In High Places

by Bonny G Smith

  “No,” she said. “Elizabeth knows that I cannot compromise my faith and has not insisted that I stay. I only came to fulfil my duty as chief mourner at the queen’s funeral. Now that duty is done, and I am for the north and home.”

  Dame Agnes sighed. “I very much regretted not being able to attend Her Grace’s obsequies,” she said. “I was much stricken by this strange ague and could not leave my bed. I prayed a rosary for Her Grace every day from my sick bed.”

  “That was kind,” said Margaret, placing a hand atop the Dame’s. “It was all so very sad. Even Elizabeth shed a tear for our cousin. Not, grant you, for the queen that she was, but for the sister she had been, I think me.”

  Dame Agnes nodded. “I understand. Mary always took such tender care of Her Grace when she was but a child. What happened between them as they grew older was most unfortunate.” Speaking of Elizabeth as a child brought Margaret’s children to mind. “And how is my little Lord Darnley? Have you brought His Grace and his brother to court with you?”

  “No, they were best left at home, and Darnley to his studies. He is quite the scholar, you know.” Margaret smiled; she was very proud of her son and heir. “Darnley is not yet thirteen, but already he has mastered French and Gaelic. But unlike some who excel at their books, he is also athletic and a more than able horseman. He continually bests his companions with lance and sword, and none can touch his accuracy at the quintain. And so tall! Why, he is almost a man.”

  Dame Agnes noticed the sparkle that came into Margaret’s eyes when she spoke of Darnley. “Of course, one cannot help but be proud of such a prodigy. Would that I could have seen him!”

  Suddenly Margaret’s fist came down with a bang upon the little table, making the now empty ale cups jump. Apropos of nothing, she cried, “My uncle’s will is so unfair!”

  Dame Agnes knew to what Margaret referred; Henry the Eighth’s will had excluded the Stewart line, those born of his elder sister Margaret, from the line of succession to the English throne. “If it were not for that, Darnley, as the only male, would be Elizabeth’s heir.”

  “Of that I not so certain,” said the Dame. “Surely his religion would exclude him in any case.”

  “Yes, but that may not always be so!” cried Margaret, her eyes flashing. This time it was Dame Agnes who looked about her in alarm. The conversation was edging very close to treason.

  “But surely, the queen will soon marry and beget heirs of her own,” said Dame Agnes soothingly. “And then it will matter not which line stands to inherit, be it the Stewarts descended from your gracious mother’s line, or the Greys descended from your Aunt Mary, the Duchess of Suffolk.”

  Margaret guffawed inelegantly. “Ha!” she said. “That is, unless Elizabeth follows our Cousin Frances’s example, and marries her horse master!”

  The Dame’s eyes went wide. “Does Her Grace have such a plan?”

  “Well, if she does not, she is for certes giving a very good impression of it! My Lord Robert Dudley, a son and grandson, no less, of executed traitors to the crown, can do no wrong these days. Elizabeth visits him in his rooms at night, will suffer no one else to sit or ride beside her, and she even seeks his advice and opinion on political matters!” Margaret’s chest heaved with indignation.

  “I have not heard this,” said Dame Agnes. “I fear me that I and my nuns have been much cut off from affairs of late. Almost all of us have been ill, and we receive few visitors anymore. But surely there are other, more viable suitors for the queen’s hand?”

  “Indeed, there are,” replied Margaret. “And does her Grace not lead them all a merry dance! Henry FitzAlan, the Earl of Arundel, has just a slight tincture of Plantagenet blood in his veins, and views himself as the leading contender. He is so sure of himself that he has borrowed money from the Italian moneylenders on the promise to pay as soon as he becomes king! When my cousin found out about that, she was furious. Although my cousin has much to thank Arundel for, he was staunch in his protection of her when Bishop Gardiner thought to have her executed in King Edward’s reign, he is an old man and twice a widower. And his audacity of late has angered Elizabeth beyond any feelings of gratitude she might have harbored in his regard. No, the English candidate that most feel has the best chance is Sir William Pickering. He is not much younger than Arundel, but my cousin seems to be seriously considering him as her consort. And let us not forget my lord of Norfolk, who is a cousin of the queen and the leading peer of the realm. But I think me that it is all a fiction; any domestic marriage can only lead to the faction and strife born of jealously. And then there are the foreigners! Eric of Sweden, Charles of Austria, King Philip himself! She keeps all in high hopes, but at the same time weaves a tangle that none can make sense of.”

  “But if she does not marry and secure the succession with a child of her body, we are back where we were before,” said the Dame. “I fear me that there is no good solution to the issue of the succession if Her Grace will not name an heir from amongst the descendants of Tudor line, and yet will not have a child of her body.”

  Margaret shrugged. “I believe that my cousin means what she says when she claims that she will marry no one. She excels at the art of talking much and saying nothing.”

  Dame Agnes laughed. “An enviable talent, it would seem.”

  Margaret regarded the shadows creeping across the little herb garden. The mist had cleared and the sun had come out, but the afternoon was waning and it would be dark soon. “I fear me that I must away, Good Dame. I may not be able to stop again before I depart for the north. My purse today is light, but I shall send my steward with the funds I have promised you.”

  Dame Agnes placed a hand to Margaret’s cheek. “May God, the Virgin, and Saint Michael and all His angels have you in their keeping, my lady,” she said. “I fear what would have become of us without your generosity.”

  Tears filled Margaret’s eyes. “You shall always have it,” she said. “And if you should change your mind, you are always welcome at Temple Newsam.”

  The two women stood an arm’s length from each other; both knew that they might never see each other again in this life. They embraced one last time.

  “God Bless you, my child,” said the Dame.

  “And you,” Margaret replied.

  As she left the stillroom and made her way back up through the cloisters to the water steps, Margaret suddenly had such a longing for home as she had never before experienced.

  Chapter 3

  “‘Must’ is not a word used to princes.”

  – Queen Elizabeth I

  Whitehall Palace, May 1559

  T he queen’s gown sparkled with diamonds and, as one man observed to his fellow behind a carefully concealed hand, it must have been sewn with a veritable bushel of pearls. The gown was so stiff with jewels that no one doubted that if needs be, it could have stood of its own accord without its wearer. But it was not only the queen’s gowns that were bedecked with jewels; Elizabeth wore ropes and ropes of pearls about her neck, and both of her hands, with their elegant fingers, sported multiple rings. A great ruby glittered on her thumb.

  And like her father, Elizabeth knew how to set a scene; she had timed her meeting with the men of the Parliament to begin just when the sun shone slanting through the great windows of her Presence Chamber, the golden sunbeams resting upon her, causing her to glitter and gleam all the more.

  Some were perplexed by this excess in the matter of dress; when Elizabeth was making an outward show of conformity to the Protestant faith during her brother’s reign, her gowns had all been made of dark colors, and were simple, modest, and plain. But now every gown she wore, and the men of the Parliament had to tax their memories to the limit to recall if they had ever seen Her Grace wear the same frock twice, was in itself a work of art. But while some observed the queen’s sumptuous wardrobe with disapproval, others rejoiced in their new sovereign. Should not a monarch make an outward show of wealth and power?

  From her gilt throne padded wit
h its cloth of gold cushions, and with the arms of England glittering on the wall behind her, Elizabeth regarded in silence the men who made up her first Parliament. All in all, she was eminently satisfied that she had managed this Parliament quite successfully. She was pleased with and proud of what she had accomplished. She had navigated the dangerous waters of the religious issue with great skill; and even though the bills that had been passed did not satisfy everyone, at least the agreements that had been reached were effective enough to prevent further unrest and the violence that might accompany it. Much had been left ambiguous; but it was this very vagueness that made the new religious laws tolerable, if not positively acceptable, to almost everyone.

  The Commons had been extraordinarily supportive of her bills regarding what to do about the faith of England, and the Lords Temporal almost as compliant. But the Lords Spiritual, her troublesome bishops, had been every bit as bothersome as she had expected them to be. And yet despite them, the bills making up her religious settlement had all been passed, and were now the law of the land. She was free to move forward with the enforcement of these new laws, and she had wasted no time. Already the Catholic bishops were ruing the day they had crossed her; those who refused to take the Oath of Supremacy had been deprived of their sees and were either in the Tower or the Fleet Prison. And serve them right!

  At a nod from Elizabeth, John Ashley, her gentleman usher, raised his hands for silence.

  When all was quiet, Elizabeth tilted up her chin and drew breath to speak. “My lords,” she said, in a firm, clear voice that carried the length and breadth of the great room. “The realm that I inherited from my sister was in a sorry state.” She paused to allow for any dissent to this statement to be voiced; there was none, indeed, there were murmurings of agreement. “The treasury was empty; the people were out of order; justice was not executed; the nobility was poor and decayed; prices were high, and all things dear; and the realm was exhausted by a foreign war in which England should never have been engaged, and which left us wanting for good captains and soldiers to defend our own land. Worse still, it lost us Calais, to our everlasting sorrow and shame. The result of this tragic loss was a dire threat to England’s sovereignty, with the French king standing astride our land, one boot planted firmly in Scotland and the other in Calais.”

  Again there were murmurings of assent. As she spoke she scanned every face in the room; the effect was that each man felt as if she were speaking directly to him alone.

  “At home, religious faction and the resultant confusion confounded good Englishmen, and caused many divisions amongst us. In short, we were left, after the reigns of my brother and sister, with many steadfast enemies, and no dependable friends. Rest assured, my lords, that I have no intention of repeating my sister’s mistakes! Her Grace’s veneration of her cousin, the Emperor Charles, marred her judgment; her marriage to a foreigner and her support of his wars drained the treasury and caused much English blood to be spilt to no good purpose; her suspicious attitude towards her own nobles caused much discontent; and her persecution of her own people and the burning of almost three hundred good English men and women are acts my lords, which I shall not ever repeat.”

  Spontaneous cheers rang out; she waited for them to die down.

  “And now, my lords, let us rejoice! For we have made excellent progress with this, our first Parliament!” She held up her beringed hands and began ticking off each accomplishment on her fingers; as she did so, the jewels in her rings and on her gown twinkled, throwing prisms of rainbow color about the hall. “We have signed a treaty of peace with the French king; we have restored the treasury with the restitution to the crown of revenues from every bishopric in England, money which shall no longer be sent out of England and bestowed upon the Bishop of Rome; and we have taken steps to restore the coinage, so sadly debased in the last three reigns. But most important of all, we have brought forth a religious settlement that allows for the unity of all Englishmen. There is but one Jesus Christ, my lords, and one religion; the rest is but a dispute over trifles, and not one of these is worth a single drop of English blood. To support this settlement, we have established a Supreme Governorship of the Church of England that allows for the interference of no foreign power in the affairs of our realm.”

  At this speech the cheers rang out once again; the men of the Parliament, like the people of England, had had enough of religious strife, and after the horror of her sister’s reign, most were content to subscribe to whatever finally laid the matter to rest. With the Catholic bishops neutralized, dissention was quelled and men were at last free to address other pressing issues that needed their attention. It was as simple as that; go to church each Sunday or pay your shilling fine; believe what you believed and be silent about it if it was at odds with the new laws. Do this and you were safe; the new queen had made it abundantly clear that there would be no religious persecution, no dreadful burnings, in her reign.

  Elizabeth rose from her throne, and in an eloquent gesture, raised up her arms and held out her hands to the multitude of men. “My lords, for all of your hard work, and for all that you have made it possible for us to accomplish together for the good of England and the English people, I thank you from my heart.”

  The men cheered; Elizabeth arose and made as if to depart, but suddenly the cheers subsided and the Speaker of the House of Commons, Sir Thomas Gargrave, came forward. To Elizabeth’s eye, it also seemed as if everyone else took a step back. She noticed that he held a sizeable scroll.

  Sir Thomas bowed, cleared his throat and said, “Your Grace, if I may be permitted…”

  Elizabeth smiled. Perhaps it was some further accolade that her Parliament wished to bestow. She inclined her head.

  ###

  “We are mindful, Your Grace, of your love for your kingdom and for your care of your people,” said Sir Thomas. “But lo! Your Grace has failed to mention the most serious threat of all to the realm, and to the English people. This petition,” and as he said this he unfurled the document he had been clutching so tightly, “has been signed by all of us, its purpose to humbly entreat Your Grace to marry, beget an heir, and secure the succession. Only then can England truly be safe.”

  She was astonished at the temerity of such an action, but good sense prevailed; many of these same men were sure to sit the next Parliament, and she had no wish to alienate them. Queen of England she may be, but she must rule with her Parliament.

  Elizabeth once again took her seat on the throne. Some response was required.

  “As all of you are aware, marriage is a subject that is unpleasing to me. But,” she said, holding up her hand, “the apparent goodwill of all of you, and of my people, is most pleasing. So I will say this to you. Even though my hand is sought in marriage by the most worthy and potent princes in Christendom, and some very worthy Englishmen, too! …I have nevertheless chosen to stay as I am because I consider that I already have a husband and children, my lords.” Casually, she arose and with her right hand removed her coronation ring and held it up high for all to see. “I am already bound unto a husband, which is the Kingdom of England. Yea, and every one of you, and all my people, are as my kinsmen, and children unto me. I shall nurture England as the mother nurtures the child. And with England and my people as my husband and children, I need no other.”

  It was a pretty speech, but on this issue the Parliament was not to be moved by pretty speeches.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace,” said Speaker Gargrave, “but it is our considered opinion that it would be better for Your Grace to take a husband who might relieve you of the labors of rule, which are fit only for men, that Your Grace may the more easily be able to fulfil the duty of a queen; to provide the country with an heir.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and glittered as brightly as her diamonds; those present who knew her well recognized the danger signs. These men did not realize the utter panic that seized her insides at the very thought of tying herself to a husband who would then hold sway over her and
her realm. The same icy fear gripped her that she had felt when her father had cut off the head of her cousin, Katherine Howard; the image of her mother’s effigy looked at her with pleading eyes; the specter of the leering face of Thomas Seymour loomed; and just behind that phantasm was the stricken face of her stepmother, Catherine Parr, when she had learned of their affair and her husband’s infidelity. All these unpleasant thoughts flitted through her mind like phantoms. No; she would give herself, and her hard-won power, to no man. But she had learnt that it was best not to let one’s opponent know one’s mind…and that these men were her opponents in this matter was all too evident.

  She smiled; she sat back down on her throne and assumed a relaxed posture. “I have not ruled marriage out, my lords,” she replied, with an enigmatic smile. “But I must have time to decide what is best to do…for all concerned.” There was certainly no dearth of suitors, even with Philip of Spain out of the running. She almost laughed aloud as she recalled de Feria’s stricken face when she had informed him in March that she must, regretfully, refuse his master’s offer of marriage. It was all she could do to keep from laughing in the ambassador’s face when he presented her brother-in-law’s proposal, with its attendant conditions. And the offer to obtain a dispensation from the pope! Did they not realize that if she accepted such a dispensation, that she must also then accept the one that upheld her father’s marriage to Katharine of Aragon? The very act of doing so meant admitting to all and sundry that she was, indeed, a bastard. Clearly no one was thinking these things through as deeply as she herself was doing. And the ink was not yet dry on her dispatch to King Philip refusing his proposal of marriage when the news reached England that His Gracious Majesty was betrothed to the Princess Elisabeth, the daughter of the King of France! Evidently the King of Spain had been hedging his own bets!