A Dangerous Inheritance

‘I hear Jane took it well. They say she was calm when she walked from the Guildhall with the axe turned towards her. The crowds were silent when they saw she had been condemned.’ Elizabeth shudders; of course, her mother, A

‘Jane is i

‘How many are called traitor who are i

‘Dear God, how did we come to be in this situation?’ I wail, breaking down in tears.

‘Because of your Tudor blood,’ Elizabeth says. ‘It is a curse as well as a blessing. And since you are a woman, men seek to use you to satisfy their own ambitions, as Northumberland did with Jane. They sought to use me too, but I was ca

‘ Ifshe marries? It is certain that she will.’

Elizabeth flushed. ‘A slip of the tongue. Of course she will. But she will be no better off than any country wife. God’s blood, I will never marry. I’ll have no man rule me.’

I am sorry for her cynicism, and that she accounts love so lightly. Unlike me, she has not known the happiness of marriage. And yet maybe she is wiser than I, for those who fly high with happiness set themselves up to be dashed down with sorrow. I still relive that terrible moment in Westminster Abbey when Harry looked away.

Forgetting in whose presence I am, I sink down onto a bed, crying hopelessly, emitting great tearing sobs. Despite the Queen’s assurances, the full horror of Jane’s sentence keeps overwhelming me, and I ca

Elizabeth rests a hand on my shoulder.

‘I am sorry you have fresh occasion for sorrow,’ she says, more kindly than I have ever heard her speak. ‘You must have faith. Be obedient to Him whose strokes are unavoidable. He will not test you, or your sister, beyond your endurance.’

It is comforting to realise that Elizabeth has a more sensitive side. I cease crying and struggle to my feet, reaching in my pocket for my kerchief.

‘I am sorry, I forgot my ma

The moment of closeness has passed. Elizabeth regards me coolly; her mood, ever mercurial, has changed again. ‘It is said you will convert to the old religion,’ she says. ‘Is that from conviction, or because Spain wants it?’

How does she know that? The French ambassador, of course!

‘If I convert, your Grace, it will be because I am persuaded it is the right thing to do,’ I say, righteous with indignation. But her barb has hit home. I wouldbe changing my religion primarily to further my own ambitions – and she has made me feel badly about that.

‘Well, go and pray to your God – whoever He is,’ she says, reverting to her usual acerbity. She ca

‘I thank you for your kindness, your Grace,’ I say, suppressing my resentment. ‘I will do as you enjoin me.’

‘It will only be efficacious if you follow the true path,’ she says coldly, and disappears through the door with a swish of her green silk skirts.

I am begi

If her parting thrust made me feel guilty, her behaviour in the days and weeks that follow compounds it. I am, after all, the daughter of parents who were hot for the cause of church reform in King Harry’s reign, and came out as Protestants under King Edward, so I was mostly brought up in the new religion. Jane, of course, is one of its most passionate exponents, and had she been let to rule over us, I make no doubt but that England would have stayed firmly Protestant. But instead we have Catholic Mary, who has brought back the Mass and the holy images that were once deemed idolatrous, and made England’s peace with Rome. It has been a marvel to see so many hitherto ardent reformers suddenly confessing that they have secretly been Papists all along, so what choice do I have, if I want to survive at court – and if I want to be queen?

Elizabeth has seen through me, and makes it clear she despises me for my pragmatism. She shuns me at every opportunity, and utters bitchy remarks in my presence about people who are too craven to follow their conscience. Oh, she is clever: she speaks in reference to herself returning to the faith of her childhood with a whole heart – but I know where her darts are aimed. She thinks to occupy the moral high ground; yet this is the lady who complained that her belly hurt when it was time to go to Mass, or that she didn’t understand this or that finer point of Catholic theology. Her, with her brains and acute intellect!

To be honest, never having been much of a scholar, and having come under Queen Mary’s patient influence, I ca

But Elizabeth is cut of a different cloth. She will stand there, demure and maidenly in her unadorned black and white Protestant garb that she affects because she knows it riles Queen Mary, and with her long red hair loose over her shoulders in token of her virgin youthfulness – another way of showing herself in a more favourable light than the ageing Queen – and look disapprovingly down that sharp, hooked nose at the jewelled crucifix I have taken to wearing on my breast; and she will give me that hurtful, withering glance that brands me a hypocrite.

Her dislike is palpable and, of course, there are other reasons for it. When we do meet, she takes pleasure in telling me that my skin is too pale, my hair too fine and too light in colour, or my figure too thin, twisting her own luxuriant red locks in her fingers as she speaks, or smoothing her cheeks, or spa

I suspect that what lies at the root of her dislike is fear. She knows full well that I am next in line to the throne after her; and therefore, whatever attributes I might have to recommend me – and she makes it plain that, in her opinion, they are not up to much – I am her rival.

I know I must be wary of her; she is her father’s daughter.

Jane Dormer, who serves alongside me in the Privy Chamber, is one of her Majesty’s maids-of-honour and closest friends, and a young lady more sweet, pious or learned you could not hope to meet. When the Queen herself sends her to me, it becomes apparent that my position in regard to religion is of the highest importance to her Majesty.