A Dangerous Inheritance

Rumours of my beauty? People are talking about me? I suppose, as Jane’s sister, I must be an object of interest at court. But I am taken unawares by this. It makes me realise that I am an i

The ambassador does not miss my recoil. ‘Fear not, Lady Katherine, her Majesty has asked me to approach you,’ he murmurs, ‘which is why we must be private, by your leave.’ And he steers me away from the chattering ladies, whistling for the pups to follow us.

‘I am told that her Majesty’s father, King Henry, conducted much of his confidential state business in his gardens, where he could be certain that no one was able to eavesdrop,’ Renard says, leading me to a stone seat at the end of a path. ‘Naturally, the Queen will marry,’ he goes on, ‘yet all prudent monarchs must decide who should succeed them in the event of their dying childless. Her Majesty, as you know, is no longer young, and childbirth may not be easy for her. We all of course pray that she bears Prince Philip many fine sons.’

I am startled to hear him speaking of the proposed marriage as a foregone conclusion, for according to court gossip, it is by no means settled.

‘Amen to that,’ I say dutifully.

‘But who is next in line if her Majesty – God forfend! – dies without leaving an heir of her body?’ Renard asks. ‘It is the Lady Elizabeth – yet her Majesty would be loath to leave her crown and royal estate to such a one, for she knows Elizabeth to be a heretic through and through. Nor is she trueborn, for her mother was punished as a public strumpet, and her paternity is not beyond question.’ Inwardly, I doubt this, for anyone who has seen portraits of the Lady Elizabeth and her father, King Harry, might easily see that she is his own daughter. Yet I have heard the Queen openly questioning it, and so it has become the fashion to do so – although behind hands and closed doors.

Renard is now speaking about King Harry’s Act of Succession, of which I have heard much this tumultuous year. ‘The next heir is the Lady Jane, your sister, but she languishes in the Tower, and is of the same religious persuasion as the Lady Elizabeth. The next in line, my lady, is yourself.’

I am struck dumb, yet at the same time filled with elation! Suddenly I recall the whole court bowing, the glorious crown lifted onto that young head … To be named heir to the Queen, and with her approval! It is beyond anything I could have imagined.

‘There is another claimant,’ Renard is saying. ‘Mary, Queen of Scots, the Dauphine of France, and she, of course, is a Catholic. That carries much weight with her Majesty, but the Scottish Queen has no rights under the Act of Succession – King Harry passed over that line – and she is a stranger born out of this realm, which many believe disbars her. The French are naturally supporting her claim to be heir, but France is the great enemy of Spain, so my master, the Emperor, and his son, Prince Philip, are eager to see you, Lady Katherine, named as the Queen’s successor.’

He looks into my eyes. ‘I see the prospect pleases you, my lady. And you will be heartened to know that the Venetian ambassador is also for you. But above all, it is the Queen’s will that you be named heir presumptive.’

‘It is more than I could ever have deserved or looked for,’ I breathe, feeling a little light-headed and struggling to find the appropriate words. ‘I am her Majesty’s loyal subject, and will humbly bend to her will in this. Yet although it pleases me greatly, I pray that God vouchsafes the Queen many strong sons for the continuance of her line.’

Renard smiles approvingly, and I know I have said the right thing. ‘There is just one thing, Madam,’ he says. ‘The Queen knows that you have been brought up in the Protestant faith, but her Majesty is hopeful that you, being young, would be willing to be guided by wiser minds in the matter of religion. It would make her the happiest woman alive to know that her preferred successor will carry on her good work.’

I hesitate. I can imagine my parents’ reaction to this, and Jane’s. They are all staunch Protestants and hot for their faith.

‘You will think seriously on this?’ Renard asks. ‘I need not remind you how much is at stake.’

‘Oh, certainly, Sir,’ I tell him warmly, not wanting to risk compromising my chances of being acknowledged the Queen’s lawful heir by hesitating – and yet not wanting her Majesty to think I take matters of faith lightly. ‘I will think on it most earnestly.’

As I go about my tasks in the Queen’s privy chamber, I can think of little else. Above all things, I desire to be queen one day. It is my greatest dream, and now it could well become reality, with only one ailing woman’s life standing between me and the crown of England.

Yet my ambitions are not entirely selfish. I think of all the good I could do as queen, how magnificently I could advance my family, and – most important of all – that Harry and I could be reunited and I could make him my consort. How I should love to discountenance Pembroke thus, and see him, humbled and chastened, bowing the knee before me!

I vow to do all in my power to live up to her Majesty’s expectations. I hope never to give my kind mistress any grief over religion. Yes, I have been brought up in the reformed faith, yet it seems to me a mark of gratitude to do the Queen’s pleasure in this crucial matter. I confess I am not as fervent in religion as Jane or my parents, and thus I am the more easily tempted to bow to her Majesty’s wisdom. If I do not, I fear I will do myself and my family no favours; and if I do, there are many benefits to be gained – maybe even in Heaven itself.

I wonder how staunch in their faith my parents would prove if they knew that my conversion is the price of my becoming queen. I suspect that their ambition is every bit as great as their love for the reformed faith, if not greater, and that they might consider the price worth paying. But Jane, I know, would never compromise her beliefs, and I fear she might never speak to me again if I become a Catholic. Yet even she might come to see the wisdom of it, if it brought her the benefits of freedom and a life devoted to study, which is what she desires above all else.

Should I discuss the matter with my parents? I must think awhile before I do that. To be plain, I am nervous of their reaction. But in my heart, I know that the decision is already made.

The September weather is mild, and I am always glad of the chance to take my leisure in the privy garden. Today, I have my puppies and my embroidery with me, and am just placing my basket on an unoccupied bench when I see a tall young lady a little older than myself coming my way, with two attendants walking demurely behind her. She is striking-looking, with long red hair that falls below her waist, and wears a modest cream damask gown with very little in the way of jewellery. She is not beautiful – no one with that thin face and hooked nose could be called beautiful – yet she has presence, and a certain charm, which is evident in the gracious smile she bestows on me, and the graceful carriage of her slender figure. I know instinctively who she is, and rise to my feet and curtsey, aware that she towers over me.

‘You are new at court,’ she says; it is a statement, not a question. ‘I have not seen you here before.’

‘I arrived only a few days ago, my Lady Elizabeth,’ I tell her.

‘And you are?’

‘Lady Katherine Grey,’ I tell her. I nearly add ‘your cousin’, but think better of it. I am not sure how to take her. Is she friendly, just curious, or even hostile? I ca

If she is surprised, she does not show it. ‘Welcome to court, little cousin. I had looked to see you here.’

‘I am come to serve the Queen, your Grace, and to attend the coronation.’

Elizabeth moves towards the bench and I hurriedly remove the basket and place it on the ground. She sits down and stoops to pat my two dogs. At her nod, her attendants walk on and wait for her a little way off.