The Last Tudor Read online

  “They have come to take you from us,” Sir William says, flustered. “With no warning, of course. But we will be sorry to see you go, your ladyship.”

  I wriggle to the edge of the chair and drop to my feet. I put out my hand to him and he goes down on one knee to kiss it. “God bless you,” he says huskily. “God be praised that you are free.”

  “You have been a kind host,” I say. “But of course, I am glad to go.”

  “You are to pack your things and leave in the morning,” he says. “I hope that will be convenient.”

  I would walk out of here and leave the old bed, the chair, the little table, and the stool tucked underneath it. I would leave my clothes and walk out barefoot in my shift if I could go to Bradgate tonight.

  “Perfectly,” I say.

  The commander of the guard behind Sir William bows and says: “We will leave after breakfast, your ladyship. At seven of the clock, if that is convenient to you?”

  I incline my head. “Perfectly,” I say again.

  Sir William hesitates. “You don’t ask where you are going?”

  I give a little laugh. I had thought only of my freedom. I have dreamed so long of getting out of here that I had not thought of my destination. I had thought only that I was riding out of that stone gateway and that I can go anywhere. I will want to go to London and visit my husband, Thomas, if he is still imprisoned. If he has been freed, I shall go to wherever he is—Kent, I suppose. I hardly care. All I want is my freedom. I want to be on the road, I hardly care where it leads. “Of course, I should have asked. Where am I going?”

  “To your stepgrandmother, the Duchess of Suffolk,” he says. “To her house in London. I will escort you.”

  It makes no difference to me. I want to go to London to get Thomas freed, and my lady grandmother Catherine is one of the last of my family still alive. I have always liked her, and she is a woman of great worldly experience—a favorite of a king whose favor was deadly. It is quite right that I should go to her, and when my sister is released she should join us too.

  “And my sister?”

  “I don’t know what is proposed for her ladyship,” Sir William says. “But we can hope.”

  I note that we can publicly hope now. I note that he is hoping. I am to join my stepgrandmother, I am going to free my husband. No doubt I shall see Robert Dudley or his brother Ambrose, since they are now taking an interest in our freedom. I shall see William Cecil; I shall visit Katherine and my little nephew and obtain their freedom. At last Elizabeth has seen reason and learned that she cannot support Mary Queen of Scots over my sister and me. There can only be one heir of Elizabeth and that is Katherine my sister. We will take our places in the world again. We will be free; we will be reunited. We might even be happy. Why not? Katherine and I have always had a happy temperament. We will be free to be happy once more.

  CHEQUERS TO LONDON,

  SUMMER 1567

  We leave in the pearly light of an English summer morning, the best time of day of the best season in England. The sun has risen behind a bank of pale clouds that lie like cream ribbons on the Chiltern Hills and we ride east, into the golden light on the old Roman road that goes straight as a sword, Akeman Street.

  We ride in a small procession: the vanguard, then a little gap so I am not riding in their dust, then me and Sir William and the commander of the guard, and behind us, the rest of the men. We stop after a couple of hours to water the horses and to eat, and Sir William asks me if I am weary.

  “No,” I say. “I’m well.”

  It’s a lie. Already my back is aching and my legs are sore from being astride on the saddle, for I ride as my father taught me: I won’t go pillion, seated like a country girl behind some dolt. I ride my own horse, and I straighten my back to sit proudly in the saddle; but I have been cooped up in a tiny room for so long that I have lost my strength and energy. But I have not lost my will to live or my passionate desire for freedom. I would rather die of the pain, cramped in the saddle, than confess that I am weary, for fear that the commander would say that we must go back to Chequers and make the journey when he can find a litter. Nothing will get me back into prison. I will ride with chapped hands and bleeding legs rather than go back into that little room and the view from the window of that square of sky.

  It is like being born again, with the sky arching above me and the wind blowing gently against my cheek, the sun ahead of us. I ignore the pain in my back and the ache in every bone in my body. I can smell the honeysuckle and the wild bean flowers in the hedgerows. When we ride over the high hills where the sheep are grazing, I can hear a lark soaring high above me, singing a leaping cadence with each beat of his tiny wings. Swallows swoop and circle over the village ponds, people stare and wave from the fields, dogs run and snap at the horses’ heels. When we overtake a pedlar on the road, he swings his pack to the ground and begs me to stop and take a look. I am dazzled by the sights and sounds of the everyday world: I never thought I would see them again.

  We halt for dinner at midday, and at four in the afternoon the commander brings his horse beside mine and says: “We will stop for the night at Headstone Manor at the village of Pinner. They are expecting us.”

  I am immediately alarmed. “I won’t be confined,” I say.

  “No,” he says. “You are free. You will have your own bedroom and a privy chamber, and you will dine in the hall with our hosts, if you wish. This is not a new prison.”

  “I won’t be tricked,” I say, thinking of Katherine leaving the Tower to live with her uncle and thinking that her husband was joining her.

  “I swear that I am to take you to the Duchess of Suffolk,” the commander assures me. “But we couldn’t do the journey in one day. We will have a half day’s ride tomorrow morning.”

  “Very well,” I say.

  My host, Roger Lord North, greets me with every sign of respect. Clearly, they are welcoming the sister of the heir to the English throne. His wife, Winifred, makes a muddle of her curtsey, bending overly low, trying to show the proper respect to a royal, trying to get down lower so that her head bows to me, but I laugh it off and she shows me to my bedroom. Two maids from the house have poured hot water for me to wash, and my own maid has a clean gown from my little bag of belongings.

  I dine on my own in the guest room rather than at the high table in the hall. I feel shy after so long—nearly two years!—of confinement. And I suspect that there will be spies as well as well-wishers among the diners in the hall. I am not ready for the jostle and noise of a great hall. I have been so lonely for so long that I cannot get accustomed to many voices, all talking at once.

  We wake, attend chapel, and take breakfast early the next morning, and at nine, by the clock over the stables we are on the road again. My horse is rested and, though my legs are bruised and stiff, I am filled with such a delight in freedom that I beam at the commander of the guard and when we come to a stretch of straight dry road I tell Sir William that we can canter.

  It feels as if I am flying, I am going so fast. I bend forward and urge the horse on and the thundering of the hooves and the flying mud and the wind in my face make me want to sing with joy. I am free, I know I am free. I am free at last.

  The little villages as we approach London are accustomed to travelers coming and going down Watling Street, and they look for the standard, and when they see the royal flag they recognize me and call out my name. The commander rides closer beside me.

  “We were told not to draw attention to ourselves,” he says apologetically. “Would you be so good as to wear the hood of your cape over your head, my lady? There’s no point in inviting a crowd.”

  I pull up my hood without a word of complaint, and I think that goodwill to the queen must be at a very low ebb, if a cousin as lowly as me can be a danger if seen on the road.

  “Where is your sister? Where is Lady Katherine and her bonny boys?” someone shouts as we ride towards the entrance at the east of the city.

  “Where are t