Take care of her for me, Aunt Kat was silently begging me. Promise me that Elizabeth will be protected.
It was now clear that marriage to Elizabeth had been only one part of Seymour’s plot to seize control of the king and the country. Viewed in that light, Aunt Kat trying to convince Elizabeth to marry Seymour against the king’s wishes could be considered treason.
Traitors died terrible deaths. I had witnessed the torn bodies of the condemned after such an execution, their decaying heads then displayed on pikes. I wondered if the Lord Protector would also accuse poor Uncle John of colluding, or would Uncle John simply have to live through the tragedy of his wife’s execution?
As I assisted the trembling Aunt Kat from the room and to her chamber, my stomach churned with fear. I needed to put this right, but my thoughts were frozen, and I did not know what to do. I was a seamstress, not a courtier or a wise counselor.
Words could condemn Aunt Kat, or words could save her. The right words said at the right time, or omitted at the right time, would make all the difference.
The king’s council, guided by the Lord Protector Somerset, had so much power—the power of words, the power of life.
In Aunt Kat’s chamber I helped her don her cloak. An idea hummed through my brain, though I was uncertain if it would work.
“Aunt Kat,” I said in a low voice, making sure the bustling but weeping maidservants did not hear me. “You had no intention of going against the king’s wishes, did you? You thought only to marry Elizabeth to someone she would admire, though not if it meant displeasing the king and his council.”
“No, of course not,” Aunt Kat snapped, impatient in her fear. “John was right when he told me not to meddle.”
“That is all that you must say,” I said, stressing each word. “It is true that you thought Seymour would be a good husband for Elizabeth, but you never dreamed of her marrying anyone against the council’s wishes. She would abide by the law always.”
“Yes, but?—”
“Aunt Kat.” I put my hands on her shoulders and spoke carefully. “You never, ever once thought to see Elizabeth marry against the wishes of the council.”
Aunt Kat gaped at me, and then I saw understanding dawn. She closed her mouth and drew a long breath. “Quickly, Eloise. I must speak to Parry ere I go down.”
I nodded, my heart thumping, and ran off to find him.
When I parted from Aunt Kat in the muddy yard not long later, I could not stop my tears. Aunt Kat gathered me into a hard hug, her face wet, and told me to mind myself and Elizabeth.
Aunt Kat, Master Parry, Uncle Denny, and William Paulet rode away from Hatfield in the cold darkness, the four of them surrounded by armed outriders. The entourage disappeared too soon as Mistress Parry and I watched, holding on to each other to keep from collapsing in despair.
Though Mistress Parry slowly turned back to the house, I remained outside until I could see no more, my heart heavy but my thoughts spinning.
I had been advised by Uncle Denny not to inform Elizabeth what had transpired. She, by the council’s orders, had been purposely kept in the dark about the reason for his and Paulet’s visit.
However, after the riders were truly gone, hoofbeats dying into silence, I sped into the house, hurried up to her chamber, and told her anyway.
What does a woman do when she discovers the man she’s fallen in love with has only been using her to obtain something he wants? Especially when it is her first love?
Will she bow her head and meekly accept that her suitor was more interested in money, power, and connections than in tenderer emotions?
Or will she become toughened and angry, vowing never to experience such disappointment again?
When I told Elizabeth everything the night they took Aunt Kat away, including my admonition that all involved must state they would never dream of thwarting the privy council, she listened in stony silence. She sank to her chair as I spoke, and I knelt at her feet.
As I gazed up at her, I saw a new hardness enter Elizabeth’s eyes. Tears beaded on her lashes, but she held those tears in check with an anger brighter than any I’d ever beheld in her.
The temper tantrums of Elizabeth’s childhood abruptly made way for a fierce, adult anger that she honed into a weapon as I watched.
“Keep silent that I’ve told you, my lady, I beg you,” I whispered. “Aunt Kat is innocent, and they surely will send her home on the morrow. This will pass us by.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth responded, but absently.
“Would you like me to stay with you tonight, Your Grace?”
Elizabeth blinked and brought her attention to me once more. “No.” Her anger was grim, and I wasn’t certain at whom she directed it—me, Aunt Kat and Master Parry, Thomas Seymour, Uncle Denny, Protector Somerset? Perhaps all of us.
“Stay away from me, Eloise,” she said, suddenly harsh. “I do not want to succumb to the temptation to speak of this with you. Silence is best.”
