In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,58

daughter born in matrimony. I believed this and, if I said otherwise, then I should earn the displeasure of God, which I was sure His Grace would not wish me to do. In all other matters I should always be his humble and obedient daughter.

I signed myself “Your most humble daughter, Mary, Princess.”

It was an act of defiance. I was stating clearly that in my opinion his marriage to Anne Boleyn was no true marriage, and as I was legitimate, Elizabeth was a bastard.

As soon as I had dispatched the letter, I realized the enormity of what I had done. Both my mother and the Countess would have been horrified.

The result was to bring the Duke of Norfolk down to Beaulieu with Lord Marney, the Earl of Oxford and the Duke's almoner, Dr. Fox. Their purpose was, I think, to warn me of the folly of continuing in my stubborn mood, to administer the breaking up of my household and to see me on my way.

I knew from the attitude of the Duke toward me that I could expect no sympathy from him or any of his henchmen; and that was an indication of my father's feelings toward me.

The Husseys would remain in my household, and I might take two personal maids. I had to say goodbye to all the rest. Even now I cannot bear to brood on my parting with the Countess. It was one of the most harrowing experiences through which I had passed. When my mother had been separated from me, she had handed me over to the Countess and we had been able to mourn together.

I had never felt so alone, so bereft, as I did when I left Beaulieu behind and made my way to Hatfield.

News traveled fast and spread through the neighborhood. The people of Beaulieu knew I was leaving and those of Hatfield that I was coming.

Courtiers are subservient to their masters; not so the people. They have means of expressing their feelings which are often denied those in high places.

They were on the road…groups of them… cheering me.

“Long live our Princess Mary! Long live Queen Katharine! We'll have no Nan Bullen!”

That was music to my ears—particularly when they called me Princess.

I smiled, acknowledging their greetings. I hoped my father would hear of the people's attitude toward me. I was sure it would give him a few qualms of uneasiness.

All too soon the journey was over. I had arrived at Hatfield Palace, and I felt as though I were being taken into prison.

MISERY DESCENDED UPON ME. Lady Shelton was anxious to let me know that I was a person of no importance and that if I gave myself airs it would be the worse for me.

I treated her with a cold contempt which so aroused her anger that she told me that if I persisted in my stubborn ill behavior she had been advised to beat me.

“Advised by whom?” I asked.

She did not answer but I knew. She was so proud of the fact that she was related to the woman they called the Queen.

During the first days of our encounter I knew that she would never lay hands on me. When she insulted me, I would draw myself up to my full height and merely look at her. I was royal and perhaps that was apparent. I could see little lights of apprehension in her eyes. What was she thinking? “One day this prisoner could be Queen of England? It would be wise not to antagonize her too much. To strike her would be quite unforgivable.”

I found just a slight elation in the midst of my gloom to know that, although she might make me uncomfortable in a hundred ways and abuse me verbally, she would never lift her hand against me.

Hatfield is a beautiful place, but I was alone and desolate, deserted by my father and separated from my beloved mother and the Countess.

All the attention in the household was for the baby. The Princess, they called her. I would not call her that. To me she was sister, just as the Duke of Richmond was brother. There was no difference. They were both the King's illegitimate children.

Sometimes I dream of those days. They are remote now but I can still conjure up the infinite sadness, the deep loneliness, the longing for my mother and the Countess, the abject misery. I felt then that whatever happened I could never be truly happy again.

Sometimes I thought the object of the household