Only four weeks had passed since the Coronation, August weeks of white-golden harvest and apples hanging heavy in the orchards. But a bitter harvest for the people of England to reap. And for Mary, the new Queen.
She sat in one of her tapestried rooms at Whitehall, and her Bishop of Winchester, the gray-headed, hawk-nosed Gardiner, stood on the other side of the table. He whom his enemies nicknamed “Wily Winchester” had been a prisoner in the Tower, sent there by the Protector’s Council, when Mary rode into London in triumph. When she came to the Tower, Gardiner, Norfolk and handsome young Courtenay, Earl of Devon, were kneeling on the stones at the gates, awaiting her. And Mary leaned from her saddle as she bade them rise, kissed each of them on the cheek, and told them blithely, “You are my prisoners now! …”
Gardiner was a confidant and advisor on whom she leaned. He was politician and statesman before churchman, but to Mary he embodied the old order. He was intensely and universally unpopular in England; but he was a man who could 194
have saved her and the people of England from many a disaster if she would have attended to him; which she only did when it suited her and until first Renard, the Spanish ambassador, and then Philip, Prince of Spain, mesmerized her, and her ears closed to all other voices.
It suited her, however, to listen to him at this moment.
“Your Majesty has been too lenient. Very much too lenient.” And it is a fact, that Mary, ascending the throne, began by showing an exceptional generosity to her opponents. The younger sons of Northumberland were freed from the Tower. Young Jane Gray, though still there, was alive and being treated more as a royal pensioner than a prisoner. And no ironclad religious rule was laid on the people.
Mary Tudor was an extremely simple woman—simple as the utterly single-minded are simple, stupid in the Grand Manner… She came to her crowning, uplifted in the utter conviction that the English people would be swept into the fold of the “true faith,” thankful for salvation… She was learning already that an enormous number of them were opposed to it and that her best Councilor and even the foreign ambassadors cautioned her to go slowly and skillfully and carefully in her headlong rush for the Kingdom of Heaven.
They had a fanatic and a bigot to deal with. But they also had a mortally disappointed woman…
As Gardiner spoke, now, Mary drew a deep sigh, and leaned her forehead on her hand.
“These are hard matters,” she said despondently. “Indeed, I feel them so! Did I not adjure my Council — and you, my Chancellor and its head—to lend me their aid in all truth of purpose and honesty of heart, that the will of God may be accomplished? For He has laid a heavy task on me, being a woman and alone. …”
Gardiner took up the thread on the instant.
“It is because Your Majesty is indeed the handmaid of the Lord, alone, that I would speak earnestly to you.
“You must come to an understanding with Elizabeth, madam. She has a way of flattery, and goodfellowship has won her a swarm of followers since she’s been at Court. I do not like the way the Protestant heretics do flock about her.” “Well, I have sent for her,” Mary said with some impatience. “She is without, now, awaiting my word.”
“It is for you to rebuke her, and seriously, this time. A sister may ignore a sister’s word. But a subject cannot deny a Queen’s command. Know you where she was this morning, when you and the Court were at mass?”
“No, where?”
“In her chambers, entertaining her own court. Ladies and gentlemen, thirty or forty of them, though for the ladies’ sake I will say the gentlemen greatly exceeded them in number.”
“What gentlemen?” Mary’s question was curt, and her eyes had darkened to that somber pinpoint which was the sign of rising anger in her.
“Wyatt, Peter Carew—others I know not—”
Mary made a slight, sharp movement as though something pricked her. A memory: the blazing blue morning at Wan-stead, and Elizabeth rushing to the balcony like any giddy servant wench, calling at the top of her voice, “Peter Carew!” Gardiner’s sonorous, weighty voice was going on:
“She has a way with gentlemen, as did her mother before her. See for yourself, Your Majesty. While you were on your knees this morning, in the chapel, receiving the Sacrament of God, she was making merry in her chambers till the roof rang.
“The people of England would have you marry. Your Council would have you marry. It is the will and direction of God that you should marry.
“Your own affections turn on a young, warm and handsome Prince. If you do bring him here, pray you, see to Elizabeth first. She has a way with men … and she is young…”
Gardiner was the most tactless man in the realm. But had he been most diplomatic, he could have chosen no better way to rouse the Queen.
She drew a breath, settled her robe with a nervous, agitated movement.
“Tell her to come to me. And leave me with her.”
Gardiner bowed deeply, and departed. A smile stretched his lips, once he left the royal presence. He had done what he set out to do…
Elizabeth came in like a summer wind. She sped to Mary and flung both arms round her. Mary, starting round, saw, in a wild uprush of anger, the incarnation of all that she most hated and secretly, deeply, dreaded… This slim, flamehaired creature in her wine-red gown was not only a refractory soul, rebelling against salvation. She was the people’s idol, and she brimmed and shone with everything which Mary saw as wiles of the devil himself…
She tore Elizabeth's arms from her own neck, gripped her hands fiercely, and pushed her away. Elizabeth stepped back a pace, too startled and shocked to speak. They stared at each other and Mary's stare riveted the girl where she stood.
“Who am I?”
The hoarse question fell on Elizabeth’s ears. For a dreadful instant she wondered whether Mary was wandering in her wits…
“Mary—”
“Am I the Queen?”
So, this was it. Elizabeth bent her head.
“Yes.”
“Then greet me as you should.”
“Your Majesty—” Elizabeth gasped.
“Well, do you have a body?” Mary said harshly.
Elizabeth sank gracefully to her knees. Her eyes, fixed on Mary’s face, were horror-stricken.
“Well,” the harsh voice girded. “Speak! Or will you spend the day there like a sack of oats? Have you a tongue?”
“Speak?” Elizabeth echoed, bewildered.
“Aye, speak, speak!” Mary almost screamed. “By your behavior you should have much to say!”
“What would you have me say?”
Mary’s glittering eyes raked her.
“That’s a new gown,” she exclaimed with an irrelevance which shocked Elizabeth.
“No, Your Majesty. I have worn it before.”
“Aye! In the procession, when you rode by my side, and bowed and simpered, and caught in those white claws of yours the acclaim of the crowd that was meant for me.” “Your Majesty, what do you mean?”
“Oh God! I knew it! You would protest your innocence, even as … Well, then, no words from you, no more, no words!”
“Mary-”
“I say, no words!” Mary shouted. “Lest I be tempted past my strength! Oh God! on the day of my triumph, you did ride beside me—bowing and grinning to the peasantry and tradesmen, to the riffraff that do line the streets, making yourself to be more than your Queen!” Mary was snarling breathlessly now. “Dressed like a doll! A trull! A wench in red silk, ear baubs, and trinkets, and every evil woman’s trick you know! Flaunting yourself! Preceding all!
“No more of it. You’ll set aside these silks and toys, mistress. You’ll take on godliness. You will be taught respect. You’ll be no more visited in your chambers. You will not sit at table with Us—you’ll sit below…”