room for doubt.
“Indeed I do,” said Kat grimly. “A nasty woman she was. She abetted Katherine Howard in her crimes, and was executed for her pains.”
“Executed?” echoed a startled Elizabeth.
“Aye, just after her poor young mistress. Lady Rochford had gone mad under questioning, and so the King had to pass a special Act of Parliament allowing him to execute lunatics. But they say she was sane enough when she went to the scaffold. I say she got what she richly deserved for having borne false witness against her poor husband and your mother.”
“Was there not a great scandal about that too?” Elizabeth wanted to know. “I mean, the thing that Lady Rochford accused my mother of.” She could not bring herself to describe it.
“Well, some people pretended to be shocked, but I think most just found it hard to believe. It was as if Master Cromwell was grasping at anything he could think of to get rid of Queen Anne. As for that charge of plotting to kill the King, well, that was utter nonsense. She was—how do I say this?—not popular, and without the King to protect her, her enemies at court would have tried to bring her down. So why should she wish to do away with her protector? It would have been folly, and she was no fool.”
“So you think she was innocent of all the accusations?” Elizabeth urged.
“I do, my lady, I do,” Kat declared. “Four of the accused men protested her innocence, and theirs, to the end. Only Mark Smeaton confessed, but that was under torture, I’m sure.”
“Torture?” Elizabeth exclaimed, with a shudder. She knew what torture was.
Kat paused. Elizabeth was still quite young. Was she ready to hear the brutal details of what was believed to have happened in Master Cromwell’s house?
“Master Cromwell had him put to the torture,” she said carefully. “They say the pain was so great that he would have said anything to stop it.”
“What did they do?” Elizabeth was wide-eyed with horror.
“They tied a knotted rope around his eyes and kept twisting it,” Kat told her, hoping that this would not prove too much for her charge to stomach.
“Oh, the poor wretch,” Elizabeth said, feeling a little sick. “No wonder he talked. I would have talked.”
“Your mother herself declared her innocence before God at her trial,” Kat went on. “What more can I say? They just made an occasion to get rid of her. Master Cromwell had his reasons, I suppose. But little of it made sense to me. Elizabeth, you must never doubt that your mother was a good woman, nor that she loved you very much. Cherish her memory, child, but learn to dissemble. To speak of her as you did to the King was rash and dangerous, and we are paying the price of it now. But our punishment could have been far worse, remember that.”
“I will, dear Kat, I promise,” Elizabeth said, feeling greatly cheered. “I will never mention my mother’s name to anyone but you again.”
“My lady, a messenger has come! He has something for you!”
When the Queen’s missive arrived, it was high summer and the King, ignoring his infirmity and his bad legs, had gone to Boulogne to fight the French. Elizabeth had been watching out for a messenger for days, and when one cantered into the courtyard at Hatfield and she heard Kat calling her, she pattered down the stairs as fast as she could and grabbed the rolled parchment he handed her with scant ceremony.
For several long months now, she had languished in exile. Kat had sent good reports of her to the Queen, and had stressed her dutifulness, and Katherine had spoken up for her, but there had come no word from the King, no reprieve.
Elizabeth felt as if she were pining away; her banishment was becoming unbearable. Without her father’s favor, she could not live.
I have tried my best, she told herself. I have worked hard at my lessons—Master Grindal told me he’s known no finer scholar—and I’ve tried to behave impeccably. Why is there no word from my father? Does he not love me anymore? Have I forfeited his love forever?
Her life in the shadow of his displeasure was arid, devoid of comfort. It was like being deprived of the sun.
Kat had come upon her moping, sitting dejectedly on a window seat and drumming her heels against the wooden paneling.
“Come now,” she said briskly. “Stop wasting your time. If you’ve nothing to do, find a book.”
Elizabeth raised plaintive, tragic