The Sixth Wife_ The Story of Katherine P - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,13

this matter of the King and Lady Latimer?”

Sir Thomas Wriothesley, as zealous a Catholic as Gardiner himself and longing for promotion to the Chancellorship, was ready to agree with such an influential Catholic as Gardiner.

“The lady’s husband, recently dead, was a good Catholic,” said Wriothesley. “The lady was a dutiful wife to Latimer, and would be so to His Majesty, I doubt not.”

Gardiner came nearer. He liked Wriothesley as well as he liked any man; he liked him a good deal, for his liking depended on a man’s usefulness to himself.

“With a good Catholic Queen,” murmured Gardiner, “there would be one near him to whisper wisdom in the King’s ear.”

“And he needs such whispering,” said Wriothesley, “with the Seymours ever about him, paving the way for themselves with young Edward.”

Gardiner nodded and laid a hand on Wriothesley’s shoulders. “Audley looked sick today; I thought.”

They exchanged nods and smiles of understanding.

Wriothesley knew that if Audley became too sick for the post of Lord Chancellor, it would not be Gardiner’s fault if Sir Thomas Wriothesley did not receive the Great Seal.

Edward Seymour, Thomas’s elder brother, who was now Lord Hertford, being one of the chief Reformers, was aware of Katharine’s leaning toward the Party; so he, also, was not averse to the King’s marriage with Lady Latimer.

There was only one notable gentleman of the court who was against it. That was Sir Thomas Seymour himself. It seemed to him that the more Katharine became out of reach, the more desirable she became.

He thought longingly of her sweet comeliness, of her gentleness, her unspoiled nature—and her considerable possessions.

Sir Thomas Seymour was a very sad man as that blustering March of 1543 gave way to softer April.

THE YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD was entertaining his two sisters in his apartments.

He was not quite five years old, a palefaced, puny child, whose health was a source of great anxiety to all those who were responsible for him. It was their constant fear that he would die and that the King would punish them for his death.

His tutors feared either that he might overtax his brain or that he might not please his father with his learning. Those in charge of his physical training suffered even more acutely. They were apprehensive every time the little boy mounted a pony or played a game of tennis. But these things he must do, for the King wanted Edward to be another such as Bluff King Hal had been. At five, Henry had been a lusty boy, “pink and gold,” they had said of him, taller than his brother Arthur, outshining him in everything he did. He had been a Prince who looked a Prince, and that was the sort of Prince Edward must be.

Little Edward knew what was expected of him, for he was knowledgeable beyond his years. Sports tired him, but book-learning did not, and therefore he loved books. He could write Latin and read it fluently. He already knew that one day he must be the King, and a Tudor King. Wishing fervently to please his father and do all that was expected of him, he rigorously performed all his duties; but his greatest pleasure was in being with the younger members of his family, and in particular with his half-sister Elizabeth and her whom he called his cousin—little Jane Grey. He was sure that he loved Jane best of all. There were several reasons for this; Jane was nearer his age than the others, being barely a year older than he was. His sister Elizabeth, who was nine years old, was clever, but not in quite the same way as Jane was. Jane and he were of a kind; but Jane was beautiful and not made breathless by small exertions, as he was; her legs were fine and firm and could support her with the greatest ease; she had no pains in her head and there were no outbreaks of rashes on her delicate skin.

He was glad this was so. Jane was his dearest.

But he was greatly excited by the presence of his sister Elizabeth—perhaps more excited by her than by anyone else. Her sharp eyes were everywhere; she knew all the court gossip and would tell it, throwing back her mane of red hair and playing the parts of all the people who figured in the stories she told.

She looked for admiration while she talked, and nothing pleased her more than a compliment. Edward never forgot to admire her gown. She had asked him whether he