Elizabeth, the Witch's Daughter

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

  The Earl of Arundel led the way bearing the Sword of State, followed by the Alderman and the Mayor. Then came the members of the Council and then the two sisters riding side by side. The streets were decorated and the citizens cheered wildly.

  Elizabeth glanced sideways at her sister. Purple was definitely not a colour that suited Mary, she thought. The dress itself was too fussy and she was overloaded with jewels. She was not the only one that day to remark how old the Queen looked for there were many in the crowd who contrasted the ageing, sickly Queen in her mournful, heavy purple with the slim, red-haired girl who rode beside her in a dress of plain, white silk with no jewels to detract from her shining youth.

  When the procession reached the Tower Mary dismounted, for kneeling at the foot of the Byward Tower were four prisoners. The old Duke of Norfolk who had been there since the death of King Henry, his back unbent and his features unyielding, though he was nearing eighty. Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. The Duchess of Somerset and young Edward Courtney, the only surviving member of the Royal House of York, who had spent nearly all his life within those walls.

  Mary kissed them all and raised them up tenderly. Her voice was husky with emotion as she said, “These are my prisoners now!”

  Elizabeth gazed at the little group without pity. Gardiner she recognised instantly as an enemy. She remembered too Anne Seymour, Duchess of Somerset, as a troublemaker from the far-off days of the dispute over Katherine Parr’s jewels. She remembered too that it had been Anne Seymour who had berated Kat and had threatened to have her removed.

  “Another to watch,” she thought.

  Norfolk she did not like. He had survived the fall of both her mother and Katherine Howard, although he had been in the forefront of those who had pushed both those unhappy girls into Henry’s bed.

  She lifted her eyes and gazed up at the grim, grey walls of the Conqueror’s tower. Somewhere within these walls Jane Grey and her husband were imprisoned and she was certain that Mary would not deal so kindly with them.

  *

  Mary laid aside the letter she had received from her cousin Charles.

  “Tolerance,” she muttered to herself as she sat in the gathering dusk. It was still very warm and the windows of her chamber were open but the air was oppressive and sultry and her head ached. She repeated the word. How could she be tolerant when she had been persecuted for her beliefs, had been on the point of desperate flight? It was all very well for Charles to talk blithely of being tolerant, she thought, he had not suffered.

  Some of her bitterness left her as she thought how good God had been to place her in the seat of power. Power to restore her country to the fold lay with her. Power to bring back the Mass and restore the Religious Orders. She would have the bare tables removed from the churches and the whitewash scrubbed from the walls. She would have the statues and holy pictures replaced. Of course those fiends of Cranmer’s had done irreparable damage when they had utterly destroyed so many beautiful frescoes and statues which could never be replaced. She could never hope to restore the shrines of St Thomas Becket at Canterbury and Our Lady at Walsingham to their former magnificence. Sadly she thought of the despoiled churches and abbeys up and down the country. Everything would be different now, she assured herself. This feeling of religious unrest would cease when people realised that she was tolerant. Yes, Charles was right, tolerance was the best policy at this time.

  One problem nagged at her. Elizabeth.

  She was fond of the girl but Elizabeth was undoubtedly a heretic and she could not help but notice the day she had ridden into London that many eyes had been turned hopefully towards her sister.

  Mary sighed in the darkness. Elizabeth was young whereas she felt as though she had never been young. Life had dealt her so many harsh blows that she seemed to have never experienced the pleasure of youth. Elizabeth was indeed a problem but perhaps she too in time could be persuaded to return to the religion in which she had been christened. Meanwhile Mary decided to issue a Proclamation expressing the hope that her subjects would embrace the religion she herself had cherished since birth.

  Although Mary’s hopes were high at least half of her subjects had no intention of returning to the old ways. They saw the Pope as a foreigner who had no right to interfere with the way they chose to worship and instead of the gradual return to the Mass which Mary prayed daily for the anti-papist demonstrations got worse.

  Elizabeth too was beginning to feel the strain of the situation. All her life she had thought of Mary as her rather plain and pious elder sister. Poor Mary, someone to be pitied. She now found herself having to re-appraise her attitude for Mary was now her Sovereign, to be obeyed and respected at all times, and Elizabeth knew that this was not going to be easy to adjust to, especially in the matter of religion.

  Mary had become less affectionate towards her of late and frequently hinted that Elizabeth should accompany her to Mass.

  “If I do, I shall lose the support of many and if I don’t, God knows what Mary will do,” she thought. The best plan would be to play for time. “She cannot really blame me for I was not brought up in her Faith.”

  Elizabeth’s mind worked cautiously thinking out the best possible way to avoid an explosive situation. The last thing she wanted at this stage was a confrontation with her sister.

  As the days passed Mary became colder, completely ignoring her at times and Elizabeth became more and more worried. At last she made up her mind. She sent Kat to ask for an audience with the Queen. Kat knew she was worried and had noticed Mary’s change of heart with foreboding. She wondered whether her mistress was in further danger.

  When she returned it was to inform Elizabeth that her request had been granted.

  “Take care, Bess,” she exhorted, gazing after the slim girl who disappeared along the corridor.

  Elizabeth paused outside the door of the Queen’s chamber. If only she could gain a little time to face the next obstacle and to put off the evil day a little longer. She knocked and after a few seconds Mary’s voice bade her enter.

  Before Mary had time to speak Elizabeth fell on her knees before her. With tears falling from her eyes she said, “Your Majesty, I see clearly that you are not well disposed towards me and I can think of no other reason but that of religion. I have never been taught the doctrines of your faith,” she pleaded, “send me books that I may see if my conscience will allow me to be persuaded.”

  Mary looked at her intently wondering if the girl was sincere. It was true that Elizabeth had not been brought up in the Catholic Faith.

  “Very well,” she answered although there was little warmth in her voice. “I will have books sent to you.”

  Elizabeth took her hand and kissed it.

  “Thank you, Mary, I will try,” she promised.

  Mary withdrew her hand and motioned the girl to leave. She noted that Elizabeth seemed to have fully recovered her composure and was suspicious of her sincerity.

  Once outside the girl breathed a sigh of relief —it had worked. She had gained a breathing space.

  But she soon found out that she had not been as successful as she had hoped for Mary’s attitude did not thaw. How long now would it be before Mary demanded her presence at Mass?

  Chapter Eight

  Mary’s attitude remained frigid although books were duly sent and read by Elizabeth although she realised that Mary had not been taken in by her excuses.

  There was nothing for it—she would have to attend Mass. On the Sunday after her 20th birthday she sent word to her sister that she would be attending Mass in the chapel that morning. She had resigned herself to the fact but was also determined that it should be known that she was not going willingly.

  She complained of pains in her stomach all the way to the chapel and when Mary asked after her health she replied,

  “I am afraid, Your Majesty, that I am not well disposed.”

  Her reply met with a stony silence as Mary swept into chapel, resplendent in black velvet.
>
  Elizabeth continued to complain throughout the service and was pleased to see that her actions were being noted.

  She spent the rest of the day in bed.

  Consequently the gesture of submission did not have the desired effect upon her sister. Mary’s attitude became gradually worse for she was certain now that Elizabeth had tried to dupe her and this infuriated the Queen. All the affection she had felt for Elizabeth vanished for this was not the red-headed little mite she had played with, sung to and loved; this was the scheming, crafty, heretic daughter of Nan Bullen! All the bitterness which Mary had suppressed throughout Elizabeth’s childhood—telling herself that it was wrong to visit the sins of the mother upon the child—now came to the surface and she remembered with gnawing hatred Elizabeth’s mother.

  Simon Renard, the Imperial Ambassador, was forever telling her that she would know no peace whilst Elizabeth remained, perhaps he was right. Renard was also exhorting her to have executed the conspirators in Jane Grey’s pathetic nine-day rule. She agreed that Northumberland and two of his sons should die but she could not bring herself to sign the warrant for Jane. Jane had written to her admitting that she had been wrong to accept the Crown, but stating that she had protested vigorously but had been ignored, nor had she taken any part in Northumberland’s intrigues. Mary believed her for she was fond of Jane, although in the past Jane had made many tactless remarks concerning Mary. These remarks Jane considered to be ‘plain speaking’ and Mary realised this. No, Mary could not send Jane to her death.

  This clemency Elizabeth viewed with suspicion for whilst Jane lived there were sure to be other rebellions. Mary failed to see the danger to her throne that her cousin Jane constituted. Elizabeth knew that in her place she would have reluctantly signed the warrant.

  Elizabeth was worried about her own position which was daily becoming more precarious. Renard was her declared enemy and she was well aware that he was pointing out to her sister that she was a heretic, a rallying point for malcontents and that she should be removed from the succession. At least he was her open enemy. Far more dangerous was Antoine de Noailles, the French Ambassador, who declared himself her friend but Elizabeth was not deceived. She knew that he was trying to drive a wedge between herself and Mary and his master was watching the widening rift between them with great interest for the Dauphin of France was married to Mary Queen of Scots, the granddaughter of Henry’s elder sister Margaret Tudor. De Noailles would do everything in his power to stir up trouble between herself and Mary in the hope that one day Mary of Scotland would sit upon the throne and England become a vassal of France.

  Once more she was surrounded by spies and enemies. She could not even speak freely to Kat, these days, for even the walls seemed to have ears.

  The weeks passed and at last Mary sent for her. Elizabeth attended the interview with apprehension. She found Mary seated at her desk and the expression on her face did nothing to allay Elizabeth’s fears.

  She dropped a curtsy. “You sent for me, Your Majesty,” she ventured.

  Mary remained silent and Elizabeth felt fear gnaw at her insides.

  At last Mary raised her head and fixing her sister with a piercing look asked, “Do you firmly believe what the Catholics now believe and have always believed concerning the Holy Sacrament?”

  Elizabeth was taken aback for she had not been expecting this. She stood trying to collect her thoughts.

  Seeing her hesitancy Mary continued, “Speak freely and declare what is in your mind,” she commanded.

  At last Elizabeth answered. “I go to Mass because my conscience prompts me to and I go of my own free will. ”

  She looked at her sister but to her consternation she read suspicion in Mary’s eyes. Her heart sank, she had failed.

  Mary turned from her and signalled her to leave.

  “I have only made matters worse,” she thought as she left. This time her judgement had been wrong for she realised that it would have been better to have told Mary the truth. It was too late now!

  Despite that fateful interview she remained at Court for the Coronation. She rode behind Mary and in the same litter with Anne of Cleves. Both she and Anne were dressed in white gowns with long French sleeves and coronets adorned both the red and the fair head.

  Elizabeth’s mind wandered throughout the long ceremony. She thought of the Kings who had been crowned here. Some good, some indifferent and some disastrous and wondered whether she would ever sit in the chair her sister now graced with the crown of St Edward upon her head and the Sceptre and Orb in her hands as the trumpets rang out and the Peers acclaimed their Sovereign. Her head ached with the weight of the coronet she wore and the heavy smell of incense.

  Foolishly she remarked upon the fact to de Noailles who was seated next to her.

  “You should have patience, Madam,” he remarked smoothly, “soon you should have a better crown!”

  She could have bitten her tongue as she saw the knowing look which Renard directed at her. That conversation would be sure to find its way speedily to her sister’s ears. For the rest of the ceremony she fumed in silence.

  *

  A campaign of humiliation was now directed against her. Mary’s first Parliament met on the 5th October and repealed the divorce of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, thus declaring Elizabeth publicly a bastard!

  She bore the insult in silence, wondering whether the next step would be her exclusion from the succession. A day later Kat came to her with a tale which boded ill for her future.

  Kat had been on her way to Elizabeth’s apartments when she had heard a disturbance and had naturally gone to see what all the noise was about.

  Elizabeth smiled at her. “You are a gossip, Kat Ashley,” she chided.

  Kat assumed an air of injured pride but continued.

  “I could not believe my eyes for it was Her Majesty and she was so enraged that she was shouting like a fishwife!” Kat said. “I was scandalised! A lady of her rank to indulge in such behaviour!” she continued. “When I heard what it was that she was shouting for all to hear, I was even more horrified!” Kat paused to see what effect her revelations were having upon her mistress and as Elizabeth seemed suitably impressed she continued. “She was shouting that you, Bess, are a heretic, a bastard and a hypocrite and that it would be a scandal for you to succeed.”

  The bemused expression vanished from Elizabeth’s face. She paled. “My God! She must hate me to behave so in public,” she thought fearfully. “Well, continue, woman,” she said impatiently.

  Kat plunged on, “She even went so far as to say,” here Kat visibly quailed.

  “To say what?” Elizabeth shouted at her.

  “That you are not King Henry’s daughter, that you bear a remarkable resemblance to…” Here Kat’s voice trailed off into silence.

  Elizabeth was scarlet with rage. “To whom, Kat?” she said, suppressed fury in her voice.

  Kat could not answer.

  “To whom?” Elizabeth shouted at her.

  “To Mark Smeaton,” Kat whispered.

  The girl stood shaking with anger. Her eyes blazed like a wildcat’s in her white face while her long nails pierced the flesh of her tightly clenched hands. “That pious bitch!” she stormed to herself for even Henry had rigorously put down that rumour. “The fanatical, warped bitch! How she hates my mother. Even now she must drag her from her grave to slander her and me, knowing I cannot defend myself for fear of God knows what?”

  “She must be mad,” she told Kat, her voice still shaking, “she must be insane! I will not endure it, Kat, I will not! Send at once to her Ungracious Majesty requesting permission for me to leave this foul place.”

  Kat withdrew at once to dispatch her mistress’s request, leaving Elizabeth still fuming and smarting at her sister’s vicious outburst.

  To her dismay her request was refused. “So she intends to keep me here that she may further insult me,” she thought bitterly.

  The next month brought a humiliation she
could not endure in silence. To her already outraged dignity was added the final insult. She was to be humiliated publicly by Mary for she was informed that she was to give precedence in public processions to the Countess of Lennox and the Duchess of Suffolk.

  She screamed at Kat in the comparative safety of her own apartments.

  “God’s Death! I will never, never, walk behind Margaret Lennox and Francis Brandon! I, the daughter of the great King Henry, a rightful Princess—heir to the throne—to walk behind the daughter of Margaret Tudor and the Earl of Angus and the loud, common, red-faced daughter of Mary Tudor and plain Charles Brandon! I tell you, Kat, I would rather die first!” She sat down for her anger had drained her of her strength. How could Mary do this to her? Why did she hate her so much? Because of her mother—could Mary not let the past lie? She had loved her as a child, what was that ridiculous little rhyme Mary used to sing? Something about a nut tree and the King of Spain’s daughter. She covered her face with her hands and wept for she realised that a King of Spain’s daughter would forever stand between herself and Mary, as would the ghost of a dark-haired woman with black, mocking eyes.

  She shut herself up in her apartments and refused to see anyone. She appealed once more to be allowed to leave for she felt she could no longer endure the vicious attacks upon her.

  This time her request was granted for Mary was heartily sick of her.

  Mary condescended to see her off a few days before Christmas. Elizabeth stood in the courtyard ready to leave when her sister walked towards her. Although she had made this small gesture Mary’s face was hard with the bitterness and hatred she felt. With an attempt at politeness Mary gave her a sable hood as a Christmas gift.

  “I thank Your Majesty,” Elizabeth replied sullenly.

  Mary looked at her sister with hatred in her heart.

  “How like that whore she looks,” she thought, “if it were not for her hair it could be the Bullen witch!”

  Mary’s hatred showed in her face as Elizabeth looked at her with pain in her eyes.