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Authors: Eliza Knight, E. Knight
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lady?”
“ ’Tis nothing, Mrs. Helen. I was merely saying my prayers.”
“God bless, my lady.”
“God bless, Mrs. Helen.” And indeed, we would need God’s blessing.
Chapter Four
For which this second Phoenix may,
with Turtle true compare.
But well away, alas for woe,
his grief thereby began…
In prince displeasure throw this prank.
fell low this faithful man.
~Thomas Churchyard
Elizabethan soldier and poet
July 21, 1553
I had not been arrested…yet.
Jane was moved to a smaller chamber in the Queen ’s House within the Tower walls and Guildford to Beauchamp Tower. Many thought Queen Mary would put him on the other side of the Tower, but it appeared she had some heart after all, as the two buildings were close. Rumor fills the halls that my father would soon be brought to the Tower along with several other council members. ’Twas only a matter of time before Queen Mary had her revenge on those who sought to put her aside. When she came to collect Father, would she also toss Mother, me and little Mary into a dingy, dark cell?
Pray, sweet Jesu, that our good and faithful queen takes mercy on my family!
It was ungodly hot in this place. I could not yet bear to call it home. Baynard’s had not been a true home for me. The walls did not welcome me. There was nowhere that I felt safe. My maids stood around me with fans, trying to cool me, and wet cloths were wiped over my brow and neck, but I could not seem to escape this fetid heat. The windows were open, but no air passed through. Outside was worse, even my plants were wilting.
W hile I was glad to have not been arrested, I had been left to languish. My husband and his family had gone to court to serve Her Majesty. Pembroke, the wretch, had left me with the words that my family were traitors and he would not associate with traitors, nor allow his son to remain married to a traitor.
Traitors. His liberal use of the word made me sick to my stomach. People were executed for being traitors, their heads stuck on pikes on London Bridge, and he would toss such an expression toward me? Had he no care for my wellbeing, my soul, at all? I had done nothing wrong, save be born to a father who would seek power and a mother with royal blood flowing through her veins.
If only I were of an age where I needed no guardian . I could have sought an annulment, run away to the continent. Or rushed off to a convent to live my life in peace with God.
My stomach pained me much. My humors were completely misaligned. Jane used to tell me of Princess Elizabeth taking to her bed often when they lived together at the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr’s residence. How Elizabeth complained of headaches and stomach pains. She had been under the same duress I found myself under, constantly embroiled in some sort of courtly debacle. Would this be my life? Constantly in turmoil? I could trust no one, not even myself at times, because my fear for my family made me want to toss caution to the wind.
I was in limbo, unsure of what would happen next. Perhaps I would lie in bed until someone ordered me out of it. How else could I go on? Without my family, I had nothing, and this farce of a family, this Pembroke household, had not truly accepted me.
The Tower was where I should have been—as much as I abhorred the idea, I should have been there to take care of my dear sister. But the great Pembroke would have never allowed that. He might imprison me in his own castle, but he would not see me to the Tower. That would only have made the eyes of the council and the new queen look on him in a negative light. He would save himself and the rest of his brood by keeping me here. In the dark.
“I wish to rest.” I wave d away the maids with my hand and stood on weary legs.
The bed was plush, and its comfort beckoned me.
“Shall we undress you, my lady?” Mrs. Helen’s voice was soft and comforting. I wanted to run to her, rest my head against her breast and weep, but I knew I
“ ’Tis nothing, Mrs. Helen. I was merely saying my prayers.”
“God bless, my lady.”
“God bless, Mrs. Helen.” And indeed, we would need God’s blessing.
Chapter Four
For which this second Phoenix may,
with Turtle true compare.
But well away, alas for woe,
his grief thereby began…
In prince displeasure throw this prank.
fell low this faithful man.
~Thomas Churchyard
Elizabethan soldier and poet
July 21, 1553
I had not been arrested…yet.
Jane was moved to a smaller chamber in the Queen ’s House within the Tower walls and Guildford to Beauchamp Tower. Many thought Queen Mary would put him on the other side of the Tower, but it appeared she had some heart after all, as the two buildings were close. Rumor fills the halls that my father would soon be brought to the Tower along with several other council members. ’Twas only a matter of time before Queen Mary had her revenge on those who sought to put her aside. When she came to collect Father, would she also toss Mother, me and little Mary into a dingy, dark cell?
Pray, sweet Jesu, that our good and faithful queen takes mercy on my family!
It was ungodly hot in this place. I could not yet bear to call it home. Baynard’s had not been a true home for me. The walls did not welcome me. There was nowhere that I felt safe. My maids stood around me with fans, trying to cool me, and wet cloths were wiped over my brow and neck, but I could not seem to escape this fetid heat. The windows were open, but no air passed through. Outside was worse, even my plants were wilting.
W hile I was glad to have not been arrested, I had been left to languish. My husband and his family had gone to court to serve Her Majesty. Pembroke, the wretch, had left me with the words that my family were traitors and he would not associate with traitors, nor allow his son to remain married to a traitor.
Traitors. His liberal use of the word made me sick to my stomach. People were executed for being traitors, their heads stuck on pikes on London Bridge, and he would toss such an expression toward me? Had he no care for my wellbeing, my soul, at all? I had done nothing wrong, save be born to a father who would seek power and a mother with royal blood flowing through her veins.
If only I were of an age where I needed no guardian . I could have sought an annulment, run away to the continent. Or rushed off to a convent to live my life in peace with God.
My stomach pained me much. My humors were completely misaligned. Jane used to tell me of Princess Elizabeth taking to her bed often when they lived together at the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr’s residence. How Elizabeth complained of headaches and stomach pains. She had been under the same duress I found myself under, constantly embroiled in some sort of courtly debacle. Would this be my life? Constantly in turmoil? I could trust no one, not even myself at times, because my fear for my family made me want to toss caution to the wind.
I was in limbo, unsure of what would happen next. Perhaps I would lie in bed until someone ordered me out of it. How else could I go on? Without my family, I had nothing, and this farce of a family, this Pembroke household, had not truly accepted me.
The Tower was where I should have been—as much as I abhorred the idea, I should have been there to take care of my dear sister. But the great Pembroke would have never allowed that. He might imprison me in his own castle, but he would not see me to the Tower. That would only have made the eyes of the council and the new queen look on him in a negative light. He would save himself and the rest of his brood by keeping me here. In the dark.
“I wish to rest.” I wave d away the maids with my hand and stood on weary legs.
The bed was plush, and its comfort beckoned me.
“Shall we undress you, my lady?” Mrs. Helen’s voice was soft and comforting. I wanted to run to her, rest my head against her breast and weep, but I knew I
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