If the marriage to a Spaniard takes place, a man in Norfolk was reported to have said, the Spaniards should have our houses, and we should live like slaves.
Edward Courtenay, who’d fancied himself husband to Mary, was openly disgruntled and styled himself ill-treated.
“No good will come of it,” Aunt Kat repeated to me one afternoon as I supped with her and Uncle John. “Mary has stated that her private wishes are more important than her privy council’s or even Parliament’s advice. Can you credit it? Says she knows the hearts of the people.” Aunt Kat harumphed and shook her head. “She cannot be listening with her ears if she believes that. If she marries this Felipe, she will be hated as the queen who let another realm rule us. Church bells will ring dirges instead of joyous peals.”
Her words dredged up the dream I’d had when we’d met Mary at Wanstead in the summer—the pall of smoke and the feeling of despair.
“Philip is Catholic,” I pointed out. “And Mary loves the church more than anything.”
“Courtenay is Catholic,” Aunt Kat said vehemently. “Even if he is ridiculous.”
“Too fond of bodily pleasures,” Uncle said. “Gluttony, avarice, and lechery will be Courtenay’s downfall.”
“And pride,” I added.
“How short-sighted you both are,” Aunt Kat snapped. “Courtenay could be brought to heel by Mary’s council. He’d prance around with his crown and enjoy himself, without threatening the queen’s rule. This foreign prince will be the death of us.”
Neither Uncle John nor I had any argument to that.
Colby was often gone from Ashridge for long stretches of time. Elizabeth never discussed these absences, and when I once mentioned, casually, that I hadn’t seen much of Master Colby lately, she quieted me with a sharp word.
I longed to speak to Colby, because he was the only one who confided in me. Uncle John kept Elizabeth informed as he could, but Colby usually knew details Uncle John did not. Colby seemed to have ways to dig deeper and discover truths.
Ashridge was cold and dismal that winter. Its buildings were old and oddly laid out, with huge, drafty halls downstairs and tiny, uncomfortable rooms above them. The house and grounds had once been a monastery, and little had changed since the days of the monks twenty years before.
I began to lie in wait for Colby in the chamber he’d been given—he shared with no one, which was most unusual. The first night that I waited until dawn, he did not appear, nor did he on the second.
On the third night, my effort was rewarded. At the hour after midnight, his door scraped quietly open.
Colby beheld me dozing on his bed by the small hearth, and quickly shut the door.
“Mistress Rousell, what do you here?” he asked softly and angrily.
I slid off the bed as he lit tapers with a spill from the fireplace’s flames. Cold radiated from the cloak he tossed to a bench, and his clothes were scented with smoke and the outdoors.
“Please tell me what is happening,” I begged him in a low voice. “I can hardly be your go-between if I know nothing.”
Colby’s expression was hard and stern, more so than I’d ever seen it. “Seeking me is dangerous, Eloise.”
“That is most obvious. But I am already in danger—you placed me squarely in it. I’ll not be like dear Jane, shutting my eyes to the plots around me even when I am in the thick of them.”
Colby regarded my resolute face before he let out his breath. “Very well.” He swept his cloak from the bench and indicated I should sit there with him while we warmed our feet at the fire.
“We have been meeting,” he began, keeping his voice hushed. His shoulder brushed mine, his body warm despite the fact that he’d come in from the freezing rain. “I and others, and Courtenay.”
“Courtenay?” I whispered, surprised. “What on earth for?”
“Courtenay has money, and he is not happy with Mary for deciding against marrying him. Courtenay is descended from the Yorkists and considers himself an heir to the throne—which he more or less is, by blood. He opposes the marriage to Philip as much as the rest of us do. Perhaps not for the same reasons, but it hardly matters.”
“He was released from the Tower not a six-month ago,” I pointed out. “Is he so anxious to return to it?”
“He is not worried. There is enough resentment against the queen that we have a chance at prevailing. We’ll put Elizabeth on the throne, and Courtenay will not return to prison. I, like you, do not much fancy the man as king, but one thing at a time.”
A shiver ran through me. “So, you mean to actually dethrone her?” I murmured. “Not simply petition her to change her mind?”
Colby huffed a mirthless laugh. “Mary does not listen to her Parliament or her counselors, not even to her beloved Bishop Gardiner. Gardiner wishes her to marry Courtenay, but Mary has done the equivalent of stamping her feet and declaring she will act as she pleases. She’d never bend to a petition by her nobles.”
“Next you will tell me that gentlemen in Parliament will not meekly bow their heads and go about their business,” I said darkly.
