she could look now with approval on that young Elizabeth who had not shown by a flicker of her eyes or a twitch of her lips that her heart was almost breaking.
“Your Grace,” had said that spy Tyrwhit, “this day the Admiral laid his head upon the block.” And she waited for the effect of her words.
Elizabeth looked back at the woman with no expression whatsoever on her face. Yet she knew she must speak. Lady Tyrwhit must not be allowed to report that her grief had made her speechless.
“This day,” she had said, “died a man with much wit and very little judgment.”
It was said of her that either she was without feeling or she was a magnificent actress. She was a great actress. That was the answer; for without doubt she had loved Thomas.
And was she not acting all the time? Was it not necessary for her to act, to feign simplicity? How she had acted after the death of Thomas! She had lived quietly at Hatfield, giving up her days to study, reading Cicero and Livy, studying the Greek Testament, reading aloud the tragedies of Sophocles, studying Italian and French. She dressed simply, wore her hair unfrizzed—she who loved fine clothes and who loved to have her red hair frounced and curled, and to wear rich velvets and sparkling jewels. But she was clever enough to know that it was necessary to live down the reputation which the Seymour scandal had given her, and that to live in obscurity was the only way of preserving her life during those difficult days.
Her friends kept her closely informed of affairs at Court, and from the seclusion of Hatfield or Woodstock, she was aware of the heady progress of the Duke of Northumberland, thinking often of the gay Lord Robert who, had he not been so senseless as to marry a rustic girl, might have been a greater power in the land than a poor Princess who must keep as still as a lizard on a stone for fear any movement by her should attract the attention of her enemies.
She watched the tussel between Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, whom she would never forgive for what he had done to Thomas, and John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, who was the father of that young man who interested her as no one had since the death of Thomas.
And now Somerset was dead. That which he had done to Thomas had been done to him. It was fearsome, thinking of the heads which fell so readily.
She needed to laugh in order to calm herself, to make light of her misfortunes so that when the test came she might face them with equanimity.
But what could she do now but lie abed … and wait?
The waiting was over sooner than she expected.
Faithful friends brought the news. The would-be King-maker had been defeated. Mary was proclaimed Queen of England. Now was the time for Elizabeth to recover from her malady.
She did so without any fuss; and her first move was to write a letter to the Queen conveying her congratulations and her delight in her sister’s accession. There was an answer to that note: a command to meet Mary at Wanstead, that they might ride into the Capital together.
Elizabeth made ready for the journey. She was excited as always at the prospect of pageantry and a return to Court. Again and again she warned herself of her difficult position. Master Parry, who had come back to her service, also warned her. He flattered her in his sly way; she knew his words for flattery, but flattery was a luxury she would not go without.
“Your Grace must be careful to hide your beauty. The Queen will not be pleased at being outshone.”
“Nonsense, Master Parry!” she retorted. “How can I in my simple garments outshine the Queen’s royal velvet and glittering jewels?”
“Your Grace’s eyes sparkle more brightly than jewels. Your skin is more soft than any satins.”
She tossed her red hair, calling his attention to it; and he smiled that sly smile which he did not attempt to hide from her. “Your Grace has a crown of gold more beautiful than any that ever sat on the brow of King or Queen.”
“Enough, chatterer!” she cried. “I am right glad we bought new liveries for my servants this year, Master Parry. I do not grudge the forty shillings I paid for those new velvet coats.”
“Your Grace is right, and we will make a brave show. But pray accept