“Mistress, I found some of the dowager’s servants, and left Mistress Howard with them,” Nancy said, coming upon them.
“Then we are ready to escape to Bolton House,” Elizabeth said, and Flynn helped both women down into the barge.
“I will see you again,” he promised her.
“Aye, you will,” Elizabeth agreed.
They reached Bolton House in good time, and Elizabeth found Philippa awake and waiting for her in the great hall. The sisters embraced, and Elizabeth kicked off her shoes, loosened her laces, and sat down before the fire.
“How is Hugh doing?” Philippa asked her sister.
“The queen adores him. Why wouldn’t she, with that angelic face of his, and his sweet voice? She loves having him by her, and is very kind to him.”
“Then perhaps it will be all right,” Philippa said.
“She didn’t know who he was, sister. When I brought him to her, she said that she had stolen him from the king for his pretty face, and did not even know his name. She was surprised when I told her,” Elizabeth explained. “Hugh has great charm, and has won her over. Anne is not a woman to be fooled. Your son is very lucky.”
“Crispin wants to leave tomorrow,” Philippa said. “He is not one for the court these days, and neither am I, to my surprise.”
“I will be fine,” Elizabeth replied. “The progress is not to be a great or lengthy one this summer, given the queen’s condition. The child is due in September. I will go home immediately after he is born.” She arose. “I am exhausted. I slept in a chair by the queen’s bed last night. And then today I was given charge over the queen’s younger cousin, Catherine Howard.”
“There will be jousting and dancing for the rest of the week,” Philippa noted. “You are likely to be kept busy, I fear.”
Elizabeth yawned. “I know. God’s blood, how I long for Friarsgate, and my country ways.”
“And your husband,” Philippa said mischievously.
Elizabeth grinned. “Aye, I long for Baen too. It is time that young Tom had a brother or a sister.” She yawned again, and stood up. “Good night, Philippa. Do not go without seeing me first, please.” She kissed her sibling and went to her own bedchamber.
The Earl and Countess of Witton departed early the next morning. Elizabeth watched them go, wishing desperately that she were with them. The whole long summer stretched ahead. A summer she would not be at Friarsgate. A summer away from Baen and young Tom. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she wept. She wanted to go home, not to the joust to be held this afternoon in the queen’s honor, or to the banquets and masques that would follow. She was not a part of any of it. She was not a great lady. She was plain Elizabeth Hay, the lady of Friarsgate. She didn’t belong here at court.
And when she had finished feeling sorry for herself, Elizabeth called to Nancy, and they prepared to join the queen once again.
The summer months passed. Many in the court had gone home to attend to their own estates. At first the queen accompanied her husband on the annual progress, but they did not travel far from London, only briefly to Essex and Surrey. Mostly they remained at Greenwich, the king going off with his closest friends to hunt a few days at a time.
It was customary that a queen take to her apartments a month before the birth of a child, to be served only by women. Anne had chosen to have her child at Greenwich, and it was a great relief to Elizabeth when they finally settled into that lovely palace on the river.
The queen’s apartments had been completely redone in their absence. Now everything was prepared in accordance with the rules for royal childbirth that had been set down by King Henry’s grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, in the last reign. The walls and windows of the queen’s rooms but for one window would be covered with rich tapes-tries. Only women would be allowed into the royal apartments. And Anne would be forced to remain quiet in the darkened chambers as she awaited the momentous occasion of her child’s birth. She kept Elizabeth by her side most days and nights, along with young Hugh St. Clair, who had become her favorite page. He had also become a favorite with the other ladies as well, who enjoyed his sweet voice, and his pretty face and manners.
Elizabeth slipped through the woods to Bolton Greenwich as often as she could. Returning one day, she found Anne in a towering rage, and none could calm her. Of course, they were all terrified that the queen’s outburst would cause her to miscarry. “What has happened?” Elizabeth asked Lady Margaret Douglas, the king’s niece.
“Someone has told her that the king is dallying with a lady of the court. That his hunting trips are but ruses to be with his lady love,” Lady Margaret whispered. “You know how jealous of him she can be.”
“God’s wounds!” Elizabeth swore. “Who told her that?” She had heard the rumor herself, but had paid it little heed. Many husbands denied their wives’ company were known to find amusement elsewhere. But the king was being discreet, for if he was indeed dallying with another, no one knew who she was, or had even seen anything untoward.
“We do not know,” came the reply.
“Well, it has to be one of the women here,” Elizabeth said, looking around. Her gaze lit on Jane Seymour, who sat placidly through the queen’s tantrum, sewing. She had no reason to dislike Mistress Seymour, but she did. There was something sly about her, Elizabeth thought. “I had best go to her,” she told Lady Margaret.
“Oh, would you?” Lady Margaret sounded relieved. “She does love you, and she listens when you advise her, Mistress Hay.”
Elizabeth hurried into the queen’s privy chamber. Anne was sobbing violently, and her hair was loose and disarrayed. There were several pieces of broken crockery upon the floor. “You are upsetting yourself needlessly, your highness,” she began, and she waved the others in the chamber out with an imperious hand.
“Do you know what he said to me?” Anne sobbed. “They sent for him, you know. I told him what I knew. I told him I would not countenance his fucking another woman, and especially now, when the child is so near to being born. He did not beg my pardon, or even console me. He said in that commanding voice of his, ‘You must shut your eyes, madame, and endure, as your betters before you have endured. You must surely know that having raised you to such utopian heights I can as easily lower you back to the depths.’ Oh, Elizabeth, he does not love me anymore!” And the queen sobbed harder.
The lady of Friarsgate put comforting arms about the queen. “He was angry at being found out, Anne. All summer long he has kept anything he considered distressful to you from you. Some of it quite silly, I might add. Of course he loves you. Now cease your greeting, and think of the child you are carrying.”
“Ohh, Elizabeth,” the queen cried, “you must never leave me!”
