A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Your maid said you were indisposed,’ he said.

‘I was. I am feeling better now.’ Kate’s tone was cool. She was not going to make this easy for him. In fact she would not have cared if she never saw him again.

‘I spoke harshly last night,’ he muttered. ‘But you must know that I am in a very difficult position. Married to King Richard’s daughter, and thus bound to him in his lifetime, I fear I might find myself under surveillance on a suspicion of disloyalty. I have done what I can to forestall that, but – God, woman, were you insane, proclaiming your loyalty to your father by appearing publicly in mourning for him? People will talk! Those gentlemen that were here – everyone’s ru

‘You didn’t have to call me a bastard spawn!’ Kate retorted with spirit. She wanted him to apologise.

‘I had good reason. Drawing attention to your bastardy suggests I despise you for your father’s sake. I need people to think I was coerced into this marriage.’

Kate gaped at him, appalled. ‘Is that true?’ she whispered. ‘Were you coerced?’

He would not meet her gaze. ‘I do not despise you yourself,’ he muttered, ‘but I would I had never consented to this match. I had my reservations, the stain of your birth being paramount, although that was compensated for by your father’s generosity.’ His words stung. She felt the colour flare in her cheeks. He was cruel, cruel!

‘Hearing me berating you last night, no one could have doubted my loyalty to King Henry. We must needs distance ourselves from your father, and make it appear that we had abandoned him because of his wickedness.’

‘You make me feel like Judas,’ she said, bitter. ‘Just tell me you don’t believe there is any truth in those allegations you made against King Richard, that he murdered his nephews.’

‘All part of the same strategy,’ William said.

‘But do you believe it? That he had them killed?’

‘What else is there to believe? No one has seen them alive in more than two years.’

‘There could be many explanations for that!’

‘Then believe what you want to believe. But keep your mouth shut on that issue, d’you hear me? Because, mark me well, we will no doubt be told that he had them murdered.’

They faced each other, all conversation run out. He had not apologised, and even if he had, forgiving him was another matter. For all his good reasons for uttering them, the things he had said to her had injured their marriage irrevocably.

‘I am sorry you regret taking me to wife,’ she ventured.

‘I would not do so now,’ William replied bluntly. ‘But since we are wed, we must make the best of it.’

‘Last night, I thought of disappearing into a convent,’ she told him. He did not look too surprised, so perchance the idea had occurred to him too. A husband whose wife became a nun could be released from his marriage vows.

‘That might be for the best,’ he said, his face lightening a little.

‘Yes, it wouldhave been, I’m sure,’ she said, tart. ‘But this morning, I had cause to think again. I had not realised it before, and it took Mattie to make all plain, but by sure and certain tokens I am with child.’

William’s face was a mask of warring emotions. She knew how desperately he wanted a son; and yet he would not want it to be the grandson of a defeated king.

‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Then maybe God at least smiles upon our marriage. This pregnancy, coming at this time, must be a sign that I should not put you from me.’

‘You had considered it?’

‘Yes. But this makes a difference.’ He sighed. ‘We must make the best of things now, for our son’s sake.’

‘I pray God it will be a son.’

‘I need an heir. I do not want my line to end with Elizabeth, or my lands and title to go to the man she marries. But my son’s mother should not be dressed in mourning for a vanquished tyrant, which is what people are calling Richard now. I am sorry for your loss: I know what it is to lose a father by violence. But your grieving must be inward; outwardly, you must show you are looking to the future. I will not permit you to draw attention to whose daughter you are.’

Interlude

August 1561. Ipswich, Suffolk.

Queen Elizabeth paces up and down the council chamber, a volcano waiting to erupt. Her councillors look on apprehensively; they know what she can be like when she has a temper on her. They glance at each other, thinking that it might be less harrowing to do battle with the French than face the Queen when she is in a fury.

She is now nearly twenty-eight years old, a tall, slender woman with a thin face, hooked nose and swarthy skin whitened with cosmetics. Her long, curly red hair is coiled up on her head beneath a jaunty crimson velvet cap adorned with black plumes. Everything about her is stylish, from the matching gown with its pointed stomacher that shows off her tiny waist to advantage, to the pearls and jewels that drip from her ears, wrists and bosom. She is by no means beautiful, but she has a commanding presence and great personal charm, while men find her sexy – and not only because she is powerful. It pleases her vanity to encourage them; she is very vain indeed.

But she is in no mood for flirtation or preening now. She is here to discuss this latest threat to her security as Queen, and to demand answers.

‘I tell you, this is a conspiracy!’ she snarls. ‘Why will you not believe me?’

‘Because, Madam, there is no evidence,’ Sir William Cecil replies calmly.

‘Oh, my Spirit, I ca

Cecil takes the reproof in his stride; he has been on the receiving end of far worse.

Elizabeth frowns. ‘But there must be many who were privy to this marriage, according to what I hear,’ she persists. ‘To me, my lords, that smells of a conspiracy!’

‘So far our investigations have uncovered not a single person who knows anything about it,’ Cecil tells her, aware that his fellows are more than content for him to act as spokesman.

‘What of the minister?’ the Queen barks.

‘Disappeared without trace, Madam.’

‘And Mrs Saintlow?’

‘In the Tower. Madam, I would remind you that the Lady Katherine also sought out my Lord Robert here.’ He bows slightly in the direction of the man who is his rival for power.

Elizabeth glares at Cecil. ‘And he came immediately to me.’ Lord Robert ventures a smirk at Mr Secretary. ‘Mrs Saintlow did not think to tell me of her conversation with the Lady Katherine,’ the Queen continues. ‘I want her closely questioned. What of the Earl of Hertford?’

‘He has been summoned home.’

‘I want him and the Lady Katherine rigorouslyexamined by the Privy Council,’ Elizabeth demands. ‘So far, we have only heard her pathetic claim that she married for love. For love, mark you – and she a rival for my throne! God’s wounds, she has shown herself ungrateful for the favour extended to her, and insolent, yea. Mr Secretary, have Sir Edward Warner make enquiries to discover how many were privy to this marriage from the first!’

‘It shall be done,’ Cecil says.

‘Have it done now, before the official questioning,’ the Queen commands. She is still beside herself with anger. ‘By her disobedience and rashness, the Lady Katherine has managed to undermine my own careful policies,’ she hisses. ‘God knows, my lords, I spend my life playing off one royal suitor against another so they stay friendly towards this kingdom, and that I do without thought for my own inclinations. One day, it may please me to wed, but I shall do so for the good of my realm, not to satisfy my lusts. Yet the Lady Katherine has contracted marriage without a thought for the consequences, and that, gentlemen, proves to me that she is unfit to be my heir. I want her removed from the succession, and the way to do that is to have her attainted, because this is treason, no less!’