Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,4
before, my lady. Parliament will be informed tomorrow morning. The Earl of Hertford is aware that your ladyship might find the delay unsettling, and he has given me a letter explaining why he acted as he did.”
Mary took the letter and read it slowly, a flush on her pale complexion the only betrayal of the anger she must have felt. “Take me to see my father’s body.”
Followed by her most trusted attendants, Jane Dormer and Susan Clarencius, Mary left the room. As the sound of conversation filled the chamber, the Countess of Hertford whispered to me, “You knew.”
“Yes. Surely you did, too?”
“Yes, but I am the new king’s aunt, after all. It is different. How long have you known?”
“Since John told me this afternoon.”
The countess shook her head. “And he swore you to secrecy.”
“No.” I resumed the work I’d left behind, a handkerchief for the young prince—no, the young king. “He didn’t have to swear me to anything. He is my husband.”
***
The old king’s death had been officially proclaimed, and the young king was on his way to the Tower to take up his duties. As the executors of the king’s will and their wives collected to greet their new sovereign, Thomas Seymour, the younger of the king’s maternal uncles, hurried up to John and me. “Fool bargemen,” he panted. “Why, the king and my brother are not here yet? It’s not like my brother to be unpunctual.”
“The clock has not struck three yet,” I said as John nodded distantly. Like many men, he was somewhat cool toward Thomas Seymour, although Seymour never flirted with me as he did with some women. I could not help but feel slightly insulted by his neglect in this regard.
“No, my lady, but it is my brother’s habit to always be slightly ahead of his time. So when a lesser man might be punctual for arriving on time, my brother is late for arriving on time. A deeply irritating habit, don’t you agree?” Without waiting for my reply, he asked, “The queen is not coming to greet King Edward, my lady?”
“No. She and the lady Mary have gone into seclusion until King Henry’s funeral, as they thought was proper.”
“Pity,” said Thomas Seymour thoughtfully. “I was hoping to offer my condolences in person.”
John quirked an eyebrow.
Just as the clock struck three, a distant rumbling announced the arrival of the king. As we ordered ourselves into tidy lines and sank to our knees, King Edward VI, accompanied by his uncle the Earl of Hertford and a host of other dignitaries, rode through the gate.
Ginger-haired like his father and sisters, the new king was a handsome child, well grown for his age and looking around him with obvious interest. He listened patiently as the Constable of the Tower, Anthony Kingston, welcomed him. When we had all paid our respects, the king asked, “Where shall we stay?”
“Why, in the palace,” the Earl of Hertford said. Plainly puzzled by the king’s unwonted ignorance, he stroked his brown beard, which grew less luxuriantly than his younger brother Thomas’s, and added, “That is where kings usually await their coronation, of course. The rooms are ready and are quite spacious. Were you never told?”
Thomas Seymour pushed forward. “I believe Your Highness was pointing at the Garden Tower as you rode in.”
“Yes!” Edward looked up at the younger of his uncles eagerly. “Where the princes were murdered by Richard III. Can’t we stay there? Or at least see it?”
“That is hardly appropri—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Brother, what’s the harm? I was always keen to look at it when I visited the Tower as a youngster; isn’t any boy? I am sure that it is too small for Your Highness to lodge in”—the constable nodded—“but I daresay Sir Anthony will allow you to go inside.”
“It is ill omened,” said Hertford dismally. “And probably full of lumber.”
“We have read much about it,” said the king in a good approximation of his father’s tone. He squared his legs in the manner that had made King Henry’s courtiers quake. “We have never been inside it, as it happens, and we wish to see it.”
“And so Your Highness shall immediately,” Thomas Seymour promised. “I shall take you myself. Do you trust yourself there with your wicked uncle Thomas?” Seymour contorted his stance to give the appearance of a hunchback.
The king unsquared his legs. “Oh, yes!”
“I shall come, too, then,” said Hertford resignedly.
“Ah, see? Now Your Highness has two wicked uncles. What king could want more? Lead on then,