The group sat on stools around Mary's great chair, Mistress Shirley a little to the side and farther back than the high-born ladies. Behind, on the wall to the left of the bed, was a prie-dieu facing a large crucifix. Rhoslyn pulled her eyes from the crucifix and fixed her gaze on the queen. The image of Christ, twisted in agony on the cross, brought back too vividly to her many scenes from her life in the Dark Court.
The exasperated question Mary had asked was no surprise to her ladies. Ever since Mary's coronation on October first Elizabeth had been a growing irritant. Not that Mary had been happy with her close association with Elizabeth since the passing of the first surge of tenderness when Elizabeth had come to greet her on her arrival in London. Within weeks, Renard's and Gardiner's warnings about the threat posed by Elizabeth and Elizabeth's own actions, flaunting herself before the young men of the Court, had removed the rosy haze of affection and cleared Mary's vision.
Through the end of July and August, Mary came to see and increasingly resent Elizabeth's hypocrisy. Elizabeth professed affection but, Mary reasoned, would she not love Mary's faith, the central focus of her sister's life, if she truly loved her sister? Elizabeth seemed to cling to her, always ready to stand hand in hand or follow close behind . . . except when it was time to attend Mass. Then Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.
When Mary taxed her with her resistance to the true faith, Elizabeth pled ignorance, asked for teachers. Yes, Elizabeth had finally attended a Mass, groaning and complaining that she was sick; her stomach knotted with cramps so it was hard for her to breathe. If Elizabeth had truly believed what she now swore she believed, would she not have been light and happy, assured of Christ's forgiveness and the hope of heaven? And even now she crept into the chapel for Mass, always late, and as if going to some bitter punishment.
Yet in every public celebration since Mary had been proclaimed queen, Elizabeth was first in precedence. And the people and the whole Court were satisfied it should be so. More than satisfied; there was indignation, angry looks, and defection from the queen's company if Elizabeth was slighted and retired. Now even Renard and Gardiner insisted that Elizabeth must be treated with respect and seeming affection if Mary would not send her to the Tower and find some reason to have her executed.
Mary choked and pressed her handkerchief to her lips as bile rose in her throat at the same time as it constricted. She could not breathe. Mistress Shirley jumped from her seat and rushed to hold a glass of wine to Mary's lips. At first she could not drink, not until she swore silently she never would order her sister's death; then she was able to take a sip and gesture at her ladies, who had exclaimed and started to rise, to remain seated.
The thought of execution, the reaction she could not control, confirmed again to Mary that to order Elizabeth's death was to bring on her own. But how else was she to prevent Elizabeth from inheriting the throne?
Not through any action of Parliament, Mary thought bitterly. On most matters, Parliament had been most cooperative. The members repealed laws that raised minor offenses into treason and reversed the decree that had divorced Catherine of Aragon from Henry VIII.
The repeal was embarrassing to Elizabeth as it declared her illegitimate anew, but not one member followed the logic of that ruling and raised his voice to contest the Act of Succession. Gardiner made private efforts to raise that point with a few Catholic members, but he soon desisted. There was not the smallest hint that the Parliament would consider removing Elizabeth from the succession. Elizabeth was as firmly heir presumptive when Parliament rose as the day Mary was proclaimed queen.
"Be rid of her," Rhoslyn said in answer to Mary's question about what to do about Elizabeth. Aleneil had told Rhoslyn that Elizabeth needed to get away from Court.
There were gasps all around, and Mary, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, said breathlessly, "No, I cannot."
"Oh, no!" Rhoslyn exclaimed, painting an expression of horror on her face while inwardly congratulating herself on the efficacy of her working on Mary's mind. "I did not mean any harm to Lady Elizabeth. Indeed, madam, any harm to her would bring more evil upon you than her. Whatever ill befell her would be blamed on you no matter how innocent you were. And there is so much unrest already about your proposed marriage."
"Everyone is so . . . so . . . stupid." Susan Clarencieux said. "Why can they not see how much better ruled the country will be with Prince Philip's help and one strong faith?"
"The English have a powerful dislike and suspicion of foreign rulers," Jane Dormer said softly. "You must be patient, madam. When Prince Philip is your consort and they see no ill follows, they will grow more accepting. And Elizabeth has been very careful not to show any disapproval."
"But she does disapprove!" Mary said, her hands trembling slightly with anger and frustration. "In the hearing of the whole Court, she said no queen of England should think of marrying the future king of Spain."
"But she then said she had been silly and all that was important was that you marry to please yourself and get an heir." Jane Dormer frowned as she spoke, not exactly sure of why she said what she did. But she agreed with Rosamund that harm or even further insult to Elizabeth would bring trouble on the queen, who was in trouble enough for proposing to marry Philip of Spain.
Susan Clarencieux snorted gently. "Oh, Elizabeth would say that. She is clever enough never to give any open cause for Your Majesty's disfavor. To the eye and ear of the Court and of the people, she has been as meek and obedient as a slaveling."
"She is a liar and a hypocrite," Mistress Shirley said, not mincing words.
Mary's frown deepened, but it was Susan Clarencieux who said, "I think she is, but she is equally clever about that. She does attend Mass, but only those in Your Majesty's private chapel. Somehow she always has an excuse to avoid Mass at St. Paul's or any other public place."
Jane Dormer looked worried; she was young and she had a little corner in her mind that liked and admired Elizabeth. "But is that hypocrisy or only her pride, which shrinks from a public admission of her earlier foolishness?" Still Jane dearly loved Mary and was a good Catholic. She sighed. "Perhaps it is for pride that she avoids public display of her conversion, but she must abate that pride and show the reformers that she has recognized the true faith."
Rhoslyn sat up straighter on her stool. She did not like the direction Jane Dormer was now leading the conversation. She said rather sharply, "She is an irritant, madam. To press her harder to display her conversion will doubtless bring her to take to her bed and claim illness and the Court will blame you. What I meant when I said be rid of her is that you should send her away."
Mary sighed. She would have liked nothing better than to be rid of Elizabeth who was more and more a favorite in the Court. After the coronation she had tried to depress Elizabeth's prominence by giving precedence over her to Lady Margaret Douglas, a granddaughter of Henry VII. Furious—Elizabeth did not make the smallest effort to hide her affront—but nonetheless quietly obedient, Elizabeth had curtsied to Margaret and followed after her in entering the room.
Mary bit her lip. Sneaky and sly and accursed clever, that was what Elizabeth was. Instead of insisting on her right, as Mary herself had tried to do with disastrous results when her father had reduced her rank, Elizabeth simply withdrew from Court and kept to her chamber. That had the most unwelcome effect of causing about two-thirds of the young men, and a number of the young women, too, to abandon the Court festivities. Mary knew from the ladies she had sent to serve Elizabeth that the young ladies and gentlemen had all gone to play, sing, and dance in Elizabeth's apartment—and Mary's spies with them.
"Your advice is decidedly attractive, Rosamund," Mary said, "but Ambassador Renard says I must keep her under my eye. My uncle, the emperor, fears she will plot the overthrow of my rule if she is left free of supervision. Perhaps I should have taken Renard's advice when he spoke against her following me in the coronation procession."
"No, madam, you could not do that," Rhoslyn said, looki
ng shocked. "Not yet. It is far too soon to try to thrust her aside. You did what was exactly right about the coronation procession in inviting Lady Anne of Cleves to sit in the litter and at table with her. That shows Elizabeth followed you by precedence only. Send her away and keep her away and she will soon be forgotten."
As she spoke Rhoslyn could not help wondering by whose advice Anne of Cleves was seated with Elizabeth. Whoever it was had done Mary no favor. Strong Catholics may have seen it as a grouping of heretics but Rhoslyn thought that the proximity of the ageing Anne of Cleves emphasized Elizabeth's youthful charm and bright abundance of energy. And that was a sharp contrast to Mary's dogged endurance throughout the procession and the coronation ceremony, during which the weight of the crown sometimes forced poor Mary to support her head with her hand.
"That could be the right choice," Mistress Shirley put in, having gone back to her seat a little behind the others. "Mayhap out of sight will be out of mind. With her here, half the Council is complaining that Lady Margaret is not in King Henry's will and should not have precedence over Lady Elizabeth. Stubborn, King Henry was. Not willing to admit she weren't his."
"It is very unfortunate that King Henry always recognized her," Susan Clarencieux said, a slight warning in her tone; she knew there was indignation among some over Mary's attempt to say Mark Smeaton was Elizabeth's father. "And her hair, just like the king's, and the hands she so proudly displays—one can see them in the portraits of Henry VII."
"I do not see that at all," Mary snapped coldly.
Susan Clarencieux sighed and frowned. She did not like to contradict her beloved mistress, but Mary only harmed herself with senseless attacks on Elizabeth that nearly everyone put down to spite. Susan was also eager to get Elizabeth out of the Court. Anger grew on Elizabeth's behalf each time Lady Margaret was given precedence. Renard was wrong to insist that Elizabeth stay.
Susan believed that he hoped Elizabeth would act defiant, perhaps challenge the queen's right to displace her. But Susan knew Elizabeth was too clever and too pliable—unlike her own dear lady who lived by her honor—to be openly defiant. The clever minx would make everyone sorry for her while behaving meek as a nun.
In any case, Susan thought impatiently, Elizabeth was not important. The queen spent too much time worrying about her when all her attention should be given to convincing England to accept Philip. The growing uproar over the Spanish marriage, the vicious pamphlets, the crude broadsides . . . why, a dead dog with its head shaved like a priest's tonsure had been cast into the queen's audience chamber just the other day.
The queen must deal with that; Elizabeth was nothing. Yes, Rosamund was right. It would be best to get Elizabeth out of the way. The last thing they needed was to have Elizabeth using her mobile face to display horror and disgust of the Spanish marriage while she bent her head and bowed her knee in seeming obedience.
"Your Majesty," Susan said, "Elizabeth is not important. For now you cannot change the Act of Succession. I agree with Rosamund that it is too soon to seem to thrust Elizabeth aside—specially when you are planning a marriage that, with God's help, will set her aside in a most natural and joyful way. Thus I also think with Mistress Shirley that sending her out of the Court might be best."
"Bishop Gardiner wants me to put her in the Tower," Mary said, and closed her eyes as if in pain.
She was in pain. Rhoslyn sent out a punishing pang, like a sharp blade in Mary's skull, whenever Mary thought of acting against Elizabeth. Rhoslyn no longer attempted to change Mary's mind about Elizabeth; she had long ago accepted that Mary's conflicts went too deep for surface interference. What she had done was to arrange a kind of self-punishment, physical discomfort and mental guilt, for thinking of harming her sister.
Susan Clarencieux shook her head nervously although the idea Rhoslyn sent seemed her own. "To send Lady Elizabeth to the Tower when she has done nothing . . . oh, madam, think of the fear and suspicion it would cause among all those who supported Northumberland. The bishop's assurances to them that Your Majesty means them no harm would not convince the lords of the Council. They would only see Elizabeth, who has obeyed you in everything and has not spoken a single word against your will, who has even gone to Mass as you entreated her . . . they would see her sent to the Tower. Their trust would be terribly shaken."
"Susan has the right of that," Rhoslyn said, also shaking her head. "And I cannot see the danger Renard complains of. You can have Elizabeth watched most carefully. If she communicates with the French or any other suspicious persons, you will be warned. And then you will have cause to arrest her."
"Very well." Mary looked around and saw agreement on all the faces; she sighed with relief. "I will give Elizabeth permission to retire. At least I will not need to see her every day."
The ladies were by no means sure the matter was settled. Mary was notorious for making up her mind and then having it changed by the next persuasive person to speak to her, except that no argument could alter her decision to marry Prince Philip. It was Mary's heart that was set on being Philip's wife . . . and Mary's heart was not changeable.
However Mary was not totally unaware of her weakness. Thus she was careful not to mention her decision to give her sister permission to depart from Court to either the Imperial ambassador or the chancellor. She did not want to chance being swayed by their objections or sickened by their urgings to send Elizabeth to the Tower.
Besides, Mary was looking forward to telling Elizabeth she was free to go, expecting that Elizabeth would be overjoyed and show it. If she did, Mary would be able to point out how ungrateful her sister was to the courtiers who favored her. But as usual in any dealings with Elizabeth, to add to Mary's anger, nothing went as Mary planned.
She called Elizabeth to her after dinner, when the Court was assembled in the great audience chamber, and said, "You have asked several times for permission to leave my company. And I see that you are not happy here when you are not the first in importance. So you have my leave to depart when you will."
Instead of thanking her coldly and sweeping out of the room, Elizabeth, who had been warned by Alana through Rhoslyn and had planned what to do, fell on her knees and cried, "Madam, how have I offended you? It is true that I have asked permission to depart, but that was only because I felt you did not want me here. I have always been happy when you said I could stay. And I have tried most earnestly to obey you in all things."
The words came out choked, as if with sobs, and indeed Elizabeth did feel as if she would strangle saying them. She had rarely spoken words so very much against her true feelings. If she were unlucky, Mary would believe her and say she had no intention of driving her away.
Folding her hands prayerfully and gazing up into the queen's face, Elizabeth did pray. She begged Christ to forgive her her trespasses in lying and offered to do penance (mingling without regard the reformist notion of trespass and the Catholic idea of penance) if only Mary would order her gone.
She did not quite get what she wanted. Glancing around, Mary saw several accusing gazes fixed on her. The High Admiral, Lord William Howard, the secretary of state, William Paget, and the controller of her household, William Paulet were all looking from her to Elizabeth with concern. Renard was coming toward her, his face furious. Gardiner, the chancellor, seemed disgusted.
"You have not offended me," Mary said, her deep voice harsh. "As you say, you are obedient . . . to a fault. We will speak of this further anon."
Elizabeth grew so pale that her great-uncle Lord William Howard moved forward to support her. Her eyes were enormous yet seemed blind; she was seeing her freedom snatched away by her own too-great cleverness in trying to make Mary appear harsh and unreasonable, seeing her reunion with her Denno lost, seeing lost also the joy of wandering the great markets, of visiting fabled Alhambra. Her great uncle helped her to her feet and would have drawn her away, but though she trembled in every limb, she insisted on remaining near the queen, head bent, wiping away occasional tears.
/> Mary had all she could do to keep from screaming at her sister. Elizabeth was making her out a monster when she was just doing what the girl had plagued her about. She was so proper, so well-behaved that Mary felt sick with hate. And as the hatred roiled in her, her heart felt as if daggers were piercing it. She must not hate Elizabeth or her own heart would fail!
She must free herself of Elizabeth's presence, Mary thought, no matter what the result. How could she help but hate the base-born bastard? Sly as her mother, who had ensorcelled and trapped a previously virtuous king, Elizabeth worked without words. She did not make herself prominent; she stood aside and back from Mary's chair, but Mary could feel her there, pale and trembling so that every person who came to speak to the queen had "poor, mistreated" Elizabeth in the corner of his eye.
Then she could bear it no longer; Mary turned so she could see her sister and address her directly. "You are too much moved," she said, trying to make her voice kind but hearing its loud, deep timbre spread through the room like a threat. "Go now and calm yourself. I promise you will have what you truly desire."
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