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.”
