my warning: do not outshine the Queen.”
She was demure thinking of it. She would wear white; she would cast down her eyes if the cheers for her were too loud. She would wear few jewels on her hands, for too many rings would hide their slender beauty; she would hold them so that the crowd might see them and marvel at their milky whiteness; and she would smile at the multitude—not haughtily but in that friendly way which had never yet failed to set them cheering.
No, she would not outshine the Queen in rich raiment or jewels, only in personal charm with youth and beauty and that subtle indication to the people that she was at one with them, that she loved them and one day hoped to be their Queen.
So, accompanied by a thousand followers—some of them lords and ladies of high rank—she came riding into London. Was it a good omen that she must pass through the City on her way to Wanstead, thus entering it before her sister?
The people of London came out to greet her as they always greeted the Princess Elizabeth. They caught their breath at the sight of her. She was so demure in her white gown; she looked so young; the people sensed in her the regality of her father and the vitality of her mother. She smiled and bowed and was clearly so grateful to the dear people for the homage they paid; she was so moved that there were tears in her eyes. About her rode her servants, all in green, some in velvet, some in satin, some in plain cloth, according to their standing in her household.
On through Aldgate she passed to Wanstead, where she awaited the coming of the Queen.
Mary expressed her pleasure in this meeting with her sister.
How old she looks! thought Elizabeth.
Mary was not yet forty, but she looked older. Neither purple velvet nor jewels could alter that. She had suffered much and life had used her so cruelly that it had left its mark upon her.
“And is my dear sister recovered from her recent illness?” asked Mary.
“My humble thanks to your gracious Majesty. I am fully restored, and if I had not been before this moment, I could not fail to be now seeing your Majesty in such good health and knowing your enemies routed and yourself safely upon the throne.”
“We cannot as yet say safely,” said Mary grimly. “But we have good friends, we hope.”
“And none more ready to serve your Majesty than your humble sister.”
“I rejoice to hear it,” said Mary; and she embraced Elizabeth.
They rode side by side toward London, these two daughters of Henry the Eighth, whose mothers had been such bitter enemies, and on that day the Queen was thinking how happy she was to have her sister beside her. She had been sorry for Elizabeth in those days when the girl had been in disgrace after the death of Anne Boleyn, neglected and unwanted, so that it had been difficult for her guardians to procure enough money to clothe and feed her. Cruel things had been said of this Elizabeth—far worse than anything that had ever been said of Mary. They had both been called bastards, but Elizabeth had suffered greater indignity, for some had declared that the Princess was the fruit of an incestuous union between Anne Boleyn and Anne’s brother, Lord Rochford.
Mary hoped that Elizabeth would now conduct herself in such a manner that would enable them to live in amity.
Elizabeth demurely kept a little behind the Queen, now and then taking covert glances about her, throwing a smile at the crowds, letting her head droop when they cried too loudly for the Princess Elizabeth. She was thinking: What will happen now? She will marry, and if she bears a child, what hope have I of ever wearing the crown? Yet … how ill she looks! She is not strong enough to bear a child. And then … when she is dead?
The City was ready to greet the Queen to whom it had given its support. When Jane Grey had sailed down the river to the Tower that she might receive the crown, the people had been sullen; there had been few to cheer Queen Jane. The City did not want Queen Jane. She was young, beautiful, learned and noble; but right was right, justice was justice, and England accepted no other than Mary as its Queen.
From the windows of the houses strips of brilliantly colored cloth were