The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

CHAPTER

VI

THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH WAS DEEPLY PERPLEXED.

There had come to her that day a proposal of marriage. It was her first proposal of this nature, because it was an appeal to her direct. There had, in the course of her thirteen years, been other suggested marriages, but she had never been called to give her opinion on these. When she had been a few months old and high in her father’s favor, he had negotiated a marriage for her with the Duke of Angoulême, the third son of King François. That could not be expected to materialize after the King had called her a bastard, and it had long been forgotten. Later she had been promised to the heir of the Scottish Earl of Arran—a poor match for a royal Princess of England—and that, as perhaps had been intended from the first, had also come to nothing. Later there had been a more ambitious plan to unite her with Philip of Spain, son of the Emperor Charles, but that was also doomed to failure.

But this proposal she had now received was different from all others. This was a declaration of love; and it had been made by the man whom Elizabeth could now admit that she herself loved. The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Thomas Seymour, craved the hand of the Princess Elizabeth in marriage.

She sat at a window of her apartments in White Hall, those apartments which her stepmother had begged the King to give her, and which she used when she was with the court and the court was at this palace.

For a short hour she was giving herself up to romantic dreams; she was allowing herself to think that she could marry whom she pleased.

He was handsome, that man. Handsome? That was inadequate to describe him. There were many handsome men at court, but there was none like Thomas Seymour. He was so gay, so jaunty, and there was about him that air of wickedness which delighted her as it must delight so many more. She loved his boldness, the strength in those arms that seized her, the speculation in the laughing eyes as though he were wondering how far he dared go. There was so much in him that called to the like in her; and while he made discreet love to her with the most indiscreet look in his eyes and the most suggestive tones in his voice, she was always aware of that ambition in him which she understood and applauded because that very same ambition was a part of her own nature.

He would be bold and passionate, and so would she. Her need of him, his need of her, were like a pair of mettlesome horses held in restraint by the reins of ambition. And because they were so checked their progress was the more exciting.

I want him, she decided; but I want so much besides.

She was her father’s daughter; she was her mother’s child. In her was that streak of levity which had characterized her mother; there was that desire to be admired and, because that desire for admiration was stronger than the sensuality which she had inherited from her father, she wished always to keep the admiration at fever heat; therefore the pursuit interested her more than any possible fulfillment. Even now she did not wish the Admiral to be her husband; she wished him to remain her suitor.

Yet it was not endurable to continue in a state of uncertainty.

When she had heard the conditions of her father’s will she had been filled with elation. Failing other heirs, she was placed third in the line of succession. She was to be treated with a respect and consideration almost equal to that which was to be bestowed on her sister Mary. Three thousand pounds a year was to be hers, and that seemed riches after the penury she had endured; a marriage portion of ten thousand pounds was to be given at the appropriate time. But there was a condition: This would only be hers if she married with the consent of her brother Edward and his Council. If she married without such approval, she would forfeit her dowry and, in all probability, her income.

She had turned this matter over and over in her mind.

She longed for Seymour; yet she longed also to stay where she was in the succession to the throne.

Queen…Queen of England… and Queen in her own right—not lifted up, as her mother had been, to be cast down again at the whim of a husband. No! Queen—true Queen of England for the rest of her life!

The chances of success were good. Edward was sickly and it was hardly likely that he would produce an heir. Mary was thirty-one— old to marry and have children; and Mary’s health was not of the best. Elizabeth was but thirteen years old. Oh yes, the chances of Elizabeth’s becoming Queen of England were good indeed.

And if she married? What then?

The Council, she knew, would never approve of her marriage with Thomas. The King could be persuaded. She laughed to think of the little boy’s being persuaded by herself and Thomas. That would be an easy task.

But she immediately called to mind those grim men, the real rulers. Thomas’s brother would never agree. And Gardiner, Wriothesley, Cranmer? No! They would refuse consent. And then? Doubtless she and Thomas would find themselves in the Tower if they disobeyed, and all knew what could happen to prisoners in that doom-filled place.

There was so much to think of, so much to consider.

Her governess, Kat Ashley, came into the room and, finding her charge brooding in the window seat, asked if aught ailed her.

“Nothing ails me,” said Elizabeth.

“Your Grace looks to have a fever. Your cheeks look hot and your eyes are so bright. I am not sure that you should not retire to your bed.”

“Pray do not bother me, Kat. I am well enough.”

“Your Grace is bothered concerning the letter you have received?”

“And how did you know there was a letter?”

“In my love for Your Grace I keep my eyes open and my ears alert. Tell me, darling, it is from the Admiral, is it not?”

Elizabeth looked at the woman and burst into sudden laughter. There were moments when she was very like her mother, thought Kat Ashley.

“And what if it should be?” asked Elizabeth.

“He’s a darling man, Sir Thomas, and I could love him myself, but he has no right to send you a letter.”

“Lord Sudley now, if you please. You know that the first thing my brother did was to raise his dear uncle. Not Sir Thomas Seymour merely, but my Lord Sudley. My brother, like you, my saucy Kat, loves the darling man dearly!”

“Well, all the Council have been raised, have they not? There is Lord Hertford become the Duke of Somerset, and Sir Thomas Wriothesley, my lord Southampton.”

“Yes, but Master Wriothesley is deprived of his Seal, while my brother gives love to Thomas Seymour as well as land and title.”

“And does the King’s sister love the man as much as her brother does?”

Kat Ashley was a born gossip, a lover of tittle-tattle; she was vitally interested in the affairs of those about her and inquisitive in the extreme, though goodhearted; she was always eager for exciting events about which to marvel or commiserate, and if they did not happen quickly enough she was ready to apply a little gentle prodding. But the welfare of her little Princess meant more to her than anything on Earth. Elizabeth knew this; and because one of the great desires of her life was to receive the loving admiration of those about her, she was always as affectionate and considerate as she could be to Kat Ashley.

“How could she?” answered Elizabeth. “Would it be wise to love such a man and yet be unable to enter into a marriage with him?”

“It would not!” cried Kat. “If you as much as gave him a hint that you were eager for him—why then, there would be no holding him back.”

They laughed together.

“The Council would never agree to such a marriage, would they, Kat?” said Elizabeth wistfully.

“Nay.”

“They have their eyes on me now, Kat. I must walk warily. Do you not think so?”

“With the utmost wariness, my darling lady.”

“Kat Ashley, do you think I shall ever be Queen?”

Kat was solemn for a moment; she laid her hands on the girl’s shoulders and studied the pale face, the eyes which could at some times be earnest and at others frivolous, the mouth that provoked and promised, yet denied.

“Oh, my dearest mistress, my dearest mistress, I beg of you take care.”

“It is you who should take care, Kat. You gossip whenever you have a chance. You must restrain yourself now. My poor brother… my poor sister! Kat, just think of them. They seem so sick at times, and then… then there will be just myself.”

Kat sank to her knees and took the hand of her charge. She kissed it, and lifting her eyes to Elizabeth’s face said: “God save the Queen!”

Then they laughed together, looking over their shoulders with furtive enjoyment.

How like her mother she is! thought Kat again; and she held her fiercely and protectively. “God preserve her,” she prayed. “Take care of her. She is young…so very young.”

Nevertheless, she was wise; she was crafty; it was possible to see the craftiness in her face at times; later she would be crafty enough to hide it. But she was young yet.

“Keep her safe until she is old enough to keep herself safe,” Kat continued her prayer; and she thought: I am a fine one. I am as reckless as she is.

Elizabeth drew herself away from her governess and was solemn, thinking, as she must when she considered her nearness to the throne, of Thomas whom she could not have as well.

I need not fear for her, reflected Kat Ashley. She’ll pass through all the dangers. I never knew one so clever.

Her brother was learned, but the Princess was the cleverer of the two. Lady Jane Grey, who had been tutored with them, was also learned; they were a clever trio. But Jane and Edward loved learning for itself, while Elizabeth loved it for what she hoped it would bring her. It seemed as though she had trained herself from her earliest years for a great destiny. She excelled in all subjects; she was a Latin scholar; she spoke French, Spanish, Flemish and Italian fluently, taking great pains with those languages which she thought might be useful to her. Like young Jane and Edward, and indeed like most cultured children, she wrote verses; but while those children loved their verses and spent much time over them, Elizabeth wrote hers merely to show that she could do anything they could. Her greatest delight was to study the history, not only of her own country, but that of others. She wished to know how kings and governments had acted in the past, and the result of such actions. So the greater part of her time was devoted to the study of history, and she had learned foreign languages with such zest, that she might be able to read history written in those tongues. Always she was preparing herself for greatness. Therefore it seemed strange that a girl who, at such an early age, had so serious a purpose in mind which amounted almost to a dedication, could at the same time be so frivolous.

But she was her father’s daughter and he, while occupying his mind with great state policies, had found the inclination toward his pleasures irresistible.

Kat Ashley, while she admired her mistress’s uncommon astuteness, trembled for her.

“Kat dear,” said Elizabeth suddenly, “leave me. I have a letter to write.”

“To … the Admiral?”

“It is no concern of yours.”

“It is. It is. Have a care, sweetheart.”

“I intend to.”

“Do not forget….”

“I forget nothing. Go now. Go quickly, I say.”

Kat Ashley moved toward the door and, when she reached it, paused to look appealingly at the Princess.

“Oh, Kat,” said Elizabeth, “do not forget. Tomorrow we go to Chelsea, to be with my stepmother. We must prepare.”

“I had not forgotten. I, too, forget nothing, my lady.”

“Get you gone, and leave me to my work,” said Elizabeth, with a return of the imperious manner which she employed at times and which was always an indication that she had done with play.

She had made up her mind. Kat’s byplay had decided her. When she had knelt, and half in earnest had said, “God save the Queen!” she had brought Elizabeth to the point of decision.

The Princess dared not risk the loss of that for which, above everything, she longed.

I will not think of him, she told herself. I must not think of him. I will remember the tales I have heard of him. He is a philanderer; he has had many mistresses. If I were a commoner it would be different.

Then she laughed aloud, for if she were a commoner would Thomas have looked her way? Yes, he would; it was not solely because she was third from the throne that he wanted her. If she had been a low serving girl he would have sought her out, even if only to make love to her.

She took up her pen.

“From the Princess Elizabeth to the Lord High Admiral.”

Firmly she wrote, thanking him for his letter.

“… but,” she went on, “I have neither the years nor the inclination for marriage, and I would not have thought that such a matter should have been mentioned to me at a time when I ought to be taken up in weeping for the death of my father, the King….”

And as she wrote those words her mouth was remarkably like her father’s.

She stared before her, and she was thinking, not of the dead King, but of the charm of Seymour.

Her mouth softened. A Queen, she reminded herself, would choose her own husband. A Queen would not allow a council of ministers to decide such a matter.

Thomas would still be there. She pictured him, calling as often as he dared, and those little scenes when he made excuses to touch her.

She was thrilled at the thought of him; but even more thrilling was the echo of those words: God save the Queen.

THOMAS SEYMOUR, the new Lord Sudley, was angered by that letter from the Princess.

He wanted a wife, and he wanted the Princess, but if she would not have him he would have another. He was a man who could love many women; and a motherly, tender woman, a Queen who had become very rich and was of some importance in the land, was not a bad substitute for a prickly Princess.

He, like Elizabeth, realized that had she accepted his proposals they would have been in great danger. He had been prepared to risk that danger. But since the Princess had refused him, he saw no reason why he should remain a bachelor. The Princess was but thirteen; he might still have her, for who knew what the future held?

In any case, he was piqued by the tone of her letter, and, a few days after the receipt of it, he set out for Chelsea, where the Dowager Queen was in residence. The young Princess, who had been assigned to her care, was now there with her. It was a piquant situation—the two women with whom the Admiral had contemplated marriage, together under one roof—a Queen and a Princess.

But he would call to see the Dowager Queen.

It was not quite a month since the death of the King, and he saw that snowdrops were beginning to appear in the gardens before the cottages which he passed on his way through the villages, and the purple flowers of the butterbur were blooming along by the river.

Katharine was staying in the Dormer Palace of Chelsea (which Henry had built after he had seized the Manor of Chelsea), with its gardens that ran down to the Thames. Thomas approached the palace by the only road through the village, which wound between the meadows. He crossed Blandels Bridge—very pretty now with the hoar frost on the nearby bushes, but so dangerous at dusk on account of the many robbers who infested the place, and who had so often added murder to their crimes that the bridge had become known as Bloody Bridge.

Lord Sudley’s eyes glistened with excitement as they turned from the small turrets to the long narrow windows, while he hoped for a glimpse of a red head.

He wondered if the weather was warm enough to walk in the gardens with Katharine, for those gardens had been made very pleasant with their lawns and miniature fishponds.

Katharine received him rather cautiously, because several of her ladies were in attendance. How fair she looked! She wore her royal widow’s hood and barb with its sable pall as though she did so with great relief—as indeed she must. She could not hide her feelings for him, so he was glad when she dismissed her women and they were alone together.

He took her hands. “At last!” he said.

“Thomas! How I have longed to see you! But is it not a little too soon?”

“It is most improper,” he replied with a laugh.

He knew she was hoping he would take her into his arms, and how could he refuse? He had never been able to refuse such a thing to a woman.

“Thomas… what if we were seen?”

“Ah, my brother Somerset’s spies are everywhere. Somerset now, remember. No longer merely Hertford.”

“And you are no longer plain Sir Thomas.”

He bowed. “Lord Sudley at your service.”

“Always Thomas…my dearest Thomas.”

“Oh, Katharine, how I have trembled for you in these latter years.”

“And yet you seemed not to notice me. How you made me suffer!”

“How I should have made us both suffer if I had looked at you and betrayed my thoughts!”

“You were the wise one, Thomas. I was foolish.”

“Now you understand how greatly I love you. I can even be wise for your sake.”

“You make me so happy.”

“And when, Katharine, my sweet Katharine, will you make me happier still?”

He was carried on by his feelings, as he always was. He owed his successes at sea to this very impetuousness. He believed so firmly in the destiny of Thomas Seymour that he was able to forget that five days ago he had asked Elizabeth to marry him; now it seemed to him that he had always loved Katharine, that during those years of danger he had deliberately forced himself to think of others for her sake.

Elizabeth, that child! It was a pretty joke, a pleasant game. And, oh, what an exciting game! But how could he marry the Princess without the consent of the Council? Besides, she was a child; and here was a warm, loving woman, so earnestly, so faithfully in love with him.

He took her roughly in his arms. He liked to play the buccaneer. It was usually successful, accompanied as it always was, in his dealings with women, by an underlying tenderness. See the strong man who could vanquish an enemy, see how he curbs his strength for fear of harming the one he loves!

She was a Queen; he could not help it if, in calculating her desirable qualities, he had in mind not only her gentle nature, her adoration of himself, her charming little body, not too mature, but so comfortable, so pleasant and delightful; there were also her lands, her endowment, her influence. The King loved his uncle, but without a doubt the boy idealized his stepmother. The two of them together would make a team to guide the King. With her riches, her influence and her charm, she was irresistible.

“My dearest,” he said, “when?”

“When?” she cried. “And the King not dead a month!”

“I shall not hesitate this time.”

“My love, you must… hesitate a little… for the sake of decency, for the sake of etiquette.”

But he had seized her again. “Do you think I care for these things when love burns in my heart? No, no! I lost you once. Do you think I will allow that to happen again?”

“Nay, my dearest, you must be patient.”

“Patience and love, dear Kate, go not hand in hand.”

“What would be said of me if…my husband not dead a month…I took another?”

“I would take my fists to the ears of any who spoke ill of you, Kate… from the lowest to the highest. Take off the hood.”

“I dare not.”

“Then I will.” He seized it and flung it from them.

She looked at him and laughed aloud. There was a note of the old hysteria in her voice when she said: “It is the end… the end of fear. Oh, Thomas, you cannot guess what it was like. Every time I heard footsteps I wondered whether they came for me.”

“My darling Kate, my dearest Kate, none shall harm you now, for Thomas will be at your side…as long as we both shall live.”

“It is so wonderful, my darling. I think I shall die of happiness.”

“Die! Ye shall not! You have done with death. Kate, we shall marry soon… this very week.”

“Now let us talk seriously.”

“I speak with the utmost seriousness. I’ll brook no delay.”

He lifted her in his arms while she laughingly begged to be put down. “For if we were seen, I know not what would be said or done against us.”

He refused to release her. He sat on a stool and held her against him.

“Nothing will be done against us, Kate. None would dare.” He was about to outline the advantages of a marriage between them, to explain how the little King would be as butter in their hands; but at such moments it was wiser to talk of love and nothing but love. If he was a reckless statesman, experience had made him a perfect lover; and in any case, love between them was a very pleasant topic.

“I am a most impatient man, Kate.”

“I am an impatient woman where you are concerned. But, Thomas, I am as yet unready. I have nightmares still.”

“You need me beside you to comfort you.”

“I dream …”

“Forget those dreams. Let us talk of others…when you and I shall be married.”

“The earliest would be May.”

“May! Three whole months away!”

“We dare not before.”

“Who says I dare not when I will?”

“My dearest …” But he stopped her protests with kisses while his thoughts were racing on.

“A secret marriage,” he murmured in her ear.

She caught her breath. “No. No. It would be dangerous.”

“May, for our official ceremony then,” he went on. “But I shall visit you. I shall come by night.”

“No, Thomas.”

But he insisted: “Yes.”

“You will ride out to Chelsea after dark? No, Thomas, I forbid it.”

“But I shall forbid you to forbid it when you are in my arms.”

“Across the fields…over Bloody Bridge?”

“Why not?”

“At night! It is most dangerous.”

“So you think I could not defend myself?”

“I know you are the bravest, the strongest…”

“Yes,” he said. “I shall come. For I cannot wait till May.”

“No, no.”

“But yes!” he cried; he laughed and she could not help but laugh with him.

There had never been happiness like this in the whole of her life. Her widow’s hood lay on the floor—a symbol of her freedom. She knew that she would deny him nothing, for there was no happiness for her apart from him.

And when Thomas rode away from the Dormer Palace he was affianced—though as yet in secret—to the widow of a King not four weeks dead.

From one of the windows, the Princess Elizabeth watched him ride away. She tossed back her hair and smiled secretly.

He had called at the Palace in the hope of catching a glimpse of her, she was sure; he was pretending to be piqued because she had not accepted his proposal.

She danced round her room, pausing to admire herself in a mirror. She thought how enchanting she looked and of the months ahead when the Lord High Admiral would continue to woo her.

THE SPRING HAD COME to England. Daisies starred the fields, and the marsh marigolds, with the celandines, made a gold pattern along the banks of the river. Then came April, and the wild violets bloomed beneath the trees in Chelsea village.

Elizabeth was waiting for Thomas to act. There were occasions when she felt that she cared for nothing but to be with him and listen to his wooing.

Kat Ashley watched her.

“It is the coming of the spring, my lady,” she said. “Guard yourself, for in the spring fancy runs riot.”

“Mine never would,” declared Elizabeth.

The days were fully occupied. There were regular lessons of many hours’ duration. Elizabeth was studying now under the very distinguished and learned William Grindal who confessed himself astonished at her scholarship. Katharine conferred with William Grindal on her stepdaughter’s studies; but there was a remoteness about the Dowager Queen which Elizabeth did not understand. She was less important as the King’s widow than she had been as his wife; yet never had she looked so contented with life as she did now.

Elizabeth had seen Thomas now and then, although he made no special effort to meet her. It seemed as if he no longer thought of her as anyone but the late King’s daughter, and sister to the present one. But she fancied she caught a reminder of the old gleam in his eyes, and she guessed that he still wanted her. He was chagrined by her refusal. Arrogant Thomas! He thought any woman ready to submit to him. He had to learn that a Princess—who might one day be Queen—was no ordinary woman.

Avidly she learned all she could learn of the histories of England, France and Spain; and she imagined herself in a place of high state, governing countries. Two pictures dominated her dreams; one was of herself in the jeweled raiment of a Queen with her ministers about her, accepting her merest word as law; in the other she was lying under a hedge, as a serving woman might, and Thomas was beside her.

So passed the weeks with her stepmother at Chelsea.

Occasionally she went to court and saw her little brother. Edward seemed weighed down by his state duties. Whenever she saw him she thought: Kingship is too much for Edward. That which should adorn his head like a saint’s halo is but a weight he is not strong enough to carry.

What did her sister Mary think of all that was happening? Mary too, one step ahead of Elizabeth, must have her dreams. Hers were not of power and glory, of adulation, of wisdom to make her country great; her one thought was of turning England back to Rome. The clever girl who was not yet fourteen felt an inner exultation when she thought of Mary, since to force the people to what they loved not, was no way to rule, no way to keep the scepter in the hands and win the love and adulation of one’s subjects. She called to mind her father’s rule. His policy had been to destroy the dangerous men at the top and placate the mob. Already she was smiling at the people—the cottagers, the merchants and apprentices—when she went abroad. Already they were returning her smiles, liking her youthful beauty and her friendliness. “God bless the Princess Elizabeth!” they cried when they saw her. She was astute enough to know that this sign of her growing popularity must not show itself too often. It must not be known that already she was wooing the people, the common people who, those foolish ones did not fully understand, ultimately decided whether their monarchs should rule.

It was during the month of May when she made a discovery. She was lying drowsily on her bed in her apartment at the Dormer Palace; it was just on midnight, and through the slight opening where the curtains about her bed had not been pulled together, she caught a glimpse of the moonlight which flooded her room.

Suddenly she heard a sound in the grounds below. It might have been the snapping of twigs or the sound of a footfall—she was not sure; but she felt certain that someone was down there creeping stealthily about the gardens.

She remembered gossip she had heard among her women.

“They say he comes at night.”

“They say she meets him at the postern gate… and lets him into her chamber….”

Elizabeth had taken little notice. It was not unusual for a woman to have a lover, to bring him into the palace at night. She wondered now who the man was. If she discovered, she would tease the woman in the morning. She got out of bed and went to the window, creeping that she might not disturb her attendants who were sleeping in the room beyond, with the connecting door open.

She knelt on the windowseat.

Moonlight lay across the grass, and there…coming across it, was a man.

She had not been mistaken then….

She drew back suddenly in delighted terror.

He is coming to me! she told herself. How like him! He will climb the creeper to my room. And what shall I do? He will be seen. There will be scandal. I shall have to make them keep quiet…I…

She placed her hand on her heart and felt its mad beating under the thin stuff of her nightgown.

He must not come….

Yet she hoped, of course, that he would.

Then, as she watched, she knew that she need not fear his coming. She would not have to deal with a delicate situation, for she had no part in it—except that of lookeron. Another person had appeared. There was the small figure of a woman. She ran to Seymour, and he and the woman seemed to melt into one. The woman’s hood fell back exposing the head of the Dowager Queen.

Elizabeth watched their kissing, the hot blood in her face, the sweat in her palms.

“How dare he!” she murmured. “And how dare she!”

She watched them, her rage increasing. He had released Katharine now. They stood looking at each other; then he put his arm about the Queen and they turned toward the Palace.

So the Queen was taking Thomas Seymour secretly to her apartments. She was behaving, Elizabeth told herself, like any kitchen slut.

She remained kneeling at the window after they had disappeared, picturing them in the silences of the Queen’s chamber.

Her women would know, and they would keep her harlot’s secrets. Katharine Parr had always won the regard of those who served her. Doubtless Kat Ashley knew, for did not Kat make it her task to discover everything that went on? And Kat would have kept it from her mistress because she feared such news would wound her pride.

If I were Queen, meditated Elizabeth, if I were Queen of England now!

She gave herself up to thoughts of the torture she would inflict on those two.

But her rage was only temporary, for she loved them both. That was what hurt so badly. Who could help loving Katharine Parr? Ingratitude was not one of Elizabeth’s failings; she could not forget how the Dowager Queen had changed the state of the neglected princesses when she had become the King’s wife. Elizabeth must love Katharine for her virtues, while she loved Seymour in spite of his sins.

These two had betrayed her; but the Queen, of course, knew nothing of the betrayal. But he knew. He was laughing at her whose hand he had asked in marriage when he was the lover of Katharine Parr.

Elizabeth went back to her bed and tried, without success, to banish thoughts of those two together. The pictures her mind conjured up for her were so vivid. They embodied all that Elizabeth wanted for herself and dared not take, all that was denied her because of her dream of Queenship.

Her mouth grew prim. This was an insult to her father, the great King Henry. They were traitors, both of them. What if she betrayed them? What would be the fate of those two if the Duke of Somerset, the Lord Protector, knew what his brother was doing with the Dowager Queen?

What if there was a child…a son! And what if they declared that son to be the late King’s! Elizabeth grew cold at the thought. She knew at that moment that her desire for the crown would always be greater than her desire for Seymour or any man.

They would not dare declare their son the King’s son. If they tried to, she would let nothing stand in her way of humiliating them … destroying them.

I could have had him, she reminded herself. Poor Katharine! She is the one who is being cheated.

She could not sleep. She lay, conjuring up more pictures of their lovemaking until the dawn came.

She was at the window, watching his hasty departure.

THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL sought audience with the King at the palace of White Hall. This His Majesty was very willing to grant.

“A good morrow to you, my Lord Sudley,” said the King.

The Admiral bent low and kissed the little hand. Then, lifting his face which was turned away from the King’s attendants, he slowly closed one eye and almost imperceptibly jerked his head. The little King’s face flushed with pleasure. Uncle Thomas meant: Let us be alone together.

There was nothing that would please Edward more.

“I would be alone with my uncle,” he said. “Pray leave us.”

He looked fearfully at his attendants as though he suspected that they might refuse; but there were no gentlemen of great importance among them at that moment to offer that advice, proffered ingratiatingly and yet in such a manner as to imply that His Majesty—for all his titles—was but a child, and a child who was in duty bound to obey his ministers.

When they had gone, Thomas said: “And how fares the King?”

“He was not feeling well until the Lord High Admiral called to see him. That lifted his spirits mightily.”

“My dearest nephew!”

“Uncle Thomas, it is long since I have seen you.”

“You are so guarded now, continually surrounded by your counselors. There seems hardly room for poor Uncle Thomas.”

“There is always room for Uncle Thomas.”

“Tell me, what money does Your Grace need?”

“I will show you. I have written out what I need and what I owe.”

“Then let Uncle Thomas take care of that.”

“Dear Uncle, it seems so strange. I am a King, and yet I have to do what I am told. I am kept short of money, and I have my tutors who call me ‘Majesty’ and yet hint at stern punishment if I fail in my duties.”

“Be of good cheer. To be a King is a great honor. But more so when the King is no longer a boy. Now if you were a man like myself or like your father…”

“How I wish I were! Yes… like my father, so that I only had to raise an eyebrow to have everyone trembling. How fares my mother? Have you seen her? It seems long since I have. I often think of the days when she would spend long hours with us…my sister Elizabeth and Jane Grey… while we were at our lessons. I miss them all sorely.”

“They are all well. They miss Your Majesty.”

“It seems a sad thing to be a King and not to have those you love about you. Oh yes, I would I were like my father.”

“Marry! He was a boy once. Soon your boyhood will be over, dear Edward. You will be a man; you will marry a wife…and, if you are like your father, mayhap six.”

The little King smiled sadly. “One would suffice for me.”

“You are wise, dearest Majesty. I myself would be happy with a wife, I am thinking.”

“It surprises me that you have not one. You are no longer young and, from all I have heard, the ladies are fond of you.”

“My lord King, if you were to command me to marry a wife, then I should have no excuse for remaining single.”

“I? Command you? Dearest Uncle, what do you mean?”

The Admiral’s eyes were alert. He loved the boy; indeed he did; and he was enjoying this moment. He had committed a great indiscretion. He had married the Dowager Queen, although her husband had been dead little more than three months. It was, to say the least, a great breach of court etiquette; he was not sure that it would not be regarded as a crime. The Council would be furious at his conduct, and he needed the approval of the King.

“If you were to choose a wife for me, whom would you choose? Think carefully, dearest nephew. When I was your age I used to imagine the people I loved best, married to one another. Just tell me; if you could pick a bride for me, on whom would you decide?”

Edward smiled. Like many whose minds are heavily burdened with learning, his humor was a little childish. He shut his eyes.

“I must think of a lady of your own age,” he said. “The lady must be one whom I love as much as I love you. There is only one grown lady whom I love as I love you.”

“Then you should command me to marry her, Sire.”

“How can I do that, my lord?”

“You are the King. Your Majesty has only to command. Tell me her name, Sire.”

“It is my stepmother, the Queen.”

“But…I love her. How did you know? Your Majesty, you are most astute! If I might choose from all the ladies in this land…nay, in all the world, I would choose Queen Katharine. So Your Grace commands me to marry her?”

“Yes,” said the King. “I do.”

Seymour knelt and kissed his hand.

“And none dare disobey the King’s command!” he said with a wink, and they laughed together.

“I shall be glad,” said Edward, “when I have a wife.”

“I know the very one for you. I know the lady of your choice.”

“Who then?”

“The Lady Jane Grey.”

“I love her dearly,” admitted Edward. “It would be wonderful to have her with me always. I am so lonely sometimes.”

“I cannot command Your Majesty to marry, as Your Majesty commands me.”

“But if you could, Uncle Thomas, would you command me to marry Jane?”

“I would, dearest nephew. But as I cannot, I will do everything within my power to bring about the match.”

“How will you do that?”

“As yet I cannot say. But, by God’s precious soul, I will do my utmost. There! You have my oath on it.”

They laughed together and the pleasant interview continued until some of the King’s ministers demanded an audience.

Seymour left, promising the King to return soon. He was pleased with the results of his little game. He had received the King’s consent to his marriage; and it would certainly be in the interests of the Reformed Party, to which, for political reasons the Seymours belonged, to have the King married to Lady Jane Grey, for little Jane had been brought up in the reformed faith, and the Catholic influence must be suppressed.

Seymour’s thoughts were merry as he rode to Chelsea to spend the night with his wife.

WHEN THE COURT HEARD the news of the marriage of the Dowager Queen and Lord Sudley it was deeply shocked.

Both the Admiral and the Queen were in disgrace.

This was the worst breach of royal etiquette since Mary Tudor, Henry’s sister, had married Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, in such haste after the death of her husband, the King of France. It was remembered that Henry the Eighth had married Katharine Parr quite as soon after the death of Lord Latimer, but he was a King and all-powerful. Such as the Admiral and Katharine Parr should be taught that they could not take the law into their own hands.

Seymour pleaded that he had the King’s consent.

Edward said with dignity that this was so. He had desired the marriage; and, supported by and supporting the two people he loved so dearly, he took on new dignity and authority. He was the son of his father when he told the Council that he approved of the marriage and that it would be as well for the gentlemen to remember that he was their King.

The most furious person at court—with the exception of Elizabeth, who had taught herself to keep quiet when it was necessary to do so—was Anne Stanhope, Duchess of Somerset, the wife of the elder Seymour brother.

She had hated Katharine Parr ever since the death of the King.

It was ironical, she declared, it was ridiculous that the woman should take precedence of her. She was the wife of the Protector, the true governor of England; and because of Katharine Parr’s marriage to the late King, she was the first lady in the land. The Duchess recognized that the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth, and the King’s divorced wife, Anne of Cleves, must have precedence; that was understood. But that Katharine Parr, who was now but the wife of her husband’s younger brother, should do so, was monstrous.

She faced her husband when she heard the news and, though fully acquainted with her turbulent moods, never had Edward Seymour seen her so furious.

“The Dowager Queen!” she cried. “And who is this Dowager Queen? Katharine Parr! King Henry the Eighth married her in his doting days when he had brought himself so low by his cruelty and his lust that no lady of honor would venture near him. And I … I, my lord, must give place to her! Once she was Latimer’s widow; now she is the wife of your brother…your young brother…and yet she is placed above me. Methinks we shall have to ask Master Admiral to teach his wife good manners. And if he will not, then I swear I will.”

The astute Protector, both calm and cold, ever ready to see an advantage and be on the spot to take it a second or two before a rival could do so, was yet gentle with his Duchess.

“Anne,” he pleaded, “be calm. Nothing can be done at this moment. You must accept this state of affairs. She has married Thomas, and, no matter what we do, we cannot prevent that.”

“Do you not see that your brother Thomas has done this that he may become more powerful than you are?”

“I am watchful of him,” he answered serenely.

“With the Queen his wife, and the two of them preparing to mold the King, what might they not do?”

“The King is in our care. Thomas may be his uncle, but so am I. And I am the elder.”

“You have been sterner with him than Thomas has. Thomas has bribed him with gold, and bemused him with charm. Beware of your brother.”

“I am wary, dearest Anne. I am ever watchful. Thomas knows how to charm people, but there his accomplishments end. He is a fool, that brother of mine.”

“His charm has brought him much. It has already brought him the Queen.”

“I fear neither Thomas nor his Queen. I and my Duchess will be a match for them.”

She smiled. They were together in all things, bound by affection and ambition. To her he was not cold and ruthless; to him she was not proud and haughty.

“My dear,” he said, “this matter of marriage has set me thinking. What would you say to our daughter Jane’s marrying the King? It would not be the first time a Jane Seymour sat upon the throne.”

The Duchess flushed with pleasure. “Our daughter…Queen of England!”

He kissed her cheek.

“You would like that, eh? And what do you say to the Lady Jane Grey for our son?”

She seized his hand and pressed it. “Our daughter a Queen!” she repeated. “Our son married to one who is not so very far from the throne. My lord husband, there are glorious days ahead for us.”

“There, my love, you see we are doing well. Do not let us begrudge Thomas his Queen.”

She looked momentarily grave. “He has his Queen; he has his influence with the King; and our daughter is not yet Queen of England, our son not betrothed to the Lady Jane Grey. Methinks that Thomas should be shown he cannot flout the Protector’s authority.”

“How should we show our displeasure?”

“By confiscating all the jewelery which King Henry gave to Katharine Parr. It is not in truth her property now, because it belongs to the crown; and you, as Protector, are responsible for it.”

He looked at her slyly. “Much of it would become you, my dear.”

“That it would! But I could not wear it—and should your younger brother’s wife be adorned with jewels that I may not wear?”

He put his arm about her waist. “Why, indeed,” he said, “should my brother’s wife wear jewels which mine cannot!”

TO SOME IT MIGHT have seemed difficult to concentrate on lessons; this was not the case with the young Elizabeth. Hurt and humiliated she had been, but there were times when she could completely banish that humiliation from her mind. She could welcome what had happened with Seymour as an experience from which she could learn much; and one thing she had learned was that no amount of study could give a Princess that knowledge of human nature which was perhaps more desirable than any other. A good understanding of the people would be the first requirement of one who planned to rule them.

So, even while she wept, while she gave herself up to silent rages, she could not be altogether angry with the newly married pair.

She was determined to face the truth. Katharine was in love with Thomas Seymour, and she did not see him as the avaricious philanderer; therefore it would be folly to feel anger against the Queen. As for Thomas, he was still Thomas; and she had never believed him to be a saint.

She must be calm; she must try to understand the motives behind people’s actions, she must therefore welcome all experience, however bitter.

Her servants were her friends; she had never to ask them in vain for any special service. Her appealing youthfulness, her dangerous position, that troublous childhood through which she had passed, touched them deeply and bound them to her. Moreover, although she could at times be more imperious than any, she could also show the utmost familiarity. She was loyal to them and defended them always if they were in any trouble. These qualities bound them to her, and if she knew the secret of the bonds, that did not make them less secure.

Her cofferer, Thomas Parry, had not hesitated to betray the Admiral to her. When the news of Thomas’s marriage to the Queen was bruited abroad, Parry had looked sly, and Elizabeth, sensing this, demanded to know why.

“My lady Princess,” said Parry, “he has married the Queen, but to my mind he was hoping for the Princess.”

She could not hide her satisfied smile. “Master Parry, why do you say that?”

“It is because of what happened the day after the King’s burial.”

“And what was that?”

“My Lord Admiral sought me out and put to me many questions concerning your ladyship.”

“Questions! And how dared you discuss me with the Admiral!”

“’ Twas not your ladyship so much as your possessions, and doubtless he thought I would be the person most fitted to inform him in such matters.”

“My possessions!”

“Yes, he would know what lands and estates were yours, and methinks he was well pleased with what was coming to you.”

The Princess’s eyes narrowed and she laughed immoderately.

“The Admiral is a very cautious man, Tom Parry.”

“Indeed, yes, my lady. But methinks he has a fondness for your person which equals that for your lands.”

“My stepmother’s possessions were greater than mine, and her person more charming?”

She waited, and Parry, being so fond of her, could not disappoint her.

“The possessions, yes, my lady; but how could the charms of a middleaged lady compare with those of a young girl… and a young girl who …” He paused.

“Who…? What were you about to say, Master Parry?”

“A young girl who is acknowledged to be a beautiful Princess.”

She held her head very high. “But you flatter me,” she said. “I did not come to you for flattery.”

Then she left him, and Parry looked after her, smiling. She could not deceive him. He had seen the heightened color, the flash of her eyes. He judged that if she had refused my Lord Admiral—as Kat Ashley had told him she had—she had been in two minds about him. Seymour was a man who knew how to charm the women.

Parry would lose no time in telling Mistress Ashley of their Princess’s words. They were a pair of gossips; and since their little Princess’s welfare was so near their hearts, they enjoyed, more than anything, discussing her actions.

“God bless her!” said Parry aloud. “The sly, conceited little Princess. God bless her! May she come to greatness, and I doubt not that she will, with her pretty, cunning ways.”

Elizabeth went on, feeling just a little piqued that Seymour had asked such questions concerning her property. She could understand his asking those questions; they were such as she herself would have put; and she, like Seymour, would have been influenced by the answers. Such a Princess, determined on practical behavior, could not, therefore, entirely blame Thomas Seymour for making such inquiries.

She remembered now those occasions when they had met since his marriage. He had kissed her with lingering tenderness and his eyes had shown traces of passion when they rested upon her.

We understand each other, they seemed to imply. We are of a kind, made for each other. What a little fool you were to refuse me! Are you realizing that now?

She did understand him. He was a man who could love two women at the same time, for there was no mistaking his tenderness when his eyes rested on his wife. At the same time he could desire Elizabeth.

She also was capable of two loves. One for Seymour and one for power.

They were alone together, a few weeks after the marriage had been announced. She had been walking near the Dormer Palace, and he came upon her when she had eluded her attendants and had walked near Blandels Bridge.

She believed he had seen her and followed her; it was because of this that she had slipped away from her attendants.

“This is a happy meeting,” he said, catching up with her as if by chance near a clump of trees which would provide a screen and protection against prying eyes.

“Happy for whom?” she asked. “For you, my lord, or for me?”

“Dare I hope, for us both? I have seen little of you in these last few months.”

“’ Twas two days ago, my lord, that we met.”

“I mean alone,” he said with that low caressing note in his voice which, in spite of her knowledge of him and herself, could not fail to thrill her.

“Alone?” she said, looking about her as if surprised to find herself unattended.

“How beautiful you are!” he said. “As beautiful as this May morning. The year is in its springtime and so are you.”

“My lord, your flatteries fall on deaf ears.”

“And what has befallen your royal ears that they are deaf to flattery?”

“Do not mock me, I beg of you.”

“It is sometimes easy to hide deep feelings behind mocking words.”

She could see the bluebells under the trees bowing in the faint breeze, and she fancied they were the men and women of England bowing to her greatness, reminding her of her royalty. But she could smell the May flowers and see the budding and blossoming of the trees; the sun was warm on her face; she felt reckless because there was spring in the air.

She could not resist dallying with him, luring him on to flirtation, that most pleasant of all pastimes, allowing him to give her those toys for which she most longed—fl attery and admiration— showing her that if she had not yet the power for which she longed as a Queen, she had the subtle power of an attractive woman.

“I could not take you seriously when you speak of deep feelings,” she said.

He tried to seize her hand.

“My Lord Admiral,” she went on, “methinks you forget the respect due to me. You find me here unattended and you forget.”

“I forget everything,” he said, “but that you and I are here… alone together.”

“Thus speaks the bridegroom?” she said, lifting her eyes to his, mocking and inviting. “The bridegroom of a few weeks! Or is it longer? Methinks you may have become my stepmother’s bridegroom before ever you went through the ceremony of marriage with her.”

“You’re a saucy wench!” he said with a laugh.

“My lord, how dare you!”

“I would dare much with you, my lady; and methinks you invite me to the daring.”

“I would be alone. I give you leave to retire.”

“Your eyes invite me to stay, Princess.”

“How dare you treat me thus… because you find me here alone and unprotected?”

The Admiral laughed. She was as fond of make-believe as her father had been. She wished to play the part of the pursued and reluctant maiden.

“You’ve a droll little face,” he said. “And I have a weakness for red hair.”

He held a lock of it in his hands and, bending his head, swiftly kissed it.

She pushed him away; she now wished to play the haughty Princess, for she would not let him think she could easily forget that he had humiliated her deeply.

“What dost think the Queen, my stepmother and your wife, would say if she knew that, scarce had the King been dead a week, you were suggesting marriage with me?”

“Have you not told her, then?”

“You must be very sure of your charms, my lord, since you think that I might have told her that, and she still remain so affectionate toward you that she would consent to become your wife.”

“I am sure of them,” he said; and bending his head swiftly, he kissed her lips.

She gasped, but her flush betrayed her enjoyment.

“Aye,” he went on, mocking her, “and not only am I sure that I can charm the Queen… but others also.”

“I could carry tales of this to the Council,” she said threateningly.

“You could, my Princess.”

“And you would suffer for it.”

“And you would not? They would say: ‘And how came the Lady Elizabeth to be alone in such a place with the Lord Admiral, her step-father?’”

“Why should she not be…if her attendants had left her?”

“Certainly she could be…if she had eluded her attendants.”

“You presume too much, sir.”

“I would I might presume more.”

Her defenses dropped suddenly; he had that effect upon her. She said in a pathetic voice: “You asked my hand in marriage, and then you must have gone straight to my stepmother and made similar protestations of love.”

“You refused me,” he reminded her.

“I could not marry without the consent of the Council.”

“Nor could the Queen… but she did.”

“You did not seek to marry for love, My Lord Admiral.”

“That is just what I did.”

“When you asked me, or my stepmother?”

“When I asked you both.”

“You thought I should be the better prize. Was that why I had the honor of the first proposal?”

“Why do you ask? I see in your eyes that you believe yourself to be the greatest prize in the world. You respect me for my wit; therefore you must know that I could not fail to recognize that prize.”

“You are a bold man, Admiral.”

“You are a bold Princess. Is that why we like each other, do you think?”

“Have a care, my bold Admiral.”

“I will, my bold Princess. You must have a care. Even more than I perhaps, you must take care.”

She stepped away from him. “I beg of you to cease this unmannerly conduct toward me.”

He smiled ironically. “My lady Princess, you may be sure that I will follow your wishes in that respect, whatever they may be.”

She walked away from him, back through the meadows to the Palace. Her cheeks were flushed and her spirits high.

She was pleased, for she was now rid of the tiresome problem of considering a marriage which would be far beneath her; and at the same time she need not dispense with the handsome gentleman’s wooing.

KATHARINE PARR WAS ANGRY with her brother-in-law and his wife.

Anne, Duchess of Somerset, had refused pointblank to carry her train. She had said insulting things about her sister-in-law, pointing out that it was unseemly for the wife of the Protector to pay homage to his younger brother’s wife.

Lady Herbert called at Seymour Place to see the Queen; she was vaguely worried about the attitude of the haughty Duchess.

Katharine embraced her sister warmly. Anne Herbert studied Katharine and found it difficult to believe that this happy woman was the same one who had almost died of terror less than a year ago.

“There is no need to ask how you are,” said Lady Herbert. “It is writ on your face.”

“I am well, sister. And you? And my Lord Herbert?”

“Both well, Kate. It is wonderful to see you thus.”

“Oh, Anne, I never thought to come to such happiness. It seems now that everything I suffered has been worth while, since I could never have appreciated this to the full had I not known great misery.”

“You deserve all the happiness in the world. And my lord, your husband?”

“He is well and as happy as I am.”

“May God preserve your happiness,” said Anne Herbert; and she said it fervently, for she was not so inclined to believe in the fine qualities of Thomas Seymour as was Katharine. There were too many well-authenticated stories concerning his light behavior, his ambitions, and the schemes he had once laid to bring about a union with the Princess Elizabeth. She wondered whether she should warn her sister, but when she remembered that terrible melancholy which she had previously witnessed, she could not spoil, by one word of warning, this unsullied happiness which her sister was now enjoying.

“I think,” said Lady Herbert, “you are so happy that you do not care that there is all this pother about the royal jewels.”

“I do not care for the jewels,” said Katharine. “Marry, I am happier without them than I ever was with them. But I am angry that my sister-in-law should give herself such airs. I believe she would like to wear the jewels herself.”

“Indeed she would. She fancies herself a Queen, I doubt not.”

Katharine laughed. “Thomas cares not a jot for my Lord Protector.”

“He should, Kate. The Protector and his wife are very powerful now. Dearest sister, you have come through great dangers. For the love of God, do not court more.”

“I court danger! Never, Anne. I do not care for these jewels. Do I need jewels to make me happy? When I was the King’s wife, those precious gems were mine. But was I happy then? Oh, Anne, you know the answer to that.”

“Then, Kate, why is there so much noisy talk about them?”

“Thomas thinks that his brother and his wife humiliate me by holding them back.”

“Ah…. Thomas!”

Katharine smiled. “He is so angry when any fail, as he says, to respect me. He says I am too gentle… with others. He says it is a goodly thing that I have his strong arm to protect me, and his wits to work for me. He is always saying that he will put his fists to the ears of any that harm me.”

“Lovers’ talk!” said Anne Herbert.

“It is… and he means it. He looks so fierce when he says those words that I must coax him back to a merry mood.”

“I do not think he would put his fists to the Lord Protector’s ears.”

“He would try to do it…if he thought the need arose. I know my Thomas.”

“If he is reckless, Kate, it is for you to be cautious. Why, to marry him when you did … and to let him visit you at night! My dear, there were rumors about you two before the marriage was announced.”

“I know.” Katharine laughed indulgently. “Thomas cares for nothing. He said he lost me once and was not going to lose me again.”

“Is it true that you were affianced to him within a week of the King’s burial?”

“Oh, Anne, pray do not ask me such questions.”

“That was very dangerous. It is said that if you had had a child, it might not have been known whether its father was Thomas or the King.”

“You know I should not have allowed that to happen.”

“Yet it is what people say.”

Katharine shrugged her shoulders. She was too happy to consider any termination of her present state.

“Anne,” she said, “how I long for a child! Do you think I am too old?”

“You are thirty-six, Kate.”

“I know. But I long to bear Thomas’s child.”

“You would need to take great care of yourself.”

“I should. I pray each night that I may have a child, and I have a feeling that my prayers will be answered.”

Anne Herbert put her arms about her sister. She felt almost as fearful for her, now that she was the Admiral’s wife, as she had when she had been the King’s.

Then, thought Anne, she was prepared for disaster; now she is prepared only for bliss.

“God keep you well, Kate. God keep you happy.”

“There are tears in your eyes, Anne.”

“Are there, sister? It is because I am moved to see you so happy. Is it possible to suffer as you have and emerge from all that horror with your belief in men still intact? I do not know how you can be so sure, dearest sister. I do not know.”

“Ah,” cried Katharine embracing her, “but then you do not know my Thomas.”

THE PRINCESS MARY had spent the months, since her father’s death, in her country manors of Wanstead and Norfolk.

This was on the advice of her friends, for her name had been mentioned freely at the time of Surrey’s execution. One of the charges against the Earl had been a proposed marriage between himself and the Princess, and some had said that Mary had been a party to what might well have been a conspiracy.

Mary had faced death at her father’s hands and had miraculously escaped it; she had no wish to court it again. She was a Catholic and she would remain faithful to Rome till her death; the King and his Council were largely of the Reformed Party. Therefore no good could come of the Princess Mary’s residence at court, it was decided by those who wished her well.

She knew that many had their eyes upon her and that, in the event of her brother’s death, greatness would be hers; and she would welcome it, not for personal reasons, but for the sake of Rome. She spent long hours at her devotions and she guarded her health that she might not fail if the call came.

It was during the month of June that she received a letter from Thomas Seymour. His marriage with her father’s widow seemed to Mary an act of the greatest impropriety and evil taste. She firmly upheld all the traditions of royalty. She had been fond of Katharine Parr, although her affections had declined since she had discovered Katharine’s interest in the new learning; now her respect for Katharine had waned still further, for she simply did not understand how any lady could have allowed herself to be persuaded to such an action.

So that when she received Thomas Seymour’s letter, she looked at it with suspicion and distaste.

He was asking her to give her blessing and sanction to his marriage with Katharine Parr.

A little late in the day! said Mary to herself. For I know full well that the marriage has already taken place, and that this happened in the month of May if not before.

She sat down and wrote a curt note to the Admiral. She thanked him for asking her sanction to his marriage; “But,” she added, “I do not think the Queen can so quickly have forgotten the King as to be ready for a further marriage. As for myself, I am a maid and not cunning in the matters of wooing. You must forgive and respect my innocence.”

She smiled as she wrote. If he could be sly, so could she. Did he think she was so cut off from the affairs of the court that she did not know he and the Queen were already married?

Then her thoughts turned to her young sister. What a terrible position for a child, to be living under the same roof with a man and woman who had so little care for the proprieties.

That should be set right.

So Mary wrote to Elizabeth, suggesting that she should come and stay with her, for she was sure that she must be most unhappy living in the house with a lady who had so recently been the wife of her father and was now the wife of another.

“See that the Lady Elizabeth receives this letter with all speed,” she said to her messenger. “I think she will welcome it. We will prepare to receive her here at Wanstead.”

But when Elizabeth read the letter she was a little perplexed. She did not wish to offend Mary by refusing the offer, yet how could she accept it? How could she shut herself away with pious Mary, spending her days in study and prayers and the working of embroidery, when life at Chelsea, or Seymour Place, or Sudley Castle offered so many delightful possibilities?

On no account could she bear to accept her sister’s invitation, and yet on no account must her refusal offend. Mary might yet be Queen and, as heiress to the throne, Elizabeth’s position would not be an easy one to hold.

I should accept, she told herself. I dare not take the slightest risk of offending Mary. Yet how can I go when every day there is a possibility of meeting Thomas?

Desire for excitement, on that occasion, triumphed over sober sense. She told herself—and perhaps this was the way in which her royal father would have reasoned—that it would be unwise to offend Thomas Seymour by suggesting she was willing to leave his roof. There was a possibility that he might be Lord Protector one day. A little accident to the elder uncle, and who would be more likely to step into his shoes than the beloved younger uncle?

No! said Elizabeth to her conscience. I must not run the risk of offending the Admiral.

She wrote a carefully worded letter to her sister, in which she said that she must submit with patience to what could not be cured. She deplored this marriage as much as did her greatly honored and well loved sister; yet she felt that to offer any objection—which her abrupt departure from her present home might appear to offer— would only make matters worse. They must not forget—her beloved sister and herself—how defenseless they were and always had been; they must remember against what a powerful party such behavior would set them. No, the only thing which they could do was to suppress their pain at the disrespect which had been shown to their royal father’s memory; and, deeply as she regretted her inability to join her sister and share the felicity of her roof, she feared that her place was here with the Queen whom her royal father had appointed as her guardian.

She smiled as she sealed the letter. She was well pleased with life. She was beginning to understand herself. She was glad Seymour had married. Unmarried, he was a menace to her prospects of power; as a bachelor he put temptation in her way, while as a married man it was quite impossible for him to tempt her to the indiscretion of marriage.

There was still left to her the pleasures of flirtation, the dangerous interlude which never quite reached the climax which he desired, and which she believed would mean little to her. She wished to travel indefinitely along erotic byways, and the only way in which she could do this was by never reaching the end of the journey.

THERE WERE HAPPY DAYS at Sudley Castle—that ancient and noble building which had come to Seymour with his title.

The surrounding parklands were enchanting, and during the summer months the bride and bridegroom dallied there. It was to be a honeymoon, so the Princess Elizabeth had not accompanied them.

Seymour was glad that she was not with them. It enabled him to give his full attention to Katharine.

They explored the castle, the park and the beautiful countryside of Gloucestershire which surrounded it.

“Did you ever dream you would be so happy in a marriage?” he asked his bride.

“Perhaps I dreamed,” she answered, “but I never knew till now that dreams came true. Thomas, I was always afraid that you would find the waiting too long… and marry someone else.”

“I would have waited ten years for you, Kate. I would have waited the whole of my life.”

He believed it. He believed that the love of the moment was the great love of his life. He had forgotten Elizabeth. Katharine was his love; he had waited years for her; he had been faithful to her; he had never thought of marriage with another; lands and possessions meant nothing to him. Thus thought Thomas Seymour during summer weeks at Sudley Castle.

They discussed their plans as they lay on the grass away from their servants and attendants—like a pair of country lovers, he said, simple people without a care in the world.

He talked to her of his plans. “We will get the jewels from my brother and his wife. We’ll not allow them to treat us so.”

“I would we could rest here for ever and never go back to court.”

“Aye, that would be a great joy to me.” But even as he said that, he could not help looking ahead to the time when he hoped to be in his elder brother’s place. “That woman rules my brother,” he went on. “She has persuaded him in this matter of the jewels.”

“And I have said that I am happier now, without the jewels, than I ever was, wearing them.”

“You are the dearest creature in the world, and I love you, Kate. You are right. What do we want with jewels… with rank…with ambition? What do we want but this?”

Then he kissed her and they lay on the grass, marveling that all this joy had come to them.

But he could not stop talking of his plans.

“The King will be thinking of marrying soon,” he said. “I cannot contemplate a happier union for him than with the Lady Jane Grey.”

“Indeed no. I had always meant her to have him. She is the dearest of girls—learned, kindly and of gentle birth. She will wear the crown with grace.”

“And she loves us…even as doth the King. But my brother and his wife have a plan of marrying their daughter to the King.”

“To little Jane Seymour! No, Thomas, that would not do. It must be Jane Grey for him.”

“So think I!”

“But why should we meddle…?”

“Dearest, there is our place at court to think of. The more power my brother builds for himself, the more he will rule us. He will be taking our houses and land ere long, to lay side by side with the royal jewelery.”

“I do not want to concern myself with our places at court now. I am happy here… I would like to stay here forever… forget everything but this.”

He smiled, tenderly sighing with her; but he was not the man to throw aside ambition because he had achieved a happy marriage.

“When we talk of these children,” she said, “I long for the children we may have.”

“I also, sweetheart.”

“And then I am afraid, Thomas. I have never had a child. I hope I may bear you one.”

He bent over her and kissed her.

“Kate, I too wish for children—sons and daughters. But I would not have you thinking of them if thinking makes you sad.”

She said: “I used to listen to the tolling of the bell. ‘Sons. Sons,’ it seemed to say to me, warning me, reminding me that if I did not give the King a son, it would toll for my death. I prayed for a child then—a royal Prince. Oh, Thomas, I used to think that if I did not have a son I should die as Anne Boleyn died.”

“I know,” he soothed her. “But that is over; that is done. That is why, much as I desire our child, I would not have you brooding on it. We have each other, Kate. If we have a child, that will be good. If we do not…we have each other.”

She took his hand and kissed it; and as they walked home, the church bells sounded a merry peal.

IT WAS SEPTEMBER, a few days after Elizabeth’s fourteenth birthday.

Lord and Lady Sudley had moved to Hanworth, and Elizabeth went with them. All through the summer days, after the newly married pair had returned from Sudley Castle, Elizabeth was becoming more and more aware of the Admiral’s watching eyes.

She was a young lady now, she believed. Fourteen seemed grownup, old enough for a girl to have a husband, if she were a Princess.

She fancied the Admiral thought so too. He had been very bold of late. It was a situation filled with danger; she was living in the household of a man and his wife, and was slightly in love with the man, and he…how much in love was he with her?

She did wish that the third person concerned was not her dear stepmother; and she wished too that the Queen was not so openly doting. Yet, thought Elizabeth, if it were not I who caught those stray glances of his, might it not be another? It would be disastrous if the wicked Admiral turned those bold glances of his on someone who did not know how to receive them in the right spirit!

She put on a gown of black velvet, and told Kat Ashley that she was going into the gardens to join the Admiral and her stepmother.

Kat Ashley protested at the dress. “My darling lady, it is too old for you. Black at your age!”

“I am grown up, Kat. Do you not realize that I am fourteen?”

“So you are, sweetheart, but you are but a girl in growth.”

“Do you not think the black suits my hair?”

“It does,” Kat admitted.

“Then it is time I began to look my age.”

Kat put her arms about her and kissed her. “Oh, my lady, I don’t want you to be grown up.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am afraid. I am afraid of when you grow up.”

“Dearest Kat, why should you be afraid?”

“Afraid for you, sweet. Now they say: ‘Oh, she is just a child …’ And they think of you as a child…of no importance.”

“But I am of importance, Mistress Ashley. I do not wish to be thought of no importance.”

“It is safer so…until…”

“Until, Kat?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Kneel and kiss my hand, then.”

She took the bracelet from her arm and put the circlet on her head.

“My lady! My lady!” cried Kat in dismay.

“There are just the two of us, so what matters it? And, Kat, you are not to gossip of it.”

“No, my lady.”

Elizabeth took Kat’s ear and pinched it hard. “You gossip too much with Master Parry.”

“Oh, my ear! It hurts. Stop, you wild cat. Stop…Your…Your Majesty!”

They began to laugh, and the bracelet fell to the floor.

“A bad sign!” said Elizabeth, growing pale.

“Nonsense!” cried Kat, sprawling on the floor to recover the bracelet. “Here, let me put it on your wrist… where it belongs. Bless you, my love. God preserve you.”

“Kat, you foolish woman! You’re crying.”

“I love you, darling, and that’s the truth. So much that I am sometimes afraid.”

“I know what you’re afraid of. You think of her of whom we never speak. Kat…I want to talk of her now … and then, afterward … never again. Am I like her?”

“No.”

“She was beautiful, was she not?”

“She had more than beauty.”

“That did not save her. All that charm and all that beauty…it did not save her from the sword.”

“She was wild and full of levity,” said Kat, “and many men loved her. The King was among them. They say he never loved any as he loved her. But that did not save her.”

“She was raised to be a Queen… raised quickly, and quickly put down. But I would be Queen in my own right. I am a King’s daughter. Remember that.”

“I remember it, my lady.”

“And if I will wear a black velvet dress, then I will wear a black velvet dress.”

“Yes, my lady, but that does not mean I shall say I like it.”

“Why do you not like it, Kat?” Her tone was wheedling.

“It makes you look too old.”

“Too old for what?”

Kat Ashley shook a finger at the Princess. “Take care, my lady. You know what I mean. When I see the glances he gives you, I tremble.”

“Oh, Kat…so do I! But have no fear. I am not so charming as she was… and although I have some levity, it is not as great as hers. Many men will love me, Kat, but none shall ever betray me.”

And with that she went sedately out of the room and down into the gardens.

There she found the Admiral and her stepmother walking under the trees.

The Admiral bowed ironically as he watched her approach. Katharine smiled, giving no sign that Elizabeth, as far as she was concerned, made an unwelcome third.

How can she remain in ignorance of those glances? wondered Elizabeth. She looked haughtily at the man, to show him that she did not approve of such looks… when his wife was present.

“Why,” said Thomas, with mock dignity, “it is the Lady Elizabeth. And how think you she looks this day, Kate?”

“Very well and very charming,” said Katharine.

“I think not,” said Thomas. “I like not her gown.”

Elizabeth answered pertly: “Indeed, and do you not? I did not know it was the duty of a stepfather to approve his daughter’s gowns.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “The responsibility of a father toward his daughter through marriage is great; and the more so when she is a Princess, and a Princess who dares parade her charms in a black velvet gown.”

“I care not that you do not like my gown,” said Elizabeth, turning away. “My mother does, and that is enough for me.”

But as she turned, Thomas had caught her. He seized her by the shoulders and pulled her roughly round to face him.

“How dare you?” cried Elizabeth, flushing hotly. “How dare you treat me thus!”

Katharine’s innocent laughter rang out.

“He teases you, my dear. Thomas, you should not tease her so. It is too much teasing, now that she grows up.”

“But, my love, she needs to be teased out of her haughtiness. What do you think of this black gown, Kate? ’T were as though she mourns someone. Does she mourn someone? Do you know, Kate?”

“Nay, she wears black because it becomes her. And it does, Thomas. You must admit it does.”

“I admit nothing. She mourns someone. Some secret lover, is it? Why, the girl blushes.”

“I do not! I do not!” cried Elizabeth.

“Let her go, dearest,” said Katharine. “I believe she is really angry.”

“Then she must learn that she must not be angry with her step-father, who is a very loving stepfather. The wicked child hides secrets from us. Who is this lover whom you mourn? Come, Princess. Confess.”

Elizabeth twisted from his grasp, but, as she did so, her gown was torn, exposing her shoulders. She knew that he had deliberately torn it.

“She hath a tolerably white skin,” said Thomas. “Hath she not? Methinks it is a pity to hide such sweetness under this ugly black cloth.”

“You have torn it,” cried Elizabeth, “and you will have to pay the cost of a new one.”

“You see how avaricious she is!” He caught her skirt as she would have run away.

Katharine began to laugh. “Oh, Thomas, you must not be so childish. You play such games. Are you really a man or just a boy?”

“Do not heed him,” said Elizabeth. “He must amuse himself. It is naught to me that he doth not like my gown. It is naught to me that he hath torn it, since he must provide me with a new one.”

“Undutiful!” cried Thomas, lifting her skirts. “Oh, most undutiful!”

They were both tugging at her skirt, and the stitches gave way.

“Would you then tear the clothes from my back?” she demanded. “Here…in the gardens?”

“I would,” he said.

Her eyes were shining; her mouth was laughing. She could not help it if she loved to play thus with him. It was so safe, with Katharine standing by; it was safe and yet so dangerous. This was the part of courtship which was most enjoyable.

Katharine was quick to see her amusement. Is she completely blind? wondered Elizabeth. Did she not know this man she had married?

He had turned to her now. “Kate,” he said, “help me… help me tame this wild cat. We’ll teach her to parade our gardens in black cloth.”

“Thomas… Thomas…have a care,” laughed Katharine.

“Whose side are you on?” demanded Elizabeth. “His or mine?”

“On mine, of course!” cried Thomas. “Hold her, Kate. Hold her, I say. Take her arms and stop her fighting, and I will show you what we will do with her.”

Katharine obediently ran behind Elizabeth and put her arms about her.

“No,” said Elizabeth.

And “Yes,” said the Admiral.

He had taken the jeweled dagger from his belt and, his eyes gleaming with desire for her, he slashed at her skirt with the dagger; he put his hand in the neck of her bodice and ripped it down the front, so that she stood there in her silken petticoats, flushed and laughing, and loving him, exulting in the feelings she could arouse in him.

“Thomas!” cried the Queen. “What have you done?”

He had his hand on Elizabeth’s bare shoulder.

“I have taught our daughter a lesson, I hope.”

“She should not stand here thus. It is most improper.”

“Aye!” he said. “Most improper. But she must not come parading herself in her black gown, looking like a grownup Princess. She must not blush when we question her as to her secret lover.”

“Elizabeth, run in quickly,” laughed the Queen. “I pray none sees you.”

Elizabeth wrenched herself free. She heard their laughter behind her.

The Admiral put his arm about his wife.

“Dearest,” said Katharine, “how I long for a child! And if I am an even more fortunate woman than I count myself already, how that child will love you! Why is it that you, who are so bold, so much a master of men, a great sailor and statesman, know so well how to amuse children?”

“And is the Princess such a child?”

“Indeed yes. Did you not see how she enjoyed your game?”

“She did, did she not,” said the Admiral somberly; and he tried to forget the passion Elizabeth aroused in him, in his tenderness for Katharine.

KAT ASHLEY ASKED if she might have a word in private with the Admiral.

“My lord,” she said, when they were alone, “I trust you will forgive my impertinence, if impertinence it is.”

“I would hear it first,” said Thomas.

“The Lady Elizabeth came in from the gardens this day—her dress cut away from her, her skin bruised by rough handling.”

“And you, Mistress Ashley, witnessed our play from one of the windows?”

“You know that?”

“I know Mistress Ashley,” he said wryly.

“It is my duty to look after my young lady.”

“That is so.”

“My lord, I beg of you to forgive me, but if any but myself had seen what happened in the gardens this day…”

“Well, Mistress Ashley, what then?”

“They… they might think it unseemly for a Princess so to behave and… and for a gentleman such as yourself….”

“Bah, Mistress Ashley, there was nothing in it. It was but play.”

“That I know, my lord, but others have thought differently.”

“Rest happy, Mistress Ashley; there is no harm done.”

“I trust not, my lord.”

“Your Princess is well able to look after herself, were that necessary. The Queen joined in the play, remember.”

“I know, my lord. But a dress…to be cut off a young lady in such a manner!”

“Never fear. She insists that I pay for another dress. You see, your Princess knows well how to guard her interests.”

The strange thing was, mused Kat Ashley afterward, that when you were with him, you believed all he said. He became the benign stepfather, anxious to make a happy home.

But what should be done? wondered Kat.

He must be right. All was well, because it was true that the Queen, his wife, was present.

THE MARQUIS OF DORSET called at Seymour Place in response to an invitation from the Lord High Admiral.

Dorset was the father of Lady Jane Grey, and he guessed that he had been invited to discuss her future, for he had been warned of this by Sir John Harrington, a friend and servant of the Admiral.

Dorset was warmly received, and Thomas made a point of dismissing all servants before he began to speak.

“My Lord Dorset,” he said, “you have some inkling of why I have asked you to call?”

“I understand it concerns my elder daughter.”

“The Lady Jane is a charming girl—accomplished, beautiful, and of your noble House. We agree on that matter, and I doubt not that we could agree on others.”

Dorset was not displeased. He was himself a member of a great house, but none but a fool like Surrey would refuse a chance of linking himself with one of the Seymour brothers. It was said that young Thomas was biding his time. He was the King’s favorite, and the King would not be a minor for ever. He had already married the Dowager Queen. The Princess Elizabeth was being brought up in his household. Obviously Thomas Seymour, Lord Sudley, was already a power in the land, and was going to be of even greater importance.

Dorset was flattered.

“How so, my Lord Sudley?” he asked.

“The affairs of this country need to be closely watched, Dorset; and it is for such as you and myself to do the watching. It is ever so, when a boy King is on the throne. They are already disputing one with another in the Council.”

Dorset was becoming excited.

“I should like you to know,” went on Thomas, “that I am your friend. And as a token of friendship I should like the wardship of your daughter.”

“Why so?”

“The Queen loves her, as you know. We have often spoken of her future, and we should like to have her under our care so that she might be brought up in a royal manner, and that we might have the means of matching her.”

Dorset’s eyes glistened with excitement. “You have a match in mind, Sudley?”

“I have, sir.”

“And the future husband of my daughter would be…?”

“Cannot you guess? They love each other already. I doubt not they have made up their young minds to it.”

“You mean… the King?”

“I do, my lord.”

Dorset smiled.

“She is worthy of the match,” went on Thomas. “I know of none more worthy.”

“I have heard that the Lord Protector would match his own daughter with the King.”

“His ambition… and his wife’s, drive him hard. My lord Dorset, you might wonder that I work against my brother. But I would work first for what I believe to be right for this realm. The King has said to me—for as you know, he is my friend and I am his bestloved uncle—he has said to me that he will not have Jane Seymour, and that it is Jane Grey whom he loves.”

“You could further this match?”

“If I had the wardship of the Lady Jane, if the Queen could direct her studies… Marry, I doubt not that you will one day see her wearing the crown.”

“My Lord Sudley, I could not refuse an offer which would bring so much good to my daughter.”

The bargain was struck, and Dorset’s hopes ran high. Thomas Seymour, Lord Sudley, was his friend, and he was pleased with himself. So was Thomas who saw there would be little difficulty in bringing about this match. He was determined that he was not going to let his brother usurp the power he had with the King, by marrying him to young Jane Seymour.

Nay! The King should remain the pet of his dearest Uncle Thomas; he should continue to adore his stepmother; and the King’s bride should be a girl who was guided by Lord and Lady Sudley, and one who would love them and help them to keep in power.

So Lady Jane Grey came to live under the roof of the Admiral and the Dowager Queen.

THAT YEAR PASSED QUICKLY for Katharine. It seemed to her that her happiness had made wings which it set to the days.

Summer, autumn—and then the winter was upon them.

She went occasionally to court and spent hours in the company of the King. He had changed a little since his accession; he was growing firmer, and the Tudor in him was becoming apparent; there were occasions when he reminded Katharine of his father.

The little boy, whose mother had died when he was born, and who had known only stepmothers, and most of them briefly, had looked to the last of these for affection, and Katharine would always be his beloved mother. He had not looked in vain to her, and if he adored Uncle Thomas and was stimulated by his sister Elizabeth and loved little Jane Grey, he idolized his stepmother.

He wrote lovingly to her when they were apart and, if he was particularly pleased with some Latin verses he had written, it was his stepmother’s opinion for which he was most eager.

Katharine knew that the Duchess of Somerset was her greatest enemy, but she was too happy to worry very much about her enemies.

And when Christmas was past and Katharine was sure that that for which she had scarcely dared hope was to come to pass, she believed herself to be the happiest of women.

Thomas was delighted.

“It will be a boy,” he said.

Her face clouded, for those words brought back such terrible memories.

But Thomas understood, and he was all tenderness at once.

“But if it should be a girl,” he assured her, “then we shall doubtless discover that a daughter of my Lord and Lady Sudley is worth the son of any other pair.”

“Thomas, you are the dearest person in the whole world.”

He laughed his great booming laughter. “By God’s precious soul, I believe I must be, for you are a wise woman, Kate, and you say it.”

She took his hand and kissed it fervently. “I can never thank you enough for all you have given me. You snatched me from the dark pit of despair, of horror, and you set me here in the sunshine.”

“Speak not of those terrible days. The past is done with, Kate. Think of the future.”

She said: “I shall tell Elizabeth first. She will expect to be told. Why, she is like a daughter to us.”

He was silent then; he went to the window and stood there, looking out over the gardens of Seymour Place.

Katharine went to his side and slipped her arm through his. “Of what are you thinking?” she asked.

He was silent for a while, then he turned to her and swept her into his arms. “I love thee, Kate. I love thee… thee only,” he said.

THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET found at this time that she also was going to have a child. She was delighted.

“I should be delivered a few weeks before your brother’s wife,” she told her husband. “It is strange, is it not, that we should both be in this condition at this time. I would not care to be in her place. This will be her first child… and she is not young.”

“It may well be dangerous at her age to have a first child,” said the Protector.

“Mayhap your brother has thought of that,” said the Duchess slyly.

Somerset looked askance at his wife. She was always bitter against Thomas, but since her pregnancy her venom seemed to have increased; she delighted in making the wildest accusations against Thomas and his wife.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“If she died in childbirth, he would be left free for higher game.”

“You mean… the Princess Elizabeth? The Council would never allow him to marry her.”

“I was not aware that he asked the Council’s consent to his marriage with the Queen.”

“The Queen was not as important to the Council as the Princess would be.”

“It was disgraceful. Why, had she got with child a little earlier, some might have thought it was the King’s.”

“But she did not, Anne; and no one can suspect this child of being fathered by any but Thomas.”

“He plans to destroy you, Edward. You see how he plots with Dorset. He will do everything to thwart your plan of marrying our Jane to the King.”

“Yes, that he has already done, and the King grows obstinate. He grows up; he declares he will not have our daughter.”

“So Thomas plans to bring forth Dorset’s girl, and meanwhile he and the Queen are bringing her up in the way they wish her to go! Very clever! They will have both the young Queen and the King doing all they ask of them. Edward will obey his dearest Uncle Thomas…as will Jane Grey. We shall see that the most important people in this realm will be my Lord High Admiral and his Dowager Queen.”

“I believe he has done this deliberately to frustrate us.”

“Of course he has.”

“It is a sad thing when brothers cannot work together.”

“But you are the elder, Edward; and he, because he has a way of charming women and children, believes he should have your place. He thinks that the manners of Master Admiral are of greater importance to this realm than the cleverness of you, my darling.”

“Dearest Anne, calm yourself. It is bad for you to become excited.”

“I am not excited, my love. I only know that I shall not stand by and see Lord Thomas play his tricks on us. The King shall have our Jane, and Jane Grey is to marry our boy. As for Master Thomas, if he becomes too dangerous…”

“Yes?” said the Protector.

“I doubt not that you, my lord, will find some way of making him … less dangerous.”

Her eyes were wild, and her husband was at great pains to soothe her. Such excitement he knew to be bad for her condition.

But while he soothed her, he told himself that there was a good deal in what she was saying. Thomas was working against his brother, and that was something which no wise man, if he were Protector of the realm, could allow.

EARLY MORNING SUNSHINE coming through the window of Elizabeth’s bedchamber in Chelsea Palace, shone on the Princess who lay in her bed.

She was startled. She had been awakened from her sleep by the sound of the opening of her door. She would have leaped out of bed and run to her women in the adjoining chamber, but she saw that she was too late. She heard the low laughter and, pulling the bedclothes up to her chin, she waited with an apprehension which was tinged with delight.

The bed curtains parted and there, as Elizabeth had known there would be, was Thomas Seymour, clad only in nightgown and slippers. He was smiling down challengingly at Elizabeth.

“How …how dare you, my lord!” she demanded. “How dare you come thus into my bedchamber!”

He drew the curtains farther apart and continued to smile at her.

“Come, Elizabeth, you know you expect me to pay this morning call. An I did not, you would be most offended.”

“It is customary, my lord, to put on conventional garb before calling on a lady.”

“What are conventions…between friends?” His eyes looked saucily into hers.

She said haughtily: “Pray go, my lord. My women will hear you. Yester-morning they were shocked because I had to run to them for protection against you.”

“And this morning,” he said, “I was determined to catch you before you could. And, my lady, am I right in believing that you were determined to be caught?”

“I will not endure your insolence.”

“What cannot be prevented must be endured.” He came closer to the bed. “May I not look in to bid my stepdaughter good morning?”

“Nay, you may not!” But she knew the sternness of her words did not tally with the merriment in her voice.

“Your eyes invite, Elizabeth,” he said; and his tone was no longer one he might use to tease a child.

“My lord…”

“My lady…”

He was kneeling by the bed, and Elizabeth laughed uneasily. He caught her suddenly and kissed her heartily on the check and sought her mouth. Elizabeth made a pretense of struggling, and this only served to encourage him.

The door opened suddenly and her stepmother came in.

“Thomas!” ejaculated Katharine.

Elizabeth dared not look at her; she knew that her face was hot with shame; she felt guilty and wicked.

Imperturbably Thomas said: “What a wildcat is this daughter of yours, my love! Refuses to be kissed good morning by her old father. I declare she was ready to leave the mark of her nails on my face.”

Katharine laughed—the easy, pleasant laugh which Elizabeth knew so well.

“Elizabeth, my dear, my lord but meant to give you good morning.”

Elizabeth raised her eyes to her stepmother’s face, and she decided to be wise.

“That I know well,” she answered, “but I would be accorded more respect. It is not the first time he has come in, clad thus… in nightgown and slippers and drawn the curtains of my bed to laugh at me.”

“It is wrong of you both,” said Katharine, smiling lovingly from one to the other. “Tom, you behave like a boy of sixteen.”

“But hark to the child, my love. She talks of her dignity. What dignity hath a chit of thirteen years?”

“I would have you know, my lord, that I am nigh on fifteen years old.”

He bowed over her, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “I beg your pardon, Madam. You are, of course, of a great age and…”

“Tom, pray do not tease her so,” pleaded Katharine.

“God’s precious soul, but I will tease her!” He seized the bedclothes and pulled at them, while Elizabeth screamed and clung to them.

“Help me, Kate! Help me!” cried Thomas. “We’ll show this chit that she is but our daughter. We will teach her to give herself airs.”

Thomas pulled and Katharine helped him. In a few minutes the bed was stripped bare, and Elizabeth lay uncovered except for her nightdress. All three were romping in childish fashion; Katharine artlessly, the other two with a secret purpose behind their looks and actions.

“She is very ticklish, I vow,” said Thomas, and they tried to tickle her. Elizabeth wriggled. Thomas held her firmly and bade Katharine tickle her until she should beg forgiveness for her haughtiness.

Kat Ashley came in to see what the noise was about, and so the game was broken up.

“It is time you were up, Elizabeth,” said Katharine with mock severity; and she and Thomas went out, laughing together.

As for Elizabeth, she lay back in bed, smiling at Kat Ashley, who was preparing to scold her for her unseemly behavior.

“MY LORD ADMIRAL,” said Kat Ashley, “may I speak to you?”

“What, again?” said the Admiral.

“My lord, I must tell you that there is gossip about the Lady Elizabeth and…”

“And whom?”

“And yourself.”

“This grows interesting. What tittle-tattle have you heard?”

“That you and the Princess are more fond of each other than is seemly.”

“Have you then, indeed! And how many bastards are we two said to have brought into the world? Tell me that.”

Kat Ashley flushed. “My lord, there is talk that the Princess has given birth to a child.”

“Who told these lies? They shall lose their heads for this.”

“It is not known. I had it from a gossip who had it from another gossip who had heard it in the streets.”

The Admiral laughed.

“There will always be such talk, Kat. I’ll warrant our little King has fathered many a bastard, if you can believe what you hear in the streets.”

“My lord, it is not good that the Lady Elizabeth should be evilly spoken of.”

“Next time then, catch the slanderers and bring them to me.”

“And you, my lord … dare I ask that you will be a little more… restrained…in your manner to the Princess?”

“I? Indeed I will not. By God’s precious soul, I will tell my brother, the Protector, how I have been slandered. I will not curb my fun. No, I will not; for, Mistress Ashley, I mean no evil; nor does the Princess.”

And he strode away, leaving poor Kat Ashley disconsolate and wondering whither this romping would lead, and dreading that the Dowager Queen might eventually understand its real meaning. Then, she was sure, much trouble would await her reckless little Princess.

THE RUMORS CAME to the ears of the Duchess of Somerset.

She was great with the child she was expecting in August. June was hot and it was difficult to move about, so she contented herself with making plans for the future of her family.

She was growing more afraid of her husband’s brother. How she hated him, he who had charmed the King and advanced himself by marrying the Queen.

She sent for one of her serving women to come and sit beside her; she had trained this woman to keep her eyes open when in contact with the servants of her brother-in-law’s household. She was wondering whether, if it were proved that immorality was going on in that household, it would be possible to remove little Jane Grey from the care of the Sudleys and have her brought up by the Somersets.

What she had heard so far was promising.

“What heard you this morning, Joan?” she asked her woman.

“My lady, they say that the Princess and the Admiral are acting shamefully…more so than usual. He goes to her bedroom, and sometimes she runs to her women, pretending she is afraid of him, and… sometimes she does not.”

“It disgusts me,” said the Duchess with delight.

“Yestermorn he tore off her bedclothes and she lay there without them, my lady.”

“I can scarcely believe it.”

“The Queen was there. It was a game between the three of them.”

When the woman had left her, the Duchess thought a great deal about the rompings which went on in the Admiral’s household. Was he wishing that he had not married Katharine Parr? It was clear that he had hopes of the Princess. Suppose Katharine were to die, which she might well do, bearing a child at her age, and suppose the Admiral wished to marry the Princess. Suppose he asked the King’s consent. The King would refuse his beloved uncle nothing that he asked.

Her husband, the Duke, was too occupied with his parliaments and his matters of state, thought the worried Duchess, to realize what was happening. But matters of state were often decided in bedchambers. It had been so with the last King. There was no doubt that the Admiral would try for the Princess…if Katharine Parr were to die.

She would give Joan further instructions. The woman must become even more friendly with the servants in the Admiral’s household. Nothing that happened there must fail to reach the ears of the Duchess of Somerset.

BOTH ELIZABETH AND THOMAS felt that this strange, exciting and most piquant situation could not continue as it was. It must change in some way.

Katharine, who was now heavy with her child, moved about ponderously and some days kept to her bed. The glances between the Princess and the Admiral had become smoldering; each was waiting for the moment when change would come.

It happened on a hot summer’s day when they found themselves alone in one of the smaller rooms of Chelsea Palace.

As Thomas stood watching her, a deep seriousness had replaced his banter. They were no longer merely stepfather and daughter; they were man and woman, and neither of them could pretend it was otherwise.

Elizabeth was a little frightened. She had never sought a climax. She wished to go on being pursued; she wanted to remain provocative but uncaught.

She said uneasily, as she saw him shut the door and come toward her: “There are rumors about us two.”

“Rumors,” he said lightly. “What rumors?”

“They are whispering about us…here…at court … in the streets. They are saying that you and I are as we should not be… and that you come to my bedchamber.”

“What! By morning and in the presence of the Queen!”

“You must desist…or it will be necessary for me to leave your household.”

He caught her and held her fast. “I will not desist. I mean no evil.”

“If you will not desist, I must leave here.”

“You shall not go.”

“My lord …” she began weakly.

But he interrupted passionately: “Elizabeth, why did you say me nay?”

She was alarmed, and she sought to hold him off. “You loved me not,” she said shrilly. “If you did, why did you go straightway to the Queen on my refusal? Did you not turn over in your mind whether or not you could hope even for little Jane Grey? Did you ask my cofferer the extent of my possessions?”

“You know I love you,” was his only answer, “and you only.”

“I thought I was to you but a wayward child.”

“You lie, Elizabeth. You know full well what you are to me.”

“And all the rompings and teasings?”

“Were just that I might be near you… touch you… put my lips close to yours.”

She felt weak—no longer Elizabeth the Princess with her eyes on the throne, but Elizabeth in love.

She put her arms about his neck, and they kissed fervently, passionately.

Katharine had quietly opened the door and found them thus. She stood, incredulously listening to the words of love.

Suddenly they were aware of her.

Katharine, awkward in her pregnancy, her hands hanging at her sides, her eyes bewildered, stood there trying to understand this sudden disintegration of her happy existence.

Thomas was abashed; but already he was planning what he would say to her.

As for Elizabeth, even in that moment of fear and humiliation, she knew that this discovery had saved her from herself and the Admiral.

THE QUEEN PACED her apartments. She seemed almost demented. She wept, and there was nothing Thomas could say to soothe her.

She despised herself, marveled at her folly; she, who had known the agony of life with a callous murderer, had allowed herself to be deceived by a lighthearted philanderer.

“Sweetheart,” declared Thomas, exerting all his charm, all that plausibility which had never yet failed him, “’ twas nothing. ’T was but a moment of madness.”

But she would not listen. She looked at him sadly and remembered so many occasions when the truth had been there for her to see. She had held the Princess while he had cut her dress; she had helped him pull off the bedclothes; she had laughed, simply, foolishly… like a child, while those two had deceived her. And that was what they did when she was present; she had now discovered something of what they did when she was not with them.

It was too much to be borne.

Once, when she had lived near to death, she had passionately longed for life; now that she had tasted the perfect life—which had been quite false—she longed for death.

Her feelings for her husband were in a turmoil. Poignant love and bitter hatred alternated.

She did not hear his words, those glib explanations which rose to his lips so easily. She knew that some of the rumors at least were true; he had wished to marry Elizabeth and, failing the Princess, the Queen had suited his ambitions.

She begged him to leave her, and he, seeming eager to please her in all things, obeyed her wishes.

Calmness was what she needed, indifference. She must think of the child she would have; yet even such thoughts were tinged with bitterness, for so often had she pictured them all together—herself, her husband and the child. That false man, that philanderer, had always dominated any pictures she had made of the future.

When she had married the lords Borough and Latimer, she had not expected an ecstatic life; but those lords had not deceived her. When she had married the King, she had known that her life would be filled with dangers; and she had not been deceived in that. But now, that marriage which was to have brought glorious fulfillment to her life, which was to have made everything that had gone before worth while since it was to have led to perfection, was proved to be utterly false, a fabrication, a fantasy which did not exist outside her own imagination.

She must be calm. She would be calm.

KATHARINE SENT for the Princess.

Elizabeth came, shamefaced, expecting abuse. But the Queen smiled at her, not coldly, but, as it seemed, with indifference.

I cannot blame a child, Katharine was thinking. He is more than twenty years older than she is, and the fault lies with him.

She looked at the girl—this girl who stood near the throne— and she marveled at the folly of her husband. If he had seduced the Princess and there had been tangible consequences of that seduction, he would almost certainly have lost his head. He had known that, and yet he had not hesitated to run risks. Was the attraction so strong? Was the temptation irresistible?

Katharine said: “In view of what has happened, I have no alternative but to send you away.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth.

“I would prefer you to leave as soon as possible.”

Elizabeth bowed her head.

“How soon can you be ready to go?”

“In a few days’ time.”

“Then let it be done. I shall not expect to see you or any of your household by the end of the week.”

“It shall be done,” said Elizabeth.

“That is all. You may leave me now.” Katharine turned her head to look out of the window.

Elizabeth bowed and went toward the door, but there she paused.

“Your Grace,” she murmured. “Mother…”

There was an appealing note in her voice that once would have affected Katharine deeply.

Now she deliberated: Is she wondering what effect all this has had, and will have, since the King loves me as his mother? Perhaps she is going to ask me to say nothing of this to His Majesty. She need not trouble, for I doubt not that the King has heard what the whole court has heard, and that even the people in the streets are laughing at the simplicity of Katharine Parr.

She continued to stare out of the window until she heard the door quietly shut, and knew that Elizabeth had gone.

Little Jane Grey came to her as she stood there, and Katharine was glad that she had this girl with her. She put her hand on the curly head, and suddenly the tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Jane looked at her with great pity.

“Your Majesty …” she began, and she too started to cry.

The child’s tears sobered Katharine. “Jane, Jane, what is this? Why do you weep?”

“I weep to see Your Majesty so sad.”

“Then I must stem my tears, for I cannot bear to see yours. It is folly to cry, Jane. What good did tears ever do? We should be brave and strong, ready to face anything that is coming to us. Come, dry your eyes. I command it.”

And she held the girl against her while Jane began to cry wildly.

“Jane dearest,” said Katharine, “we are going to Sudley Castle. We shall stay there until my child is born. I have a desire to be a long way from the court …to live very quietly for a while. You shall be my constant companion… always with me, my little comforter. How will you like that, Jane?”

Jane put her arms about Katharine’s neck, and kissing the tearstained cheeks Katharine found some small comfort.

ON A HOT AUGUST DAY the Duchess of Somerset gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

She was delighted. It seemed to her significant that she and the woman whom she hated more than any other should be having a child in almost the same month, for Katharine Parr’s child was due very soon.

She embraced her boy while she visualized a great future for him; but she would feel more sure of the greatness of that future if her husband did not possess such an ambitious brother.

Joan had brought her interesting news: Katharine and her household had left for Sudley Castle, where she intended to stay until after the birth of her child. The move in itself was not so strange. To what more beautiful spot than that castle could a woman retire to await the birth of her child? The strangeness was not in the going, but in the manner of going.

“My lady,” Joan had said, “there has been great trouble in the Queen’s household. It concerns the Admiral and the Princess Elizabeth.”

“That surprises me not,” said the Duchess. “The wonder is that the stupid woman did not discover, long ere this, what the rest of her household seemed to know so well. Did you hear how she took the discovery?”

“Most bitterly, my lady. Her servants said that she became hysterical, as she did before… when the King was her husband and so many thought he would have her put away from him.”

The Duchess smiled and suckled her baby.

Later she talked to her husband.

“I shall never be happy while your brother lives,” she declared.

“Would you wish his death then?”

“As I would the death of all who stood to harm you, my lord.”

“And the Queen?” he asked.

“The Queen is a foolish woman. I fear her influence, but not herself. They say she is a bitter woman who cares not whether she lives or dies. Oh, my lord, a woman in her state and of her age…who has never before had a child…”

“Yes, my love?”

The Duchess shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know. But it would not greatly surprise me if she did not survive the ordeal before her.”

“That is what you hope.”

“I like her not. But it is your brother whom I fear.”

“My dear wife,” said the Duke, “even if we proved a case against him, the King would put up a fight for his beloved uncle.”

“The King! He is but a feeble boy.”

“Feeble in body, but not so in mind. He puts on dignity with each day. If he is but a boy, he is a Tudor; and you know well the strength of his father.”

She was silent for a while, then she said: “If the Queen were to die, and it could be shown that the Admiral had helped to bring about her death, the King might not feel so kindly toward his favorite uncle.”

“Thomas bring about her death! Nay! He is a philanderer, but he would not murder his wife.”

“She is sad, I hear. She cares not whether she lives or dies. This is due to her husband’s treatment of her.”

The Protector bent over his wife to look at his newborn son.

He smiled at the Duchess, and their eyes were alight with a kindred ambition.

IN HER LYING-IN CHAMBER at the Castle of Sudley, Katharine lay, her body torn in agony. But no bodily agony could compare with the distress of her mind.

All through those paindazed hours she was aware of the cloud about her; she was aware that the happy life, the thought of which had sustained her through all her miseries, was nothing more than a myth and an illusion.

Thomas, waiting for the birth of his child, paced back and forth from room to room.

“No news yet? No news?” he demanded. “By God’s precious soul, how long…how long?”

Some of those who loved the Queen longed to tell her of his distress, but they knew that she would have no faith in it. She no longer believed in him; all his protestations had failed to move her. He had lied to her; he had deceived her; and she would never trust him again.

It was on the last day of August, when the heat was stifling, that Katharine’s daughter was born.

“A girl!” The words spread through the Castle.

It was a disappointment; everyone had confidently hoped for a boy. The astrologers had prophesied that there would be a son for the Admiral. He had believed that prophecy; he had gone about boasting of the son he would have, a finer, stronger, more handsome boy than the one just born to his brother’s wife.

And now…agirl!

But Thomas would not show his disappointment. Full of remorse for the hurts he had inflicted on Katharine, he longed to assure her of his love and devotion.

Elizabeth was far away at Hatfield now, and he would think only of Katharine, his beloved wife. He would make her understand that it was possible for a man such as himself to be fond of more than one woman at a time. And what, he asked himself, was his lighthearted desire for Elizabeth compared with the deeprooted tenderness he felt for his wife?

He went to her chamber; he kissed her tenderly, and most solicitously he inquired regarding her health. He took the child in his arms and paced the apartment with her.

“Why, bless us, Kate, I’d rather this girl than all the boys in Christendom.”

But the magic failed to work now; the charm was useless. It was like a pretty tinkling toy, and she had grown out of her desire for such.

She watched him with solemn, brooding eyes.

He knelt by the bed: “Get well, Kate. Get well, sweetheart. There is no joy for me in this life if thou sharest it not with me.”

And she watched him coldly, with disbelieving eyes.

A strangeness had come to her since the birth of her child. There was a fever upon her, and she who had so passionately longed for the child, seemed now to have forgotten its existence.

She lay listless, staring about her with eyes that seemed to see nothing, to have no interest in anyone or anything.

In vain her women tried to rouse her from this terrible lethargy.

“Your Majesty, look at the beautiful little girl. See, she has your eyes. That much is obvious already.”

But she did not answer. She lay there, staring before her as though it were another woman’s child they held out to her. Little Jane Grey came to her bedside, but she did not seem to know Jane.

“What ails her?” asked the little girl.

“By my faith,” said one of the women, “I fear she will die of her melancholy.”

The doctors came, but they could not rouse her. They could do nothing to disperse her fever.

A FEW DAYS AFTER the birth of the child, Thomas came into the bedchamber, his brow wrinkled, all jauntiness gone.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “how fares it with thee now?”

She did not answer him.

“Kate… my dearest Kate, it is Thomas. Look at me, my love. Smile at me. Tell me you love me.”

She turned her head from him.

She spoke suddenly, but not to Thomas. “Lady Tyrwhit,” she cried out, “is that you?”

Lady Tyrwhit, who had been in attendance since the birth of the child, came to the bedside. She knelt and took the Queen’s burning hand in hers.

“Lady Tyrwhit, I fear such things within me that I do not think I shall leave this bed.”

Thomas knelt and took her other hand. She turned her head to look at him, but she did not seem to recognize him.

“Lady Tyrwhit,” she continued, “I am not well-handled. Those about me care not for me. Oh, I am most unhappy, Lady Tyrwhit, because those I have loved, love me not. They mock me. They laugh at my love. Mayhap they laugh now at my grief. They wait for my death that they may be with others. The more good I do to them, the less good they would do to me.”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart!” cried Thomas. “I would do you no harm.”

She spoke to him then. “I do not think you speak the truth, my lord.”

“Kate… Kate… have you forgotten how we have loved?”

“No, my lord, but you have given me some very shrewd taunts. My Lady Tyrwhit, I do not think I shall live. I do not wish to live.”

The Admiral turned appealingly to Lady Tyrwhit. “How can I comfort her? How can I assure her of my devotion?”

Lady Tyrwhit was sorry for him, even while she remembered that his conduct with the Lady Elizabeth had brought his wife to this pass.

“I shall lie on the bed beside her,” he said. “I will pacify her. I will bring back her peace of mind. I will assure her…”

“Nay,” said Katharine. “It is over now. I shall die. There is no need for me to live longer.”

“What of the love you have for me?” he cried. “What of our child?”

But she looked bewildered, as though she did not know of what child he spoke.

“I will lie beside you, sweetheart,” he said.

“No,” she said fearfully. “No!”

“She must not be disturbed so,” said Lady Tyrwhit.

Thomas stood back, helpless, filled with wretchedness and remorse.

Katharine closed her eyes.

“Leave her to sleep,” said Lady Tyrwhit. “That will restore her peace of mind better than aught else.”

And Katharine lay, listening to the voices about her. She seemed to hear whispering voices everywhere. She seemed to see the flushed face of the youthful Princess and her husband’s eyes gleaming as they looked at the girl.

She thought she heard voices which told her that the rumors were true. He had wanted Elizabeth; Elizabeth was the greater prize; but he had accepted the Queen…temporarily.

Temporarily he had accepted the Queen. And later…he would take Elizabeth.

The voices went on and on in her imagination.

She no longer wished to live. She believed herself to be unloved and unwanted; and the tragedy was that, no matter what might happen in the future, no matter what assurances were made, she would never believe them. She could never believe in anything again.

She had set up an idol and worshipped it; she saw now that it had feet of clay.

There was darkness near to her; it beckoned, offering peace.

“Come,” it seemed to say. “It is what you need. It is what you wish for yourself. It is what he wishes for you.”

And she felt that she was drifting forward into that peace.

ON A SUNNY SEPTEMBER day the gentlemen and esquires of the Queen’s household carried the leaden chest, in which lay Katharine Parr, into the little chapel attached to the Castle of Sudley.

The walls of the chapel were hung with black cloth, and on them, to remind the assembly that this lady had been a Queen, were not only the arms of the Seymours, but also those of King Henry the Eighth whose sixth wife she had been.

After the birth of her daughter she had died, having, some said, no wish to live. Others went further and said that she had been hastened to her death.

Lady Jane Grey, one of the Queen’s chief mourners, listened to the service conducted by the Queen’s cofferer and recalled what she knew of the life of this lady whom she had loved; she remembered those alarming days when she had been the King’s wife, and the strange good chance which had led Nan to the courtyard when Wriothesley had dropped the all-important paper; and it seemed to Jane that God preserved some men and women from disaster whilst He guided the footsteps of others toward it, so that it seemed that each had a destiny to fulfill here on Earth.

What of herself? she wondered fleetingly; and in the stifling atmosphere of the chapel she shivered. Her father was ambitious, and there were plans being made to encircle her head with a crown. How could she, a young girl, know what fate awaited her?

Dear Queen Katharine! she thought. I shall never see her again. Never hear her gentle voice…never see her sweet smile…

Now they were carrying the coffin out of the chapel. Soon they would bury it, and it would be goodbye… goodbye for ever to Queen Katharine Parr.

THE RUMORS WERE spreading all over the land. How did Katharine Parr meet her death? There were unpleasant stories which came from those intimate with the Queen’s household and who knew of her husband’s light behavior toward a royal Princess who had lived under his roof.

Why did the Queen die?

The Princess Elizabeth would be an excellent match for the ambitious Admiral.

The stories grew in wildness. Some said that a midwife had told a tale of being led blindfold to a quiet house that she might deliver a baby. She knew the mother must be a person of high degree, though she could not say more of who she was, except that she was young, fair and imperious. She might well have been a Princess.

The Duchess of Somerset listened to these stories. They amused her; more, they delighted her. But the story she liked best was that which insisted that the Lord High Admiral had decided to rid himself of his wife by poison, and that this was the explanation of her sudden death.

For, as she said to her husband, although the King would be loath to sign the death warrant of his beloved uncle whom he idealized, if he could be convinced that his idol had poisoned the beloved stepmother, he might be more ready to put pen to that necessary document.

It was easy to spread such rumors. They ran through the capital, through the provinces, through the countryside, like fire that is unchecked.

Katharine Parr, the sixth wife of Henry the Eighth, is dead. She married a fourth husband. Was that wise? The Admiral was such an ambitious man. And what part had the Princess Elizabeth played in this affair?

So men and women stopped to talk in the streets of this matter.

“Queen Katharine Parr is dead. Her husband killed her…for the sake of the Princess Elizabeth. He waited until the child was born… then he poisoned her.”

He poisoned her! That became the simple cry which emanated from all the rumors.

The words held a menace, and the shadow of the ax deepened over the heads of those who had lived close to the King’s sixth wife.

THE END