But he was not wrong about Elizabeth’s danger. Jane was murdered, Elizabeth could be next, and we were heading directly into Mary’s waiting arms.
Chapter 16
Our journey slowed to a crawl, much to my relief. We managed at best five or six miles a day, and even that, though she reclined in a litter, taxed most of Elizabeth’s strength.
She complained of aches throughout her body, and her arms and legs swelled as before. Her physician bled her, Aunt Kat and Mistress Sandes fed her herbs mixed in wine, and I tried to take down the swelling with warm cloths.
I’d had an intense conversation with Elizabeth the morning after I’d spoken to Colby. She’d lain in bed, pale and sweating, as I told her of Jane’s execution and Colby’s suggestion that we take as much time as possible arriving in London.
We should give Mary’s temper time to cool, I emphasized, and keep out of sight while Mary was signing execution orders.
“I did not need you to meet your dashing adventurer in the dark to tell me that,” Elizabeth snapped at me. “I could not manage a faster pace even were I in a tearing hurry to reach Whitehall.” Her brows drew downward. “Can you credit what Anthony Denny has told me, Eloise? That there is a rumor that I hide myself and will not come to court because I am great with child, probably made that way by one of the rebels.”
The usual accusation against a woman, I thought in irritation. If she walks openly with head high, she is a wanton, but if she remains discreetly at home, it is because she is shamefully belly-full.
“A servant of this house must have mistaken your illness,” I said. “And gossiped to Mary’s soldiers of it.”
“And if I discover who, they will be sorry they have a tongue.”
I placed a soothing hand on her arm, I being one of the few allowed to touch her person. “The day we ride into London, we ought to go in full daylight. I advise you to wear your white and silver gown and travel with the curtains of your litter open.”
“To show them how not pregnant I am?” Elizabeth flashed a sudden smile at me from her pillows. “It will not stop Mary doing as she pleases, but I’ll not let her tarnish my reputation. The people of England want the pure princess, and that is what I shall be.”
Her determination made me proud to be her lady, but still, I feared.
The slow journey at least gave Elizabeth time to heal and compose herself. By the time we reached London, she was much better and the strange swelling in her body had dissipated.
I carefully sewed a plain bodice to one of her white and silver brocade gowns and laced her into it.
As planned, Elizabeth rode through Smithfield toward the City, surrounded by her guardsmen. She wore shining white, her body slender and erect, every inch a Tudor princess.
London turned out to welcome her home. The road was lined with well-wishers who not only waved and shouted but thrust gifts at her, as they had when she’d ridden with Mary at her accession.
Elizabeth acknowledged her admirers with the stateliness of a monarch, smiling her thanks. They adored her, and she absorbed that fact as though she’d known and expected it.
We rode across Fleet Bridge and through Fleet Street to the Strand and so on to Whitehall. At the opposite end of London, in the Tower, the Duke of Suffolk, Jane’s father, went to his execution.
When we reached Whitehall, Elizabeth’s personal guards dispersed, not allowed into the palace itself. I accompanied Elizabeth and her ladies to chambers set aside for her, where she awaited Mary’s summons.
The summons never came. Elizabeth paced for several days, her health regained, her anger evident.
She demanded constantly to know what went on outside the walls. What of Wyatt—what had he said to his questioners? Had he named Elizabeth as a conspirator? What had happened to the others, and what were Mary’s plans for all of them?
Colby kept an eye on comings and goings and reported to me, and I in turn reported to Elizabeth.
“Wyatt has said nothing against her,” Colby told me when we met one morning in a cold passageway high in the palace. “The men of the rebellion name each other, but not our lady. One of her gentlemen has been accused of delivering a message from Elizabeth to Wyatt, thanking him for his suggestion she remove to Donnington, but that has not been proved, as it was not a written message.”
“I remember when he sent her the letter,” I said, recalling the day I’d prevented Elizabeth from penning a reply. Verbal only, I’d warned.
“Please forget it, Eloise,” Colby said swiftly. “You do not want to be put to the question.”
“Why haven’t you been?” I asked curiously. Colby, who knew what was happening better than most, who’d been among the fighters in London, should have been arrested with the others. I thanked God he had not been, but I had to wonder why not.
A look of self-loathing crossed his face. “I am too careful. I abandon honor to keep myself alive.”
I had no idea what he meant by this. “I, for one, am happy you do. Elizabeth needs friends, needs information. She needs you.” I decided not to share with him that I did as well.
“For the greater good,” Colby finished bitterly.
