“I was there, you know, when the queen told Elizabeth why she had to depart,” Aunt Kat explained, as I could see she was dying to. “She instructed me not to leave Elizabeth’s side, no matter that I was no longer her governess.”
Aunt Joan pursed her lips. She was as book-learned as Kat and as pleased to condemn my mother for her silliness in marrying my actor father, and again when she took her second husband, a Catholic, which was not much better, in her eyes.
The Champernowne women were as unalike as they could be. Aunt Joan enjoyed educated conversation more than anything, while my mother, Margaret, couldn’t be bothered with books. Aunt Kat wavered somewhere between the two, reading Latin and philosophy but also adoring gossip.
Aunt Kat and Elizabeth’s cofferer, Thomas Parry, nattered like women in a market, which Uncle John did not like and tried to stop. I could have told him he might as well have tried to push back the tide with a broom.
What Aunt Kat and Aunt Joan did have in common was their love of the reformed religion. They could go on about the subject to the point of tedium.
My mother had believed that if her husband told her she must return to the old religion, she should do so without a murmur—though, I do not believe she cared one whit, truth to tell. Aunt Kat and Aunt Joan, however, plainly stated their views on the new religion versus the old. King Edward had embraced the reformed church, they said, and we could openly speak about it these days.
Today, however, the topic of Elizabeth and Seymour, while frowned upon by Uncle John, was the only thing on Aunt Kat’s lips.
“The queen explained that my Lady Elizabeth must guard her reputation as she would guard the most precious of jewels,” Aunt Kat continued. “How she presents herself to the people of England is of vast importance. She might be queen herself someday.”
I believed this only a remote possibility, though Elizabeth had been restored to the succession by Henry’s will.
Edward was a young man who would, in a few years, marry and produce an heir. After Edward and any sons came Mary, who was also young enough to wed and bear children herself, pushing Elizabeth even further down the line of succession.
I kept my focus on the gold satin sleeve I was stitching, knowing it was not my place to render an opinion, though I had them aplenty.
Most likely, Elizabeth would be married off to a prince of some faraway land. Then Aunt Kat and I would travel to France or a cold place in the north of Europe to serve her—that is, if we weren’t forsaken and left behind in England altogether.
Thoughts of either prospect cut into my contented existence, so I pushed them aside.
Aunt Kat leaned to Aunt Joan, continuing her story. “Her Grace Elizabeth’s fondness for Queen Catherine is unrivaled, and they embraced most affectionately before they parted. However, I saw the queen’s jealousy. Queen Catherine must realize that her husband once thought to marry Elizabeth, changing his mind only when the king’s privy council forbade him. Mark my words, it is still my Lady Elizabeth that the Lord Admiral prefers.”
“Good heavens, you sound as though you condone this,” Aunt Joan said in disapproval.
“Well, of course not.” Aunt Kat sat back in her chair with a thump, as though reversing her position both in words and physically. “Never would I advise my Lady Elizabeth to marry against the wishes of the king’s council. Such a thing would be tantamount to treason, wouldn’t it?” She laughed shakily. “Lord Sudeley married Queen Catherine in the end, and that is that.” Aunt Kat picked up her pen and scratched another word or two on her paper.
“And should remain so,” Aunt Joan said, her tones cold. “’Tis dangerous and wrong to suggest otherwise.”
Aunt Kat lifted her head again, eyes wide. “Think you I would stand against the wishes of the King of England? Even if those wishes come out of the head of the Lord Protector?”
“Do guard your tongue, Kat.” Aunt Joan cast a furtive glance about the room. “It will be the death of you.”
I shivered at the words. I had a sudden vision of Aunt Kat being dragged off in chains to a dank stone room, tears trickling through the grime on her face as she faced her interrogators. I pictured Uncle John in despair that his wife’s busy tongue had taken her from him so swiftly.
I gasped out loud, and the images spun away.
The scenario was all too possible, unfortunately. King Henry had arrested and confined any who’d even hinted at thwarting his wishes, he always fearing the power of the families that surrounded him. One poor gentlewoman who’d waited on Elizabeth’s sister, Mary, had gone to the Tower for absentmindedly calling Mary “princess” after Henry had stripped that title from her. The lady had been interrogated about a possibly conspiracy to restore Henry’s first queen, and only the frantic intervention of her family had saved the woman’s life.
“Yes, do take care, Aunt Kat, for heaven’s sake,” I begged.
Aunt Kat regarded me in surprise. “Gracious, I speak only to my family, and I’d say not a word of this to Elizabeth. ’Tis only a bit of harmless gossip, Eloise. Master Parry says the same, and he assures me he’d be torn asunder if he repeated aught I said to him.”
I shuddered and could not warm myself. “It might come to that,” I murmured darkly.
Aunt Joan, not long after that conversation, had cause to travel to Sudeley Castle, where Queen Catherine had moved to begin her lying in. Catherine had taken Jane Grey and her household with her, to continue that young woman’s education. Aunt Joan, instructed by Aunt Kat, sent back word of everything that happened there.
Catherine made ready for the birth of her child, which would come in September, and spoke with much hope of it being a son. A son would please Seymour and provide him an heir, and perhaps assuage his ambitious interest in Elizabeth.
Catherine’s anger at Elizabeth had faded quickly, Aunt Joan informed us. Catherine missed the girl very much and planned to send for Elizabeth after the birth of her child. The scandal would have blown over then, and the two could be reconciled.
Elizabeth, for her part, never spoke about what had happened with Seymour. I knew, however, that she thought of it a great deal. When twilight came, and she could no longer see the words in her books, she would lift her head and stare out the window of her chamber, her dark eyes betraying chagrin and unhappiness.
She wrote letters of affection to Catherine and sent her small gifts, taking time throughout the day to pray for her stepmother and coming child. I was certain that Elizabeth had much remorse for hurting the queen, though I could not decide whether Elizabeth’s contrition was for letting the flirtation go too far or for being caught at it.
