Elizabeth, the Witch's Daughter

by Elizabeth, the Witch's Daughter (retail) (epub)

The Lord Protector had lost a great deal of his popularity after signing the death warrant of his brother and Elizabeth had heard him called various names lately, ‘bloodsucker’ and ‘ravenous wolf’ being the most widely used. In mid September came the news that after Warwick had returned from quelling a revolt in Norfolk, things had begun to look very ominous for Edward Seymour.

  The Lords and Councillors armed themselves and their servants and took possession of the Tower. The Protector was with the King at Hampton Court when he heard and promptly took fright. He dragged Edward out of bed and in pouring rain rode with the boy to Windsor. Edward was never to forgive his Uncle Somerset for that undignified flight. The Lords under Warwick proved too strong and the Protector surrendered and was taken under arrest to the Tower.

  Warwick was a cautious man. Realising that the Protector still commanded a large following he did not press the charges against him and he was eventually released, but the power that the Lord Protector Somerset had once wielded was gone.

  Elizabeth gloated over the downfall of the man who had once held her future in the palm of his hand but she did not underestimate Warwick and kept a watchful eye on his progress.

  During the next two years—which she spent at Hatfield and Ashridge—she watched his power grow. In 1550 she was finally granted the £3,000 per annum which had been left to her in her father’s will. But hard upon the heels of this good news came the unwelcome news that Warwick had designs on Hatfield House.

  Elizabeth was annoyed. “These greedy upstarts,” she thought, “a little power and they covet the property of their betters!” She picked up her quill. “I have an especial affection for Hatfield,” she wrote to her brother. Indeed Hatfield had become home for her, she thought, and now this grandson of a tradesman threatened to take it from her. “No Dudley is going to take over my home,“ she fumed to herself.

  When she received Edward’s reply she breathed a sigh of relief. She could keep Hatfield but must relinquish a manor in Lincolnshire in its place. This was bad enough but at least she had managed to keep Hatfield out of the grasping hands of John Dudley.

  So for a while the Council left her alone and instead turned their unwelcome attentions to her sister, Mary.

  All her unhappy life Mary’s only comfort had been her faith and her love for her religion. She had clung to the faith of her mother, the Roman Catholic faith, but now a campaign was started to deprive her of even that. Persecution for her beliefs was not a new experience for Mary. She had suffered terribly whilst her father had lived and had been forced in the end—on pain of death —to acknowledge him as the head of the Church of England. For this act Mary never forgave herself feeling that she had betrayed her mother who had refused to accept Henry’s supremacy even unto death. But most of all Mary felt that she had betrayed her God.

  The Act of Uniformity had been passed in l549 and had sounded the death knell of the Latin Mass. Mary had desperately appealed to her cousin the Emperor, Charles V, and her pleas had not gone in vain for Charles had instructed his Ambassador, Van der Delft, to obtain a guarantee that the Princess Mary should be allowed to hear her Mass in the privacy of her own home. This Van der Delft had done but with the fall of Somerset, Mary’s troubles began again.

  The battle for her freedom to hear Mass escalated into a full-scale campaign of persecution against her and Mary—fearing for her life—furtively made plans to escape to her cousin.

  Elizabeth felt sorry for her sister but she knew that in her place she would not endanger her place in the succession for the sake of religion. Religion was more a matter of policy with Elizabeth. She was a member of the Reformed Religion and she knew well that the Protestant Party looked to her but she made no public show of her beliefs.

  When she paid her Christmas visit to court in 1551, she cautiously avoided the subject for Warwick was ever watchful. The Lord Protector, Somerset, had gone to his death the previous January and Elizabeth watched with growing distrust the rise of John Dudley, now Duke of Northumberland.

  *

  March of 1552 was wet and windy and Kat sat huddled in her litter muttering peevishly as the party rode towards London. Elizabeth had managed to obtain the loan of St James’ Palace for the duration of her visit and rode ahead, not seeming to mind the weather as she waved to the people who came to see her ride by. The rain had stopped by the time they reached the City although the weather was still raw. This however did not stop the citizens from turning out to welcome her. She rode in the midst of her party, all of whom were dressed in her livery of green and white. She herself wore a plain, dark green riding habit covered by an equally plain cloak. On her head she wore a small hat which was devoid of any ornament and which covered her tightly netted hair. Many of the watching crowd compared her to the painted, overdressed ladies of the court. Here was a girl after their own hearts, they thought. True to the new religion and with that red-gold hair and warm, but dignified manner—wasn’t she old Harry’s own, they asked themselves?

  When she saw Edward she was shocked by the change in him. He was pale and far too thin.

  After their initial, formal greetings the crowd of courtiers moved away a little and she had the chance to speak to him.

  “Edward, you must take care of yourself!” she said anxiously.

  “But I am perfectly well, Bess,” he replied. “I am allowed far more freedom and exercise than I was when…” he paused, a frown coming over his face, “when the Protector was alive,” he finished uncomfortably.

  “Do they keep you at your books too long?” she whispered.

  “No, Bess, truly,” the boy replied.

  Elizabeth was sure that he was not telling her the whole truth.

  Later she wondered about her brother as he certainly did not look well. Edward had always been frail and delicate, even as a baby. She thought of her uncle Arthur, Catherine of Aragon’s first husband and Henry’s brother, who had died upon reaching the age of sixteen and of all the Tudor male babies who had been born dead or who had lived only for a few days. She wondered whether the male line was cursed for even Henry’s natural son, Harry Richmond, had died in his teens and he had been a healthy child.

  She was still concerned for Edward’s health when she took her leave of him.

  “Edward, promise me that you will have a care for your health,” she begged him.

  “Oh! Bess, don’t fuss,” he replied.

  “Promise me, Edward,” she persisted.

  “Alright, Bess, if it will please you,” he promised.

  “We will meet again soon, I hope?” she queried.

  “Of course we will,” he assured her.

  She rode away feeling a little easier for she was not to know that she would never see her brother alive again.

  Shortly after this visit she received bad news from London. Edward was ill! He had developed a high fever and a rash. Elizabeth’s mind flew at once to the only illness she knew that produced those symptoms. Smallpox! She fell to her knees to pray for her brother for she knew that for someone as frail as Edward the chances of recovery from that dreaded disease were very slight.

  Edward was lucky for it was not smallpox he had contracted but measles and he slowly recovered, but the seeds of the illness that was to kill him had already been sown in his feeble body.

  He was well enough to attend the celebrations for St George’s Day and in June he set out on a Royal Progress through the counties of the south and west of England. When autumn came it was clear that the boy too was in the autumn of his life for he became weaker and started to cough blood.

  Both Mary and Elizabeth heard these reports with growing concern. A King Edward undoubtedly was but he was also their brother.

  Mary set out for Court at Christmas for she had helped Katherine Parr to nurse her father before he died and she was prepared now to nurse her brother. Upon reaching Hampton Court she was told that His Majesty was too ill to see her. She fumed and fretted for two days but seeing that Northumberland had no intention of lett
ing her see the boy, she reluctantly returned home.

  Elizabeth meanwhile was certain that Edward’s true condition was being kept from them. She had never trusted Northumberland. He was too clever a man not to realise that should Edward die, his own influence and power would die too and Elizabeth recognised the fact that such a man would not let all that he had fought for over the years slip from his grasp so soon.

  She continued to write to her brother, although she doubted that he ever received her letters.

  That spring she made a determined effort to reach Edward.

  “I intend to find out just what is going on,” she firmly told Kat, bidding her make ready for the journey and it was a determined young girl who set out next day.

  They were halfway to London when they were intercepted by a single rider. Judging by the condition of his horse and his mud-spattered garments he had been ordered to reach her at all speed, she thought.

  “A messenger from the King, Your Grace,” her Sergeant-at-Arms informed her as he led the travel-stained man to her.

  “Is he indeed,” she replied coldly. “Well, man, what message have you from His Majesty?” she asked.

  “His Majesty sends you his greetings, Your Grace, and bids you to have no fear for his health and safety as he is exceedingly well,” he said but she noticed that he refused to meet her eyes. He continued. “He bids you return to Hatfield as he has heard that your own health has not been good of late and he fears that the journey may cause you further distress.”

  “So,” she fumed, “like Mary even should I reach the Court I would not be allowed to see him.”

  She nodded curtly to the man and wheeling her horse around rode in bitter silence back to Hatfield, certain now that Northumberland was up to no good.

  When the news of the marriage of fifteen-year-old Jane Grey to Northumberland’s son Guildford Dudley reached her she began to understand.

  “So, Master Dudley, that is what you are up to!” she thought. “Should Edward die, you hope to put your son and that silly Grey girl on the throne.” She laughed aloud, receiving a piercing look from Kat. “Is he really such a fool?” she asked herself. “Does he not realise that the people of England will suffer no usurper? Mary is the true heir and Catholic though she may be, they will have no other.” She shrugged her shoulders. “When has John Dudley ever considered the opinions of others,” she thought. She wondered whether Mary realised what he was up to. She probably did but knowing Mary she would probably be on her knees praying for a miracle! Elizabeth knew what she would be doing in Mary’s place: she would be carefully gathering support.

  What neither girl knew was that the wily Northumberland had persuaded Edward to make a will, excluding Mary from the succession on the grounds of her religion and Elizabeth on the flimsy excuse that she could possibly, at some time in the future, be forced to marry a Catholic. Edward therefore named as his heir Jane Grey.

  Edward’s life was drawing to a close. The poor boy was suffering dreadfully, persecuted by his doctors and their useless remedies and ceaselessly badgered by Northumberland. His hair had fallen out and his fingers and toes had turned gangrenous and had dropped off. In terrible pain, weak and afraid, ‘England’s Treasure’ was dying.

  On the 6th July, 1553, during a terrific thunderstorm Edward Tudor died and England was faced with the very situation that Henry had dreaded. The country’s future was in the hands of a woman—but which woman?

  Chapter Seven

  Northumberland kept Edward’s death a closely guarded secret whilst putting into action his plans. Letters were dispatched to both the Princesses informing them that their brother was dying and requesting them to come with all haste. Both girls made immediate preparations to set out.

  The day showed promise of being unbearably hot and sultry. Already at barely nine o’clock Elizabeth felt weary and her head ached.

  “Is all ready?” she called impatiently to Kat.

  “Yes,” came back the decidedly sharp reply as Kat distractedly tried to remember if everything necessary had been packed.

  “Come then,” Elizabeth called as she walked slowly down the stairs. It was cool in the hall for the thick stone walls kept out the glare. Kat joined her and they both emerged into the sunlight.

  The courtyard was a hive of activity. Her ladies were already mounted and their stiff hoods were beginning to wilt with the heat. Her Men-At-Arms in their bright uniforms stood leaning on their halberds but quickly stood to attention upon catching sight of her. The grooms were sweating as they pushed the unwilling beasts, harnessed to her baggage wagon, into line.

  Elizabeth felt irritable. She was impatient to start for she was afraid that she would not reach Edward in time. It was so hot! She could feel the perspiration on her forehead and damp patches beneath her arms. She stepped forward and then stopped for it was just as though she were gazing at a scene from a dream, for the bright figures appeared to float before her eyes. The sun blinded her and all the noise seemed to fade away. The air became still. She had experienced this eerie stillness once before.

  “Mother?” she whispered to herself. She shivered as she felt again the warning presence.

  “This time ’twill not be in vain,” she thought, realising that she had not stopped to think more carefully about Northumberland’ s summons.

  She became aware that Kat was speaking to her and she turned mechanically towards her.

  Kat was taken aback by the pallor of her mistress’s face.

  “We are ready to leave,” she said.

  “We are not going!” Elizabeth told her flatly. “Disperse the servants, I am too ill to travel.” She turned and went back into the cool, semi-darkness of the house.

  Her head ached abominably, she told Kat as she lay in bed listening to the sounds of the summer day which came in through the open window. She could not endure the journey.

  Kat looked at her quizzically. She had seemed to be quite well earlier but one could never be certain with Elizabeth these days.

  Kat sighed. “The older she becomes the less I seem to know her,” she thought sadly.

  Elizabeth lay back, looking around the sunlit room and wondering feverishly what Mary was doing. Foolish Mary, had she also set out for London? Elizabeth felt certain now that the summons from Northumberland was a trap. Would Mary fall into it as she had so nearly done?

  Mary had but fortunately was warned on the road and had fled to Kenninghall in Norfolk, accompanied by only half a dozen servants. She had narrowly escaped being captured by a party of soldiers under Robert Dudley.

  Elizabeth kept to her bed, frantic with worry. She knew nothing of what was going on. She did not know where Mary was or whether Mary was free or a prisoner. Was Mary gathering forces and where was Northumberland? She asked herself these questions over and over again but the only thing she could do was wait. Endlessly wait for news—any news!

  Events moved swiftly. On the 10th July, Jane Grey had been summoned to Syon House and informed of the contents of Edward’s will. Jane had protested but was ignored and later that day was taken in Royal State to the Tower. That evening the Herald had proclaimed her “Queen Jane” at the cross in the Chepe but his words had been met with total silence.

  Mary had written from Kenninghall demanding that she be proclaimed throughout the City but Northumberland had taken little notice for in his opinion Mary had little chance of winning her crown. But he who had never taken heed of public opinion found that those whose opinions he had studiously ignored were joining Mary. The Earls of Bath and Sussex had joined her with a few gentlemen and hundreds of the common people. These latter Northumberland totally disregarded! Had he not put down enough rebellions in the past that he should fear a rabble, he thought contemptuously? He mustered an army and set out himself to capture her.

  Unfortunately for him, he wasted time by allowing his troops to plunder and pillage the towns and villages they passed through while Mary steadily gained ground. The Fleet, lying off Yarmouth, went ove
r to her and the members of the Council who had remained in London proclaimed her Queen on the 19th July.

  London went wild. Bonfires were lit, church bells rang out and tables were dragged into the streets where the merrymaking continued far into the night.

  At Hatfield Elizabeth breathed a sigh of profound relief when she was told the news. She had feared that Mary would never be strong enough to crush the mighty Northumberland but both she and Northumberland had forgotten the people of England whose sense of justice had been outraged. Mary was their rightful Queen. “We will have no usurper!” was the rallying cry.

  Elizabeth flung back the bedclothes. “Kat, Kat, where are you?” she shouted impatiently and when Kat finally arrived she cried, “pack up, we are going to London. Mary has won!”

  The anxious look disappeared from Kat’s face. “Thank God!” she cried. She hustled away to organise the household and Elizabeth crossed to the open casement.

  A great weight had been lifted from her and she smiled to herself as she looked out over the sunlit gardens.

  *

  Elizabeth’s party passed through the City at noon and she rode out to Aldgate to meet her sister. It was nearly six years since she had last seen Mary and she wondered how her sister had fared in that time. She caught sight of Mary seated in the midst of her party. A small, dark figure dressed in purple and blue velvet. As she rode nearer Elizabeth noticed how much older Mary looked. Her skin was sallow and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes and tiny lines etched across her forehead and aside her eyes.

  “She is an old woman,” Elizabeth thought, shocked.

  The two sisters embraced warmly and Elizabeth, taking full advantage of the dramatic situation, cried aloud:

  “God Save Queen Mary!” Her cry was taken up by her entire household and Mary’s eyes filled with tears as she clasped her sister’s hand.

  “God bless you, Bess,” she murmured, “it is good to see you safe.”

  Mary then proceeded to kiss all the ladies in Elizabeth’s party and after this the two processions lined up to enter the City.