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Chapter 17

Rhoslyn held a missal in her lap, her eyes seemingly bent on the pages, her lips moving occasionally, as if she repeated some words to herself. It was a safe occupation in Mary's chamber and saved Rhoslyn from trying to embroider and join the gossip, which was the way most of the ladies in Mary's service spent their time.

She had been welcomed back by Lady Mary with warmth and some concern, but had assured her lady that the rest she had taken had restored her. She looked well, her hair springy and shining, her dark eyes bright, a faint color warming her olive complexion.

Llanelli had indeed restored Rhoslyn, transferring power from her own body to Rhoslyn's. When she realized what her mother had done, Rhoslyn cried out in protest, but it was too late. Llanelli was again drooping and faded, her hair no more than a white mist, her skin transparent, and her eyes clouded. But she had laughed softly and assured Rhoslyn that as she knew how to feed power to others, she knew how to draw it into herself. With that, Rhoslyn had to be satisfied, since she had no way to return what Llanelli had given her.

She had spent three mortal weeks in her own domain, renewing the energy of her constructs—although she was very careful to sense for anything unusual in the Unformed lands she used—and making the landscape around her home more gentle and beautiful. When she returned to the mortal world the worst of the winter was over and, to her unspoken pleasure, Lady Mary had stopped reading prayers for the dead.

Life had returned to its normal tempo, except that Rhoslyn detected a kind of tension under the placid exterior. The earl of Hertford was now duke of Somerset and Mary heard from her good friend—her Good Nan and Dear Gossip, Ann Stanhope, Somerset's wife—that Somerset would soon be appointed Protector officially. Mary knew that Somerset leaned toward the reformed religion, but in the past he had ignored her Catholic rites. Naturally Mary hoped he would continue to do so, but she was slightly uneasy.

Rhoslyn turned a page of the missal, her long ears cupped forward. Mary was sitting with two of her Spanish chaplains and was again lamenting to them the strongly reformist character of Somerset's Council. This was nothing new and she and the chaplains could go on for hours, pointing out to each other how the lack of a universal mass and the dismissal of good works would bring anarchy and disaster.

Rhoslyn relaxed and actually read a line or two of the missal, just in case one of the women asked what had been holding her attention. Then her head lifted, started to turn; she caught herself and uttered a small, false cough. None of the other women had yet heard anything.

In the next moment a groom of the chamber entered the room and carried a letter to Lady Mary. She lifted it high to her nearsighted eyes and her body became a little tense and alert, not as if to brace herself against a blow but as if she was puzzled. Rhoslyn heard the very faint crackle as the wax of a seal was broken and the rustle as heavy parchment was unfolded.

A few minutes later she heard Mary gasp and exclaim softly with dismay, "How dare he!"

Rhoslyn laid the missal down in her lap and looked toward Lady Mary. She allowed a look of concern to wrinkle her brow, but did not rise and go to her. Rhoslyn was liked and trusted by Lady Mary but not quite as much as long-time and confidential servants like Jane Dormer, Eleanor Kempe, or Susan Clarencieux. Jane Dormer and Eleanor Kempe were not in the chamber. It was Lady Susan who put aside her embroidery, rose, and hurried to her mistress.

"What is wrong, my lady?"

"This!" Mary thrust the now crumpled parchment toward her lady but did not release it. "This letter is an abomination! How dare he?" She signed for the chaplains to leave.

"Who, madam?" Susan urged, as the two men bowed and went out. "Who has insulted you? I am sure that His Grace of Somerset would put a quick end to any offense against you."

"From his own brother?" Mary cried. And a moment later because she was a fair and honest person, "He did not insult me, precisely." Then color rose in her cheeks. "What he asks is an insult to honor and propriety. He has the—the effrontery to ask me to write in his favor to the dowager queen."

Susan looked puzzled. "Write in his favor to Queen Catherine? His favor for what purpose?"

Mary stood up, crushing the letter further between her hands. "He wants to marry her! My father is not two months dead and Thomas Seymour has the gall to ask me to urge Queen Catherine to forget who her husband was and marry this—this no one from a family created noble only because their sister was fecund."

"It is a disgusting presumption," Lady Susan agreed, breathing quick with her anger. "Write and tell him so."

Since none of the voices had been lowered, Rhoslyn could assume there was no secret in the matter. She rose, set aside her book and came toward Susan and Lady Mary, who had just raised a hand to summon a servant.

"Forgive me," Rhoslyn said softly, "but I could not help but hear. I agree, of course, with everything both of you have said, but I beg you, my lady, do not answer yet. You are overset. To reply so soon is to grant too much importance to this upstart. Let him wait on your answer. What he asks is almost comical—would be comical if his brother were not likely to be the ruler of this realm."

For a moment Mary looked as if she would push by Rhoslyn but fortunately Jane Dormer and Eleanor Kempe came in. Both saw at once that Lady Mary was greatly disturbed and they hurried forward at her gesture. They were informed by Mary in a furious voice of Seymour's letter. Jane and Eleanor asked at once if they would be permitted to read the letter lest Seymour's poor writing (not, of course, Mary's faulty vision) might have made some words seem what they were not.

"It is outrageous, yes," Eleanor Kempe said, smoothing the parchment and folding it neatly, "but to refuse too quickly or with insult, my lady, might enrage Seymour and draw Somerset's attention to us."

Mary had calmed somewhat. "Surely Somerset cannot know of this," she said. "Surely he cannot desire his brother to gain so rich a prize both in Queen Catherine's wealth and in the love of the people for her."

"There might be reasons for Somerset's approval," Jane Dormer said thoughtfully. "Could he hope the young king, who loves Queen Catherine dearly, would be angered and repulsed by her marrying again before King Henry was cold in his grave? And the queen's casting off her mourning so swiftly might also turn the people away from her. Moreover the use of Queen Catherine's purse might reduce Seymour's demands on Somerset for more lands and appointments."

Mary peered from one face to another. "I do not know. I suppose it is possible." She hesitated and then added, "Rosamund agrees with Eleanor that I should not answer him at once and not say openly how disgusting I find his proposal."

"Mistress Rosamund is wise in this." Eleanor Kempe nodded. "He writes with such foolish certainty, as if merely to ask you to do something would oblige you to obey. And Jane's notions must be considered. Wait a few days, as if taking advice before you answer. I feel, like you, that Somerset is not likely to favor a marriage between Queen Catherine and his brother. Waiting cannot hurt."

"There is an aspect of this that none of us have considered, my lady," Jane Dormer said, looking anxious. "The letter says he has already asked the queen to be his wife. Does this not mean that he has been at Chelsea often? I mean, one does not come on one visit to a lady like Queen Catherine and say you wish to marry her."

Everyone looked at Jane, and she shrugged. "One must woo such a lady at length. That means that Lady Elizabeth has also been in Seymour's company. Should you not discover if you can what is happening and if Seymour is too often there, write to your sister and offer her a refuge? It might be that Lady Elizabeth finds her position awkward. It might even be that Queen Catherine would be glad to be rid of her."

Rhoslyn blinked. Jane Dormer was the youngest of Queen Mary's ladies, little more than a girl, but she was clever and as passionately devoted to the Catholic rite as Mary herself. Rhoslyn wondered whether Jane was as worried about contamination by Seymour as she was about contamination by Queen Catherine's reformist leanings.

Doubtless Jane meant well in wishing to bring Elizabeth under Mary's influence. She would think of it as saving Elizabeth's soul. But it would be terribly dangerous. Rhoslyn did not think it possible that Elizabeth would eagerly espouse the Catholic rite, which did not matter, but the girl was only fourteen. Far too likely, she would not dissemble and show Mary that she could not be bent in that direction.

The FarSeers' scrying pool showed as one possible future that Mary did come to the throne. In that case, Elizabeth would be killed. Mary would not allow her heir to favor the reform religion and reject the authority of the pope. If Mary had Elizabeth executed, the burgeoning life, the beauty, the richness that Elizabeth's reign might bring to England would never happen.

A discussion about the pros and cons of inviting Elizabeth to join the household went on around Rhoslyn, but she could think of nothing to say. To oppose the idea without compelling reason would not help Elizabeth and might damage her own position with Mary, which, if Elizabeth came into Mary's household, would be more essential than ever. The sound of her mortal name drew her attention.

"Rosamund," Mary said, "you know one of Elizabeth's ladies, Lady . . . ah . . . Alana. The one who dresses so well that one cannot see what she looks like."

"I cannot say I know her, my lady. We were thrown together when Lady Elizabeth came to speak to you but you were too unwell. It was some years ago and Lady Elizabeth wanted permission to walk in your private garden. I took it upon myself to say I knew you would be willing, but I went with them—Lady Elizabeth was attended by Lady Alana—to be sure Lady Elizabeth had no mischief in mind. She felt at that time, that Edward preferred you and I feared was jealous."

Mary frowned. "But you have spoken to Lady Alana since then, have you not?"

"Oh, yes, whenever our paths cross. She is a most civil individual and always greets me and asks how you do. In fact, I met her in London when I was there to see my physician. She had taken a brief leave of absence from her duties to Lady Elizabeth while they moved from Enfield to Chelsea and was staying with Lord Denno, a wealthy merchant."

"A merchant!" Susan Clarencieux was shocked.

Rhoslyn smiled. "He is rich as Croesus and quite a favorite with Mistress Ashley, Lady Elizabeth's governess."

"Perhaps another reason for Lady Elizabeth to live here with our lady," Jane said. "I think Mistress Ashley is not careful enough of her charge and should be overseen."

"How does a merchant come to call himself Lord Denno?" Mary asked, frowning.

"As I heard it, rightfully enough," Rhoslyn replied. "It is not an English title, of course. Before the Turks overran Hungary, his family was of the royal line there. The lands are poor and unprofitable in Hungary and so most of the nobility were merchants of one kind or another."

Mary was still frowning. "How does Lady Alana, a maid of honor to Lady Elizabeth, come to live in a merchant's house? Can she afford no better lodging?"

"She can afford what she likes. Her clothes and jewels are lavish. You know, madam, that my brother is most generous to me, but I could not match her spending. As to her staying with Lord Denno . . . It is for comfort, I believe, for a house always ready, for well-trained servants that she need not oversee. Moreover she and Lord Denno are distant—very distant—relations, and call each other 'cousin.' I think her great-grandmother, or perhaps her great-great-grandmother, married some ancestor of his. They also know each other from her service to Lady Elizabeth and his frequent visits there."

Mary had cocked her head to the side quizzically and her brows were up. The other three ladies were staring at Rhoslyn in some surprise.

"For someone who does not know Lady Alana," Mary said, "you seem to know a great deal about her."

"Oh," Rhoslyn said and looked down at her toes. "When I first arrived in London, I was so weak and so bored—"

"London? Why did you not go to your brother's house where you would be carefully tended?" Eleanor Kempe's voice was flat.

"Let my brother see me ill?" Rhoslyn rounded her eyes in pretended horror. "Never! It might kill him. Certainly it would bring on a most severe attack of his nervous condition. I am all he has. He must not know I also have my troubles. He must never fear he will be left alone."

"But surely if you stay at your brother's house in London the servants must gossip to those in his country seat."

"I stay at the Golden Bull in London. My brother sold his house there when it became clear that he could not endure the city."

"Ladies." Mary held up a hand and her quiet voice quelled all other questions. "I know all about Rosamund, but not how she came to know so much about Lady Alana."

Rhoslyn smiled. When she first came to serve Mary, she had inserted into Mary's mind a whole history for Rosamund Scott and impressed upon her that all this must be kept secret because both Rosamund and her brother were very sensitive about his illness, which some could call madness. Mary thought she knew all about Rosamund and would protect her from too much curiosity from her other ladies.

"I could not do much when I first came to London," Rhoslyn admitted, "but I wished to find something for you, my lady, a token of thanks for your kindness to me. Since I could not shop from merchant to merchant, the landlord of the Bull suggested I go to Adjoran, Mercer and Factor. It was not far. I could be carried there by litter. It was not a shop either, so noisy and exhausting, but Lord Denno's home where his man of business showed me samples he had in the house. I found that black lace shawl—" Rhoslyn laughed softly. "It was so lovely I near to nothing kept it for myself."

"It is lovely," Mary said, smiling. "I felt quite guilty when I took it and saw your eyes linger on it."

"Oh, no. It was always meant for you, my lady, but the pattern is quite enchanting. However, Lady Alana came in just as I was looking at it closely and startled me so that I had another pain in my chest and came over faint. Lady Alana saw me to my rooms. She did not wish to leave me to the mercy of the inn servants—although really they are very good and attentive—and she stayed until I was recovered. She came again, the next day, bringing the shawl and . . . and bless her, she does talk."

"Does she?" Mary sounded quite interested. "Could you find some excuse—Chelsea is very close to London—to invite Lady Alana to dinner or for some other small entertainment, now that you are well and strong again, to give thanks for her kind care of you?"

Rhoslyn only allowed herself to look surprised although she was utterly delighted. She had been wondering how she could get leave again to warn Aleneil about Mary's intention of asking Elizabeth to live with her.

"I suppose I could. It was very good of her."

Mary nodded. "Yes, it was. And I am sure when you seek a subject of conversation, since she has already told you all about herself, it would be natural for you to ask about Queen Catherine's household."

"Ah!" Rhoslyn widened her eyes into an expression of enlightenment. "Yes, of course. Likely Lord Denno's man of business will know how to reach Lady Alana."

"Exactly," Mary said. "And it would also seem natural that you would be very interested to hear all about Lady Elizabeth, how she is overseen, what she does, who serves as chaplain in the household, and . . . how much time she spends in Thomas Seymour's company."

 

Joseph Clayborne made no difficulty about sending a messenger with a note for Aleneil to Chelsea, and that very night Rhoslyn met Aleneil in the Inn of Kindly Laughter.

"Mary isn't the only one worried about Elizabeth," Aleneil said, after Rhoslyn had told her about Seymour's letter and Mary's reaction. In turn, she described Seymour's clandestine courtship. Sighing, she added, "And it is very exciting for Elizabeth. She is just at that age when mortal girls begin to dream about men. She is just burning with curiosity. I fear she will be casting her eyes on any man she finds attractive."

"She mustn't," Rhoslyn said. "There must be no scandal. Mary cannot decide what she feels about Elizabeth. She hates her still because she is Anne Boleyn's daughter, but she remembers tenderly the little girl who ran to her with love and joy. She remembers the baby kisses with which her little gifts were received because then Elizabeth had nothing. Other times she thinks of the too-clever girl who welcomed all the questions about the Catholic rite posed by the reformers and for whom little King Edward has a stronger affection and more respect than he has for her. If she could do that girl an injury she would."

Aleneil sighed. "And there was that stupid business about Elizabeth meeting a man in the garden at Hampton Court. Nothing was proved because the man was Harry FitzRoy and he had an amulet with the Don't-see-me spell. But still Mary made a huge fuss, and then no one would believe her and nothing came of it. Doubtless that rankles."

"Gentle Mother, if any scandal should remind Mary of that! She still speaks of it and is convinced that Elizabeth is as promiscuous as her mother—"

"Who was not promiscuous at all!" Aleneil said sharply. "Only Henry, because he needed to be rid of Anne, and Mary because she wanted to believe it, ever thought Anne was promiscuous."

"That may be true, but the memory that remains of Anne is that she was a whore. Any whisper of Elizabeth and a man and Mary will believe it fact, and Mary has a direct line to Somerset through his wife to whom she writes as Dearest Nan and my Good Gossip. Almost, it would be better for Elizabeth to accept the invitation to live with Mary—"

"No. That would be a catastrophe, and not only because of the religious problems. Although ordinarily Elizabeth is very cautious about Mary, and I think she would really return Mary's love if it were proffered, she already knows she has Catherine's love. She is very happy living with Catherine. It is a merry, lively household. To force Elizabeth into Mary's dismal care would only make Elizabeth so resentful that she might lose all her caution in her attempts to free herself. And Elizabeth can have a tongue like a honed dagger."

Rhoslyn bit her lip, then said, "Yes. I can see that Elizabeth living with Mary is impossible. When I report to Mary, I will do my best to make Catherine's household sound unexceptional; however, because of Seymour, whatever I say, Mary will invite Elizabeth to come to her. Make sure Elizabeth's refusal is very gentle."

"That presents no problem. Elizabeth will be grateful for Mary's care, and will say so. She will doubtless also say her obligations to Catherine are too great for her to leave."

"But you still have the other problem, that of Seymour's behavior with Catherine awakening Elizabeth's body. Someone must satisfy that need in sufficient secret that there is no chance of discovery—" Rhoslyn's voice checked abruptly and she frowned. "Sidhe," she said. "A Sidhe could never be caught with her because he could vanish in an instant." Then she uttered a low laugh. "And we have a Sidhe ready to hand who can endure the iron of the mortal world and who is already intimate with the household . . . Denoriel."

Aleneil drew in a sharp breath. "But Denoriel thinks of Elizabeth as a little girl. And likely Elizabeth thinks of him as a rich old uncle. Both would be horrified by the thought of sex between them."

"Are you so sure?" Rhoslyn asked. "What Pasgen told me about Elizabeth's confrontation with Oberon over Denoriel seemed to me more . . . ah . . . intense than feelings for an old uncle. 'My Denno' Pasgen said she called him, and threatened to close the mortal world to Sidhe if she were deprived of him. And as for Denoriel's feelings, once his conscience is soothed, he will be happy enough to have a fresh, young lover."

Aleneil sat silent thinking back over Elizabeth's behavior to Denoriel. She did flirt with him. The way she looked up at him under her lashes, all the bickering that only led up to her sweetest smiles even when he did not yield to her will. And Denoriel . . . hmmm. Recently Denoriel seemed to feel some constraint about being in Elizabeth's company, especially since her figure had begun to form.

"I will see what I can do," Aleneil said.

 

However, it turned out that at first there was very little Aleneil could do about inducing Denoriel to make love to Elizabeth. Denoriel was not to be found. He, Harry, and half the residents of Elfhame Elder-Elf had disappeared into the terrifying precincts of Alhambra.

On the other hand, Lady Alana had made decisive strides in calming Elizabeth. The expeditions to watch avidly while Seymour caressed Catherine were at an end. Closeted alone with Elizabeth, Lady Alana had made clear the impropriety of what Elizabeth had done. Crude and vulgar were not words ordinarily applied to Elizabeth, but Lady Alana applied them now and said how shocked she was to find Elizabeth spying on a woman who had done so much for her and was herself doing no wrong.

Lady Alana rehearsed the same arguments Lord Denno had provided. The tale of Catherine's long dutiful behavior as wife to aged and unlovable men; her right to seize, while she still could, some joy and the chance of motherhood. Elizabeth readily agreed; she had overcome her jealousy on her father's behalf.

To make more certain that Elizabeth would see Seymour as Catherine's "reward" for duty nobly done, Lady Alana pointed out that King Henry was dead; he could not feel betrayed. Had he not set restrictions on Elizabeth's marriage and Mary's and set none on Catherine's? Was that not almost permission for her to take a younger, more appealing husband?

Finally, Lady Alana pointed out, if Elizabeth were caught, what would Queen Catherine feel? Would she not believe she had been betrayed by a person to whom she had always offered kindness? Might she not send Elizabeth away?

Curbed so sharply by one who had always been supportive, Elizabeth agreed she would watch no longer. And just in time it seemed, for Dunstan, fearing an adverse reaction from Elizabeth to news of Catherine being courted, reported to Lady Alana that rumors were rife among the servants about the dowager queen's late night excursions and her meetings with a man. Doubtless Catherine's maids had noticed her absences and murmured to others. This one and that one had bumped into each other lurking in the kitchen garden. The gossip was that Seymour had won his point. There would be no two-year wait for marriage.

The delay did not even last two months. Sometime late in April, Thomas Seymour and Catherine were secretly married. The truth was not kept secret from Elizabeth; it came from Catherine herself, stiff with anxiety. But Elizabeth only kissed her and wished her well. Elizabeth was sworn to silence, Catherine confessing that she feared the Lord Protector would not be pleased and that she wished to gain the king's consent before the marriage was made public.

Elizabeth kept her word to Catherine, not mentioning the wedding even to Lady Alana. However in quiet times, as she embroidered or practiced on her virginal, the scenes in the garden came back to her and her eyes glistened as she thought about Seymour's caresses now free to wander all over Catherine's body. At those times Elizabeth would look up from her work or her music and ask Lady Alana where Lord Denno was and why he had not been near her in almost a month.

On a voyage, Lady Alana said, but Elizabeth caught the concern in the cat-pupilled bright green eyes she saw under the thin-lashed, mud-colored illusion. Her Denno was doing something dangerous, she guessed. There was no way that she could ask what it was, and when she said sharply that Lady Alana should send him a message, she was answered not in Lady Alana's coo but in Aleneil's sharper tone that she had already done so.

Elizabeth was frightened. She knew she did not need Denno. She was busy and happy, pleased with her new tutor, Master Grindal, enchanted by Catherine's glowing joy, free to ride out even into London with her guards and grooms, not even pressed for money because Catherine covered many of her expenses.

Still, there was a large hole inside of her. If she did not need Denno, Elizabeth acknowledged that she wanted him, wanted his firm, warm hand holding hers, the sound of his voice—even opposing her will—the brush of his warm lips against her hand and once or twice against her cheek. Why had she never turned her face so that their lips met? Would she know then what made Catherine sigh and glow as if lit from within?

 

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