It might have been some of his ministers who had thought her influence on him was too strong; it might have been some jealous woman. . . .
Who could say? But the fact remained that Margaret was dead and here was another in her place.
He was smiling at her, pressing her hand. She was ready to be loved, he could see that. Very young but ready, very ready.
He was fortunate. He must remember that. For all that latent passion, which he as a connoisseur of women could detect, there was an innocence about her, a romanticism, which perhaps most girls of her age would have before they came into contact with the world.
In time she would discover. Janet Kennedy would see to that and he doubted he would be ready to give up Janet for a pretty young girl, delightful though she might be.
But that was for the future. Perhaps the new Queen of Scotland could be made to accept the inevitable.
All James must concern himself with now was to conduct his bride to Holyrood where in the church of that palace the ceremony of their marriage would take place.
Katharine’s position had changed. As the future Queen of England she could no longer live in obscurity. She would come to Court and as it was no exaggeration to say that the clothes she had brought with her from Spain were decidedly shabby, the King was obliged, though reluctantly, to make her an allowance.
Katharine’s first need was to pay her servants and when that was done—for their wages were very much in arrears—there was not a great deal left for clothes. But still it was an improvement and the fcuture seemed a little more secure. In two or three years she should be truly married to the Prince of Wales and then the King must give her an adequate allowance.
She had written to her mother and what joy it had been to receive a reply in that dear and familiar handwriting. The words were warm and loving. Katharine must never doubt that her mother watched over her and was determined to do everything in her power to promote her well-being. She would see that the best thing that could happen to her since Prince Arthur was dead, was marriage with the new Prince of Wales. And Katharine being her own good and docile daughter would realize that such a marriage would be to Spain’s advantage. Isabella was sorry that Katharine had such difficulty in meeting the needs of her household. “We cannot send you money, dear daughter. We need all we have for the war. It is swallowing up far more than we anticipated. Moreover it is the duty of your future father-in-law to make you an adequate allowance. He is reputed to be extremely rich. He doubtless would like us to support you, but this is a matter of state, dear daughter, and I am sure your father would agree with me that it would be foolish of us—even if we had the means—to take over the commitments of the King of England. Be patient, dear daughter, and know that your mother loves you and will always watch over you.”
Katharine wept when she read that letter. She must not complain. She was the most fortunate of daughters to possess such a mother.
The idea came to her that if she pawned her jewelery it should fetch a great deal. It was part of her dowry and the King had said that she should wear her jewelery and de Puebla had hinted that the King was in due course going to reject it as part of the dowry.
Dona Elvira was horrified at the idea of pawning the jewelery.
“I must pay my servants,” cried Katharine. “And I cannot appear at Court in threadbare gowns.”
“But this is the dowry you will bring to your husband.”
“My late husband’s revenues have not come to me. The King has taken them. I have nothing but the King’s small allowance. I must do something. When I am married to the Prince I shall be able to redeem the jewels.”
Dona Elvira shrugged her shoulders.
It was all very bewildering and it was true that Katharine must find money somewhere.
It will pass, thought Katharine. In two . . . perhaps three years I shall be married. Then all will be well. As my mother says I must be patient.
I will, she thought. I can be because I know that she is there . . . always loving and kind and watching over me.
De Puebla called at Durham House. Looking very somber he asked for an immediate audience with the Princess.
As soon as he came into her presence Katharine was filled with a terrible fear.
“What is wrong?” she cried.
“News from Spain,” he said.
“My mother . . .”
He nodded and was silent.
“News? What news? Tell me quickly.”
“My dear lady, you must prepare yourself for a great shock.”
“Is it my mother . . . my father . . . ?”
Again that nod and silence. It was more than Katharine could endure.
“It is my mother,” she said blankly. “She is ill. . . .”
He looked at her beseechingly. It was odd to see the sly de Puebla so moved.
Then he said clearly and with the greatest compassion in his voice: “Queen Isabella is dead, my lady.”
“Dead!”
