Unfortunately despite the confusion and other business involved in rounding up and imprisoning stray rebels, Mary and her Council had not forgotten Elizabeth. Only two days later, on the tenth of February, Dr. Thomas Wendy and Dr. George Owen arrived with a letter from the queen insisting on her coming to London to explain her relations with Wyatt and the French ambassador.
The doctors arrived late in the afternoon. Kat shook her head when they asked to see Elizabeth.
"She is asleep, poor child. I beg you not to disturb her."
Dr. Owen looked coldly at Mistress Ashley. He and his companion had been told that she was entirely devoted to Lady Elizabeth, and he and Dr. Wendy had strict instructions. Unless Lady Elizabeth were truly at death's door and would not survive being carried from her bed, she was to be judged well enough to travel. But when Blanche was summoned to wake her mistress and make her ready for the doctors, they met their match in determination and more than their match in outspokenness.
Blanche looked into their faces with eyes brilliant with rage and said, "No! If you were the queen herself I would not wake her. She did not sleep at all last night and has barely drifted off. If you want to pass that door, you will need to walk over my dead body. Doctors! Assassins more likely, to wake a sick child and frighten her to death."
Both Wendy and Owen were much taken aback by the maid's vehemence and even more taken aback when Blanche turned her back on them, stamped into Elizabeth's bedchamber, and, a moment later, they heard the key turn in the lock.
"You must forgive her," Kat said. "Blanche has been with Lady Elizabeth since she was born and she is deeply worried about this illness. I am also. It is rare for Lady Elizabeth to be so weak she is bedridden for so long."
The doctors consulted each other in swift glances. Orders or no orders, actually they could accomplish nothing by insisting on examining Elizabeth immediately. Both of them were tired and it was near dark. Even if they found her in excellent health, it would be impossible to start for London at once. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to examine her. Agreed, they allowed Mistress Ashley to lead them from Elizabeth's reception room and to the guest chambers prepared for them.
The air spirit Elizabeth dispatched to bring Denoriel to her was in so great a ferment, reflecting her terror, that it could not make clear what emergency was toward. Frantic with anxiety, Denoriel Gated to Ashridge, learned of the arrival of Doctors Owen and Wendy carrying Mary's letter demanding Elizabeth come to London from Blanche, and Gated Underhill to find Mwynwen. Although she frowned and shuddered when he asked her to come to the mortal world to make Elizabeth look ill, and she asked if he could not bring Elizabeth to her, eventually Mwynwen consented to Gate with him to Ashridge.
By three of the clock past midnight, a profound silence lay over Elizabeth's apartment. Tonight no lady slept in the truckle bed. All had heard Blanche lock the door and no one was prepared to scratch on it to ask admittance. Silent and tense, Blanche sat beside Elizabeth on the edge of her big bed where they had been waiting for hours. Both sighed in relief as a black spot formed on the wall and slowly enlarged to show the cool greens and blues of Mwynwyn's entrance hall. Denoriel stepped through with Mwynwen on his heels, but he whirled to point at the door and the wall that separated the bedchamber from the reception room. It should be empty, but Denoriel would take no chance on being overheard, though spellcasting drained him.
"Prizivati cutanje," he murmured, invoking silence. No sound made in Elizabeth's bedchamber would pass out of it.
Elizabeth slipped off her bed, stepped down two steps, and curtsied to the Sidhe healer. "I am so grateful to you, Lady Mwynwyn for coming to me. I was afraid to go to you. If I were found to be missing from my chamber, I would be accounted guilty of heaven alone knows what crime."
Mwynwyn's expression softened slightly. "Why do you need to appear ill, and for how long?"
So Elizabeth explained about the rebellion and Mary's rage and the fact that her rages did not last long. "If I am brought before her now, she will cry 'Off with her head,' and then later her ministers and the ambassador from the land that nourishes the Inquisition will hold her to that word and I will die. If I can—"
"Those lunatics who destroyed Alhambra?" Mwynwen interrupted angrily.
"Yes, Lady Mwynwen. The priests of the Inquisition seeing the impossible beauty of that wonderful place cursed it and 'exorcised' it, staining it with Evil."
Denoriel looked at Elizabeth with a mixture of admiration and exasperation. He had no doubt that she was really terrified, but her fear did not paralyze her. Her mind moved just as swiftly, just as subtly. She had remembered something Harry told her about Mwynwen and had used that knowledge to build sympathy for herself.
"We must not let that happen here!" Mwynwen said.
"No, indeed," Elizabeth replied. "And if I come to the throne, I assure you there will be no Inquisition in England and no witch hunts against—" she glanced at Denoriel, unable to say the word Sidhe "—my special friends. But to come to the throne, I must survive and, alas, my sister believes she has reason to distrust me. She has sent two physicians to examine me because she believes I am lying to avoid her and I am not really ill."
"And so you are not," Mwynwen said, smiling faintly. "But you will be—and for all the world to see. By tomorrow you will be slightly, only slightly, fevered and have a cough and your heart will beat too fast. By midmorning, you will begin to swell—"
"Not my belly," Elizabeth interrupted anxiously. "If my belly is swollen, everyone will say I am with child by some common lover. Mary says always that I am a whore."
"Ah . . ." Mwynwen thought a moment and then murmured and began to run her fingers over Elizabeth's face and arms and legs. "Your belly will be flat as a charger, but your face and limbs will be swollen—tomorrow noticeably and the next day badly. The swelling will last, oh, two mortal weeks or so and then will diminish."
"Thank you, my lady," Elizabeth said, curtsying again.
Mwynwen nodded, stared at her penetratingly, nodded again, and turned toward the Gate without a word of farewell. Denoriel stepped closer, gestured at it, and Mwynwen stepped through. The Gate closed behind her. Denoriel stepped back, reaching out with one hand, and drew Elizabeth into his arms. Blanche slipped out of the chamber into her own room and closed the door.
"You are warm already," Denoriel said clutching her tighter. "Do not allow those idiot doctors to bleed you. And do not take their potions and remedies. They will surely poison you."
Elizabeth laughed shakily. "That is not why I am warm, beloved. I . . . You had better not come to me in the palace. I may be held there long . . ."
She slid her arms up and around his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him. "God knows when I will see you again . . . not that I wish to see you while I am all swollen and horrible. Do not you dare come near me when I look a fright."
"You never look a fright to me," he murmured against her lips. "Now and forever you are my red-haired witch with a soul that is pure enchantment."
No matter that Elizabeth truly appeared sick, when Doctors Wendy and Owen came at midmorning to examine her, they both remembered vividly their interview with Chancellor Gardiner. Their lucrative positions as Court physicians depended on finding Elizabeth well enough to travel. But both knew she was too warm to the touch, with a nasty, dry cough, and signs of swelling in the thickness of her fingers. Everyone knew Elizabeth's beautiful hands with their long, thin, graceful fingers.
Nonetheless both agreed aloud, speaking to each other, that Lady Elizabeth's heart was strong and the fever insignificant. Neither recommended bleeding; she could not lift her head from her pillows and bleeding would only make her weaker. Both, feeling decidedly uneasy, stated that she was strong enough to travel without serious danger to her health.
"Murderers!" Blanche spat, loud enough for all the ladies in the chamber to hear. "You are not doctors. You are assassins! Who sent you to kill my lady? Not her sister. Not the queen. Queen Mary loves Lady Elizabeth, that I know."
"Be silent!" Dr. Owen roared, the force of his voice increased by his sense of guilt. After all, it was not the queen but the chancellor who had given them their instructions.
A long thin knife suddenly appeared in Blanche's hand. The honed steel flashed, but by their positions, Owen realized he was the only one who saw the threat. He backed away as Blanche moved closer to him and said softly, "You will kill my lady. I will not outlive her . . . But if you try to move her from that bed, neither will you!"
"Blanche," Elizabeth whispered. "I am willing to go, really I am." She made a feeble, abortive effort to lift herself from the pillows that supported her but fell back, her breathing loud and rasping.
All the women in the chamber were weeping loudly. The two guardsmen by the door both had their hands on their swords. The doctors looked around uneasily and again consulted each other silently. Even Mary's woman, Eleanor Gage, looked horrified.
"This is a ridiculous and hysterical assertion by an ignorant maid," Dr. Wendy said, trying to make his voice firm and confident. "Lady Elizabeth is only distressed by the terrible events. I have with me a most excellent strengthening restorative. I am sure that Lady Elizabeth will be much recovered by tomorrow. Perhaps our examination tired her today, but we must leave for London tomorrow."
He opened the bag he had closed after Elizabeth's examination and removed from it a stoppered flask, which he handed to Blanche. The knife had disappeared and Blanche dropped a stiff curtsey as he told her how to administer the restorative.
The contents of the flask, harmful or helpful, joined the contents of Elizabeth's close stool very soon after the doctors and the ladies who were their witnesses—and how Owen and Wendy wished there had been none—left Elizabeth's chamber. The flask itself, tucked into the bosom of Blanche's gown, was refilled with some good wine mixed with a little brandy and the "restorative" was administered just as Dr. Wendy had recommended.
It had no effect on Elizabeth. The next day both doctors were visibly alarmed over her swollen limbs, but both agreed that what troubled her was merely an excess of watery humors and that moving in the very luxurious litter that Queen Mary had sent would not be dangerous. Her kidneys would right themselves whether she lay in bed or was carried carefully in the litter.
Moreover that evening a delegation from the queen herself arrived. Blanche, who was beginning to worry about Elizabeth's weakness even though she had been present when Mwynwen bespelled her, wondered if she should have used the true restorative. However, when Elizabeth learned who had come from her sister, her eyes brightened. All of the men, Lord William Howard (a hero in the fight against Wyatt and Elizabeth's maternal great uncle), Sir Edward Hastings, and Sir Thomas Cornwallis, were fond of her.
They were all horrified by her appearance; the swelling had distorted her long, thin face out of all proportion, turning her eyes to mere slits, and her arms and legs were so distended that they were hard to bend. Nonetheless, as Lord William whispered to her while bent over her bed, holding her dropsical hand, she must be prepared to start for London the next day. It would be far safer to be seen to be making an effort to obey the queen than to lie abed. She would not be pressed to travel farther than was comfortable for her each day.
The queen's commissioners redeemed that promise. The cortege took a full twelve days to travel the short distance from Ashridge to London. Most of the time, Elizabeth lay still, seeming scarcely to breathe, but on the last day of the journey she bade Blanche dress her in a simple white silk gown. There were no ruches, no pleats, no gathers to conceal any part of her figure. The gown barely swelled over her small, high breasts and lay flat as a game board over her sunken belly.
When they started out, Elizabeth ordered that the curtains of the litter be pulled back so that she would be completely exposed. She was not disappointed. Sir Edward's men had announced her coming in every ale house and tavern and cookshop and the people of London rushed out to see the "mere-English" heir to the throne. Elizabeth did not wave and smile as was her custom; she let the people see that she was ill but still an obedient subject, rising from a sickbed to obey her queen.
Several times her escort urged her to cover herself, fearing the effect of the February cold on her fevered body, but she would not. She only shook her head and set her teeth, as if determined to endure, but actually Denoriel had given her a charm that kept a cozy warmth around her body under the shield that she had called. Nonetheless, she shivered convulsively—not from the cold but from the sight of so many, many gallows, heads displayed on the great gates and dismembered corpses hanging from the walls.
Elizabeth did not weep for them. They were fools and had deserved their fate. A far greater sin to her than which rite was used to worship Christ was rebellion against the anointed queen. She shivered because she knew Mary was a bad queen and a fool and that she had caused the rebellion by her stubborn stupidity; she shivered because she wished her sister dead so that she could heal her country's wounds and make the people cheerfully obedient.
As well as she could Elizabeth had ensured that every soul in London and its environs who took the trouble to come was able to see that she was alive, if not well, and certainly not carrying any child. That was some comfort to Elizabeth and she needed comfort that day.
Perhaps the only reason Mary did not shout "off with her head" at Elizabeth was because she refused to see her. That she was already convicted in Mary's mind was made all too plain. Most of her household was separated from her, her faithful guards and her own ladies, and she was carried to an area in Whitehall palace she had never seen before. She was clearly more prisoner than guest. Nonetheless Elizabeth begged her escort to present a humble plea to be received by the queen, only to be told that Mary had been angered by her presumption in asking for an audience.
Wearily, rehearsing in her mind what she could say to convince any questioner of her innocence, Elizabeth told Blanche to make her ready for bed. But she was not to be left in peace to seek that haven. Before her diminished household could even settle themselves into the cold and empty chambers that had been assigned to them, Chancellor Gardiner and half a dozen clerks entered her inner chamber without announcement or ceremony. The clerks hung back, but Gardiner himself strode up to the chair in which Elizabeth was sitting by the struggling fire.
Without greeting, he said, "You will be received by the queen and judged most mercifully if you freely confess your guilt."
Kat, who had hurried to Elizabeth's side when she saw Gardiner enter, gasped. The chancellor stared at her and said, "Please allow Her Grace to answer for herself, Mistress Ashley."
Elizabeth looked up at him. Although her heart leapt and stuttered within her breast and chills of fear ran icily over her skin, her expression showed only a proud disdain.
"When I was a little girl," she said, faintly but clearly, "I stole some comfits from my elder sister's pocket." A small smile now trembled on Elizabeth's lips. "A little later, Mary reached into her pocket and I, conscious of the evil I had done and fearing my sister, who had always been so kind and loving, would be angry and withdraw her love from me, rushed to her and, embracing her knees, confessed my crime. And Mary, though she told me stealing was very wrong and hoped I would do so no more, lifted me in her arms and kissed me and forgave me. Thus, I know what you say is true, that if I confessed to the queen she would be merciful. Only, I have stolen no comfits, nor have I, since my sister became queen, done any wrong worth confessing."
"You do not consider encouraging an armed rebellion worth confessing?"
"My lord!" Kat protested.
Gardiner gestured one of the clerks forward. "Lead Mistress Ashley away as she will not be silent."
"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed, trying to struggle to her feet and falling back weakly. "I will not be alone in a chamber with all of you men. I have been accused of immorality too often when I was totally innocent. Kat, do not leave me!"
As soon as she understood what Elizabeth wanted, Kat slapped the young clerk's face sharply, wrenched herself free, and ran back to Elizabeth's side where she gripped the chair firmly so it would take considerable force to remove her.
"I will not leave my lady," she cried, "and I still have a few friends in this Court. Somehow, some way, the queen will hear of how you tried to expose her sister to shame."
Gardiner first gaped with astonishment and then choked on a horrified protest. His face turned a deep and ugly red. Although he was sure the queen would not suspect him of impropriety with Lady Elizabeth, she would be very angry if Kat Ashley complained to the Court that he had forced her out so he could be alone with Elizabeth. The queen was already angry with him because he had vehemently opposed the Spanish marriage, trying to convince Mary to marry Courtenay. He needed no more irritation.
"I am a bishop," he snarled, "chaste and celibate by the laws of the Church. How dare you suggest such a thing! Lady Elizabeth, I am shocked that you should think so ill of me."
"And I am shocked," Elizabeth said, even more faintly, seeming to hold herself upright by will alone, "that you should come without invitation into my private chamber and accuse me of horrible crimes when I am sick and dizzy, exhausted from being forced to travel while I am ill, fevered and swollen."
There was a moment of charged silence. Gardiner was furious. Of course it had been his intention to catch Elizabeth while she was weak and confused. He had intended to frighten her with assertions that others had confessed her guilt, but he had not expected her boldly to state that purpose aloud. The red which had faded somewhat from his complexion darkened again. Elizabeth sagged pitiably in her chair and Kat let go of the chair with one hand to help her support herself.
"I am a very busy man," Gardiner said, speaking more gently now. "I came when I had time. I wished only to make all easy for you. A confession of your knowledge and approval of Wyatt's act is all that is necessary to relieve you of all further importunity."
A small gasp of laughter shook Elizabeth and she said, "And of my head, too." Before Gardiner could utter a protest, she obviously made an enormous effort, straightened herself, and said loudly, "No! I never spoke a word to Sir Thomas Wyatt in my life. I never wrote to him. I never sent him any message. I knew nothing of his mad and heinous plan and no inducement, not the certainty of heaven, could have made me approve it. I deny any knowledge of it. I repudiate Wyatt and all he stands for. I am now and always have been Queen Mary's most loving and loyal subject."
Behind Gardiner Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the clerks stirring uneasily. She knew Gardiner had brought them to write down what she said, to take down any confession she made so that if she later wished to deny it there would be evidence. They were not sure what to do now, she thought, and not too eager to be in her chamber any longer. If the rebellion had succeeded, after all, it was this lady who would be queen.
Gardiner's face showed his chagrin over Elizabeth's strong denial for a moment, and then he said, "A most bold statement and one, of course, that I wish were true, but we have evidence it is a lie. Wyatt himself says that he wrote twice to you."
"Under torture," Elizabeth sneered, although her voice was fading, "a man will say whatever he thinks the torturer desires to hear." Her eyes closed. "It may even be that Sir Thomas told the truth and such letters were sent." She forced her eyes open. "If so, I did not receive them. Since I moved to Ashridge, I have accepted only letters from Her Majesty and from the Council."
"The truth of that statement can be easily determined," Gardiner said, his tone threatening.
Elizabeth nodded feebly, her eyes closing again. "By all means," she whispered. "You are free to question all of my people. Indeed, my lord, I have nothing to hide and the more you ask the more my innocence will be apparent."
One of the clerks came forward and whispered in Gardiner's ear. He shook his head, but it was apparent that he would get nothing from Elizabeth, who had resisted his attempt at surprise. His own clerks were growing uneasy at his seeming cruelty to her. Gardiner himself suspected that she was not nearly so ill or weak as she pretended; however, since his surprise attack had failed, he would need to try again in other ways.
Mary had refused to see Elizabeth, and Rhoslyn whispered into her mind that was a wise decision. She hinted silently that leaving Elizabeth alone, ignoring her, would make her more and more uneasy. With that notion she included a sense of loneliness and a very brief flash of Mary's own loneliness in the past which had been somewhat assuaged by Elizabeth's joy in her company. But she did not push those memories.
Harry had warned her that in Mary's present mood what the memories of Elizabeth's childhood could call up was a resentment of how the loving child had changed. Rhoslyn greatly admired Harry's ability to read the queen at second hand through her descriptions. In fact, she admired Harry for many things. True, he was only a mortal, but living Underhill would preserve him for many years. True, he was not at all beautiful, as were all Sidhe. But that was all to the good.
He was different. She did not feel as if he were her brother when he took her hand. His common mortal face was so open, so bright with thought and interest. He was soft and gentle and loving, but he was also courageous, a most deadly fighter. And he knew the intricacies and deceptions of the human Court as she, who had lived with Mary for so many mortal years did not.
Poor Mary, Rhoslyn thought sadly, she did not understand the Court either. She was blown this way and that by one opinion and then another, only trusting in the one opinion, that of the Imperial ambassador, whom all England hated. She was far too ready to grant her ladies favors, and they were taking bribes to appeal to her. Mary did suspect that. Rhoslyn's importance had been enhanced because she never asked a favor. Rhoslyn sighed. There was no favor Mary could grant her. What Rhoslyn wanted was a home of her own, a place she could invite Harry to share with her, and that could not be in the mortal world.
At least what she had to slide into Mary's mind now was a thought the queen would welcome with joy. Harry had advised her that Elizabeth faced a danger almost as dreadful as execution. Some of the councilors, those most strongly of the Catholic persuasion, had suggested Elizabeth be removed as a focal point of reformist rebellion by marrying her to a Catholic nonentity. Rhoslyn had understood the danger and now she followed Harry's suggestion that Mary's thought should be directed to her own forthcoming happiness as a married woman and that Elizabeth should be punished by being deprived of that happy state.
Rhoslyn's silent reminder of the joy coming to Mary soothed her. Still, Elizabeth was to Mary like a sore tooth. She did not want to think about her, but she could not help it and after a week of pretending Elizabeth was not in Whitehall with her, she summoned Eleanor Gage.
To her horror Mary found that Eleanor, who had been so devoted and dutiful a lady, had fallen under Elizabeth's spell. Mary thought briefly, angrily because no one would believe her, that Elizabeth was a witch. Eleanor was surely enchanted. She had only praise to speak of Mary's sister. Elizabeth was such an amusing lady to serve—oh, sharp tongued at times, but all the more interesting for all that. And never, Eleanor assured the queen, never had Elizabeth said a disrespectful word about Mary.
Mary dismissed Eleanor rather coldly, reminding herself that Eleanor Gage must not serve her sister again. Elizabeth Marberry was a relief. She came the day after Eleanor Gage and although she agreed with Eleanor about Elizabeth's general behavior, she confessed with a sigh that she could not truly like Lady Elizabeth.
"You think she had some secret dealings with the rebels?" Mary asked eagerly.
Rhoslyn, sitting beyond the fire with a book of hours open on her lap, tensed. Had Elizabeth slipped so badly that the queen's spy had real evidence against her?
"No, not that," Marberry said slowly. "I do not know what to believe about that. It seems impossible that she should not have conspired with the rebels, and yet, I would swear until Sir James Croft came she had no idea that Wyatt was raising an army."
"James Croft was one of the chief conspirators," Mary said, leaning forward. "He is in prison being questioned. You say Elizabeth received him?"
"She did, your highness, but it seemed to be under a misapprehension that he was your messenger. She said she recalled his father, Sir Edward Croft, was in your household years ago."
Mary's lips thinned. "Sir Edward was placed in my household by my father, when he was pressing me to agree to his setting my mother aside."
Slowly Marberry shook her head. "Lady Elizabeth did not know that, I am sure. Even so, she would not go aside with him. I must admit that. For so high-spirited a lady she lives very retired and permits few visitors. Only your messengers and members of the Council—oh, and that old merchant, who comes now and again."
"A merchant would be likely to bring news," Mary said.
"Not of politics. Not Lord Denno." Marberry smiled slightly. "Sometimes he talks of business, but never of politics or the Court. Mostly though, when he is a guest at dinner, he talks of his voyages. Of far places. He is interesting and amusing. Often when he sits a little apart with Lady Elizabeth, he talks to her of her studies in Greek and Latin. I can see, aside from the presents he brings her—furs and silk and even jewels—why she is so fond of him. But he always brings something for the ladies too."
"You remember, madam," Rhoslyn said, lifting her head from the book in her lap, "that lovely shawl I brought for you some years ago. The black silk lace. I purchased that from Adjoran, Mercer. Not from Lord Denno himself, of course. He seldom makes sales or takes orders. I had the shawl from his man of business, Joseph Clayborne."
"Of course I remember that shawl." Mary looked over her shoulder and smiled at Rhoslyn. "I remember what a sacrifice it was for you to give it up—but you did give it up, for me. It is lovely. I have it still." Then she frowned. "Those 'studies' of my sister, are they not what led her into her false belief?"
There was a silence and then Elizabeth Marberry said, "I do not know, but I . . . I do not think Lady Elizabeth believes in . . . anything."
Witch, Mary thought, but what she said was, "She denies God?"
"Oh no, no. She . . . I do not know how to explain. She believes with her head, but not with her heart."
"She lies when she says she is a Catholic?"
Elizabeth Marberry knew she was disappointing her mistress when she shook her head. "No. At least no one could ever prove that she lied. She goes to Mass. She does not whisper to her neighbors or fall asleep during the service. She pays strict attention to the Mass and to everything the priest says and does. And when the priest speaks of religion among us she is . . . is truly interested. But . . . but I do not think she loves God."
Rhoslyn did not like what Elizabeth Marberry was saying. Not to love God was no crime that could be proven in Court against Elizabeth, but it was something that might make Mary think of her sister as less than human . . . and thus one who could be killed as one would kill a vicious dog or horse. Fortunately Marberry had made a point of Elizabeth's ability to think, which made Elizabeth more than an animal. Add pity. Rhoslyn sighed silently. Mary must pity Elizabeth. Part of Mary's dislike of her sister was envy of Elizabeth's charm and cleverness.
"I am not at all sure that Lady Elizabeth has the capacity to love God or anyone else," Rhoslyn said. "It is very sad. She would never be a good wife or mother. You are quite right, Mistress Marberry, to Lady Elizabeth religion is an intellectual exercise."
"She has no faith." Mary's voice was filled with an odd mixture of distaste and satisfaction.
"Perhaps not," Rhoslyn said, "but once she has been convinced of the logic and truth of the Catholic rite, she will support it and be faithful to it. It is very sad about lack of faith. Lady Elizabeth has no support in time of trouble. She can never feel God's hand holding her up. Your Majesty, who has felt God's hand uphold her, should pity Lady Elizabeth for her incapacity."