Mary & Elizabeth. Emily Purdy

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      Roses of vivid pink embarrassment bloomed in my cheeks and I desired nothing more than to break the dancing ring moving around me and escape to the privacy of my bedchamber. I disliked being the centre of such attentions, and there was a nagging suspicion at the heart of me that they were mocking and making cruel sport of me, the pathetic Lady Mary who was no longer young and had never been pretty like the Queen. Katherine crept up behind me and tied a kerchief over my eyes and spun me round and round until I staggered dizzily and feared I might disgrace myself by being sick, then gave me a shove into the arms of the nearest gentle man.

      “Ah, heart’s-ease, that brings back memories, does it not, my dear Derham?” she teasingly addressed the vividly costumed gentleman who held me in his arms and had just removed my blindfold so I could see him smiling down at me with a set of very fine, even white teeth.

      She drew me aside for a moment before we paired off for dancing and whispered wicked but kindly meant words in my ear, telling me that if I were so minded to meddle with a man, she knew of ways to prevent conception. I was appalled that she would speak of such, and even more so that she would possess such knowledge, and with flaming cheeks I pulled away from her and fled, forsaking the chance to dance with Master Derham.

      Time would later disclose that, despite her youth, Catherine Howard had been a rather enthusiastic gardener herself, and that of the bevy of handsome fellows who had danced around me that night, two of them were known to have been her lovers. Francis Derham was purposefully costumed as heart’s-ease as a reminder of a silken flower he had once given his common-law wife – the Queen – a fact unbeknownst to Father, who called that wanton little guttersnipe his “Rose Without a Thorn”. And even at that time she was dallying with the daffodil – Thomas Culpepper, Father’s favourite bodyservant, who so tenderly ministered to his poor, sore and ulcerated legs.

      She gave me a gold pomander ball studded with turquoises and rubies for my birthday, but I made a point of losing it. I wanted nothing from that foolish girl and hoped that perhaps some poor soul might find it and benefit from the sale of so costly a bauble.

      It was only a matter of time before the truth came out and she died on the scaffold for her sins and Father was plunged into a deep, dark depression from which I feared he would never emerge.

      But emerge he did, to take a sixth and final wife, the one who would nurse and care for him for the remainder of his life. He began and ended his married life with a Catherine. Both Catherine of Aragon and Catherine Parr were kind, clever, strong, and capable women. And though I liked her well, and she did much for my sister and me, seeing that Elizabeth received a formidable education every bit as good as that given to our brother, and persuading Father to reinstate us in the succession so we could both be called “Princess” again, still I mistrusted Kate on account of her Reformist beliefs. Though she kept it discreetly veiled, she was in truth a Protestant, a heretic, and encouraged my brother and sister to follow this path, which would lead them away from the true religion.

      This made me both fearful and sad. I wanted to right the wrongs Father had wrought at The Great Whore’s instigation. I wanted to go back in time to a place of greater safety, to the tranquillity and traditions of my childhood, and the indescribably blissful feeling of rightness and a well-ordered world. I remembered the love, the peace, the sense of security and serenity I had felt when I walked, dressed in pearls, between my parents, who loved each other and loved me, and went hand in hand with them to kneel and worship God, to witness the miracle when the priest held the Host aloft and the bread became the body of Jesus Christ, our Saviour. There was nothing better and nothing else like it in the world, and I wanted my siblings to know and share it; I wanted faith to unite us, not tear us apart. The comfort of the Latin litanies, the adoring hymns writ to praise Him, the Miracle of the Mass, the Elevation of the Host, the comforting clickety-clack of rosary beads moving smooth and cool beneath devout fingers, the swinging censers filling the chapel with fragrant incense, the sprinkling of holy water, the flickering candles that reminded us that God is the light of the world, the crucifixes and statues, the tapestries and jewel-hued stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the Bible, the embroidered altar cloths, the golden chalices, the embroidered vestments the priests wore, the beautiful things offered up to worship, glorify, and adore God and His saints and the Blessed Virgin, and the relics and shrines and the miracles they wrought: the blind made to see, and the lame to walk. I wanted my siblings to behold, marvel, and adore all these sacred things. And the knowledge, and the comfort it gave, that all who believed and followed the true faith walked with God, and walked in love, and never walked alone. More than anything, I wanted to give this special and most precious gift, this beautiful and blissful serene sense of well-being and peace, to my siblings and every other man, woman, and child who lived and breathed, to restore it to the people of England from whom it had been violently and most cruelly taken away. And as I sat keeping vigil at Father’s deathbed, I knew then that this was my divinely appointed mission. I was ready and God would not find me wanting; I would dedicate my life to it.

      

2

      Elizabeth

      Nothing lasts forever, and everyone says “goodbye”, even if they don’t actually say it because they don’t have the chance or choose not to out of cruelty, cowardice, or spite; it is not a question of “if”, it is only a matter of “when”. L’amaro e il dolce – the bitter and the sweet. Life is not a banquet; we cannot always pick and choose of which dishes we wish to partake; we have to take the bitter and the sweet, the bland and the savoury, the delicious and the detestable.

      Sage? Philosophical? Poetic? Lofty? Call them what you will. These thoughts have often run like a raging river through my life. As my father lay dying they crashed violently against the rocks of my mind until I thought the pain would knock me to the floor, gasping and clutching my head in the throes of a violent megrim. He had, like a river himself, mighty and majestic, beautiful and horrible, tranquil or terrifying, the power to destroy any who dared cross him, sweeping them aside or pulling them down to drown. When I was a little girl I thought he was invincible, but by thirteen I was old enough to understand that Time and Death conquer all that live; kings are no exception to the rule, merely mortals God infuses with a little of His divinity and power. A crown is a God-given gift, and the one to whom it is given wields the power that comes with it for the good of all, not just for personal wealth and glory.

      I could still remember a time before the very mention of my name, let alone a glimpse of me, was enough to make my father roar and lash out like a wounded lion. For the first three years of my life I was adored, a true princess, in title, and in the way others treated me, with bows and flattery and words spoken in soft, deferential tones.

      I vividly remember a day when all the court was dressed in sunny yellow, all was jubilation and celebration, but I couldn’t under stand why. When I asked her, my lady-governess said, “No, My Lady Princess, today is not a holiday,” but would not say more and sternly forbade me to ask my parents. I too was dressed in a gown of gaudy yellow, sewn all over with golden threads and spark ling yellow gems like miniature suns themselves that seemed to wink mischievously at me whenever the light struck them. I loved watching the big round yellow jewels set in golden suns on the toes of my shoes peep out and flash and wink at me with every step I took so that my lady-governess had to scold me to walk properly like a princess and hold myself erect instead of stooped over like a hunchback as she escorted me to the Great Hall where my great golden giant of a father, as big and bright as the sun itself he seemed to me then, swept me up onto his shoulder and paraded me СКАЧАТЬ