“Nay, why should he speak to me?” Aunt Kat’s eyes went wide. “I hear of his wishes from my dear friend, Master Parry. I told my Lady Elizabeth she ought to write a consoling letter to the Admiral, and do you know what she said?” Aunt Kat hesitated long enough for me to give her a curious glance then trundled on. “She told me she did not dare write, for people might believe she meant to woo him.” Aunt Kat nodded wisely. “She knows the lay of the land better than most.”
I thought back to Elizabeth’s speculations on marriage she’d shared with me at Cheshunt before Catherine’s death. She’d been most adamant then to remain free of wedlock, but that was before Seymour became eligible again.
“So, she will not write to him?” I asked.
“No.” Aunt Kat beamed me a happy smile. “Which will make him pine for her all the more.”
“She is much younger than he is,” I pointed out with some displeasure.
“Nonsense, that is no matter. Our Elizabeth is at a ripe age to marry, and Seymour is not so old that he has lost his looks and prowess.”
I began pinning together the layers of velvet and brocade that would become sleeves fastened back to reveal gold silk beneath them.
“I believe Lord Sudeley has charmed you,” I said warningly. “He seems to have pulled you firmly on his side. Perhaps more than is prudent.”
Aunt Kat flushed. “Do not be silly. He has said naught to me about it, not one word.”
She mercifully ceased chattering, but I felt a twinge of disquiet. I had become inured to Seymour’s charms after my encounter with him at Chelsea, but I continued to witness the fascination he held for others.
My aunt’s speech implied that Seymour was also busily beguiling Thomas Parry, treasurer of Elizabeth’s household. The man was likely pumping Master Parry for knowledge of Elizabeth’s finances, as well as Aunt Kat for knowledge of her person.
The combination spelled trouble, well I knew. But I, the seamstress, who should remain sewing in the corner, could not do much but watch and worry.
As our sojourn at Hatfield continued, Elizabeth’s health gradually improved. She resumed lessons in Greek and Latin under a new tutor, Roger Ascham, after her previous instructor, Master Grindal, had sadly passed away.
Elizabeth penned affectionate letters to her brother, walked in the growing chill of Hatfield’s gardens, and never spoke one word about Thomas Seymour, to my great relief.
November skies grew gray and bleak. I soon was happy to stay indoors near the fire as I sewed, peering through thick windows at the bare trees against a pale blue sky.
Aunt Kat spent more and more time in seclusion with Master Parry, and when Master Parry took a journey to London, Aunt Kat shot bold hints at me that things would change for Elizabeth once he returned.
“What is your aunt conspiring?”
I jumped in the darkness of my chamber as Uncle John paused in the doorway and fixed keen eyes upon me. The chill had made my fingers ache, and I set down my needle, rubbing my fingertips on the velvet I’d been stitching.
“Is Aunt Kat conspiring?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.
Uncle John shut the door against the draft and drew the hearth stool close to my wooden chair. The window had gone dark, cold air seeping to us that the smoldering fire could not quite disperse. I was lucky to warrant a fire in my tiny chamber, as Elizabeth had declared I must be kept fit to sew her gowns.
Uncle John heaved a long sigh as he stretched his feet toward the flames. “My wife is a good woman, but she cannot leave well enough alone. She loves Elizabeth as she would a daughter, and like a mother with a daughter, she would do anything to advance Elizabeth’s position. Even if she goes to the block for it.”
“The block?” I squeaked in sudden agitation. “Why on earth do you say that?”
Uncle John sent me a tired look. “Because Seymour is ruthless, niece. He will overreach himself, and my Kat might be caught in his betwixt and between. And he will catch Elizabeth with her.”
My heart sped as I realized that Uncle John was right. Aunt Kat loved Elizabeth mightily and easily blinded herself to danger because of that love.
“It may come to nothing where Aunt Kat is concerned,” I ventured, hoping I was right. I recalled my alarming vision of Aunt Kat in a prison cell, and hoped that had been caused by a bad vegetable at supper, not a premonition. “Elizabeth is indifferent to him, and would refuse even if his lordship offered.”
“Eloise.” Uncle John’s tone sharpened. “You have more intelligence than that. Look at me again and declare there is nothing to this. That Her Grace Elizabeth does not blush when Seymour’s name is spoken, that she does not smile at any who speak highly of him. Tell me this.”
I glumly shook my head, because I knew I could not. “What can we do, Uncle?”
“We extract your aunt from danger, and we warn Elizabeth to take care. I have much affection for Kat, and she has a good heart, but sometimes … ”
“Yes,” I agreed, clutching my fabric. “Sometimes … ”
Sometimes a good heart led to a downfall. Seymour’s sojourn in Catherine’s household and all that followed had forced my eyes open to a new world.
