“You’re not going to answer this summons are you?” I asked worriedly.
“I have no intention of it.” Elizabeth ceased pacing and glared at Aunt Kat and me both. “I am ill, and it is far too cold to travel. Mary must make do with keeping me penned here. What can I, stifled in the country, do? I had no knowledge of these deeds, and I will hide here from the bad men. Bring me paper, Mistress Kat, and I will write it to her.”
The letter was penned and dispatched, and not long later came Mary’s curt reply that Elizabeth must attend her, immediately. Mary would send an armed escort, she said, to see that Elizabeth was protected on her way to London.
Elizabeth’s claims of illness were unfeigned—she’d been quite unwell all winter. Her head had ached worse than ever, and her limbs had bloated until she could wear none but the loosest garments.
Mary, of course, did not believe her. Hard on the heels of Mary’s summons came a physician, who closeted himself a few hours with Elizabeth. When he finally emerged, he declared she was indeed fit to travel, at least as far as London.
“The man is a damned charlatan,” Elizabeth raged once he’d gone. “If I drop over dead en route, blame will be laid at his door, but small comfort that will be to me.”
Her fury made her even more wretched, but there was nothing for it. If she did not go, Mary might simply arrest her and drag her to prison with the rest of the rebels.
We began our journey to London on a chill day not long after Wyatt’s surrender, Elizabeth in a litter. I rode with the rest of her gentlewomen behind the main entourage, trying to ignore Mary’s armed riders who accompanied us.
It was fine weather for a journey, crisp and cold but fair. Elizabeth’s banners snapped in the wind, and her gentlemen ushers wore her colors. As we passed through villages, people ran out to wave and cheer.
Our progress was slow. After only six miles, the cold and Elizabeth’s pain forced us to put up for the night. The outriders took us to a large house well off the road, the gentleman who owned it scrambling to accommodate us.
The house that emptied for us was cold. Aunt Kat ordered fires built in every room, chivying the house’s servants, much to the country gentleman’s dismay. Aunt Kat bustled about shouting orders to Elizabeth’s ladies, many of whom were exhausted and almost ill themselves.
“Lord, help me.” Elizabeth spoke the words in fury once she reached her chamber, as though to hide her pathetic weariness. She hated to face Mary and whatever waited in London from a state of weakness, although I suspected she’d find a way to use the weakness to her advantage.
Being of a robust nature, I found myself recruited to make Elizabeth comfortable in her small chamber, to lay rugs and hang curtains, to fetch warm drinks and wine. I supported Elizabeth’s head while she sipped from a cup, and I massaged her wrists. Her hands and face had again swollen, and she groaned in earnest when she sank back on the bed.
“Now will they believe me ill?” she demanded. “I hardly could have invented this. Oh, take the wine away, Eloise, and cease your fussing.”
I backed from her, secretly pleased that she barked at me, because her temper indicated she was not in grave danger. Mistress Sandes, Elizabeth’s favorite, took my place, and Elizabeth turned her groans and growls to her.
I did more running about for Aunt Kat and for the other ladies who were unwell, working far into the night. When the chaos in the house wound to a dull clamor—Elizabeth at last slept, and the ladies and gentlemen of her household had settled themselves—I wrapped myself in a cloak and slipped out into the darkness.
My goal was the stable yard and the outbuildings that enclosed it. Here Elizabeth’s and Mary’s soldiers and several of the lesser-born gentlemen had put up for the night. I had seen one among their number I was anxious to speak to.
The stable yard had calmed by this time, the horses fed and bedded down, stable lads cleaning saddles and harness. The soldiers were eating, drinking, and nattering, and I withdrew into the shadows, not wishing to be noticed.
As though he’d been waiting for me, Colby walked out of a well-lit brick building and casually strolled in my direction. A cluster of trees stood not far from the outbuildings, and we met beneath their deep gloom.
“We cannot race to London,” I said as soon as he stopped next to me. “She is truly ill. You may tell that to Her Majesty’s soldiers.”
“Aye, I hope she will tarry as long as she can,” Colby answered in grim tones.
He was so tall that his voice came from a long way up. I shivered for no reason—the night had not grown colder. In fact, the absence of wind made the chill fairly tolerable.
“Why?” I asked sharply. “What has happened?”
“Guildford Dudley and Lady Jane Grey were executed today on Tower Green.”
“No.” I pressed my hands to my mouth, nausea stirring. “Oh, no, no. What has happened to the world?” Tears slid silently down my cheeks. “Jane was innocent. She had nothing to do with plots—how could she? Without a word to say for herself, how could Jane threaten anyone?”
My voice rose in my distress, and I found myself pressed against Colby, his arms coming around me. I leaned against him in gratitude and cried my fill.
My imagination filled in the details, which were confirmed when I heard the entire story later—Jane dressed all in black, led across the Tower green by her ladies, her lips moving as she read from a book of prayers she carried.
Her taut face as she turned to the people who’d come to watch her die, her stammered words that she was guilty of loving the world and worldly things too much. Jane, saying these things.
Then her ladies helping undress her to her chemise, and Jane stepping onto the straw.
I shoved myself away from Colby, trying to blot out the vision, but it insisted on playing itself out to the end. Jane kneeling at the block, tears running down her face, and the final, sharp blow. The vision did not spare me the blood, the wails of Jane’s ladies, the thump of the executioner’s ax. Then Jane’s blood, innocent blood, on the straw.
