By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  Lady Tyrwhitt still felt unwelcome and was aware of Elizabeth’s coldness, but at least most of her clumsiness had abated. She seldom tripped or caught her feet in things now. And although she knew Elizabeth would never accept her, only indifference, not hate, looked out of the girl’s dark eyes.

  “Perhaps,” she replied rather frigidly, “your accusations frightened her into avoidance of all mention of Sir Thomas, which you took as guilt. She does not seem guilty to me. When Sir Thomas and his fate is mentioned, she shakes her head over what he has done. She calls him brash and foolish, with that high-nosed look of contempt she has—not a look a girl wears when speaking of a lover in mortal peril—and she says openly she hopes he will escape the full penalty.”

  The truth was that Elizabeth had realized she was no longer in any personal danger, and the wariness that did give an impression she was hiding guilt was gone … but she could not rejoice. Her dearling Kat, not wise but unconditionally loving, and dear Parry, again not terribly wise or even a good cofferer but hers, were still in the Tower. They had not committed treason, but it could be said that they had not fulfilled their duty and they might be kept in prison or punished. And Denno could not or would not help them.

  Elizabeth bent the full power of her mind to saving her servants and her reputation, which had been damaged by the slanderous rumors of her pregnancy. She wrote with and without permission to the Protector, trusting that William Cecil would see her letters got to him. She was not sure why, but she was very glad indeed, that William Cecil was committed to her interests.

  Once the Bill of Attainder had been rushed through Parliament and it was clear that Elizabeth was not involved, the Protector began to feel there was little point in holding her servants. The imprisonment of a couple of servants was a very unimportant matter when compared with the fact that he would soon need to decide whether his own brother lived or died.

  Choosing his moment carefully, Cecil presented still another letter pleading for the release of Mistress Ashley and Master Parry. This one contained a strong and reasoned argument for Elizabeth’s insistence on the freedom of her servants, ending with the cogent point that it shall and doth make men think I am not clear of the deed myself but that it is pardoned to me because of my youth, because she that I loved so well is in such a place.

  “And if you do plan to make a proclamation of the Lady Elizabeth’s virtue and innocence,” Cecil pointed out, “it would be well her servants were released.”

  By mid March, Kat and Parry were freed, but Elizabeth’s spirits would not rise. Kat and Parry were forbidden to return to Elizabeth’s service. Sir Robert and Lady Tyrwhitt remained in charge of her household. When Denoriel suggested that Lady Alana return to service as an antidote to Lady Tyrwhitt, Elizabeth flew into a rage. It was Kat she wanted and if he could not think of a way to get her Kat, she didn’t want Lady Alana or him either.

  Seymour was executed on the twentieth of March, still without admitting to any crime or mentioning Elizabeth. When Tyrwhitt brought her the news, she said only, “This day died a man with much wit and very little judgment.” And she returned to the translation Master Ascham had set for her.

  April passed, May and June. By the end of July, as if she felt she had been indifferent long enough that her collapse would not be associated with Seymour’s death, Elizabeth fell ill. She had violent headaches and painful indigestion, she lost weight until she was no more than skin and bones and even developed jaundice for a time. Sir Robert and Lady Tyrwhitt offered every comfort and consolation they could think of but they made little of the illness for fear they would be blamed.

  Terrified, Blanche acted on her own and, although Elizabeth forbade her to tell Denno, sent Reeve Tolliver, the undergroom, to the house on Bucklersbury. Denoriel came that night, but Elizabeth would not listen to his near frantic pleas that she let him bring a healer. In fact, she reviled him furiously and sent him away. She wanted Kat, she wept. She wanted Kat.

  Denoriel sought an appointment with William Cecil very early the next day, before it was really decent to call. Nor did he make any attempt to conceal his anxiety when he confessed that Elizabeth’s maid had sent him a message. Her lady was very ill. Because of the recent trouble, Denoriel said, he did not feel that Lord Denno should call on the lady, but the maid knew Elizabeth well and if she were frightened something serious must be wrong.

  Later that afternoon, William Cecil mentioned to the Protector that there were rumors that Lady Elizabeth was very ill. Rumor also had it that she was not well attended, there being only a coarse local doctor to see to her. Cecil sighed and shook his head.

  “Alas, some blame is likely to reflect on Your Grace, which is why I mention the matter at all. It is said Lady Elizabeth was cruelly questioned and is being kept like a prisoner in Tyrwhitt’s hands and that her illness is being deliberately ignored so that she may die.”

  That was enough to raise real anxiety in Somerset. He knew he was being called unnatural because of allowing his own brother to be executed. He needed no rumors about this. The scandalous rumors he had permitted to spread were now lashing back at him. His own proclamation had declared her innocent and she had regained much of her popularity. Now, according to Cecil, who was rarely wrong, the public was prepared to make a holy martyr of her with him as her demon opponent.

  Somerset promptly arranged to send Dr. Thomas Bill, the king’s own physician, to attend Elizabeth. Bill was actually a skilled physician, a practitioner at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital rather than a panderer to noblemen’s imaginary ills. He also was no fool and knew that a deep disturbance of the spirit could ravage the body.

  Having listened to Elizabeth’s symptoms and watched how she trembled and could not work at her lessons, although she tried, how she pushed food away, he sought more information. First he questioned her ladies but soon realized that she did not confide in them. At last he turned to her maid.

  “My lady was all alone with no one to help her,” Blanche said resentfully, “and they badgered her day and night and told her she must tell them what was not true to save herself from being accused of treason. And even when it is proven that she was not guilty of anything at all, those who tormented her are set to rule her. She can find no peace, no assurance of safety. In her sleep she cries out for Mistress Ashley, who raised her from a child of three.”

  Bill made an indeterminate noise.

  Encouraged, Blanche continued. “Mistress Ashley was the only mother my lady ever knew. Queen Catherine also cared for her, but Queen Catherine is dead. My lady is exhausted and afraid because she is still under the domination of Sir Robert and Lady Tyrwhitt. I do not say that they are not kind and civil to her now but … but she cannot trust them.”

  So the doctor prescribed palliative medication and strongly recommended to Somerset that Mistress Ashley be restored to her position. His letter was naturally enough opened by the Protector’s secretary. William Cecil grinned privately. He knew just how and when to present the idea to Somerset. Mistress Ashley and Parry would be reinstated, the Tyrwhitts dismissed. William Cecil would not be sorry to see Tyrwhitt gone from Elizabeth’s household. He had nothing against Tyrwhitt except that now that his duty as examiner was finished he might insinuate himself into the lady’s regard.

  William Cecil tended to look at all the paths into the future. He was already known to the young king as a good public servant. If Edward lived and reigned, Cecil could expect advancement. If he did not … that was not as hopeful, for Mary would come to the throne and Cecil favored the reformed religion. But Mary was not young and not well. The chances were her reign would be short. Then Elizabeth would rule. William Cecil had every intention of being the principal man of her reign.

  In August Elizabeth was able to fling herself into her dear Kat’s arms and they sat up for a week’s nights running, telling each other about all the terrible things that had happened. Kat wept over her foolishness and swore that she would never, never again consider any man worthy to
urge on her lady. Elizabeth said no more in blame than that she wished Kat had believed her when she said she would not have Seymour. Parry, too, was restored to his duties—except that now Elizabeth read over the accounts and initialed every page.

  Before the end of the month, the Tyrwhits were gone. They parted from Elizabeth on reasonably pleasant terms, Lady Tyrwhitt giving her a small volume of morning and evening prayers, Divers Hymns and Meditations. Then it was over, truly over. The nightmare was ended. Life returned to a placid round of lessons and musical practice and cozy chats with Kat—in which Elizabeth made sure her maidens took part so they could report on what was said if that ever became necessary.

  In September Elizabeth received a courtesy visit from the Venetian ambassador, a sure sign that she had been restored to favor in the Court. By then she was in blooming health and took him hunting. He was utterly amazed at her skill in riding, the fact that she spoke Italian as if it were English, and at her modesty and elegant manner.

  Kat, of course, did not accompany the party on the hunt but after the ambassador had gone and they were sitting over spiced wine and small cakes in the evening, she said in a troubled way, “Where is Lord Denno?”

  “You mean the old gentleman with white hair, the rich merchant?” Margaret Dudley said. “He never appeared again as soon as the Council threatened my lady.”

  “No!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  “No, Margaret,” Kat said. “That is impossible. Lord Denno has been a faithful friend to Lady Elizabeth for more years than you are alive. And he does not desert his friends when they are in trouble. He still visits the duke of Norfolk in the Tower.”

  “Well, he didn’t visit you,” Frances Dodd said.

  “Because he did not want the appearance that I was in contact with my lady,” Kat said. “That was considerate and wise. And I know that some comforts were given me which the gaolers pretended not to see and for which no one had any explanation. I was sure those came somehow through Lord Denno’s hands.”

  She glanced up and saw the sudden tears in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Oh, well,” she said, closing the discussion. “It is likely he is away on a trading voyage.”

  But the next day when they were walking in the garden and the path narrowed so that she and Elizabeth were side by side and the maidens straggling along behind—Elizabeth did tend to set a quick pace—she asked again about Denno.

  “I sent him away,” Elizabeth muttered. “I wanted him to get you out of prison and he would not.”

  “Elizabeth!” Kat exclaimed, but keeping her voice too low to be heard by the maidens behind them. “The very worst thing that could have befallen you—even worse than my betraying Sir Thomas’ behavior—would have been for me and Tom to escape. Child, I would not have gone if he did arrange it. My fleeing would have declared you guilty before all the world. You must write to him. You must tell him you are sorry and beg him to visit again.”

  Elizabeth’s lips trembled and then thinned with pride. “No. I said he could come back when you were restored to me and … and he has not come.”

  “No, nor would I.” Kat said, more sharply than she usually spoke to Elizabeth and then lowering her voice again. “How could you be so unkind and so ungracious after the years he has been so faithful a friend and the rich favors he has given you?”

  “I—I wanted you. I was afraid for you.”

  Kat took her hand and kissed it. “You are so forgiving to me, can you not forgive him? More especially when what he did was for your good … and he was right to do it.”

  “He is always right,” Elizabeth grumbled.

  But her heart was leaping with hope and joy. Her breasts were filling, the nipples pressing hard against her bodice, and her nether lips were full and moist. All the time she had been questioned, the memory she needed to conceal, of Tom’s crude fondlings and loud kisses, had turned her body to ice. Any sexual touch and anyone associated with lovemaking had seemed disgusting. And then, after she had been cleared, she felt worse yet, but the spying Tyrwhitts were still watching her and she could not even let herself crawl into the dark and weep for fear it would be said she wept for Tom.

  Then Kat had been given back to her and her illnesses had mostly passed and her restoration to Court favor had been signaled by a visit from a foreign ambassador. Elizabeth had been dreaming about Denno, about the big, soft bed in the chamber of Llachar Lle, about the fantastic gowns in the closet of her own bedchamber, about singing and dancing and laughing aloud with her hair streaming loose like a common trollop on the stage in Fur Hold. But she could not think of any way to draw him back that would not bend her stiff pride.

  “Shall I write to him?” Kat asked. “I can say that it is possible you will be invited to Court for this coming Christmas and that you will need new gowns, furs, and trimmings. I can write as if it is my own idea …”

  Elizabeth did not answer. She was thrilled by the hope that she would see Denno again but frightened that this time he really was too angry to want her anymore. He had come when Blanche sent for him and he had done his best to arrange she be cured, but aside from begging her to let him bring a Sidhe healer he had hardly spoken to her. He had not begged her pardon for not obeying her or tried to explain himself.

  She had been too self-absorbed during her trial and her illness to think of anyone else, but now she remembered how he had looked, standing beside her bed, then kneeling beside it and begging her to let him bring Mwynwen. He had looked old and tired, his green eyes dull and his hair flat white rather than shining silver. Elizabeth swallowed hard. Surely he had suffered as much as she, possibly more because he had so much power … and could not use it.

  “Yes, write to Lord Denno,” she said as the path widened and two of her ladies caught up. “He always has the most elegant goods and gives me the best prices.”

  She laughed as she said that and blinked away tears too, because Denno never charged her at all. She wrote a reasonable cost into her expense books, but the coins came into her own hands for her to distribute as largesse.

  Rhoslyn was sitting quietly with a group of the duchess of Somerset’s lesser ladies apart from her inner circle of confidants. Rhoslyn was holding a book of meditations in her hands. Now and again she turned a page, but she was really listening intently. No one guessed the keenness of Sidhe hearing. She should not have been able to detect a word the duchess spoke from where she sat, but that was how she had heard enough of the duchess’ animosity to Elizabeth to be able to pass warnings to Denoriel.

  The duchess’ ladies had been talking about the possibility of Lady Mary coming to the Court for Christmas this year. And one said that a friend on the Council told her that Lady Elizabeth would be invited. The name caught Rhoslyn’s ear and she listened more closely.

  “She is not only a whore like her mother but a witch like her mother, too.” The duchess’ voice grated.

  There was a slight, appalled silence. “Your Grace?” one of the women said faintly.

  “She was the guilty one! And she somehow witched my poor brother-by-marriage not only into her plans but into silence about her guilt, even to the moment of his death. So she escapes all blame.”

  No one spoke and the duchess went on bitterly, “And now she is to be brought to Court and received by the king who is so eager to see her that he has been heard several times to speak of pleasures to be enjoyed ‘when Elizabeth comes.’ She will be honored by all, whore and witch though she is.”

  Rhoslyn turned another page of her book and breathed a quiet sigh. For now, Elizabeth had won. Ann of Somerset would not have been so vicious if she had not realized that further persecution of Elizabeth would only do her husband greater damage. And Rhoslyn suspected from a thought or two she had garnered here and there among the courtiers that Somerset was in trouble. He had been too high-handed in his treatment of the nobles, the country was seething with religious discontent because he had pushed reform too hard, and there were economic problems which had caused major unemployment
and higher prices for food.

  Whether the Protector could hold on to his position was now a growing question. But if he was unseated, Rhoslyn thought, the man who would do it and replace him was the earl of Warwick. And the earl of Warwick had sometimes tried to protect Elizabeth. Rhoslyn sighed again and shut her book. There was little more she could do for Elizabeth for a while. If Somerset weathered the storm about to descend on him, she might try active meddling with the duchess’ mind, but for now what she wanted and needed was to be free of the mortal world. She needed to see Pasgen, to be sure he was recovering from their mother’s death … as she was, Rhoslyn realized.

  After the first shock of loss wore off, she had begun to recognize the truth of Llanelli’s bitter claim in her death letter that when she was gone her children would be freed from the chains of her transgression. The first time the idea had crossed Rhoslyn’s mind, she had been thrown back into a morass of guilt and despair. However, that had been just when the most determined assault was being made on Elizabeth. Rhoslyn had needed to direct most of her will and attention at the duchess to prevent her from sending a personal clerk to make a few alterations in Ashley’s confession that would imply Elizabeth had eagerly agreed to marry Seymour and then to stop other schemes to discredit Elizabeth.

  With no other choice, Rhoslyn had tampered with the duchess’ mind, planting in it pictures of what would happen when her meddling was discovered and making her certain it would be discovered because the clerk she planned to use was dishonest and untrustworthy and would betray her. It cost the man his position, but the scheme was not put into effect. Seymour’s indifference to Elizabeth was decisive. Despite the duchess’ efforts to make her husband see Elizabeth as an enemy the case against Elizabeth collapsed.

  When Rhoslyn had leisure to think again about Llanelli’s death, the pain was not so acute. She remembered what Lady Mary had said about blaming herself, although she was utterly blameless, when her mother had died. Llanelli had made her own troubles as had Mary’s mother, who could have lived out her life in honored, comfortable retirement in a convent if she had not been so pig-headed. So could Llanelli have lived safely if she had not believed Vidal was all-powerful.