In the Shadow of the Crown - Plaidy Jean - Страница 100

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I lived in a dream: love, marriage, children. I had wanted them desperately all my life. Now I believed they were within my grasp. I did not remind myself then: I am eleven years older than he is; his father is my cousin. Did that make me his aunt? If there was a shadow in my thoughts, I dismissed it quickly. No, no. Royal brides and grooms were often related to each other.

It was a period of uneasiness. There were murmurs of discontent all over the country. Wyatt's head was stolen, presumably so that it should be snatched from the eyes of the curious and given decent burial. I should have been glad of that—those ghoulish exhibits always nauseated me—but it was a sign of sympathy with the rebels. It meant that Wyatt's followers were still to be reckoned with and were bold enough to commit an act which could result in their deaths.

This was not only a matter of religion. The main grievance was the Spanish marriage—though I supposed one was wrapped up in the other.

A hatred for Spaniards was making itself known throughout the country. Children played games in which Spaniards figured as the villains. No child wanted to be a Spaniard in the games, and it was usually the youngest who were forced to take those parts, knowing that before long they were going to be trounced by the gallant English.

There was the unpleasant affair of Elizabeth Croft. She caused quite a stir until she was caught. She was a servant in the household of some zealous Protestants who lived in Aldersgate Street. From a wall in the house a high-pitched whistle was heard. Crowds collected to hear the whistle in the wall, and then a voice came forth denouncing the Spanish marriage as well as the Roman Catholic religion. This continued for months, and there was a great deal of talk about “the bird in the wall.”

Susan told me about it. She was frowning. “People are beginning to say it is a warning.”

“How can there be a bird in the wall?” I demanded.

“And what would a bird know about these matters?”

“People say it is a heavenly spirit speaking through the bird to warn you.”

“Then why shouldn't this spirit speak to me?”

“This bird is supposed to be talking to the people, telling them they should never allow the Spanish marriage to take place.”

“That is what Wyatt said, and look what happened to him.”

“I suspect the voice is a human one,” said Susan.

“In whose house is it?”

“Sir Anthony Knyvett's.”

“Has he been questioned?”

“He swears he knows nothing of it.”

“It is silly nonsense.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but the people gather to listen.”

That voice in the wall continued to be heard for a few more months before the truth was discovered. It was Elizabeth Croft, the servant girl. When she was caught at her tricks, she was sent to prison. Sir Anthony was innocent of any part in it, but the girl did confess that she had been persuaded to do what she did by one of the servants, a man named Drake who was a fierce Protestant and hated the prospect of the Spanish marriage.

Both Renard and Gardiner talked to me about the girl. It was not that she was important in herself but it was dangerous for people to believe, if only temporarily, that a voice from Heaven should denounce my marriage.

What should we do with her? She was a simple girl, I said, no doubt led astray by others—this servant Drake for one. A weaver of Redcross Street was mentioned, and there was a clergyman from St. Botolph's Church in Aldersgate also. I could see how the girl had been tempted, and I did not want her to be severely punished. It was enough that the people should know that she was a fraud.

She was taken to Paul's Cross where she made a public confession. This she was more than willing to do, feeling—and rightly so—that she had escaped lightly. After confessing to the trick she had played on the unsuspecting public, she knelt and asked God's forgiveness, and mine, for her wickedness.

She was sent to prison for a while and afterward released.

But the disquiet continued all through the months that followed. There was even dissension among the Council. Some of them, Gardiner and my good Rochester among them, who wanted a return to the Catholic religion but not to go back to Rome, believed that the interests of the country were best served with the monarch as Head of the Church. Paget, on the other hand, wanted a complete return to religion as it had been before my father had interfered with it. Then there was of course the Protestant element.

In addition to all this was the problem created by my sister. She was still in the Tower, and that worried me. Paget, among others, had often told me that while she lived I was unsafe and that the best gift I could have was her head severed from her shoulders.

Such talk did not please me. I could never forget that she was my sister. I remembered so well the bright little girl with the reddish curls and the shining eyes, so eager to miss nothing. How did she feel…a prisoner in the Tower? I doubted she was treated harshly. She would make friends of the jailers if necessary. She would always make friends of people who could be useful to her, and in view of her closeness to the throne, people would be wary of offending her.

I remembered her protestations of affection when we last met and her plea that I should always listen to her before judging her. I had not done that. I had refused to see her and had been prevailed upon to send her to the Tower.

I discussed her with Susan. I knew that to speak of her to Gardiner or Renard would only arouse their indignation against her, though I could tell them again and again that nothing had actually been proved against her. Wyatt himself had exonerated her, but they would never believe in her innocence.

But I believed in it, and as I felt toward her as a sister, I was sure she felt the same toward me.

I said to Susan, “I cannot be entirely at peace while she is in the Tower. She is a princess, my father's daughter, my own sister. How I wish that we could be friends!”

“Your Majesty should be wary of her,” said Susan.

“I know. I know. But she is my sister. It is for that reason I do not care to think of her as a prisoner in the Tower.”

“Perhaps she will marry.”

“Ah, if only she would marry abroad!”

It was an idea which persisted to haunt my mind.

I discussed it with the Council. Many of them thought she would be safer dead, but marriage did seem a way of disposing of her.

I said, “I will see my sister. Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy and Prince of Piedmont, would be pleased to marry her, I am sure. He would be a good match for her. She would then leave the country; people here would not see her and therefore not consider her as a rallying-point for rebellion.”

The more I thought of the idea, the more plausible it seemed. Emmanuel Philibert was one of those who had been chosen for me long ago, and I had forgotten now the reason why the match was put aside. There had been so many such cases.

So Elizabeth left the Tower and came by barge to Richmond, where the Court was at that time.

I sent for her.

She looked a little pale; her sojourn in the Tower had had its effect on her. It was natural that it should. How could she have known from one day to the next when she might be taken out to share her mother's fate?

She looked at me without reproach, almost tenderly, and I warmed toward her.

I said, “I greatly regret it was necessary to send you to the Tower.”

“Your Majesty is so just that you cannot endure injustice. I am innocent of all my enemies are contriving to prove against me. Your Majesty will know that my sisterly affection would never allow me to do aught to harm you.”

I nodded and said, “It is your future of which I am thinking.”

“Your Majesty, I should like to retire to the country. The air of Ashridge has always been beneficial to my health.”

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