The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England by Judith Arnopp (best ereader for students TXT) 📕

Rochestercoughs, drawing my attention back to the matter in hand. He tugs the edges ofhis furred collar together.

“There isdanger in flight, my lady, but there is danger in staying too. I don’t know whatelse I can say on the subject.”

For a longmoment I stare into his eyes; they are tired, ringed about with lines and care.He has an honest face and I trust he will not lead me with false lights.

“My brother isyoung, Rochester, and it is a cruel world. Should, and God forbid it does,should anything befall him, I need to be here in England, to stake my claim onthe crown.”

It is treasoneven to hint at the death of the king.

“I agree. Ifyou are overseas, you will have lost the throne before you even have a chanceto bid for it.”

“It is mine byright; I am the heir.”

His eyes slideaway, his optimism diminishes.

“What? Whathave you heard?”

I stepforward, tugging his sleeve, drawing him close again.

“It may be arumour,” he whispers, his beard tickling my cheek. “But I heard thatNorthumberland is trying to persuade the king to allow a match between his son,Guildford, and your cousin, Jane Grey…”

I raise myeyes and see my own suspicions mirrored in his. My brow lowers.

“Dudley wouldnot dare…”

“I fear hewould, madam. I fear he keeps you occupied with matters of liturgy to distractyou from his real plan.”

My cousin Janeis clever. Too clever surely to fall victim to Dudley’s plots. But … she isalso keen for reform and hates the old church as much as I loathe the new. Forthose who embrace the new religion, Jane will be more favourable an heir toEdward’s throne than I. But they wouldn’t dare … would they?

I turnsuddenly, my skirts sweeping the floor, fanning the flames in the hearth.

“I will stay,Rochester. I will stay and fight.”

All thoughtsof escape abandoned, I make ready to leave for Beaulieu, sending my chaplain, Mallet,on ahead to prepare for my arrival and the hearing of the Mass.

The admonishmentsfrom court continue, almost daily, and I have messengers night and day,bringing orders that I desist in my method of worship. I take no notice,ignoring their authority and endangering my life.

In the end, theking writes demanding my presence at court, warning me that I should be morelike our beloved sister, Elizabeth, his ‘sweet sister Temperance,’ who hasobeyed every edict laid down by king and council.

Of courseshe has, I think. Elizabeth will always appear to do what is expected ofher. Nobody can ever guess what she is really thinking.

London – December 1550

Unable to think of an excuse torefuse another summons to the Christmas court, this time I agree to go. It hasbeen a long while since Edward, Elizabeth and I were together in the same room.On the day of my audience with the king, I dress with care, defiantly adorningmyself with as much finery as I can stand up in. Susan arranges my hood andensures my skirts hang straight at the back.

“You look verygracious, my lady,” she says, as she hands me my prayer book and forbidden beads.

The king willtake immediate issue with the elaborate style of the gown I have chosen, but itis not for others to rule how I live my life.

When my nameis called, the company falls silent. I sweep into the great hall with my headhigh and kneel before the boy who is seated in my father’s chair.

“Mary,” Edward’spiping voice cries. “We are right glad to see you.”

I rise fromthe floor and kiss the knuckles he presents to me.

“Edward, mydear brother,” I smile, my maternal longing rising to obliterate my detestationfor his method of worship. “I am pleased to see you looking so well.”

In fact, helooks rather pale, as if he should spend more time in the sun, or ride to thechase as often as our father did. He has the face and hands of a scholar and,so his tutors say, the mind of one too. His face is thin, veins visible at histemple, a crease of worry between his brows, and more than a hint of myfather’s determination about his mouth. He looks anxious rather than happy.

“I haven’tbeen too well, actually,” he says with a pathetic droop to his shoulders. “I amtroubled with a persistent cough.” He thumps his chest and gives a few shortbarks like a dog, to demonstrate.

“Oh, YourMajesty, I am grieved to hear it. I will send your man a receipt that I havefound most beneficial. As you know, I am often ailing myself…”

I trail off asthe doors are thrown open again and the king’s attention drifts away from me.The courtiers turn their eyes from me to a newcomer waiting at the door.

“The LadyElizabeth,” the herald announces, and the slight figure of my sister sweepsforward. She pauses to allow the company to acknowledge her unmistakeable presence.Then, keeping her eye on the king, she makes her way to the throne. My spiritsplummet and the former confidence I had in my appearance ebbs away.

I chose myjewel-encrusted velvet gown and headdress to show off my status, make everyonetake notice and remember that I am next in line to the throne. Elizabeth,however, has chosen a different way.

Her gown isplain, almost severely cut, and her only necklace is a single cross hanging ona golden chain. Her fingers are bare of rings, her hair tucked tightly beneatha demure cap. It seems as if she is lit from within. She is young. She needs nojewels, not with eyes that shine brighter than any candle.

Before shereaches the dais, she sinks low and remains there while the court drinks in thescene.

“My goodsister, Bess! It is too long since we saw you last!”

Edward leaveshis seat, descends the steps and holds out his hand to assist her to rise. Theyare of similar height. They smile into each other’s eyes and I notice how alikethey are. Similar chins, similar smiles – only the eyes are different. Theyhave the eyes of their mothers while I have my father’s. I feel separate.Isolated and irrelevant.

Elizabeth iseconomical with her words. Unlike her mother, she says little,