Edward, the new monarch of England and Ireland, began to cry.
Later that night, John Ashley, my aunt Kat’s beloved husband, sloshed a stream of purple hock into a cup and pushed it across the boards to me.
“Not too much, John,” Aunt Kat admonished. “You’ll make her tipsy.”
Uncle John smiled at his wife with a benevolence that hadn’t dimmed in their more than two years of marriage. Elizabeth liked Uncle John as well. While she often proclaimed she wished for her ladies to remain unmarried, Uncle John had been accepted. Not only did Elizabeth find him congenial but he was a cousin on the Boleyn side of her family.
“Let me indulge our Eloise,” Uncle John said. “’Tis not every day a childhood playmate becomes a king.”
“Edward never thought of me,” I mused, idly twirling the cup. I’d never been much interested in Edward, in any case, who could be rather monstrous at times. Elizabeth was much more fascinating. Despite her young age, she did nothing without calculation, even in a temper.
“It was touching,” Aunt Kat said. “To see Elizabeth and his young majesty weep together. My lady has tender feelings for her brother and for her father.”
“Lord Hertford was certainly pleased,” I said. Both Aunt Kat and Uncle John switched their attention to me as I sipped the hock, liking its sour bite on my tongue. “He pretended to be sorrowful, but he is not.”
“You should not gossip about your betters,” Aunt Kat said quickly, though the words lacked true admonishment.
I sent her an innocent glance. “Everyone is my better here, Auntie. Who am I to gossip about?”
“Mind your tongue, miss.” Uncle John chuckled at me, drained his cup, and reached for the flask. “You are not wrong, Eloise. I foresee that Hertford will enmesh himself with young Edward so much that Edward will mouth his words. Queen Catherine hoped to be regent, as she reigned in the king’s stead so well when Henry rode off to war with France, but I fear she will be disappointed.”
I recalled, some months before Aunt Kat and Uncle John married, how I’d accompanied Elizabeth to Hampton Court to follow Queen Catherine and the court on their progress. It was a heady summer, Elizabeth happily basking in her return to favor with her father, which was very much her stepmother Catherine’s doing.
My mind drifted as Uncle John and Aunt Kat speculated on this change in England’s fate, and what Hertford meant to do. My interest in politics was negligible, unless it was something directly related to Elizabeth.
On the other hand, the arrival of a trade ship from Amsterdam or Spain enraptured me, because a ship might bring silks, velvet brocades, and other fabrics that Elizabeth would buy or be given, and then transfer to me to work.
My greatest joy was rubbing my fingers over the exquisite cloths, even burying my nose in them to inhale their dyed scent. My grasp of Latin and French might be crude, that of Greek nonexistent, but with a needle in my hand I could do anything.
The azure ensemble we’d dressed her in today had been made of satin from Milan, silk woven in a far-off city in the Chinese empire, and lace knitted by the young ladies of Liege. I understood that the satin shimmered because the warp threads were green while the weft was blue, making the skirts appear as liquid light when the princess moved.
Lady Elizabeth would need new gowns, I thought with excitement. First, for mourning her father, then later for her appearances in Edward’s court. I had no doubt that Edward would ask her to attend him soon, because the brother and sister were close. Ball gowns, dresses for dining with ambassadors, ones for hawking and hunting, gowns for traveling, and plainer garb for quiet study.
My imagination spun, putting Lady Elizabeth in ermine-trimmed robes, dresses of cloth of gold and silver tissue—silk with silver thread woven through it—bodices with intricate embroidery, and skirts of damask, velvet, or silk. Sleeves of gold brocade could fold back to reveal an underlining of scarlet silk …
I itched for my drawing paper and chalk. After the meal, I’d seek my chamber and begin sketching the designs that flashed through me like lightning on a dry summer’s night.
“… his head on the block.” Uncle John’s rising voice cut through my whirling thoughts.
I jumped, emitting a squeak of distress. Aunt Kat shot a disapproving glance at me, knowing I’d not been listening. She’d instructed me to accord Uncle John the attention and respect I’d give a father, which meant attending to his every word.
“Forgive me,” I croaked. “What on earth are you talking about, Uncle?”
“The Earl of Surrey.” John’s eyes held a twinkle, understanding I cared little for the world outside my comfortable sphere. “The Duke of Norfolk and his son, Surrey, tried to take over Edward’s regency before old Henry was even dead, which is why the Seymours have pushed in. Surrey stuck his nose in the air and said that such power was his due. So, his head was parted from his body. Poets!” My uncle shrugged, as though writing couplets had led to the demise of the Earl of Surrey.
“His father is still in the Tower?” Aunt Kat asked him.
“For now,” Uncle John answered. “Norfolk will win his freedom, I vow. The wily old man has been in and out of favor so often that turning coat is second nature to him. He knows exactly what to say to boost himself from the muck. King Henry was to have signed Norfolk’s execution order the very day he conveniently died. So, Norfolk has escaped the chop once again.” Uncle John shook his head, though I could see he had little use for the Duke of Norfolk and his scheming ways.
I agreed with Uncle John. I was a gentle soul and hated violence of any kind—I would catch bees in a cup and put them out of the window rather than smash them—and I disliked hearing of executions.
I also had little patience with impatient men. The Duke of Norfolk and his son Surrey had surged forward to take what they wanted. Because of their haste, they’d let a rival family, the Seymours, swoop down and seize Edward instead.
The Seymours had quite literally seized him, as I’d seen from our hiding place in the hall. After his announcement that Edward was now king, Lord Hertford had grasped the lad by the shoulders and hastened him out of the house. He’d come here to make the announcement to Edward and Elizabeth for the theatrics of it, I suspected.
I assumed they were returning to London where Edward would be prepared for his coronation. Edward, barely given time to say goodbye to his sister, had dashed tears from his eyes and obeyed his uncle.
The games will begin in earnest now, I told myself.
