The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir Page A

ended, and a jubilant Te Deum had been sung, it was well after midnight and she was fighting a losing battle with sleep. As the procession made its way to the Queen’s apartments, where the royal parents were waiting to receive their newly baptized son, the Lady Mary gripped her somnolent little sister’s hand and kept her on her feet until such time as she could hand her back to Lady Bryan. The last thing Elizabeth remembered of that marvelous night, before she could keep her eyes open no longer, was her father weeping with joy as he cradled her brother.
     
    Queen Jane had looked radiant and well as she sat on her state bed receiving her guests, so Elizabeth was shocked to hear, two days later, that she was ill.
    “Her Highness has a fever,” Lady Bryan told her. “They say she has eaten too many rich foods.”
    The anxious concern in her governess’s face alarmed Elizabeth. She noticed that there was an ominous pall over the court: People were conversing in hushed voices, and no one was making merry anymore. This frightened her. She liked Queen Jane, who had been kind to her, and she knew that her father loved the Queen very much. She prayed to God that her stepmother would get better soon.
    But one evening, several days later, her sister Mary came to her.
    “The Queen our good mother is very poorly,” she said sadly. “Her confessor is with her, and our father the King.” Elizabeth’s spirits fell. She feared for the Queen, for her father, for herself, and for that poor little baby lying in his massive cradle. Was yet another royal child to be deprived of its mother?
    “Will she die?” she whispered.
    “We must pray she will not,” Mary replied, putting an arm around Elizabeth. “We must ask God to spare her life.”
    Elizabeth went immediately to her prayer desk and knelt down.
    “I’m going to ask Him now,” she said, and closing her eyes and putting her hands together, she began praying fervently.
    Behind her, Mary pressed a hand to her cheek. “Ooh, this tooth is giving me misery,” she groaned.
    “Cloves, madam, that’ll help,” said Lady Bryan.
    “I’ve tried that,” Mary said, clearly in pain. “Nothing works. I must bear it as well as I may. As my sainted mother used to say, we never come to the kingdom of Heaven but by troubles.”
    “A hot brick wrapped in flannel, held to the spot, will ease it,” Lady Bryan persisted, rising to her feet. “As for you, my Lady Elizabeth, it is time you were in bed. I will attend you presently, when you have finished your prayers.”
     
    Elizabeth woke to the sound of quiet sobbing. The dawn was just breaking as she slid out of bed and put on her nightgown. Holding her breath, she quietly opened the door to the antechamber. No one was there. The weeping seemed to be coming from beyond the farther door. Elizabeth lifted the latch.
    The Lady Mary and Lady Bryan, both already fully dressed, rose to their feet at once. Elizabeth looked from one tearstained face to another and guessed that something dreadful had happened. Mary came swiftly to her.
    “Sister, if we accept good things from God, then we must also endure the trials He sends us,” she said, holding Elizabeth close. “Alas, the good Queen has been taken from us.”
    “She has surely gone to Heaven, child, for she did many good deeds,” Lady Bryan assured her, dabbing her eyes.
    Elizabeth said nothing. She had lost control when her mother died, and she doubted that anything would ever hurt her as badly again, so she was trying not to cry. She was a big girl now, and must accept God’s will, difficult as it was.
    “The Queen made a good end. She died in her sleep, after receiving the last rites,” Mary told her. “We have that consolation.”
    “I am so sorry she is dead,” whispered Elizabeth. “She was very kind to me. I will miss her.” Tears were threatening, but she would not give in to them.
    “We will all miss her,” echoed Mary, “especially our poor father.”
    “Where