Page 14 of A Woman of Passion

Elizabeth Tudor forced the tragic memories away and let happier thoughts fill her mind. Catherine, so young and gay, had been unfailingly kind to her, mothering her as no other woman had done. Catherine Howard had been cousin to her real mother, Anne Boleyn, and she had answered all Elizabeth's questions about her mother and the fateful marriage to her father, King Henry. Elizabeth had been wildly curious for years, but whenever she had dared whisper her mother's name, she had been hushed up with slaps.

Elizabeth remembered her other stepmother, Jane Seymour, who had liked to walk in the Clock Court here at Hampton before she gave birth to the little prince Edward. Elizabeth was only four at the time, but she remembered how cruel her stepmother had been to her, coldly banishing her to Hatfield so that she would be eighteen miles away from her father, King Henry.

Elizabeth Tudor smiled a secret smile of satisfaction. Jane Seymour schemed to replace my mother, but the sly bitch also ended up in her grave. Still, Jane's short reign as queen hadn't been a total loss. It had produced a brother for Elizabeth and provided her with an uncle, Thomas Seymour. Elizabeth smiled again, just thinking about him. Thomas was like a golden god and one of the very few people she loved and trusted in the entire world.

Elizabeth moved toward the latticed window, opened it, and leaned out. It was much too pleasant a day to stay indoors, and she decided to explore the gardens. She saw a barge arrive at the landing stage, and curiosity kept her at the window to see who arrived. When a gaggle of females disembarked, Elizabeth squinted her eyes to see if she knew them. She recognized Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset, because of her girth. She liked Frances, who never put on airs, but thought her young daughter, Lady Jane Grey, was a pious little dog turd, utterly devoid of wit or mischief.

Elizabeth was well aware the child was being considered as a consort for Prince Edward and would likely soon join the royal nursery so they could be educated together. A few nobles' sons already were being educated at Court along with Prince Edward; the schoolroom would soon bulge at the seams. Elizabeth laughed out loud as she thought of the Earl of Warwick's sons. The Dudley brothers would make Lady Jane's life hell!

Elizabeth slipped into the library and selected a book of verse to take into the gardens. Any day now the cruel winds of autumn would denude the lovely flower beds and strip the leaves from the shade trees. To avoid the visitors she made her way from the royal lodgings toward the lesser rooms of the outer courtyard.

As she cut through the Silver Stick Gallery, Elizabeth saw a female coming toward her from the opposite end of the gallery. When they got within five feet of each other, both stopped dead in their tracks and stared. Both girls, gowned in purple, had the same startling red-gold hair. Both were slim, of the same height, and each carried a book. The striking resemblance did not end there, for both had the same straight carriage and held their proud heads high. The encounter was like looking in a mirror.

“Who the devil are you?” Elizabeth demanded.

“I am Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick. Who the devil are you?”

“I am the Lady Elizabeth.”

“Your Grace,”Bess gasped, sinking into a curtsy.

“Nay, I have no such title these days.”

“I cannot call you lady when you are a royal princess.”

“Ha! Behind my back they call me the little bastard.”

“They will regret it someday, when you are queen.”

Elizabeth's amber eyes turned to glittering gold. They will indeed. “Why have I never seen you before?”

“I am from Derbyshire, Your Grace. Lady Zouche found me a place in her household as companion to her daughters.”

Elizabeth stared at her. Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick was a farmer's daughter, while she was the daughter of a king. How was it possible they were so alike? “We even have the same name.” She walked a circle around Bess, examining her closely. “Look at our hands—’tis uncanny.” They had the same graceful hands, with long, delicate fingers, though the Lady Elizabeth's were adorned with many rings. “I'm not old enough to have breasts yet, but when I am, I hope and pray to God they resemble yours, mistress.”

“Please call me Bess, Your Grace.”

The girl is so easy to talk with, as if we have known each other for years.“We could be sisters, Bess. In fact, I wish you were my sister; we have far more in common than the one with whom I have been saddled.” Elizabeth watched closely for Bess's reaction to her slur against her Catholic half-sister, Mary. When Bess seemed amused rather than shocked, Elizabeth took a cautious liking to her. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, Your Grace, it isn't my book; it belongs to Lady Jane Grey. I was sent to retrieve it from the barge, but I have become hopelessly lost. The rooms at Hampton have no imaginable order.”

Elizabeth almost choked with glee. “ 'Tis my father's pride and joy. None has ever dared criticize it before. How refreshing to know someone who speaks her mind.”

“I am cursed with an impulsive tongue.”

Elizabeth nodded her understanding. “Retorts spring quickly to my lips also, but I have learned a measure of caution. What is Lady Jane reading?”

Bess showed her the book.

“Latin! The little dog turd carries it with her just to impress everyone. What the hell pleasure can a little girl derive from Latin?”

Bess burst into laughter, amused to hear the young princess swear.

Elizabeth joined in her laughter. “My uncle Tom Seymour taught me to swear. He's a sailor—they have very salty vocabularies. My father is going to make him admiral of the fleet.” Though the princess was younger than Bess, she was wise beyond her years. “Come into the gardens with me; I want to talk.”

Bess looked uncertain. “I'll be in trouble if I don't return with the book, Your Grace.”

“I'll take care of that,” Elizabeth said decisively. “Come.” It took only a few minutes for the Lady Elizabeth to lead them into the State Apartments and ferret out the whereabouts of Lady Frances Grey.

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