In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,231

me in her arms. At one of the windows there appears a glittering figure—large, imposing, red-bearded. It is the King and she is trying to say something to him through me. She is holding my hand and waving it at him, appealingly, desperately. For a brief second he regards us with exasperated indifference before he turns away. That actually happened. Later I discovered it took place three or four days before she was arrested and taken to the Tower. The memory of her desperation and his cruel indifference stays with me forever, and I vowed that no man should ever do to me what my father did to my mother.

Before that she had been a presence of power, and my governess Lady Bryan, who was a kinswoman of hers, was overwhelmingly anxious to please her as was Mr Shelton who was also a family connection. My mother looked after her own when she had the power to do so. But there came that bewildering sadness… the end of her visits… the days when I asked for her, and Lady Bryan turned away to hide her emotion.

My father was a more tangible presence. I thought he was the most powerful man in the world. He certainly was in England. I was fourteen when he died so I could say I knew him fairly well. He was one who inspired fear and yet affection with it, and despite all his cruelty and all his ruthlessness he never lost the love of his people. That was one way in which I intended to emulate him. I learned from my studies of our history that it is a foolish monarch who loses the esteem of the common people.

Lady Bryan told me that my father had once been very proud of me and used to stroll in the gardens at Hampton Court or Windsor—wherever the Court happened to be—holding me in his arms. I liked that picture—myself magnificently attired swinging high in the arms of a splendid king as his courtiers walked with him exclaiming at my perfections.

That ended with an executioner's sword which severed my mother's beautiful head from her willowy body.

What I do remember clearly is catching Lady Bryan by the skirts and demanding: “Where is my mother? Why does she never come now?”

And when she tried to run away to weep in silence, I refused to relinquish her and insisted she tell me. She took me onto her knee and said: “My Lady Princess, you have no mother now.”

“Everybody has a mother,” I said, for I was logical as soon as I was old enough to reason.

“Your mother has gone to Heaven,” she said.

“When will she come back?”

“People do not come back from Heaven.”

“She will come to see me.”

Lady Bryan held me to her and wept so bitterly that she bewildered me.

Then I began to realize that something terrible had happened but it was a long time before I gave up hope of seeing my mother again.

I talked of her with Lady Bryan and made her tell me about my birth.

“It was in Greenwich Palace,” she said, “a beautiful palace and one of the favorites of the King and Queen. You first saw the light of day in the Chamber of Virgins. It was given that name afterward, but before you arrived it was just a chamber the walls of which were lined with tapestry and this tapestry depicted the lives of the holy virgins.”

“Did my mother want a boy?” I must have heard some whisper of a servant to put that into my head. It was important, I knew, for Lady Bryan turned pale, and for a moment or so did not answer.

Then she said: “She wanted a boy. The King wanted a boy. But as soon as you were born they knew that you were just what they wanted.”

I was soon to discover how false that was, but I loved Lady Bryan for telling the lie. My mother's life had depended on her giving birth to a boy. If I had been a son, they would not have sent to France for that sword which cut off her head. She would have been an honored queen instead of a corpse lying in her grave in the Church of St Peter ad Vincula.

“The Queen said,” went on Lady Bryan, “people will now with reason call this room the Chamber of Virgins, for a virgin is now born in it on the vigil of this auspicious day on which the Church commemorates