The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

Edward will obey his dearest Uncle Thomas…as will Jane Grey. We shall see that the most important people in this realm will be my Lord High Admiral and his Dowager Queen.”

“I believe he has done this deliberately to frustrate us.”

“Of course he has.”

“It is a sad thing when brothers cannot work together.”

“But you are the elder, Edward; and he, because he has a way of charming women and children, believes he should have your place. He thinks that the manners of Master Admiral are of greater importance to this realm than the cleverness of you, my darling.”

“Dearest Anne, calm yourself. It is bad for you to become excited.”

“I am not excited, my love. I only know that I shall not stand by and see Lord Thomas play his tricks on us. The King shall have our Jane, and Jane Grey is to marry our boy. As for Master Thomas, if he becomes too dangerous…”

“Yes?” said the Protector.

“I doubt not that you, my lord, will find some way of making him … less dangerous.”

Her eyes were wild, and her husband was at great pains to soothe her. Such excitement he knew to be bad for her condition.

But while he soothed her, he told himself that there was a good deal in what she was saying. Thomas was working against his brother, and that was something which no wise man, if he were Protector of the realm, could allow.

EARLY MORNING SUNSHINE coming through the window of Elizabeth’s bedchamber in Chelsea Palace, shone on the Princess who lay in her bed.

She was startled. She had been awakened from her sleep by the sound of the opening of her door. She would have leaped out of bed and run to her women in the adjoining chamber, but she saw that she was too late. She heard the low laughter and, pulling the bedclothes up to her chin, she waited with an apprehension which was tinged with delight.

The bed curtains parted and there, as Elizabeth had known there would be, was Thomas Seymour, clad only in nightgown and slippers. He was smiling down challengingly at Elizabeth.

“How …how dare you, my lord!” she demanded. “How dare you come thus into my bedchamber!”

He drew the curtains farther apart and continued to smile at her.

“Come, Elizabeth, you know you expect me to pay this morning call. An I did not, you would be most offended.”

“It is customary, my lord, to put on conventional garb before calling on a lady.”

“What are conventions…between friends?” His eyes looked saucily into hers.

She said haughtily: “Pray go, my lord. My women will hear you. Yester-morning they were shocked because I had to run to them for protection against you.”

“And this morning,” he said, “I was determined to catch you before you could. And, my lady, am I right in believing that you were determined to be caught?”

“I will not endure your insolence.”

“What cannot be prevented must be endured.” He came closer to the bed. “May I not look in to bid my stepdaughter good morning?”

“Nay, you may not!” But she knew the sternness of her words did not tally with the merriment in her voice.

“Your eyes invite, Elizabeth,” he said; and his tone was no longer one he might use to tease a child.

“My lord…”

“My lady…”

He was kneeling by the bed, and Elizabeth laughed uneasily. He caught her suddenly and kissed her heartily on the check and sought her mouth. Elizabeth made a pretense of struggling, and this only served to encourage him.

The door opened suddenly and her stepmother came in.

“Thomas!” ejaculated Katharine.

Elizabeth dared not look at her; she knew that her face was hot with shame; she felt guilty and wicked.

Imperturbably Thomas said: “What a wildcat is this daughter of yours, my love! Refuses to be kissed good morning by her old father. I declare she was ready to leave the mark of her nails on my face.”

Katharine laughed—the easy, pleasant laugh which Elizabeth knew so well.

“Elizabeth, my dear, my lord but meant to give you good morning.”

Elizabeth raised her eyes to her stepmother’s face, and she decided to be wise.

“That I know well,” she answered, “but I would be accorded more respect. It is not the first time he has come in, clad thus… in nightgown and slippers and drawn the curtains of my bed to laugh at me.”

“It is wrong of you both,” said Katharine, smiling lovingly from one to the other. “Tom, you behave like a boy of sixteen.”

“But hark to the child, my love. She talks of her dignity. What dignity hath a chit of thirteen years?”

“I would have you know, my lord, that I am nigh on fifteen years old.”