queen continued after a satisfied moment. “My lord, we confess surprise that our cousin Mary must have a declaration from us, when she has already declared herself to be queen of England and quartered my arms with her own.”
Lethington shifted uneasily, but the queen wasn’t finished.
“Does your queen not know that my father named Lady Katherine Grey in his will to follow me?” Elizabeth waved her hand over her shoulder in Kate’s general direction.
Lethington found his ambassador’s voice. “But, surely, Your Grace, that lady’s claim is invalid because of her father’s treason.”
Holding her body rigid, Kate controlled her shock at hearing her father once again accused, since he had long ago paid the ultimate price for placing Jane on the throne. Was he never to be forgiven? Though anger surged through her, she did not allow it to reach her face. Realizing that she was holding her breath and might well faint, she slowly began to breathe deeply. Surely Elizabeth spoke the lies of diplomacy when she reminded the Scot of her father’s will. Later, before bed tonight, the queen might explain . . . but Kate knew that was unlikely. Elizabeth never saw the need to explain her actions. Kate looked out to the lower table at Edward. He understood what she was feeling: trapped again. She could see it on his face.
Elizabeth tapped Lethington’s sleeve. “My lord, they tell me your queen is tall for a woman.”
“That is so, Majesty.”
“Taller than me?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The queen struck the table for emphasis. “Then she is too tall.”
Many in the hall hid their amusement. Elizabeth was jealous of the Scots queen, a celebrated beauty.
Before the ambassador could respond, Robert Dudley stood at his seat at the table immediately below and bowed to the queen, a wide grin of approval on his face.
“Master carver,” the queen called for a servant from her flesh kitchen.
The servant approached, stood over a meat course and, removing artfully placed feathers, expertly laid a slice of peacock on Her Majesty’s gold plate.
Elizabeth speared it with her knife and, half standing in her turn, she reached far and dropped it on Dudley’s plate. Dudley grasped her wrist and kissed the inside of it, though the knife was at his throat.
It was a confident lover’s move and brought audible gasps from around the table and a frown from Lethington.
Dudley’s head remained close, almost touching Elizabeth’s, and indeed the small space between them was heavy with a palpable yearning.
Astounded by an act that both ignored an ambassador and rewarded a favorite of lesser rank in such a way, Kate watched Robert retake his seat, look well pleased, bite off a large chunk of pheasant and chew with obvious enjoyment. His pleasure wasn’t to last long, for the queen, laughing, almost immediately cut another slice with her own hand, motioned to the server and sent the generous piece down the table to the Earl of Hertford, who picked it up, kissed it, ate, and licked his fingers one after another.
Kate was beyond surprise now. Aware that half the room was watching the queen and the other half watching her, or trying not to, she allowed nothing to reach her face. She marveled that men continued to encourage the queen’s vanity, which needed not the slightest support. Though Her Majesty ruled as a king, she must be the queen of hearts to every man at court. Such behavior by any of her ladies would mean a berating if not a beating. Though she knew that the queen used her treatment of handsome courtiers to impress Lethington and ultimately the beautiful Queen Mary
, she also knew the story would be repeated in such a way as to bring Elizabeth’s virtue into question. Kate dug her nails into her hands, feeling pain through her gloves. She was not jealous of the queen’s attention to Edward. She truly thought only of her country. She forced her fingers to relax.
Elizabeth had been under Kate’s close attendance for all these three years in her service. She had seen Her Majesty in every one of her moods. This flirtatious mood was the one she liked least and saw often. It dared too much even for a queen.
“My lord,” Elizabeth said, turning once again to the Scots emissary, “I would have you try this sweet comfit from my confectionery, so that you will return to your mistress with well-sweetened words.”
Lord Lethington, looking a little sour at the queen’s jest, was presented with a sugar plate full of colorful marzipan fruit sparkling with gilt. It brought ahs from the crowd, but Lethington took only a bite and fastened his eyes on jugglers who were tossing large curving knives, their blades catching the torchlight.
The feasting and mummery lasted until midnight. When allowed to sit, Kate ate little, talked less and longed for her bed and sleep, if there was any to be had this night. What did the queen’s attention to Ned mean beyond an effort to bring Dudley to heel? Surely, Elizabeth did not mean to name Kate as heir. That talk was mere diplomatic evasion. She murmured a prayer and crossed her fingers to ward off the devil.
Later, walking in processional behind the queen to her chambers, drums beating, trumpets blaring, Kate tried to push away a growing recognition: Edward was still the only soul in this world who might offer her real caring, comfort for herself alone. He had declared himself free of royal ambition. Could she believe him, especially after the queen had all but named her? As she hoped for it, she knew herself a fool. Still, she warred with her need to trust that one man alive on this earth truly cared for her. Was that so wrong?
Waiting in her room was an invitation to sup next evening with Lady Jane Seymour. “Who brought this, Sybil?” she questioned her old nurse.
“A servant wearing the Earl of Hertford’s livery, my love,” she answered, holding out a warm posset. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Nay, Nurse.” The risk of a meeting with Ned, even with his sister attending, was too great. Kate went to her writing table, wrote a quick excuse, citing duty, on a sheet of foolscap, folded and sealed it with hot wax and pressed the wax with her signet ring.
Sybil approached. “Take this to my lady Seymour,” Kate said.
“Please, my lady, tomorrow morning. It is not safe for a woman abroad in the palace at this hour. I could see something that I should not around any corner and be punished for it. Even be poisoned,” she said, her eyes wide.
Sybil was obviously in earnest.
“Quiet yourself, Sybil. On the morrow, then, and mind you, early, please.” She drank her spiced milk, was bathed, dressed in a night shift and tucked into bed as Sybil had always done. It was the only soothing ritual of a long day. Kate lay quiet in her bed until anonymous sleep claimed her.
The next evening Elizabeth met with a high member of her council, the Lord Secretary, William Cecil, and Lethington in her privy chamber. Kate heard everything from the queen’s linen closet.
The queen had clearly regretted her hasty words of the night before, especially when the Scots lord hinted that Queen Mary, with France’s help, could easily send an army over the northern border and take the English throne by force, since the northern lords were always restive, and resented a woman on the throne.
Since Elizabeth had inherited a bankrupt kingdom, she tried to appease the ambassador with hints of favor toward his queen, gestures of endearment and jewels, though not her best ones. At almost any cost, Her Majesty must avoid war and the drain on her treasury, even to hinting that Kate could be sent to the Tower to appease the Scots.
Kate had groaned inwardly all day to think that the court would have their eyes on her as heir, approaching her for favorable mention in the queen’s ear—until this minute. She knew that when the news of her sudden abandonment by the queen reached the court, they would no longer know her. She was a pawn being moved about the chessboard at whim.
Dismissed to her room by Mistress Ashley, Kate escaped to her chamber to find a servant in Ned’s livery waiting there to escort her to Jane Seymour’s apartment. Almost without clearly thinking, Kate followed him. At that moment, she did not care if the queen frowned at her association with Edward Seymour’s sister. Elizabeth, the queen of all deception, had used her in a game to hold off the Scots. The queen commanded everything of her. It was the right of a sovereign, but it meant that Kate could believe nothing, always being on the edge of Elizabeth’s caprice.
But she approached Jane’s rooms with some unrest. It was one thing to be silently angry with a sovereign, quite another to defy her.
As Kate had expected and, had to admit, silently hoped, Edward rose when she was ushered inside. As she had not expected, Robert Dudley rose as well.
Ah, ambitious Robin. He had not heard that she could as easily go to the Tower as to the throne.
Lady Jane came forward, her arms open in welcome. “Dear sister Kate—may I call you sister?—I am so happy to see you with a free hour or two. I had thought to have a quiet supper of women’s talk.”
Edward bowed over her hand and pressed his lips before Robert could reach her. “Kate, do not blame Jane for my presence. I could not allow two lovely ladies to dine alone without protection.”
“From whom, my lord?” Kate smiled politely at his compliment.
Robert laughed. “Probably from me, sister-in-law,” he said slyly, invoking his family privilege and kissing her on the cheek.
She laughed as if she thought Robert joked, though she knew he probably did not. He was a man who allowed no opportunity for improvement to pass him by. She could not hate him for wanting power. It was as natural for him as it was unnatural for her.
She was seated across from Ned, the only man in this Tudor court, if she could believe him, who did not seek advancement through her. She wanted to believe him.
Their supper was served on a richly carpeted trestle table. A salad of boiled capers with vinegar came first; then in quick succession a beef pie, porpoise for the fish course, woodcock for a game pie and a sweet fruit tart were served, with Jane apologizing for the scant meal from the palace kitchen, which could not compare with Kate’s usual fare from the queen’s private kitchens.
Kate graciously pleaded delight with the supper while Ned, seated across from her, transferred tempting tidbits from his plate to hers. She tucked her feet together to keep from accidentally touching him and then having to explain it was not meant to encourage him. Though she tried to avoid eating what Edward served, her appetite got the better of her. Emulating the queen’s frugal eating left her always hungry, though her farthingale, as usual, kept her from overindulgence.
Edward leaned toward Kate, dropping a honeyed bite of woodcock on her plate. His voice was low, meant only for her. “I am gladdened that I can make amends for the night you missed your wedding supper.”
She came close to kicking him, or worse, having to acknowledge her tears.
He turned to his sister. “Jane, I think your supper is finding much favor with Lady Katherine.”
Kate was happy for the change of subject and groaned in mock discomfort when Ned added to her plate. “I thank you for your kindness, my lord, but I beg you—no more.”
At this exchange, Robert left off telling Jane a rollicking tale of a lonely countess compromised by a night-roaming country squire. “Exercise, Kate, is the best antidote to the table. I have planned a hunt tomorrow for the queen. We ride to Epping Forest and the queen’s hunting lodge. The deer have been driven into enclosures and the queen will have the first kill. Will you be riding out?”
“My duties may keep me at Whitehall, Lord Robert, as I must oversee the packing of Her Majesty’s gowns and jewels. She could signal a move upriver to
Richmond at any time now that Candlemas is passed.” She twitched her nose. “The court has been at Whitehall too long and the palace is in need of a good sweetening.”
Robert laughed. “Her Majesty is also known for her dainty nose, but in truth the common jakes are overflowing.”
Edward grimaced at Robert’s crude words, though his gaze did not leave Kate. “I will hunt tomorrow,” he murmured for Kate alone. “My flag will fly from the lodge.”
“As will mine,” Robert said, no conversation being private to that lord.
“Oh, you must go, Kate,” Jane added. “I will ride, though I will make a poor showing next to Her Majesty, who rides—”
“—like a prince,” Robert said. “In the saddle, she is a match for any man. I have brought the fastest horses from Ireland for her stables.”
He’s proud of her, Kate thought, as if she were his creature and he had a hand in her making. Maybe he did, or maybe he thinks he did, which is more dangerous. Elizabeth would not be willing to acknowledge any man her maker but King Henry VIII.
The evening was short, but there was time for a game of back-gammon before a messenger from the queen called Dudley away. Vowing to gain an invitation for all the queen’s ladies to hunt tomorrow and swaggering as ever, he kissed Kate’s cheek again as he left. To Edward’s obvious displeasure.
While Kate had ridden with the queen many times, she was not a rider who could match Elizabeth and was often left behind. But the Great Standing lodge the queen’s father had built for his hunting pleasure was famed. It would be glorious to see it and to get away from Whitehall for a day.
“I will be in the queen’s party tomorrow. Will you ride with me?” Edward asked Kate as he and Jane escorted their guest by means of a lantern through a little-used servants’ hall to her chamber.
“My lord Edward, you know I cannot, but I will try to finish my duties early and join a later party. Her Grace likes for all her ladies to ride for exercise.”