At the queen’s request her women prepared her for bed. Elizabeth never involved herself in the duties of the others. She was there for the single purpose of being Anne’s friend. When the queen was settled in her big bed, Elizabeth sat down by her side in a high-backed chair with a tapestried seat, and began to read to the queen from an illuminated book of folktales. Hugh returned with his lute and was permitted into the bedchamber. He seated himself on a stool by the warm fire, and softly began to play “Greensleeves,” a tune written by the king for Anne in the early days of their courtship.
The queen smiled happily, her eyes closed as she began to relax. “Do you know the words, Hugh?” she asked him.
The boy began to sing them in a low voice just loud enough for Anne and her companion to hear.
Elizabeth looked at her nephew. He was so young, and yet he seemed to sense just what the queen needed. His dark auburn curls, his large blue eyes, his sweet face proclaimed the innocence of his years.Now,she thought sadly,he will grow up quickly. This is not a place for the innocent.Anne had not protested that she had ceased to read. She had fallen asleep. She had to be exhausted, Elizabeth thought, for the day had been long and hard for her. But she had carried it off with the sophisticated elegance for which she was both admired and envied. Hugh played on, one song melding into another. Eventually they both fell asleep, Elizabeth in her chair and Hugh on his stool. And, comforted by their presence, Queen Anne slumbered on until her tiring woman entered the chamber to awaken her.
It was June the first. The sun was already long up, but it was barely five o’clock of the morning. Elizabeth and Hugh withdrew immediately so the queen might be prepared for her coronation. Elizabeth quickly showed Hugh the tiny cubicle that was to be his, and sent him off to fetch his belongings from the chamber where the king’s pages slept. Then she hurried to find Nancy so she might dress in her fine gown. She had hardly thought of him since her arrival in London, but now, as Nancy dressed her in the blue brocade with its silver-and-gold-embroidered neckline, she thought of Thomas Bolton. How he would have adored the pomp of this royal event. She must remember every detail in order to share it with him when she returned home. Nancy fastened the thin gold chain with its little bejeweled mirror about her waist, and Elizabeth was ready. She put her hand up to tuck an errant strand of her hair beneath her French hood.
“Here.” Nancy handed her a pair of creamy kid gloves decorated with seed pearls and crystals.
“Stay by the windows and you can see the queen’s procession leave,” Elizabeth told her tiring woman.
“You tell me all about it when you can,” Nancy said. “Don’t forget a thing. His lordship will want to know every last detail.”
Elizabeth nodded with a smile, and hurried from the room where all the queen’s women had been dressing. She had seen the looks of envy regarding her gown. She had been absolutely right to chose blue rather than Tudor green. There were a plethora of gowns in that color, and none as nicely embellished as was her blue gown. Finding the queen, who was now dressed in royal purple and being fitted with her long ermine-trimmed cape, she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you, your highness?”
“Keep my favorite page by your side,” Anne told her. Then she handed Elizabeth a clay chit. “This will get you both into the cathedral, and wear these.” She gave her friend two of her household badges.
“Thank you, your highness,” Elizabeth said, and she curtseyed low.
Anne gave her a quick grin and a wink. “This cape weighs as much as the king himself,” she muttered.
“I will carry the train of it, your highness,” the old dowager Duchess of Norfolk said in her reedy voice. “And might I beg a boon of you on this glorious day?”
“What is it?” the queen asked. The dowager had been passing kind to her.
“Would you allow your cousin, little Catherine Howard, to see your coronation? Perhaps the lady of Friarsgate would take her with her to the church.” The old woman looked hopeful. “It would be such a thrilling event for the child. She has little in life.”
Anne nodded graciously. “Of course,” she said. Then she called, “Jane Seymour, give the lady of Friarsgate another of my badges for my cousin Catherine Howard.”
“At once, your highness,” Jane Seymour said, her eyes not meeting those of her mistress. She hurried off.
“I do not like that girl,” Anne murmured to Elizabeth. “And I do not know this cousin, Catherine Howard, but if the dowager seeks to help her, I must too. I hope she will not be too much trouble, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “A proper little Howard girl? I doubt it.” She curtseyed again as the queen moved off from her apartments to her royal barge, which would take her back to Westminster.
“Mistress Hay, here is the other badge,” Jane Seymour said, handing it to Elizabeth. Then she asked boldly, “How is it you are here, and always by the queen’s side, Mistress Hay?” Then the curious eyes lowered as quickly as they had looked directly at Elizabeth. It was a sly movement.
“I am the queen’s friend,” Elizabeth said shortly, and then she moved off. She had no wish to engage in conversation with Mistress Seymour. There was something about the girl that she could not quite put her finger upon, but Elizabeth knew that she didn’t like her. The prim and proper attitude was a false one. She sensed that the girl was filled with guile. Then, looking about, she called for her nephew, and for Mistress Catherine Howard.
The young girl came forward, and Elizabeth was stunned by the child’s beauty. She had a heart-shaped face with a pale complexion and cheeks that seemed to have been brushed by a rose. It was a sweet face. Her eyes were a wonderful cerulean blue, and the hair showing beneath her cap was a rich light auburn. “I am Catherine Howard, my lady.” She curtseyed politely to Elizabeth.
“Just Mistress Hay,” Elizabeth told her. “The dowager Duchess of Norfolk requested of your cousin, the queen, that you be allowed to see the coronation. I am to take you with me and her highness’s page, Hugh St. Clair. Come along now. My barge is waiting to take us to Westminster.”
“You have your own barge? You must be very rich,” Catherine Howard said ingenuously. “I don’t know anyone except my uncle, the duke, who has their own barge.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I am just the lady of a northern estate. The barge belongs to my uncle, Lord Cambridge, and he is indeed very rich.”
“My father is the Earl of Witton,” Hugh announced to the young girl.
“Are you his heir?” Catherine Howard wanted to know.
“Nay, I am the youngest son,” he told her.
“Then you are of little importance,” Catherine Howard said, and she looked straight ahead.
Elizabeth laughed again. “You have been bested, Hughie,” she told the boy, whose cheeks were now a bright red.
