"They say that Queen Anne is distraught and continually begs the king's forgiveness," reported one matron in a soiled bodice.
"Aye, I've heard it for myself," replied her friend, reaching with her hand into a bowl of greasy stew. "Thus far he has treated her kindly, but she knows full well that if she fails to give him a son, she is finished."
Finished! My head bent over my poor portion of dark bread, I pondered what this could mean to me. If Anne was truly finished, then perhaps I still had a chance to be loved again by my father—accepted by him, made his rightful heir. But I did not feel glad, for I knew that the fight was far from over. Instead I felt afraid.
CHAPTER 14: Elizabeth
There was no way out: Anne had ordered me to be present at the christening of the new princess. Already Anne had recovered sufficient strength after her delivery to return to her imperious ways.
The three-day-old infant would be named Elizabeth. As disappointed as he was that the child was not a son, King Henry had nevertheless ordered a grand celebration of her christening.
I wondered what I should wear. Surely the king would be shamed if I appeared in a shabby gown, made over from one of Salisbury's. The day before the christening, I sent a servant to put the problem to Cromwell. Back came his reply: "Do not fret yourself, madam," he wrote. "All eyes will be upon the new princess. Your attire is of interest to no one."
Dressed in Salisbury's gown, so old the plum-colored silk had begun to crack, I was summoned to walk far back in the procession, behind the nobles and their richly attired ladies. Cromwell was right: No one noticed me. I was both relieved and resentful.
That evening the sky above London glowed red, reflecting the light of a thousand torches kindled in honor of Princess Elizabeth. A few days later, in another splendid ceremony, to which I was not invited, Elizabeth was also proclaimed Princess of Wales.
The infant had been given my title.
That evening, as I sat at dinner in the Great Hall, Anne's uncle, the duke of Norfolk, rose to his feet and read out from an official document: "Elizabeth, Right High, Right Noble, Right Excellent, and Puissant Princess of England, is hereby proclaimed Princess of Wales. Messengers have been dispatched to carry the news throughout the kingdom."
There was a flourish of trumpets, the company cheered, and the waiting women seated near me at the long table turned their eyes toward me. I, for my part, stared straight ahead, using all of my training in self-control to hide my hurt and anger. What were the women thinking? Did they feel sorry for me? Did they think I deserved such treatment? Or did they, beneath their flattery and servile smiles, hate Anne and pray for her death as I myself did, even though I knew it was a deadly sin?
IN ALL THE WEEKS I spent at Greenwich, I spoke with my father only one time; I had no wish to speak with him again, after all that had happened. The morning after Elizabeth was given my tide, in despair, I determined to leave for Beaulieu as soon as I could arrange it. In a matter of hours Cromwell had given his permission and I had my maids pack my few things.
I wished that I had my own horse; it would have been faster. Instead I was forced to make the journey shut up in an uncomfortable litter with the curtains drawn. As we clattered through the gates of Beaulieu, I threw back the curtains. The countess rushed out to meet me. Salisbury looked tired and haggard, but she also appeared distraught.
"You have a visitor, madam," Salisbury said. "Norfolk arrived just an hour ago. He must have passed you on the road. Didn't you see him?"
"I did not," I replied. "By order of Cromwell, my curtains were drawn, so I saw nothing at all. Where is he now?"
"In the royal apartments, madam. With his daughter, Lady Susan."
I rushed immediately to my audience chamber, where I found Lady Susan, tearful and snuffling as she knelt before her father. His hand was raised as though he was about to strike her, perhaps not the first blow.
"Lord Norfolk," I said sharply.
The duke swung around and scowled at me, his reptilian eyes gleaming. "Lady Mary," he said, inclining his head slightly. I recognized the insolence in his failure to bow or kneel, and I heard the sneer in his voice. He had pointedly not addressed me as princess.
"How pleasant to have a visit from you," I said coldly, ignoring the obvious insult.
"This is not a social visit, miss. It is to inform you, by orders of the king, that upon the proclamation of your sister Elizabeth as Princess of Wales, your claim to that tide was revoked. You are a bastard, and none therefore may address you as princess. To do so is treason. You are now to be addressed only as Lady Mary. I shall inform your governess, the countess of Salisbury, and she'll instruct the rest of your household. I need not remind you that treason is punishable by death. As the kings bastard, your rank is lower than my daughter's"—he glanced at Susan, cringing in a corner—"who can at the very least claim legitimacy."
Summoning every shred of self-control, I remained rigidly upright. "I shall send a letter to my father immediately, asking for a correction to this error."
Norfolk laughed harshly. "It will do you no good, I can assure you. And I haven't finished. You are to hand over the jeweled coronet of the Princess of Wales, to which you are no longer entitled. You are to leave Beaulieu, which has been given by the king to Queen Anne's brother, the viscount of Rochford. You are ordered to remove yourself in all haste to Hatfield, where the queen has graciously appointed you waiting woman to Elizabeth, Princess of England and Princess of Wales. None may accompany you. You are now a servant yourself, and you're entitled to no servant of your own."
My self-control deserted me. But as I gasped for breath. Lady Susan suddenly leaped to her feet with a cry and flung herself upon her father. "How dare you?" she shrieked. "How dare you speak this way to the princess?"
The duke struck Susan hard with the flat of his hand, a blow that sent her spinning across the chamber and against the edge of a table. She crumpled to the floor.
"You fool!" her father spat, standing over her.
The blow had split her lip, and blood oozed from the cut. "You have just committed treason. In addition you have gravely insulted your father. Do you not understand that I have the power of life and death over you?" The duke kicked at Susan with his boot, but she scuttled away to avoid the full force of the blow.
Abruptly Norfolk turned on his heel and left. I stared at the thin trickle of blood making its way down Susan's chin. Although I wanted to comfort her and reached for my own handkerchief to stop the flow, I felt as though all the strength had been drained from me. I was powerless to take even one step toward Susan, one step forward in my wretched life.
COMPLETELY NUMB, unable to think sensibly, unable to feel much of anything, I watched without interest as the servants packed my possessions. Salisbury, on the other hand, seemed frenzied by her emotions. I half listened, uncaring, while the countess railed against the king, the queen, and Norfolk. "Contemptible, utterly contemptible!" Salisbury cried. "I told Norfolk before he left here that I would go with you, and that I would take along a number of servants needed to serve the king's own daughter and pay them from my own purse. But he laughed at me, the arrogant knave! 'Out of the question,' he told me. 'It is you, countess, who has made Lady Mary so stubborn and obdurate. Perhaps away from your influence she'll learn to bend her will to the king's wishes.'" Suddenly she stopped raving and permitted herself a thin smile. "What he doesn't seem to realize is that all of your stubbornness is inborn, a gift from your father. You've been obdurate since the day you left your mother's womb."
The packing did not take long. Besides the golden coronet that Norfolk had demanded from Salisbury and taken with him, all of my jewels, all of my furs, and all of the silver and gold plate had to be left behind. My bed, with its two plump mattresses and satin and damask coverlets, was to remain for the use of the viscount and his wife. All the trappings of my life as princess were stripped away. What was left?
I was allowed to take with me only a few shabby gowns, kirtles
, and petticoats, a woolen cloak, and some of my own personal treasures. One by one I picked them up, held them, and set them down again. There was the enameled box with the scenes of Job's life given me by Reginald—dear Reginald, now gone out of my life. A jeweled cross from my mother, whom I was no longer allowed to see or write to. The illuminated book of hours I had used for my daily devotions since childhood, given me by Wolsey, now dead. My lute, a gift from my father, who had taught me my first lessons. The embroidered hood that had once covered my hawk—^at least Noisette was free! I stared with dull eyes as servants fitted all the things I truly prized into one small trunk.
Most of my ladies-in-waiting were to stay on at Beaulieu to serve Anne's sister-in-law, the viscountess. Only three were leaving. Lady Maud and Lady Winifred were going to London to join Queen Anne's court. Lady Susan was to be married to the earl of Chichester in November; hers would be the first great wedding to be held at the court of Queen Anne since her coronation.
On a gray and sodden Thursday morning a mounted guard arrived under orders from Cromwell to escort me to Hatfield. I went to the maids' chamber to bid farewell to my ladies. Most avoided my eye, although Maud and Winifred were tearful. Susan was unusually calm. Her lip had healed, and the purplish bruise on her cheek was fading. She waited with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes lifeless.
I sat down beside her and took up one of her hands. It was cold and limp. I chafed it gently to warm it. "I believe that you've been my true friend," I said. "I'm grateful to you."
Susan nodded and turned her large blue eyes to meet mine. "I never thought our lives would be like this," she said sadly. "If I had the means or the courage, I would take my own life. But I have neither."
"No, Susan," I whispered. "We must prevail. Someday I shall be queen, and you shall come and stand by my side." I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "My true friend," I said again, and rose to leave. But suddenly Susan's calm left her, and she threw herself, weeping, upon my breast.
"I shall never see you again, Mary!" she sobbed. "I feel it in my heart."
I had to be strong for both of us. "Don't speak foolishly," I said with a coldness I did not feel. But I returned her embrace with all the warmth my arms could express and whispered, "Be brave, dear Susan." Then I released her and hurried away, my legs shaking.
I encountered Salisbury in the passageway. "They're waiting, Mary," said Salisbury. The governess who had taught me courage and self-control was herself composed, revealing no emotion.
"I know. I'm ready."
Norfolk had relented and allowed me two servants—one old woman and one young and clumsy. The rest of my loyal servants had gathered in the courtyard to say good-bye, the men shuffling their feet, the women openly weeping. I approached each one and laid a hand on an arm or a shoulder and murmured, "God bless you." I believed that if I kept moving and did not stop too long with any one, I would get through this.
The last to bid me farewell was Salisbury. The countess, sobbing now, swept me into her embrace. I thought my heart would burst with sadness and pent-up tears. I held them back, trembling with the effort. But once I had climbed into the uncomfortable litter and the curtains were drawn, I surrendered to a storm of weeping.
CHAPTER 15: The Princess's Servant
At Hatfield Palace I came upon a tumult of preparation for the arrival of Princess Elizabeth—new furnishings, new tapestries, new silver and gold plates and goblets. All was carried out under the supervision of the queen's aunts: Lady Alice Clere, a short, pie-faced woman with eyes set close together, and Lady Anne Shelton, whose crow-like voice and sharp features suggested what Anne might become in twenty years' time. Shelton was charged with overseeing the care of the royal infant; Clere ruled over the rest of the household.
I was sent to stay in a chamber near the royal nursery. Hatfield was a charming country manor house set on a pretty wooded slope, but the room I was given was cramped and gloomy. There were a few wooden pegs on which to hang my clothing, and a rough wooden table, where I arranged my few books and treasures. The mattress was stuffed with straw that leaked from a rip in the cloth; the thin woolen coverlet had been attacked by moths. My two servants, old Nell and young Bessie, would share a pallet on the floor. All three of us would take our meals with the lesser maids at the common board in the Great Hall.
Lady Shelton laid out my duties. "Napkins!" she cried in her raucous voice, grinning through gapped teeth. "The queen herself has ordered it: You are to change the princess's dirty napkins, whenever she wets or messes them. You and no one else. Lady Mary," she added scornfully.
I walked to the Great Hall for dinner with my stomach already churning; it seemed that everyone was mocking me. The ladies-in-waiting swept past me, laughing and gossiping. They sat together at one end of the long table, looking at me and whispering. I sat alone at the other end with Nell and Bessie. For the first time in my life, I had no tasters. I had never eaten anything that had not first been tasted to be sure that it had not been poisoned. I nibbled at my food uneasily and finally pushed it away.
The servitors set down plates of meat that I was expected to share with Nell and Bessie. These servitors treated me with deliberate rudeness, not refilling my goblet of ale, once even tipping it over. "Shame!" cried Nell, mopping up the spill.
That night I tried to sleep, but my bedchamber was cold; I had only a smoky charcoal brazier to take the chill off I asked one of the palace menservants if I might have another coverlet, but he smirked and walked away. So I slept wrapped in my cloak, when I slept at all.
I tried to pray, but I could not. It seemed that God had forgotten me.
I HAD BEEN at Hatfield for less than a month when Princess Elizabeth arrived, bundled in ermine and borne in the royal litter in the arms of Lady Shelton, who immediately ordered me to change the royal napkin.
I had not the slightest notion how to do this. It was soon apparent that Shelton didn't, either. Elizabeth was wailing lustily. Then one of the servants who had accompanied the procession from Greenwich demonstrated how to remove the soiled napkin and replace it with a clean one. By now Elizabeth was flailing her tight little fists and pumping her chubby legs, her face red and furious.
"Loo la loo," I sang softly to calm her. "Loo lala loo."
The baby stopped screaming and hiccupped. She stared up at me with eyes bright as beads, and I managed in the lull to get the napkin wrapped around her and secured, the tiny embroidered gown arranged neatly. Only then did Elizabeth smile, a smile of joy and purest innocence. In spite of myself, I smiled back, and my heart opened just a crack.
I APPROACHED MY eighteenth birthday surrounded on all sides by enemies. A steady stream of orders arrived from Anne, insisting that her baby daughter be given every luxury, every symbol of her royal birth. If the church regarded Elizabeth as a bastard, it was plain that her mother's family did not. Night and day I was reminded of my reduced station in life: I must not leave the room until the princess had been first carried out; I must always walk behind the princess. And the number of wet and reeking napkins did not diminish.
My headaches worsened, sometimes so fierce that I could not drag myself from my bed to answer the baby's cries. Then Shelton shouted for me and ordered me out. "Do not cross me, miss!" Shelton howled. "I will have you beaten for your insolence. I may beat you myself!"
My only defense was silence and obedience. Shelton threatened often, but so far the rod had not fallen upon my back.
I had no privacy at all. Letters from Salisbury were ripped open and read. No word came from Chapuys. Had he, too, abandoned me? I tried to write to him, carefully phrasing the letter so that my fear and desperation were hidden between the lines. I left the letter unsealed, knowing that it would be opened and read anyway. It disappeared from my table, but I doubted that it was ever delivered to him, and I doubted that, if he did reply, his letter would be allowed to reach me.
Someone was rummaging through my private things; the hinge on the enameled box given me b
y Reginald was broken, a page from the book of hours torn, all to let me know that I had nothing—and no one—to call my own.
ON THE EVE of my birthday, I received two pieces of news. The first was that Nell and Bessie were being sent away. Now I would have no one at all to help me.
But the second piece of news more than made up for that loss. Princess Elizabeth was to have a new nursemaid in charge. Lady Margaret Bryan. Bryan had been my nursemaid in my own infancy. It was Bryan who had taught me to say my ABCs, to drink from a cup, to eat with a spoon. I remembered her with deep affection.
When Bryan arrived, I rushed to greet my old friend, aching with loneliness and suffering from the strain of isolation. Bryan had grown as round as a pudding, her once-smooth skin was crisscrossed with fine wrinkles, and her chestnut-colored hair had turned nearly white. But as I reached out to her, Bryan scowled and turned away.
"You're nothing more than a servant now, Lady Mary," Bryan said sternly. "Mind that you don't try to rise above your station and seek favors."
I was stricken, unable to believe that my beloved nursemaid had spoken to me so harshly. Then Bryan turned to Clere and Shelton and announced that by order of the queen I would henceforth take instructions directly from her, Bryan. "I'm not past slapping Lady Mary when she deserves it," she assured them. "And perhaps also when she does not."
Shelton and Clere smiled malevolently. Stung with humiliation, I struggled not to betray my feelings, a struggle that always brought on a headache. Within the hour Bryan had scolded me roundly for the way the baby's napkins were secured.
"Lady Margaret," I implored, my head pounding, "surely you haven't forgotten that you once cared for me as tenderly as you now care for this infant—"
"Then you were a princess," Bryan replied severely. "Now you are nothing but a bastard."
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