I made no such promise, and Tyrwhitt stalked away toward his chamber, clearly not understanding what I’d told him.
Chapter 9
On March 20, 1549, Thomas Seymour was led from the Tower to his execution.
Elizabeth and I dwelled at Hatfield still, both of us awaiting news of Aunt Kat’s fate.
It was Tyrwhitt who brought word to Elizabeth of Seymour’s death. He entered the upstairs chamber where she studied and cleared his throat.
Elizabeth let him linger a few moments before she condescended to raise her head from her reading. “Yes? What is it?”
Tyrwhitt coughed once more. “His lordship, the Admiral, has been executed on Tower Green, Your Grace,” he said in a cracked voice. “This very morning. So said the messengers.”
Elizabeth stilled, her pale lids lowering once over her dark eyes. She sat quietly, her hand on the page of her book. “I see.”
I bit off a thread while I watched the drama, my lap piled with sumptuous brocade shot through with threads of silver.
I felt a twinge of guilt that Seymour’s death did not upset me. I was a bit shocked that the Lord Protector would execute his own brother, but Seymour had been a hard man beneath his charm, skilled at beguiling others into serving his every need.
I was not certain if my mild satisfaction at his death made me an evil person, but that was the only emotion I could conjure.
Elizabeth dipped her head, as though thanking Tyrwhitt for delivering such difficult news. He waited for her reaction, clearly assuming she’d burst into tears and fling herself to the floor, weeping for her dead lover.
She disappointed him. Elizabeth gazed at Tyrwhitt calmly and stated, “This day died a man of much wit and very little judgment.”
One corner of Tyrwhitt’s mouth drooped. “Indeed, Your Grace.”
He met her steady stare a moment longer but had to turn from her in defeat. At the door, he swung back.
“Another bit of news, Your Grace. Your governess, Mistress Ashley, and the cofferer, Thomas Parry, will be released forthwith and allowed to rejoin you here.”
Again, Elizabeth made no reaction but to nod to Tyrwhitt in dismissal.
I dropped my needle and carved silver scissors as relief flowed through me. Aunt Kat was all right. She’d come home.
Only when Tyrwhitt’s footsteps had faded into the distance did Elizabeth rise from her chair and beckon to me.
“Attend me, Eloise,” she commanded.
I threw down my sewing and rushed to her. Elizabeth gave me a quick embrace and a kiss on each cheek.
“We shall be happy that Mistress Ashley is coming back to us,” she said, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Shall we greet her with splendid gifts?”
I fervently agreed, and spent the rest of the day helping her plan the celebration for Aunt Kat’s return.
But that night when I sewed alone in Elizabeth’s outer chamber, I heard the princess in her bed, weeping for a long, long time. Her sobs of despair nearly broke my heart.
As April came with softer weather, I sketched my ideas for Elizabeth’s summer wardrobe, toning down the exuberance of her earlier gowns into something simpler, more quiet.
I stared at what I’d done, realizing that I was seeing my lady as woman, her childish frivolousness behind her. And oak, not a fragile flower.
I felt Elizabeth’s presence in my corner of her chamber, and I looked up to see her gazing at the drawings in curiosity.
“What are those?” she demanded.
“Summer gowns for you, and for your return to court.” I tapped a gown I’d make in ivory with a dark gray overdress.
“A bit drab, aren’t they?” Elizabeth lifted my book in her slim fingers, turning the sketches around to the light.
