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Frances laughed heartily. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, remember that.”
In spite of Frances Grey's protest, Chelsea Palace was declared the official residence of Catherine Parr, Queen Dowager. And since she was stepmother to Elizabeth, it was decided that the princess would go with her. Now Frances really had a dilemma on her hands. Would she allow her daughter, Lady Jane, to reside with the queen dowager, or would she bring her home? It was clear she could not remain at Hampton Court Palace, which was turning into a male bastion for the bachelor king.
“The bloody lord protector has won!” Frances cried angrily. “It is clear he intends to isolate the little king from everyone he loves. Edward Seymour is removing anyone who might influence him: his stepmother, his sister, and my daughter. It is clear that his rabid bitch of a wife is advising him every step of the way!”
Since Frances had been outmaneuvered, she decided that Lady Jane Grey would indeed reside at Chelsea with the queen dowager and Princess Elizabeth. Frances, Bess, and a cluster of servants descended upon Hampton to move Lady Jane and her furnishings from one residence to the other.
Princess Elizabeth was in the middle of her own move, and Bess could steal only a moment alone with her. “Are you upset about moving to Chelsea, Your Grace?”
“No!” Elizabeth whispered. Suppressed excitement turned her amber eyes to glittering gold. “We'll be free of their watchful eyes; we'll be able to see each other every day at Chelsea!”
Bess was stunned. Didn't she know the admiral had been refused permission to marry her?
“I must go, Bess. Come and visit me at Chelsea.”
***
At the end of the month, Bess received a note from Cavendish marked Private. She opened the envelope and read the short message with a slight frown.
My Dearest Bess:
I have news. I will come after midnight when we can be private.
W.
Her imagination conjured dozens of reasons for the secrecy. Was the news about Princess Elizabeth, Tom Seymour, the Greys? Or did it have to do with treasury business or his position therein? Was it about the privy council and some decision they had taken? The mystery baffled her.
In the late afternoon Bess gathered spring flowers from the gardens at Suffolk House, filling vases with lovely white lilies, purple lilac, and heavily scented hawthorne. She waited until after the evening meal to bathe and put on one of William's favorite gowns to help fill the hours until midnight.
At last the knock she had been waiting for came. She opened the door and flew into his arms. “Whatever is it?”
He enfolded her against him and kissed her hair. “Bess, my wife died today.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. It was the one thing she had never thought of. “William.” Her arms tightened about him.
“We must not be seen together for a decent interval; the gossips would crucify you,” he said intensely. “But I want to be with you. Will you come to Northaw for a few days, where we can be away from prying eyes?”
“Oh, yes, William. I love you so much.” She hid her face against his chest to hide her tears. They were not tears of sorrow, may God forgive her, they were tears of joy.
“We cannot go together; we shall have to meet there. The funeral is the day after tomorrow. I'll come the next day.”
“Do Frances and Henry know?”
He shook his head. “We'll go and tell them together.” Hand in hand they made their way to the west wing, where the Greys had their private suite. Frances opened to their knock and admitted them, then her hand flew to her throat. “There's been another death!”
“Yes, my wife,” William acknowledged.
“Oh, thank God,” Frances said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Henry, pour us all some brandy, darling.”
“The burial is arranged for the day after tomorrow.”
“We'll be there, as will the rest of the Court, but Bess should disappear for a few days.”
“I'm going to Northaw. I'll ride there tomorrow.”
“You'll do no such thing. You'll go in a carriage,” Frances insisted.
“Thank you, Frances.” William kissed her hand.
