had always taken care never to get involved in this interminable quarrel.
Yet Edward let Mary largely alone these days. He was ill now, this strange, wise-beyond-his-years boy. It had begun last year with a fever that many attributed to measles or a mild attack of smallpox, but since then the King’s health had inexorably declined. He had not been seen in public for months now, and it was rumored that he was suffering from a fatal consumption.
Elizabeth had begged, again and again, these past weeks, to be allowed to visit him, but Northumberland had steadfastly refused to allow it, ignoring her outraged protests.
“I wouldn’t mind, but he allowed Mary to visit the King,” she had complained to Kat, and then dashed off another angry letter to Northumberland, demanding to see her brother. Again, the Duke put her off with excuses, much to her mounting chagrin. At length, she had ridden out determinedly from Hatfield, making for London, but the Duke’s men had met her on the road and ordered her to go back. Frustrated and angry, she had sent Edward letter after letter, but had received no reply.
Her suspicions had mounted. If rumor spoke truth, and the King were indeed dying, why the secrecy? It was as if Northumberland were plotting something, she thought perceptively. Then, in May, had come the news that the Duke had married his son Guildford to Lady Jane Grey, and alarm bells began ringing inside Elizabeth’s shrewd head.
“So he allies the Dudleys with the blood royal,” she fumed to Kat. “I mistrust his intentions. She was betrothed to Somerset’s son.”
“I don’t understand why it bothers you,” Kat said perplexedly, thinking that Elizabeth was worrying over trifles. “Surely the Duke can marry his son to whomever he pleases?”
Elizabeth shook her head at Kat in exasperation and sighed.
“It has pleased him to marry Lord Guildford to a girl who is in line to the throne,” she explained.
“But the Lady Mary is next in line, then yourself,” Kat said. “Your father passed an Act of Parliament decreeing it, andhe made provision for it in his will.”
“Yes, and who comes after us? The heirs of my father’s sister Mary. That means the Duchess of Suffolk and her daughter, Lady Jane.”
“But the Lady Mary and yourself both come before her,” Kat pointed out, looking puzzled.
“And we are both bastards, and in law, strictly speaking, we cannot inherit. Only that Act of Parliament, the work of our father, stands between us and the House of Suffolk.” Elizabeth got up and began pacing up and down. “A king’s will has no force in law. An Act of Parliament can be repealed. I hope I am mistaken, but I fear that the Duke has some sinister design up his sleeve.”
Kat’s jaw dropped. “He wouldn’t dare?”
“We shall see,” Elizabeth said grimly. “I would put nothing past him.”
The letter had confirmed her worst suspicions. Northumberland had invited her to court, saying that the King was unwell and wished to see his dearest sister. How strange, she thought. He has been ill for months and I have been forcibly kept from seeing him. Why this summons now?
Was Edward really dying? Had he asked for her, hoping she would reach his side in time to say a last farewell? If that were the case, she must go to him, her poor brother. Truly, her heart grieved for him; she was consumed with sorrow. To have shown so much promise, then been brought to this, so young—it did not bear thinking about.
But supposing this was a trap set by Northumberland to snare her? She still thought it very odd that after months of preventing her from seeing the ailing King, the Duke was now summoning her to his bedside. And in that she smelled danger. Oh, what should she do?
Kat came in, and seeing her wakeful, padded softly over and sat down, resting her cool hand against Elizabeth’s brow.
“No fever, thank goodness. How are you feeling now, my lamb?”
“Not good,” Elizabeth murmured, holding Northumberland’s missive beneath her skirts, crumpled in her hand.
“Has it affected your eyes?” Kat asked. “Only there’s a letter come for you. Here.”
She held out a folded paper bonded with plain wax. There was no imprint of a seal. Elizabeth raised herself on the bed and opened it. There were just a few words printed across the page: On no account go to court, if you value your life. There was no signature, and the handwriting was unfamiliar. Or was it?
“Who is it from?” Kat