Read Online Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her by Susan Kay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Kay
Tags: nonfiction, History
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Robert,” said Dr. Cox sanctimoniously,
examining a dog-eared piece of Latin prose with distaste, “but there is a
point where unrequited patience and discipline cease to meet. Be pleased
to accompany me into the next room at your earliest convenience.”
The children stared as Robin got up and sauntered with feigned
nonchalance after the tutor, but only Elizabeth looked up from her work
when he returned with clenched teeth. She watched him walk gingerly
to the window-seat and lower himself with care on to a cushion. After a
moment she slipped off the wooden bench and joined him.
“Did it hurt?”
He unclenched his teeth just sufficiently to say, “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” She went back to the table and fetched the
sheet of parchment she had been working on. “Here—you can copy it
if you want.”
“Can I?” His strained face relaxed and lit up; he held out his hand
42
Legacy
and she withdrew the paper just beyond his reach, looking at him with a
curious suppressed excitement.
She said very softly, “It’s not true, is it?”
There was a moment of silence while he looked from her face to the
paper and shifted his throbbing body on the cushion.
“No,” he said at last, “it’s not true. I made it all up to annoy you.”
As he watched, the corners of her mouth curled slowly up into a
smile of delight.
“Liar!” she said, and dropped the paper down beside him.
He never forgot the absurd incident, trivial as it seemed at the time,
a child’s quarrel in which she had had the last word after all. Years later,
when her name had blazed a trail of flaming light across Europe, he would
recall that moment when he first acknowledged her superior will.
Their friendship healed after its breach, as it would later heal time
and time again, and life resumed its petty round of study and play, giving
neither warning nor preparation for the tragedy which was less than a
month away.
t t t
In November the tranquil Indian summer of the King’s fifth marriage
erupted with a violence that devastated several lives.
The King was the first casualty. When Archbishop Cranmer pushed
that piece of paper into his pudgy hand at morning service, he thought his
head would burst with rage and grief. Others had loved his Rose, even as
he had done. Names were before him, dates—oh God, they would pay
for this.
Winter descended, like a curtain upon a stage, and the court, touched
with frosty fears, huddled in small whispering groups to talk of the little
Queen’s crimes. In the forgotten nursery, a terrified silence reigned.
Robin Dudley from the height of his superior knowledge had elucidated
“adultery and high treason” for the benefit of the youngest. There was
nothing more to be said; they all knew what would happen now. Even
so, no one was quite prepared for the screaming. Peal after peal of it went
shivering through the gallery of Hampton Court, screams born of blind
terror which splintered through the palace on the day Katherine Howard
tried to reach Henry and beg for her life.
The unearthly cries shuddered across the schoolroom where Robin
43
Susan Kay
Dudley, staring at the Princess Elizabeth, saw a look he never wished to
see again on the face of any human creature. Suddenly, the screams were
mingled with the shouts and footsteps of guards. Katherine had almost
reached the King in the Chapel when they took her and, still screaming,
dragged her away.
She never saw the King again. There was no trial. An Act of Attainder
was passed against her and on the 13th of February little Katherine
Howard followed Anne Boleyn to the block.
When it was all over a great quiet spread over the palace, an air almost
of desertion. Courtiers kept themselves to themselves, revels ground to a
halt, corridors stood silent.
In the quiet of the countryside Katherine Champernowne watched
her charge with increasing concern. For what seemed an unnatural length
of time Elizabeth
examining a dog-eared piece of Latin prose with distaste, “but there is a
point where unrequited patience and discipline cease to meet. Be pleased
to accompany me into the next room at your earliest convenience.”
The children stared as Robin got up and sauntered with feigned
nonchalance after the tutor, but only Elizabeth looked up from her work
when he returned with clenched teeth. She watched him walk gingerly
to the window-seat and lower himself with care on to a cushion. After a
moment she slipped off the wooden bench and joined him.
“Did it hurt?”
He unclenched his teeth just sufficiently to say, “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” She went back to the table and fetched the
sheet of parchment she had been working on. “Here—you can copy it
if you want.”
“Can I?” His strained face relaxed and lit up; he held out his hand
42
Legacy
and she withdrew the paper just beyond his reach, looking at him with a
curious suppressed excitement.
She said very softly, “It’s not true, is it?”
There was a moment of silence while he looked from her face to the
paper and shifted his throbbing body on the cushion.
“No,” he said at last, “it’s not true. I made it all up to annoy you.”
As he watched, the corners of her mouth curled slowly up into a
smile of delight.
“Liar!” she said, and dropped the paper down beside him.
He never forgot the absurd incident, trivial as it seemed at the time,
a child’s quarrel in which she had had the last word after all. Years later,
when her name had blazed a trail of flaming light across Europe, he would
recall that moment when he first acknowledged her superior will.
Their friendship healed after its breach, as it would later heal time
and time again, and life resumed its petty round of study and play, giving
neither warning nor preparation for the tragedy which was less than a
month away.
t t t
In November the tranquil Indian summer of the King’s fifth marriage
erupted with a violence that devastated several lives.
The King was the first casualty. When Archbishop Cranmer pushed
that piece of paper into his pudgy hand at morning service, he thought his
head would burst with rage and grief. Others had loved his Rose, even as
he had done. Names were before him, dates—oh God, they would pay
for this.
Winter descended, like a curtain upon a stage, and the court, touched
with frosty fears, huddled in small whispering groups to talk of the little
Queen’s crimes. In the forgotten nursery, a terrified silence reigned.
Robin Dudley from the height of his superior knowledge had elucidated
“adultery and high treason” for the benefit of the youngest. There was
nothing more to be said; they all knew what would happen now. Even
so, no one was quite prepared for the screaming. Peal after peal of it went
shivering through the gallery of Hampton Court, screams born of blind
terror which splintered through the palace on the day Katherine Howard
tried to reach Henry and beg for her life.
The unearthly cries shuddered across the schoolroom where Robin
43
Susan Kay
Dudley, staring at the Princess Elizabeth, saw a look he never wished to
see again on the face of any human creature. Suddenly, the screams were
mingled with the shouts and footsteps of guards. Katherine had almost
reached the King in the Chapel when they took her and, still screaming,
dragged her away.
She never saw the King again. There was no trial. An Act of Attainder
was passed against her and on the 13th of February little Katherine
Howard followed Anne Boleyn to the block.
When it was all over a great quiet spread over the palace, an air almost
of desertion. Courtiers kept themselves to themselves, revels ground to a
halt, corridors stood silent.
In the quiet of the countryside Katherine Champernowne watched
her charge with increasing concern. For what seemed an unnatural length
of time Elizabeth
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