I nodded, wiping my eyes. “Others will wonder if we do not speak at all. It is known you confide in me.”
“Then I shall pretend to be enraged with you, and not wish you by my side.” The words were sharp and quick, like sleeting rain, then she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell me of all you hear.”
“I understand.” My heart beat faster. For some reason I was animated by this duplicity, by a secret Elizabeth shared with me and no other. I was ashamed of myself for my gratification, but it remained.
Elizabeth slapped me then, and not a contrived slap. Her fingers stung my face, her nail catching my lip.
The ladies on the other side of the chamber looked up in interest at this new bit of excitement, whatever the cause. I had little trouble bursting into tears as I fled the room.
I spent the next several days telling myself that Aunt Kat would return right away, that Protector Somerset would admit his mistake about her complicity and send her and Master Parry home. Seymour might have leaned toward treason, but my aunt would never even consider it. Somerset and the king must understand this.
Uncle John remained in London. I feared to write him, in case my letter was intercepted, but he sent me one instead. He’d learned of Aunt Kat’s arrest and was distraught but ordered me to stay at Hatfield.
I knew Uncle John was right—there was little I could do in London—but I chafed and worried about my beloved aunt.
Elizabeth walked with her ladies, took her meals, and studied as usual. She played music, read, prayed, and did not allow any speculation in her hearing about Aunt Kat’s situation.
Ostensibly, she knew nothing about it. Somerset’s instructions, according to Uncle Denny, had been to tell Elizabeth nothing of the matter. I assumed this was so Somerset could discover from Aunt Kat and Master Parry whether or not Elizabeth had been in on the plot before he made a move against her.
Somerset was a fool, though, if he thought servants would not gossip about events at Hatfield, especially something so extraordinary as Aunt Kat’s arrest. The maids and their ladies might not disobey and speak to Elizabeth directly about it, but they certainly discussed it amongst themselves. I sewed in a corner, allowed into Elizabeth’s presence only because my services were necessary, and hid my misery.
On a blustery, dark afternoon, not long after Aunt Kat’s detainment, a contingency of people rode into the courtyard. The guardsmen wore the emblem of the Duke of Somerset, and they escorted several gentlemen and a lady, who were admitted to the house at once.
Upstairs in her chamber, Elizabeth read out a passage in Greek, in attempt to drown out the commotion downstairs. Her face was wan, but her voice remained strong.
I stitched in a window embrasure, pretending all my attention was on the fabric. True to our agreement, Elizabeth all but ignored me, deliberately turning a cool eye to me if she needed to give me an order.
One of Elizabeth’s gentlemen ushers entered the room, bowed apologetically, and explained that Sir Robert Tyrwhitt had arrived and requested to speak to her.
“I will receive him when I am finished with my studies,” Elizabeth said coldly. Lines pinched about her eyes, but she resolutely returned to her book. The gentleman withdrew, troubled.
“Tyrwhitt, Tyrwhitt,” Elizabeth said when he’d gone. “I’ve always thought his name sounded like a cheeping bird. Tyrwhitt, Tyrwhitt, ter-woo.”
Her attending ladies laughed, though my throat was too tight join in. So was Elizabeth’s—she put her hand to it and swallowed.
Her haughtiness did not stem entirely from fear. The idea that her governess and financier could be arrested under her nose, with no one informing her about it, had infuriated her. So did the fact that Seymour’s duplicity had been brought to her door.
Elizabeth was well aware that not only had Seymour used her, but that Somerset was now likewise using her to build a case against his brother.
I saw frustration in the set of Elizabeth’s lips, a burning in her eyes as she longed for a day when she was not the pawn on the chessboard.
Elizabeth kept Tyrwhitt kicking his heels for a good long while before she condescended to send for him. When he arrived in her outer chamber, where she waited, she was every inch a regal princess in crimson damask, while Tyrwhitt, disheveled from his journey, appeared very much an impatient suitor.
Robert Tyrwhitt had been Master of Horse to Catherine Parr when she’d been queen, and he’d obviously used the wealth of that lofty position to grow comfortable and stout. He had graying hair and a short beard, his eyes small and quick. His wife, who was the lady I’d seen arrive with him, had also waited upon Catherine.
Lady Tyrwhitt, who had a long and distinguished career of serving Henry’s queens, was nowhere in evidence at the moment. Likely she’d been left downstairs so that she could not soften Elizabeth’s interview with her husband.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, insisted that her ladies stay—including me—at which Tyrwhitt looked pained.
Tyrwhitt continued to stand, as we ladies did, while Elizabeth, who’d risen at Tyrwhitt’s entrance, resumed the chair at her writing table. One of her ladies had turned it to face the room as she stood, so now she seemed to repose on a small throne.
Tyrwhitt cleared his throat. “It ill pleases me to announce such a thing, Your Grace,” he began, a bit pompously. “But I must tell you that your governess, Mistress Ashley, and the treasurer of your household, Master Thomas Parry, have been detained at his majesty’s pleasure in the Tower of London. They are being investigated for their part in the improper pursuit of a marriage between yourself and the Lord Admiral.”
I wanted to crumple to the floor. Aunt Kat in the Tower? I felt sick, but I could do nothing, say nothing, to betray my distress. I was a nobody in the presence of greatness, and I must suppress my anguish.
Elizabeth watched Tyrwhitt coolly, as though trying to decide her answer.
Then she abruptly lifted her hands to her face and started to weep.
