“She did not,” I said with confidence.
“And that is why they are evil to our Kat. They wish to make her admit that Elizabeth did agree to marry him, with Kat as a go-between.”
We sat in silence, hearts heavy, thinking of the woman we loved, wretched in the Tower.
Uncle John and Aunt Kat did not see eye to eye at times, which was obvious from their occasional quarrels. Uncle John believed her too ready to pry into things she should leave alone, but it was clear that he cherished her.
Theirs had been a match of love and friendship—I regarded it as an example of what a good marriage could be. I was broken-hearted, but Uncle John was doubly so.
“Will they let us visit Aunt Kat?” I asked after a time.
Uncle John shrugged tiredly. “I have tried, but without success. They fear I will pass messages to her or advise her what to say.”
“Perhaps I can be admitted. I am a seamstress—I can invent some excuse to enter?—”
I broke off when Uncle John glared at me. “I’ll not let my niece traipse into the Tower like a heroine and be arrested as a conspirator. ’Tis a foolish idea, Eloise. Let me hear no more about it.”
His fear for me was genuine, so I subsided.
“How can we sit here, not knowing what is happening?” I asked as we drifted into moroseness once more.
“I do have some information. Not everyone belongs to Somerset. There are those who tell me things, ones who do not like Somerset’s complete control over the king.”
Some of my fears gave way before curiosity. “Who are these people?”
“No one you should trouble yourself about. Never repeat that I said this, but I believe Somerset’s days are numbered.” Uncle John lowered his voice and glanced around uneasily, as though he feared spies lurked behind the walls. Well, they might. “We will dine, niece, and you will rest. You must be worn out from your journey.”
I obeyed him, seeing he would say nothing more.
I remained in London with Uncle John for a time, trying to live as routine a life as possible. We took meals in his lodgings, aided by Uncle John’s servants, who were kind to us, and also concerned for Aunt Kat’s welfare.
I’d brought along the bodice for the new gown that I’d been doing fittings on with Elizabeth before I’d departed. I tried to focus on sewing tucks that would make the bodice lie flat and embellishing it with seed pearls, but Aunt Kat’s imprisonment remained a shadow over me.
I usually enjoyed excursions to London, taking the opportunity to visit shops that carried fabrics and trim brought from the Continent, Africa, and as far away as the Asiatic countries. I loved to browse the silks and velvets, damask and satin, laces and ribbons. Even the more common fabrics of lawn and linsey-woolsey could usually gain my attention.
This journey, I lacked interest. I kept myself in Uncle John’s lodgings and wrote to various people of my acquaintance in London, trying to find out what information I could regarding Aunt Kat.
On the fourth day my stay, our fears for Aunt Kat were confirmed. One of Uncle John’s cronies from court discovered that she had indeed been confined of nights to a dank cell. She was usually released in daylight hours, but only to speak to a secretary of Edward’s council. Apparently, she was telling him all sorts of tales, including everything that had happened between Seymour and Elizabeth in Chelsea.
Somerset ordered guards to Uncle John’s house and bade us not to leave. As frightening as this was, however, these guards proved to be a great source of information. Stultified by their assignment, the men at arms gossiped readily with us to relieve their tedium.
The guards had heard about Elizabeth’s letter to Somerset denying she was pregnant by Seymour. Somerset had apparently written back to her, declaring that Elizabeth should name those who’d slandered her, so he could make an example of them.
Somerset had flown into another rage at Elizabeth’s reply—that she would not be considered the sort of person who pointed fingers and punished rumormongers.
This news had filtered through nobles to their servants, and in turn to our guards, so I could not say how embellished all had become before it met our ears.
But I detected in the stories a grain of truth: Elizabeth had stood up for herself and her damaged reputation, laying it fully in the Protector’s lap to prove she’d done anything wrong.
Somerset at last issued a statement saying that such stories about the princess were untrue and those who spread the lie would be imprisoned. I sensed an acid tone in the proclamation, but it was done.
Though Uncle John and I were more or less confined, I managed to gain permission to run the occasional errand, claiming to need thread or other notions that I trusted only myself to choose. I obeyed Uncle John and never went near the Tower, which was made easier by the guard who was always dispatched to follow me.
I met acquaintances at the markets and spoke to those I regularly bought fabric and other sundries from while in London. I learned through these sources that while Somerset was busily confiscating Seymour’s lands and houses, there were other nobles, like the Dudley family, who believed Somerset was going too far. The Seymours’ power was waning.
Again, I realized this information might only be hearsay, but I tucked it away in my head to relate to Elizabeth when I returned to her.
The Dudley family was run by the Earl of Warwick, whose son, Robert, had sometimes been Elizabeth’s playmate or studied with her when they were children. I hadn’t thought much about him at the time, as I’d had no interest in boys in my youth. My Lady Elizabeth and her beautiful clothes had been far more interesting to me.
