And Less Than Kind Page 49

  And a horse is not likely to mention how long I stayed or if Lord Denno acted as if we were old friends. There were a number of ladies new to Mary's service and of high rank who would be glad to be rid of Mistress Rosamund Scott. Mary was too fond of her.

  Rosamund's place had not been envied in the past, when Mary was always in disgrace because of her religion; now that Mary was queen, almost anything that could be used to lessen Mary's affection for the nobody Rosamund Scott was used.

  That was why Rhoslyn had told Mary about buying from Adjoran. If she had not, someone would surely have reported that Mistress Rosamund rejected the Spanish and clung to her old connections. These days that was enough to erode Mary's trust. So many still urged her to abandon the Spanish marriage.

  Rhoslyn hurried to her chamber to change into riding dress. By the time she reached the side entrance of the palace closest to the stable, the horse was waiting. Rhoslyn mounted and set off without delay. She hoped that Denoriel would be at the house on Bucklersbury, that he had not panicked and Gated to the Tower because of the air spirit's message. She was not skilled in dealing with air spirits. They were not clever and she had not dared to try to tell it more than that she needed to speak to Denoriel.

  In fact, she was barely in time to stop Denoriel, with his pockets and his purse full of golden angels and gems for trying to bribe his way to Elizabeth. When he saw her, he almost dragged her off the horse, mumbling, "What? Where is she? Is she hurt? What happened?" as he dragged her into the house.

  "Everything is fine, fine," Rhoslyn said three times over until she had closed the door of Denoriel's study behind her.

  "Denoriel, stop acting like a lunatic. Elizabeth is well. She is about to be removed from the Tower—"

  "Removed! What do you mean removed?" His eyes bulged.

  "I mean moved to a new dwelling, and that is all I mean. I told you some time ago that Mary had completely given up any idea of execution."

  "Yes, I remember," Denoriel said bitterly, "and the next I heard someone had forged an order for instant execution and when that failed sent an assassin."

  Rhoslyn sighed. She had not passed the whispered rumors about the attacks on Elizabeth to Denoriel because she was afraid he would do something foolish. Apparently he had heard anyway, likely through William Cecil who was, although not restored to office because of his reformist ideas, quietly working for Lord Paget.

  "I remember too, which is why I sent the air spirit for you, but there is no immediate danger. Elizabeth has her own guardsmen about her now. You know Gerrit, Shaylor, Nyle and Dickson will not allow any assassin to pass. And Brydges has been sharply alerted."

  "Then what did make you send the air spirit for me?"

  "I do not really know." Rhoslyn frowned uneasily. "But with Elizabeth's well-being at risk, I prefer to be careful. And the Council is being so secretive about releasing Elizabeth from the Tower that I have begun to suspect . . . I know not what."

  "That she is to have an accident on the way?" Denoriel's voice rose. "That she is to be murdered in . . . Where are they sending her?"

  "To an ancient manor called Woodstock. It was built by Henry II, but Henry VII liked it and restored it. Since he died, it has fallen out of favor and has been long neglected." Rhoslyn shook her head. "And no, I do not believe Mary has any part in any plan to harm Elizabeth . . . I just . . . do not like the secrecy."

  "You think others have not protested Elizabeth's release because they hope she will be more vulnerable beyond Brydges's careful wardenship?"

  Rhoslyn shrugged. "I finally managed to get Vidal's ring off Renard's hand. I am almost sure the attempts on Elizabeth were urged or engineered by him, but he is more flexible now. Still, I do not like the secrecy with which the Council is trying to act. I know something of the man Queen Mary has chosen as Elizabeth's gaoler. He is solid, he is honorable, he is also stubborn and not too clever. He will do exactly as Queen Mary orders—and the last order she gave was that no harm should be done to Elizabeth unless she, in person, gives the order."

  Denoriel drew a long breath and shuddered, like a dog trying to rid his coat of something unpleasant. Then he looked around the room vaguely. "Sorry," he said. "I am half out of my mind."

  Rhoslyn smiled. "More than half," she agreed dryly. "There is no immediate danger, as I said, but I think London should know that Elizabeth has been released. That she is set free would be a mark of her innocence. And I think her route and where she is settled should be known also. She should not be buried in a countryside away from her own people so she can be forgotten."

  "I see." Denoriel looked around and gestured toward a large leather chair. "Sit down, Rhoslyn. Would you like something to eat? To drink?"

  Rhoslyn took the offer of the chair and shook her head at the others. "I'm sorry about sending the air spirit when I could not explain to it why, but the time is rather short. Elizabeth will start her journey on the nineteenth of May."

  "Three days?" Denoriel's voice again rose, in protest this time.

  "I think the short time was deliberate. I think the Council hoped to spirit her out of London without anyone knowing. She would still be believed to be in the Tower and thus still marked as suspect of being a traitor."

  For a long moment Denoriel sat and stared into space. Then, slowly, his lips curved upward. "I will go to the Hanse," he said. "I will set someone to watch the Tower, and tell the Steelyard when Elizabeth's barge starts." He was now grinning broadly. "The Hanse is not pleased with Queen Mary. They will fire their guns, a full salute when Elizabeth's barge passes the Steelyard. And when people rush to discover what occasioned the firing, the merchants will tell them that the salute was to celebrate the release of Lady Elizabeth. The news will be in every shop and merchant's stall in London within hours. I will see that news of her route to Woodstock is spread also."

  "Good." Rhoslyn sighed with relief. "And now to fulfill my reason for coming here. I need fabric for gowns in which to welcome Philip. And I need one special length of exceptional quality to present to the queen."

  Chapter 29

  Thus it came about that Elizabeth's departure from the Tower became an exasperation—the first of myriad and growing exasperations—to her new gaoler, Sir Henry Bedingfield. Instead of a surreptitious and guilty prisonerlike removal from one gaol to another, Elizabeth's release became sort of a triumphal progress.

  Queen Mary was not pleased, but she did not, as her father might well have done, take out her irritation on Sir Henry. It was Elizabeth she blamed, even though no one could guess how Elizabeth could have sent news of her release out of the Tower.

  Poor Mary was all too aware of the growing dislike of her subjects. There were things that could not be totally hidden from her: scurrilous ballads and broadsheets, tales of a mysterious voice from a wall that said "Amen" to "God save Lady Elizabeth" but was silent for Mary's name, even disgusting representations of the pope thrown into the palace grounds. All the signs of public anger and distrust had multiplied since the rebellion.

  Elizabeth knew. Her anxiety had increased steadily since Bedingfield had taken over from Brydges as her gaoler. Seeing her goods packed brought her near panic, and all the strangers coming and going to carry parcels were a danger. She did not dare wear her shields. If someone tried to touch her and could not, the secret of her shield might have been exposed. How could she explain? All she could think of to protect herself was to make everyone aware that she thought she might be furtively killed.

  As long as they were still in the Tower she feared a swift and secret execution and demanded to know whether the scaffold on which Lady Jane had been executed was still erected. Elizabeth stopped in the great hall, looked around at clerks and visitors, men and women who had business in the tower and begged to be told whether she was to be dragged to that block.

  Assured the scaffold and block were gone and she was only to be taken to a more comfortable dwelling, she cried aloud that the hundred men Bedingfield had assembled were to pre
vent any from saving her from assassination. Poor Bedingfield was appalled and pleaded with her not to accuse him of such a horrible crime. She only wept aloud and begged everyone to see that her guards, her faithful protectors, had been reft from her.

  Bedingfield was a simple man. He was bewildered by the tears and tantrums. He had been ordered to keep Elizabeth securely but that she be treated "as may be agreeable to her [the queen's] honor and her [Elizabeth's] estate and degree." Bedingfield had intended only to provide his charge with guards he felt were younger and more capable. Unaware that these particular guards had been with her since childhood and were unlikely to obey his order that she not be allowed to speak to or send letters to those she desired to see, Bedingfield recalled Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson. Elizabeth thanked him and went docilely down into the waiting barge.

  She did ask to go on deck, but Bedingfield had been warned that Elizabeth was very popular in London and that he must not allow her to show herself lest she provoke a demonstration. Her request was refused, and she accepted that rebuff quietly. But a small, secret smile curved Elizabeth's lips as the demonstrations took place anyhow. Somehow news of her progress upriver was spread; people came to the bankside to cheer the unmarked barge and the great guns of the Steelyard crashed and crashed and crashed in salute as the barge moved slowly ahead.

  The roaring of the guns of the Hanse brought out more people, who cheered and waved from the bank as the old and undecorated barge moved upriver from the Tower. There was their hope. Sweet Lady Elizabeth, who proudly said she was "mere" English, unlike Mary's flaunted pride in her half Spanish ancestry.

  Their English favorite, they muttered to one another, would not bring Spaniards to rule over them. Although Elizabeth was not allowed to show herself, the crowds increased as word of the release spread. All Bedingfield could do was not allow the barge to stop until they came to Richmond.

  However, at Richmond Elizabeth at first refused to set foot on the dock. Shrinking behind her four armed guards, she claimed that she had been warned that Imperial envoys were waiting to marry her by proxy to an unwelcome bridegroom. All the servants waiting on the wharf to welcome her heard her swear, in a high, clear voice, that she would not marry anyone and that she feared her refusal would mean that this night, "I think to die."

  If envoys had been waiting in Richmond, they certainly were not presented to Elizabeth. Nor did she die.

  The next day, her party crossed the river. Her own servants, first Thomas Parry then Dunstan, Ladbroke, and Tolliver, were waiting on the north bank to greet her. To them she sent Dickson, who was to say, loud and clear, "Tamquam ovis." Even Bedingfield's schoolboy Latin knew the phrase meant "as a sheep" and he protested aloud, before Elizabeth could say another word, that she was not being led like a sheep to the slaughter.

  Elizabeth said nothing at all, and allowed him to lead her away from her people. She had seen Master Parry's smile and slight nod. Bedingfield might interpret the phrase as it touched him most nearly, but Elizabeth knew that Parry had understood the two words quite differently.

  Thomas Parry might make mistakes in his accounts, but he made no mistake about his lady. He recognized her reference was to a favorite text she had had reason to quote in the past. "Behold," Saint Matthew's words went, "I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; be ye therefore wise as serpents, harmless as doves."

  Latin words and brief communication with her servants were the very least of Bedingfield's worries. Just what Mary had tried to prevent was taking place. The whole country seemed to turn out to greet Elizabeth. The Dormer family were intensely Catholic and it was in the Catholic Dean's house that Elizabeth was lodged that first night on the road to Woodstock. The people, however, were mostly of Protestant persuasion and they gathered by the road and on every rise of ground to catch a glimpse of and to cheer Elizabeth. Men rang the church bells as Elizabeth passed; four were put in prison for it, but not for long.

  And no matter what Bedingfield did or threatened, the progress grew more and more triumphant. Every road they traveled was lined with cheering people who proffered flowers, cakes, and other little gifts in such profusion that Elizabeth had to beg them to stop when her litter was swamped. Loyal good wishes rang out and every hillside was dense with folk who came to catch a glimpse of their English princess.

  On the last night of the journey they were guests at Lord William Howard's mansion. There Elizabeth was greeted and served with such great ceremony that Bedingfield warned her host that he was overdoing his hospitality to "one who was, after all, the queen's prisoner and no otherwise." To which Lord William remarked sharply that he was well advised of what he did and that in his house Her Grace should be merry.

  In Oxfordshire, dominated by the very conservative university, which was strongly Catholic, Bedingfield hoped that Elizabeth would be ignored or even taunted. He was disappointed. At Wheatly, Stanton St. John, Islip, and Gosford, the whole population turned out to cry "God save Your Grace." Short of sending his men to disperse the people by force, which, although he was not clever, he knew would be a disaster, there was nothing Bedingfield could do. He was enormously relieved when they arrived at Woodstock.

  The relief was short lived. The old manor was in serious disrepair. Windows were broken, slates missing from the roof, and the lead work was defective. Far worse from Bedingfield's point of view was that the manor was very large, and nearly impossible to secure. The outer court was some two hundred feet square, the inner court only a third less, and doors in plenty opened onto the inner court of which Bedingfield could find only three with locks and bars.

  That was nerve-wracking enough, almost an open invitation to violate Bedingfield's prime directive, which was to prevent Elizabeth from speaking to any suspected person or to receive or send out any message. Bedingfield knew he could establish guards to watch the courts, but he doubted how effective they could be when there were so many ways to come and go and no way to light the areas sufficiently at night.

  Far worse was that Bedingfield could see—and he was not the most perceptive of men—that Elizabeth was clearly as anxious or more anxious than he. Her face was white, her eyes burning bright, her mouth set so hard that her lips had disappeared into a thin line. She quivered with tension and barely touched the meal her servants had struggled to make ready for her. Poor Bedingfield felt certain that she was involved in some desperate plan to escape.

  If Elizabeth had been enough aware of any external tensions, she could have—and would have—set his mind at ease. However she was completely absorbed in her own inner hopes and expectations. For the first time since she had been immured in the Tower, where she was closely watched at all hours of the day and night, she could hope to be unobserved. She had no desire at all to escape, at least not in any way for which Bedingfield could be held accountable.

  Having examined Woodstock manor carefully while Elizabeth was held securely in the principal reception room, Bedingfield came to the unhappy conclusion that there was no apartment in the manor he could assign to her. Some were too decrepit, with leaking ceilings and ill-fitting windows; some, free of water stains because they were on lower floors, had so many doors and windows that they were open invitations for assault or escape.

  Bedingfield raised his eyes to heaven in silent prayer. He felt he needed all the support the saints could give him. He had already been well stung by Lady Elizabeth's displeasure, and was not looking forward to her reaction when he announced that no rooms in the manor itself were livable on such short notice, and that he had no choice but to settle her in the gatehouse until repairs and renovations could be undertaken.

  Elizabeth stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue and finally repeated, "The gatehouse? You will lodge me in the gatehouse?"

  "It is a temporary measure, Your Grace," Bedingfield said hastily, hoping to ward off Elizabeth's furious complaints. "The manor is old and has been long uninhabited. I fear that the surveyors were not completely honest in their
reports to the queen of the condition of the building. Since the gatehouse has been in use, it is in far better repair and can be made comfortable for you in a few hours."

  "The gatehouse," Elizabeth muttered.

  She looked furious, but her frown was of concentration; she was trying to remember what she had seen of the building as they passed. Two stories, of that she was sure, and surely she had seen a goodly window in that second story. That meant there were decent chambers on the second floor, not only low-roofed cubbies for servants.

  "I am sorry if you do not like it, madam," Bedingfield said, speaking firmly, "but I have no choice and it must be so. It will do no good for you to remonstrate with me. I have my orders from the queen and I must obey them."

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Her eyes fixed on him for one moment, almost yellow as gold in the early afternoon light. Then she bit her lips hard and looked down.

  It was very fortunate indeed that none of Elizabeth's long-time maids of honor were with her or some murmur or expression of warning might have been surprised out of one of them. They knew when their lady was bent on mischief. However, the unholy joy that brightened Elizabeth's eyes and made her swallow and swallow to choke down laughter were expressions that were not familiar even to Elizabeth Marberry, who had been considered loyal enough to the queen to remain as Elizabeth's attendant. The ladies that had been assigned to serve her in the Tower and to follow her into house arrest were more acquainted with rage than joy.