The Sixth Wife_ The Story of Katherine P - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,17

important man in the kingdom, yet not too important to have time to spare for his small nephew.

On those rare occasions when they were alone together, Uncle Thomas became more exciting than ever. He would lift the boy high above his head and make him squeal with delight; he had actually succeeded in making him forget that he was heir to the throne, a King-to-be, and a Tudor King at that! Uncle Thomas had the rare gift of making himself so young that, in his presence, children felt that they were as grownup as he was.

Edward was not the only one who felt this. As soon as Uncle Thomas appeared, a change took place in the apartment.

Jane grew quieter before that magnificent presence. Elizabeth seemed a more haughty Princess than ever, but a very gay and excited one. As for Edward, he felt that he was a man, as gay and swaggering as Uncle Thomas, discarding all the heavy responsibilities which must rest on the shoulders of a boy of five who was being trained as a King.

“A good day to you all!” cried the gay Sir Thomas, and his bright twinkling eyes surveyed them all. “Your Princely Grace.” He kissed Edward’s hand, but mockingly, so that Edward knew he had no need to receive the greeting ceremoniously. “My dearest Princess.” The Princess’s eyes glittered, for the sailor surely had accentuated the adjective. “And my sweet Lady Jane.” His voice had grown tender as he kissed the hand of the quiet little girl who had risen to receive his greeting. “And how conspiratorial we all look today! What’s afoot?”

They all began to laugh, like small children in a nursery…any children…happy children who need not be constantly on the alert to do what was expected of them.

“Secrets, eh? Secrets! Secrets that should be kept from Uncle Tom?”

“No, indeed, dear Uncle,” said Edward. “There are no secrets we would keep from you.”

“You deceive me.” The blue eyes flashed and Sir Thomas stroked his beard and scowled wickedly from one to the other. He began to growl through his teeth. “Methinks I must make myself aware of this grim secret.”

He considered them. Poor Edward, just for a few moments a little boy! His great head was so packed with learning that his puny body seemed to protest against carrying it. Little Lady Jane, lifting her solemn eyes to his face, divorced from her habitual gravity, was at this moment, like Edward, a child just because the magic youthfulness of Sir Thomas Seymour could cast a spell upon her. And Elizabeth…? Ah, Elizabeth! She was no child. She was standing before him, against the hangings, those which had the greenish pattern upon them that would set off her flaming hair so beautifully. Her eyes were downcast, but her mouth was sly. Elizabeth was refusing to play the child; she wished to play the woman. And … she was enjoying the banter more than any of them.

“By God’s precious soul!” cried Seymour. “I shall discover this plot against me. I shall tear this secret from you. Who shall tell me? You, my lord?”

He had taken Edward in his arms and lifted him high above his head. Edward laughed aloud, as he rarely did.

“Will Your Grace tell this dread secret?”

Edward’s hand which had only just lost the pudginess of babyhood, grasped the beautiful brown locks of Sir Thomas.

“Put me down, Uncle Thomas. Put me down, I say. I will pull your hair if you do not.”

“I tremble. I am in fear. So Your Grace refuses to tell me his secret?”

“There is no secret.”

Sir Thomas lowered the Prince and gave him two hearty kisses; and Edward put his arms about his uncle’s neck. Oh why, thought Edward, are not all men like my Uncle Thomas?

Sir Thomas set him on the floor and went to Lady Jane Grey.

“And you, my lady, will you tell me the secret?”

“There is no secret, Sir Thomas.”

“I would force it from you,” he cried, “were you not so beautiful that I could not bear to hurt you.”

He let his fingers caress the soft golden curls of the beautiful child, contemplatively, sadly; for she was small and so young and it would be long before she was a woman.

“I must prise the secret from one of you, that is certain…and since it cannot be from you, my Prince, or you, my Lady Jane, it must be from the Lady Elizabeth.”

She was waiting for him, seeming cool yet inviting, her light lashes lowered over her