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The Lady Elizabeth's rooms were elegantly appointed, reflecting her innate good taste. As they passed through the chambers, Bess saw that many of the walls were covered with shelves of books, and there was a writing desk in almost every room, reflecting Elizabeth's thirst for knowledge and love of reading and writing. There were also bolts on most of the doors, reminding Bess that the princess was an obsessively private person. Elizabeth had four ladies-in-waiting in her household, but none of them was in evidence save a large, motherly-looking woman, who sat in a cushioned window alcove, plying her needle.
“This is Mistress Cat Ashley. She used to be my nurse but is now head lady. This is Bess Hardwick, the friend I told you about. She is lady to my cousin Frances.”
“Another redhead—may the good Lord save us!” Mistress Ashley's eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Ashcat is privy to all my secrets. She is the only one in the world I trust entirely. I'm taking Bess into the inner sanctum; don't let anyone disturb us.”
It was as if they passed from one world into another. The chamber was large and lined with Murano mirrors. Hundreds of candles set in crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, ready to light up the room when darkness fell. At the moment sunshine streamed in through the long leaded windows.
The chamber boasted many musical instruments: fiddles, lutes, a harpsichord, and a pair of virginals. The princess took Bess into the adjoining dressing room. Bess's eyes widened in astonishment. At least two dozen magnificent gowns hung in splendor. Some were elaborately embroidered with gold thread, while others were encrusted with brilliant beads.
Hanging beside the dresses were a half dozen fantastic costumes, suitable for masques. There were wigs of every style and color, high-heeled slippers, undergarments, and a great casket of jewelry. There was also a dressing table laden with creams, perfumes, and pots of makeup.
“I cannot wear any of these garments at Court, because I am continually censured, but they cannot stop me from owning them and adorning myself in private. Sometimes I dress up and dance until dawn in my mirrored chamber.” Elizabeth pulled out two gowns. “Look at these.”
One was black satin, the other black velvet with trailing angel sleeves lined with silver tissue. Both were designed in the shocking French style, with the bodice cut low enough to reveal a female's nipples and to show off precious jewels. The gowns were highly inappropriate for a young lady, and Bess opened her mouth to remark upon their unsuitability.
“These were my mother's!” Elizabeth whispered.
Bess touched the gowns with awe. “They are exquisite; how did you get them?”
“Cat Ashley married my mother's cousin. They secretly managed to save some of her things for me. I have more hidden at Hatfield.”
Bess touched a glossy black wig. “Do you ever disguise yourself?”
Elizabeth laughed and arched a plucked brow. “How did you guess?”
“It is what I would do if I were watched day and night,” Bess admitted.
“Once I even disguised myself as a boy,” Elizabeth confided. “It greatly amused him.”
Bess knew Elizabeth was speaking of the admiral, and she was afraid for her. She felt compelled to caution her. “You cannot meet him here?” In spite of the locks on the doors and his reckless nature, surely this was impossible.
“Nay. Always outdoors. The gardens have numerous bowers, I rode and hunted in the forest when the weather permitted, and now that winter is here, the river will always be at hand.”
The admiral had ships of every size, as well as his barge on the Thames. Under cover of darkness she could slip aboard, Bess realized. “Your Grace—” Bess hesitated. She knew how Elizabeth hated being told what to do and how at all costs would do as she pleased. Bess continued, choosing her words carefully, using her own situation to caution her friend. “I, too, am in love with an older man, who has sworn there will be no risk to me. Yet even so I will not allow him to consummate our union until he is free to wed me. The consequences would ruin my reputation—yet my reputation is as nothing when compared with yours. Your father would run mad. The consequences for you and your lover would be disastrous! Your Grace, please let us pledge, here and now, that we will not yield our virginity until we wed!”
A loud scratching sounded on the locked door. Like a hissing swan, the princess glided to the door and raged, “I told you none was to disturb us!”
“Your Grace, you are summoned by His Majesty.”
“Peste!”
Elizabeth carefully locked the door behind them with a key she wore on a chain about her neck. She led Bess into her bedchamber, where two of her ladies awaited her with a fresh white gown and rose water to bathe her hands and face. “Hurry, hurry!” she ordered impatiently.
Bess suddenly realized that Elizabeth was afraid of her father, the king, just as was every other female who'd ever been close to him. Bess felt a wave of relief. Fear of her all-powerful father would keep her virgin more surely than all the pledges in the world!
The royal page led the way to the king's privy chambers and stopped outside one of Henry's private dining rooms. Elizabeth was white with relief. “Thank God, we are only summoned to dine.”
Inside the chamber those who had been invited to luncheon with His Majesty stood talking and laughing while they awaited the king's exalted presence. Bess took a tentative step in the direction of Lady Frances, who was talking with her daughter, little Lady Jane Grey. Elizabeth put out a hand to stop her. “I don't want to waste my time with the little dog turd when the Dudleys are here.”
Three well-made young men were gathered about a fair-haired boy who looked about nine. “This is my brother, Prince Edward. … Your Grace, may I present my friend, Bess Hardwick.”
Once more Bess was taken off-guard. The slightly built boy had the face of a saint. How on earth could this be ruddy King Hal's son? Bess curtsied low and saw that the young heir to the throne studiously avoided looking at her breasts. Not so the Dudley brothers, who couldn't keep their eyes off them.
“You remember Cock Robin?” Elizabeth asked. “He certainly remembers you, or parts thereof.”
“Mistress Hardwick.” Robin's eyes were a warm dark brown, glossy as chestnuts.
