It came in the Spring of 1556, in the form of the Dudley Plot.
“These Dudleys,” Elizabeth thought, “does nothing ever deter them?” Then she remembered an arrogant but handsome young man with bold, laughing eyes who had lightened her days in the garden of the Tower.
“Like myself, they will not accept defeat even though it stares them in the face,” she thought wistfully.
This Dudley was a distant relative of the dead Northumberland, who planned to send Mary to her husband and make Elizabeth Queen but also to marry her to Edward Courtney. At this last piece of information Elizabeth found it hard to conceal her mirth.
“Marry me to that young fool!” she thought, “This Henry Dudley knows little of me.”
The plot was doomed to failure for it involved far too many people and a certain Thomas White took fright and confessed all he knew to Cardinal Pole. The arrests started to take place. With dread Elizabeth heard that her name had been mentioned but as usual no proof could be furnished. She heard that Mary again intended to try to send her abroad. In the previous autumn a preposterous plan had been suggested, that she should marry the half mad, ten-year-old son of Phillip by his first marriage. She had declared then to all that would listen that she would never marry and she declared it yet again and was to continue to declare it throughout the next three years.
In May, Somerset House was searched and anti-Catholic literature was found, the ownership of which was traced to Kat Ashley.
Elizabeth was horrified! “In God’s Name! Kat, will you never learn?” she shouted at a terrified and tearful Kat. She was justifiably afraid for herself and Kat. To her consternation Kat was taken away for questioning and Elizabeth wondered whether she, too, would soon be sent for.
“Dear God! Kat is a fool,” she told herself. She soon learnt that Kat had denied any knowledge of the pamphlets but was sentenced to three months in the Fleet prison just the same. Although cleared herself, Elizabeth was greatly distressed at Kat’s plight but perhaps this time it would have the effect of being a lesson to Kat, she thought. Indeed it was a suitably chastened Kat who returned to her mistress that autumn.
In November, Elizabeth paid a visit to Court. It was her first since she had attained her freedom. Mary received her graciously but Elizabeth noted how desperately ill her sister looked. She had planned to stay for the Christmas holiday but an interview with Mary changed all that.
Mary was seated at her desk, short-sightedly peering at the documents which lay scattered around her.
Elizabeth enquired after her sister’s health and well being, to which Mary gave the usual, formal replies. After a few minutes of small talk Mary rose.
“It is our most earnest desire that you should marry,” she said.
At her words Elizabeth’s heart quailed.
“The Duke of Savoy is considered by us to be a most worthy person,” she continued.
She got no further for Elizabeth promptly burst into passionate tears. “Your Majesty, I have no wish for any husband. I would rather die first!” she sobbed.
To all Mary’s reasoning she protested. She could never endure the married state, she cried.
Finally Mary lost her temper and dismissed her.
Elizabeth therefore left for Hatfield on the 3rd of December under a cloud of gloom, hoping that the proposal would be forgotten but Mary was so infuriated that she threatened to convene Parliament with the object of having Elizabeth declared illegitimate and excluded from the succession, but Elizabeth knew that this was an empty threat.
Philip was once again waging war upon his old enemy, France, and in March, 1557, he returned to England to enlist the aid of his neglected wife. He also realised that it was of the utmost importance that the question of the succession be finally settled as it was obvious that Mary would never bear a child. To this end he brought with him his sister, the Duchess of Parma and his cousin, the Duchess of Lorraine, with the specific object of their returning with Elizabeth as the betrothed of the Duke of Savoy. Mary however took a dislike to both ladies and Elizabeth refused to even meet them. Regarding the proposed marriage she vehemently refused to consider it.
In his plans to enlist English aid in his war with France he met with more success. There had been a further short-lived rebellion led by a Thomas Stafford who had landed on the Yorkshire coast from France. Stafford had seized Scarborough and declared that he had come with the aid and help of all true Englishmen, to deliver the country from all present danger and bondage but as far as most Englishmen were concerned, Stafford and his men constituted the true danger. That and the fact that there was at that time quite a large French army just over the border in Scotland. The rebellion was put down before much damage had been done but it did however bring Mary to a decision and on the 7th June, England was once again at war with her ancient enemy, France.
Having achieved at least one of his aims, Philip departed in July—this time never to return. He did send his Confessor, Father de Fresneda to try to persuade Mary to compel her sister to marry and to name her as successor. Regarding the marriage, Elizabeth had the backing of Parliament and de Fresneda met with no success. He also failed in his second objective for Mary bitterly opposed any declaration concerning Elizabeth as her heir.
In her loneliness and despair Mary turned bitterly upon the daughter of the woman she blamed for the ruination of her life. Elizabeth was a bastard, she declared. Her mother had been a vile, wicked woman and Elizabeth was not even her sister for Henry had not been her father. She would never, never leave her Crown to Nan Bullen’s brat! No, this time Philip had asked in vain. He had demanded so much of her and what little had he given in return? She was old and ugly and she knew that the shadow of death hung over her whilst all the time that crafty, scheming, daughter of a witch was waiting spitefully for her to die. No, she would not give the witch’s brat the satisfaction of being named heir to the throne of England.
The war had begun quite well with a victory for the English and Spanish troops at St Quentin. Then England suffered a fatal, humiliating blow to her pride when the last English possession in France, Calais—all that remained of the great days of England’s victories under Henry V and the Black Prince—fell to the French on January 10th. Every Englishman felt deeply humiliated and in their hearts they blamed “Bloody Mary” and her Spanish husband.
At Christmas Mary had announced that she was once more pregnant and although her body was swollen there were few who believed her and Elizabeth was not amongst them. She paid a visit to Court to see for herself but she saw a rapidly failing woman and she knew that her sister was sick unto death.
The summer of 1558 dragged on and speculation was rife for Mary was now known to be very ill. In early September the Queen developed a high fever and despite the optimistic bulletins issued by the Royal Physicians, rumour ran riot. Slowly the trickle of visitors arriving at Hatfield increased.
“Like rats deserting the sinking ship,” Elizabeth thought.
On the 6th November, the Privy Council spoke with Mary to try to persuade her to make a declaration in favour of the Lady Elizabeth. The dying woman was too weak to resist any longer and on the 8th November the Master of the Rolls and the Comptroller arrived at Hatfield.
Elizabeth met them in the Great Hall.
“Your Grace, the Queen is willing for you to succeed in the event of her death, she asks but two things of you. That you maintain the true religion and pay her debts,” the Comptroller informed her.
“I agree,” she replied.
After they had gone she found it strange to believe that in a few days or even in a few hours her dream would be realised.
The flocks of courtiers now arriving at Hatfield made her realise that Mary’s end was near. She thought sadly of her sister dying in the silent palace, deserted by everyone save a handful of loyal women. Even Philip whom Mary had so trustingly loved had not come and Mary’s heartbreak was complete.
“Poor Mary,” Elizabeth thought, all she had received
from life was pain, humiliation and defeat when all she had ever wanted was to be loved and to rule a peaceful country with a loving husband and a brood of small children to complete her happiness. In all her hopes she had been disappointed. Angrily Elizabeth thought of her father. Of all his many sins what he had done to Mary was the worst, for he had deliberately and callously turned a sweet natured, open and affectionate child into a bitter, bigoted and resentful woman. He had broken her spirit, forced her to betray her God and her mother and had wrecked her health and any chance of happiness she may have had.
“May God forgive you, Henry Tudor,” she thought savagely, “for I never shall!”
She was interrupted by a breathless and highly excited Kat.
“Bess, come quickly! The Earls of Arundel and Pembroke have arrived with news!” she cried. Kat could hardly contain herself as she followed her mistress down the stairs. “At last all the hopes, all the suffering and anxiety have not been in vain!” she thought.
Upon Elizabeth’s appearance the two Earls fell to their knees.
“The Queen is dead. Long Live the Queen!” they cried.
Their words hung in the air, those words she had prayed for so long to hear. Her heart sang within her breast for the years of waiting and hoping had been so long. They had called her a bastard, concubine’s brat, the daughter of a witch—but she had won!
She, too, fell to her knees. “This is the Lord’s doing,” she cried joyously. “it is marvellous in our eyes.”
Her eyes met those of the kneeling Kat and between them passed a wealth of affection—of memories and triumphs shared. She felt too that somewhere a pair of black eyes watched her. Eyes that were filled with love, pride and triumph over death—the eyes of her mother.
With quiet dignity the Queen of England arose.
*
She had held her first Council meeting on the 20th of November, at which William Cecil was sworn in as Secretary of State. Thomas Parry had been made a Privy Councillor and also Controller of the Household. Robert Dudley she made her Master of Horse whilst her faithful Kat became Chief Lady of the Bedchamber. On the 23rd of the month she had entered the City, staying at the Charterhouse so that her delirious subjects might gaze upon her as often as they wished. On the 28th she rode in state procession to the Tower, maintaining the tradition of all previous Sovereigns to reside there until her Coronation.
She drew rein as she passed beneath the ominous portals, reflecting upon the sufferings she and many others she had loved had endured in this place; remembering that Anne, too, had ridden with great ceremony to reside here before her coronation in those apartments where not so long ago she had been allowed to take her exercise. Elizabeth turned to her Master of Horse who had his own recollections of years spent as a prisoner.
“Some have fallen from being Princes of this Land to be prisoners in this place. I am raised from being a prisoner in this place to be Prince of this Land,” she said and spurring her horse, she rode forward.
In the days that followed she had studied the legacy her sister had left her. A nation at war, threatened on two fronts by France. An empty Treasury and a people torn by religious strife. The future looked grim. She was twenty-five years old and faced problems that would have made a strong man’s heart fail—but hers did not. Now her years of study would stand in her stead. The lessons learnt in the hard school of life would be put to good use. That foolish, spoilt, Madam of Scotland who had dared to quarter the Arms of England, would soon learn that what Elizabeth Tudor fought for, she kept! She was aware that half of Europe was speculating on how long she would keep her Crown. Let them wait! Let them find out for themselves that she was no weak and foolish woman. She was no Mary Tudor; no Mary Stuart either for the qualities that she had inherited from her grandfather, King Henry VII, had carried her safely through her hard life and would carry her safely through the future. The instinct for self-preservation, self-reliance, shrewdness and a healthy respect for the value of money and most of all her cold, calculating brain.
Sadly her thoughts turned for the last time to her past, for somewhere over those long years, whilst acquiring the qualities she needed to survive, she had lost the tender qualities of a woman. She had lost her youth and her childhood. Had she spent those years in laughter and carelessness with a mother’s arms to protect her lovingly from danger, then perhaps she would have been a different person. Perhaps she would have become a person like Mary Stuart and upon reflection she realised that her youth had not been wasted for she now possessed the strength to endure, whilst Mary Stuart would surely founder and fall upon the dangerous path that led to a secure and peaceful Nation.
Epilogue
Through the crack in the bed curtains she could see the dying embers of the fire. She thought poignantly that her past was fading and turning to ash like the glowing logs. She must look to the future now.
Throughout those years she had always been alone for she had never known the love of a mother. From the age of two years and eight months she had fought life’s battles alone and it would be no hardship to face the future, she thought.
Her weary eyes closed but she could still hear the wind sighing against the windows as she drifted into sleep. She thought she heard words on that wind. Words whispered in Anne’s soft voice.
“You are never truly alone, Elizabeth, for I am with you always.”
*
Outside it had started to snow. The heavy flakes covered the sleeping city with a white blanket and softened even the stark outline of the Tower beneath whose walls a solitary sentry paced. The man stopped suddenly and peered into the darkness before resuming his lonely vigil.
He shook his head. “’Tis nothing but the darkness and the snow,” he told himself stoutly for he thought he had seen the figure of a young woman with hair as black as a raven’s wing pass quietly from the little chapel of St Peter and out into the darkness beyond.
Author’s Note
I wish to thank Mrs Mary Wilkinson and the Staff of the Rainford County Library for their help in obtaining for me the books that I have used for reference purposes. I am also indebted to Mr. John. F. Rourke and Mrs. Susan J. Robins for their constructive assistance which is greatly appreciated and last, but certainly not least, my husband without whose support and confidence this book could not have been written.
L.M.A.
Selected Bibliography
The Private Character of Queen Elizabeth. Frederick Chamberlain
The Earlier Tudors. J. D. Mackie
Elizabeth Tudor—the Lonely Queen. Sir A. S. McNalty
The Girlhood of Queen Elizabeth. F. A. Mumbey
The Young Elizabeth. Alison Plowden
Life of Anne Boleyn. Sergeant.
Life of Queen Elizabeth I. Agnes Strickland
Lives of the Queens of England. Agnes Strickland
Queen Elizabeth I. J. E. Neale
First published in the United Kingdom in 1977 by Robert Hale
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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United Kingdom
Copyright © Lynda M. Andrews, 1977
The moral right of Lynda M. Andrews to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911591344
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entir
ely coincidental.
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