Although Prince Vidal continued indifferent to Lady Elizabeth's existence over the next few weeks and thus no intervention by Aurelia was required, Rhoslyn's visit returned with increasing frequency to Aurelia's mind. Aurelia did not like Rhoslyn. She would have preferred to refuse outright and haughtily anything Rhoslyn asked, but what Rhoslyn had said about Oberon searching through the minds of all Underhill if evil befell the king's daughter terrified her.
Once, while she was healing from whatever had happened to her while Vidal was trying to abduct Elizabeth, Oberon's Thought had passed through the Unseleighe domain. He had not been seeking Aurelia; nonetheless the pain roused by the touch had been excruciating. She had screamed for days, and two healers had died trying to reduce her agony.
Worse yet, Rhoslyn said she had laid an information about attempts made on Elizabeth. Doubtless she had told all sorts of lies, implicating Aurelia and Vidal when it was really Pasgen who had tried to harm the girl. Aurelia frowned. She did not like Rhoslyn, but she did like Pasgen.
Pasgen had brought her Albertus, the mortal physician who had nearly cured her pain. The thought made her reach out and sip from the ever-present glass that Albertus had left for her. She needed the remedy much less frequently now and because she was able to think without feeling as if burning knives were lancing through her head, her mind was much clearer.
No, she did not mind Rhoslyn trying to divert blame from Pasgen. She did not want Pasgen blamed for the harm done to Elizabeth. And what Rhoslyn had said was true. Vidal hated Pasgen and would do his best to make the blame for whatever he did amiss in the mortal world fall upon Pasgen. This was unacceptable.
Aurelia sipped from the glass again, raising her other hand to her temple where a dull knife was pressing, threatening to pierce her skull. Albertus had warned her that shock, irritation, or worry would bring the pain back. Her discomfort meant she did not want Pasgen obliterated by Oberon. Had he not brought her Albertus and asked nothing in return? Aurelia put down the glass and stared speculatively into space. Was that a hint of favor that she had been too pain-ridden, too muddled in her mind, to notice?
She sat up a bit straighter and touched her hair. Thinking about pleasant things diminished her pain and Pasgen was pleasant to think about. Dimly she recalled Vidal raving on about what Pasgen had done while Vidal himself was incapacitated—taking over control of the Unseleighe Court that Vidal had so painstakingly assembled, wiping out troublemakers, bringing the dark Sidhe under control. So . . . now she remembered . . . Pasgen had ruled in Vidal's stead.
Aurelia knew that even when she was completely well she would not be able to rule an Unseleighe Court the size of this one alone. She needed a male to bluster and threaten, to lead the hunts, occasionally to kill with his own hands or sword. Vidal served that purpose very well, but . . . How would it be to replace Vidal with Pasgen?
Nibbling gently on a fingernail, Aurelia considered the idea. She suspected that over the time of Vidal's sickness Pasgen had become stronger in magic, possibly as strong or stronger than Vidal. Thinking it over she became more and more sure that was true, although the young Sidhe did his best to hide it.
Why hide strength? Because he was young and unsure his power could overmatch Vidal? Perhaps. More likely he was hiding his true ability because he was planning to kill Vidal and take over the domain, the court, and all the power that Vidal had amassed.
Then why had Pasgen yielded the rule of the court without a fight when Vidal returned? Of course, because while Vidal was healing, Pasgen could not reach him. Also because Vidal must die in the full sight of the court; otherwise there would always be some who hoped for Vidal's return and who would make trouble in his name. So, that was clever. Pasgen would make Vidal think he was weak and afraid. Vidal, prone to overconfidence and grandiose notions about his own abilities, would be off guard. And one day Pasgen would blast him and seize the court again.
Aurelia realized her heart was pounding, but her head did not hurt at all. She giggled. So the thought of Vidal being blasted dead was not at all shocking or unpleasant. Still, she would need to get her talons firmly fixed into Pasgen before he moved against Vidal.
Consulting her shaky memory produced a surprisingly clear answer. Even Vidal could not discover where Pasgen's domain was. Rhoslyn was the only path to Pasgen. Aurelia sighed. She did not like Rhoslyn. She thought it was Rhoslyn, in her weakness and whimsy, who held Pasgen back from the delights of games of torture and other similar pleasures.
Now she remembered why Vidal had been welcomed back so readily. The dark Sidhe had complained that Pasgen, being overfearful of Oberon, had made the Unseleighe Court dull as ditch-water and sour with rules. No fun and games with mortals or the weaker creatures.
Only because he was so young, Aurelia thought, smiling at the thought—
But the smile faded at the thought that inevitably followed.
—and too much under the hand of his mother and sister. Her eyes narrowed. Maybe that was not all bad; if necessary she could find ways to be rid of the mother and sister, and Pasgen was accustomed to female domination. She could simply substitute herself for them.
As for his lack of appreciation of Unseleighe pastimes, Pasgen would learn under her tutelage . . . if she began to find Vidal tiresome. Even if she did not, it would be wise to gain a hold on Pasgen, and for that she needed Rhoslyn. Aurelia sighed. Always, it came back to Rhoslyn. So, for now, she would support Rhoslyn's plan for dealing with Elizabeth.
Until now she had not needed to say anything to Vidal about Elizabeth because he had been fully absorbed in other matters. The war with the Scots—the pain and death of the soldiers and the misery of the common people overrun by both armies—had brought power in plenty to the Unseleighe. Unfortunately, that period of plenty might be coming to an end.
Had Vidal not begun to complain the last time she saw him that King Henry had called a truce to arrange for the marriage of the infant Scottish princess and his son? If the fighting stopped, their source of power would dry up, and doubtless Vidal would again begin to worry about the possibility of Elizabeth coming to rule.
Yet what Rhoslyn had said about there being plenty of time to deal with Elizabeth was true. The future the FarSeers envisioned for her could not be realized until after her father died, her brother died, and her sister Mary died. It was far more likely that Elizabeth would die than all of those who preceded her in the succession.
Thus it would be foolish to chance Oberon's rage. Let Rhoslyn work at disgracing Elizabeth in her father's eyes. If Henry was sufficiently disgusted with his daughter, it would become safe to deal with her more openly. In fact, if Henry—or Edward or Mary—disowned and disinherited her, then technically Elizabeth would no longer be a part of the family, and thus, no longer under Oberon's protection.
Another memory returned to Aurelia. Elizabeth's brilliant mind could have been an asset to the dark Sidhe. Well, it was too late now to raise the child to love the Unseleighe way. However, if she could be taken and the blame laid elsewhere, she could still be useful. Of course, now Elizabeth would have to be broken by fear and pain. Aurelia drew a deep breath and her eyes brightened as she contemplated the pleasure to be had in breaking the girl and the rich harvest of power that would come from her agony and terror.
With a sigh, Aurelia recalled herself from the pleasant dream and considered the problem of abducting Elizabeth. And the moment she did so, sudden pain lanced through the dark Sidhe's head.
The scars on her forehead burned!
The maid!
Aurelia snatched at the glass of potion, gulped half of it down, and closed her eyes.
The worst of the pain receded, but the memory of the maid did not fade. Aurelia ignored the band of pain, like a vise around her head, and ground her teeth. It would be impossible to lay hands on Elizabeth while that maid was with her. The maid could sense Sidhe and the creatures the Sidhe sent into the mortal world . . . and she was close enough to Elizabeth that she could not simply be felled by magic.
But what if the maid's fate came from mortal hands? The band of the vise began to loosen.
Attack by a mortal could be arranged. A slow smile drew Aurelia's lips away from her rather too pointed teeth. Being rid of the maid did not need to wait for Elizabeth's disgrace. The maid could be dealt with at any time and by any mortal means. Oberon was not going to care if grievous injury—even fatal injury—befell a common maid . . . so long as the injury did not appear to be magical.
Moreover, removing the maid would be an ideal device with which to distract Vidal. He would be happy to cooperate in transport and spells and easily believe the maid's death a prelude to Elizabeth's. Aurelia took another sip of the potion although now her headache was gone.
A new idea had occurred to her and she considered it, holding the glass to her lips but not drinking. Why bother Vidal with the preparations for destroying the maid? Far better to present the fait accompli to him after the maid was dead.
Pasgen was every bit as skilled with Gates as Vidal. By using Pasgen to arrange her entry into Elizabeth's living place she could achieve a double purpose. She could begin binding him as well as implicate him should there be some backlash from the maid's death.
The trouble was that reaching Pasgen was difficult. No one knew where his personal domain was hidden. She could send a message to the house where only construct servants lived, but Pasgen mostly ignored messages. Aurelia's lips thinned. She would need to ask Rhoslyn to bring him to her.
The tenor of Elizabeth's days had been constant and peaceful in the spring of 1543. The negotiations for the Scottish princess had stalled and were turning nasty. But now, in June, rumors of a new threat . . . or was it a promise . . . had come from the officers of Prince Edward's household to Kat Champernowne and from Kat to Elizabeth.
Kat did not want Elizabeth to be taken by surprise by the news and, because of past sad experience, react improperly, so she told her charge that there appeared to be a strong possibility that her father would marry again very soon. Elizabeth displayed nothing but confusion and Kat told her that she must seem glad and speak a hope that the king would find happiness if such news was brought to her.
To that, Elizabeth replied that she did, most heartily, desire her father to be happy, but she soon fled to her bedchamber—not to weep for Catherine Howard as Kat feared, but to cast her will at the flitting air spirit (which Kat did not know existed) and demand that it tell Denno to meet her in the park. She then went back to Kat and said she must ride out.
Elizabeth was prepared to do battle to get her way, because she had been out riding the previous day and a dancing master was scheduled for that afternoon. But strangely, Kat did not protest, only saying that she understood that Elizabeth needed distraction. Dunstan went himself to order guards and grooms to make ready, and as soon as Elizabeth had changed to riding dress, they were to horse and away.
Denno was waiting on Miralys at the far western end of the park. Elizabeth hallooed at him and touched her little mare with her crop. The guardsmen parted to let her pass. They saw Lord Denno also and knew him to be perfectly competent to protect their lady until they could catch up. They knew, too, that their pourboire was always a little higher when Lord Denno and Lady Elizabeth were given a few moments of complete privacy—well, not complete; they could see the lord and lady, but they could not hear what was said.
It was not any fear of being overheard that induced Denno to add to the small bribe the men received each time he and Elizabeth met, however. What he did not want them to see was the occasional look of pained surprise or the muffled squeak she uttered when she was not quick enough with her shield and the pebble or tiny dart he bespelled to fly at her reached her hand or cheek and nipped and stung.
The first few times Denno had allowed her to emplace the shield before she reached him. Those times, having bespelled the guardsmen and grooms to look elsewhere, he had struck harder and harder blows with fist and sword to make sure the shield was strong enough to withstand a heavy physical attack.
Later he demanded that she only draw the shield around her when she thought he was actually about to strike, because she could not live within a shield; her power was very limited and the shield would soon fail. She needed to be able to invoke it very fast if she perceived a threat.
If she was late in shielding, her punishment was the little prick of pain; if she was early, not only did she need to endure Denno's teasing about her cowardice but the pain would come anyway, when the shield failed and he sent his dart or pebble. That test over, others followed. As they rode through the park and talked idly of this and that, Denno tried to invade her mind and set into it a compulsion to do something silly.
The compulsion was invariably utterly harmless but embarrassing. One day Elizabeth had found herself painting her nose yellow; another day she had insisted on being served stewed apples instead of soup. Elizabeth had a strong sense of dignity. To be embarrassed was almost as bad as living with the terrible sense of fear and despair engendered by the dissolution spell. She worked hard and harder perfecting the shields that Tangwystl had taught her to protect her mind.
By the time of that meeting in June it was very rare indeed for Denno either to score a hit on her person or make any impression on her mind. Today he did not attack her at all, but rode forward with an anxious expression, asking what was wrong.
"I do not know," she said softly. "Kat told me my father is going to marry again." She shuddered very slightly. "Kat says I must be happy for him." Her eyes were dark with memory.
"God's Grace, there's nothing for you to fear, love," Denoriel said soothingly, then glanced quickly at the oncoming guards and Tolliver, but they were all too far off to have heard him call her 'love.' "You are forewarned and forearmed now."
"Yes, but I want to know whether I need to be forearmed and forewarned. A faint color rose into her normally pale cheeks. "Perhaps I should have learned better, but I do love being at court. I want to know whether Edward and I might be summoned."
Denoriel raised an eyebrow. "You will not have bad memories, my lady?"
The guards had reached them and Denoriel and Elizabeth rode ahead, side by side. The guards and Tolliver followed, but not so close that they would overhear low voices.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "Oh, no. My memories of the court itself are all very happy." Then she lowered her eyes and Denoriel saw a gleam along the lower lids. "After . . ." Her voice faltered but she swallowed and said, "I will not think of afterward. Denno, will you find out for me what lady is likely to be chosen?"
Denoriel sighed. "Yes, my lady, I will try. But you know, it will be even harder for me to see you if you are called to court."
She glanced up at him, her eyes all golden with laughter. "We will have to devise something. Perhaps you will be able to . . . ah . . . find your way into Blanche's room and we can talk at night. There will be gardens. Surely one will be lonely and neglected enough for us to meet. Or there is Hampton Court, which is my father's favorite palace; it is set within the forest, with access by river also. But you will find out about the lady and let me know?"
Denoriel sighed again. "Yes, my lady."
Elizabeth put out a hand and touched his arm. "And if we are summoned to court, I will find out all I can about the palace in which we will stay. Most like, it will be Hampton Court, and it will be easy to meet there. I will send Blanche to you with directions to what part of the palace I will be lodged. And I'm sure that Kat will do her best to get you on the guest list. Do you think it will be a foreign princess?"
"Foreign?" Denoriel frowned. "No. I am almost sure it is not. I would have heard through my merchant connections if any realm was close to such an important treaty. It would affect trade."
"Why?" Elizabeth asked.
Denoriel laughed. Elizabeth had a most unchildlike interest in how he had become so rich—well, perhaps it was not so surprising when she was always being told there was not money enough for this or that. And the more she understood of how politics at court affected England's relations with other nations, the better. The remainder of their ride was spent most blamelessly with Denoriel expounding the intricacies of trade. Even her father would have approved, for Great Harry was always looking for ways to add to his—and England's—wealth.
He had not forgotten, however, the reason Elizabeth had asked him to come was to learn about Henry's new matrimonial enterprise, and he Gated to his London house to consult with his man of business. It was Joseph Clayborne who suggested that the duke of Norfolk, despite being out of favor and still avoiding court, was most likely to have the information Denoriel wanted. Just because he was out of favor, Norfolk would urge those of his party to closer observation and himself attend more closely to every rumor and whisper concerning the king. The footman Joseph had hired was sent out to enquire and returned to report that the duke of Norfolk was indeed in residence in his London house.
Although Denoriel breathed a sigh of relief, he was not surprised. Norfolk might be out of favor as a friend and advisor, but King Henry did not allow his anger to deprive him of a valuable servant. Norfolk had driven back the Scots after the loss at Haddon Rig. Now Henry had a larger prize than Scotland in mind. The king was again negotiating with Emperor Charles to form a league to dismember France.
Hertford had been sent to replace Norfolk in the north, and Norfolk was charged with making preparations for gathering the army to attack France. At this early stage in the arrangements London, with its quick access to ships and roads in all directions, was a most convenient headquarters.
"There is no sense in carrying Turkey carpets or Flemish tapestries to Norfolk," Joseph Clayborne said. "In fact, he might take offense because he knows the courtiers are not now flocking around him and thus—"
"Yes." Denoriel nodded. "To bring such a gift would only remind him of his more favored days. But I need an excuse to visit."
"Not at all," Clayborne declared. "Bring him a dozen bottles of wine, be commiserating without actually saying why, and say you are come to thank him for keeping safe the northern shires—where you have considerable interest in wool."
Denoriel laughed. "Whatever would I do without you, Joseph?"
Clayborne smiled thinly. "The truth is, you would do very well, but I will not urge that truth because I am very happy in my work, in my luxurious lodging and my delicious if sometimes strange meals. Moreover, I am growing rich myself by small trading enterprises, which I arrange aboard your ships. So I will not point out that with just a trifle more attention to your business, you could do without me altogether."
"Grace of God, Joseph, are you going to leave me and set up as a trader yourself?" Denoriel pretended astonishment.
"No, my lord," Clayborne replied. "Did I not just say I was content? I will need to be a great deal richer before I set out on my own—if ever I do. I am wise enough to know that until I can obtain cargoes the way you do, I am best off trading as a gambling venture, while I continue to work as your man."
"You relieve my mind, Joseph." Denoriel grinned; he was sure Joseph suspected he was no ordinary man but that his business manager had long ago decided not to acknowledge his suspicions. As a reward Denoriel continued, "I cannot tell you where and how I find certain cargoes, but I certainly would allow you to take a few shares in them if you wished to venture."
"Yes I would, m'lord, but for now . . ."
He pulled the bell cord that hung behind his chair and when the footman answered told him to fetch half a dozen bottles of the best Bordeaux, wrap them well, and accompany Lord Denno.
Perhaps it was mention of the wine that the footman carried that brought Norfolk's secretary down to invite Denoriel to join Norfolk in his sitting room. Perhaps it was only Norfolk's curiosity, for as soon as Denoriel entered the room, the duke asked somewhat bitterly, "And what brings you here, Lord Denno? Not carpets or tapestries that you want shown off to the king's courtiers. No courtiers come to seek my favor any longer."
Denoriel shrugged. "For the present that may be true, Your Grace, but the future will likely be brighter. In any case the lack of courtiers has no effect on what I hope will be an even more profitable enterprise." He signaled the footman to set down the basket of bottles at the end of long table and leave. "I hope over the years you have come to believe that I am an honest man, with no ulterior motives, no interest in politics other than how it affects business, and that you will be willing to give me a hint about how to arrange to be named one of the suppliers of the army in France."
"Where did you hear about an army in France?" Norfolk snapped.
Denoriel widened his eyes. "I did not know it was meant to be secret. Many of my trading partners in the Low Countries speak openly of the matter. They say that King Henry and Emperor Charles signed a treaty in February, are in agreement about attacking France, and that only details of the attack remain to be settled."
Norfolk's face was an interesting shade of puce as he said, "It seems I should be asking you for news, not you me."
"Well, I am sorry if this secret was meant to be kept, Your Grace, but there are less devoted servants than yourself in the emperor's service as well as in King Henry's." He shrugged. "The news is out, though you deplore the fact, and merchants, with some of whom I am allied, are jockeying for supply contracts. Most are looking to deal with the Empire, but since my contacts and commitments are to England, I thought—"
"I did not know that you dealt in fodder and beans and dried beef," Norfolk remarked with raised brows.
"No more do I." Denoriel laughed. "However, if I have some hope of being included among the suppliers, I could begin to make arrangements to obtain what I would need, and possibly make arrangements to buy at better prices now than later."
Norfolk stared at him for a moment, then stood up and went to the end of the table where he unwrapped the bottles of wine. He looked at the seals stamped into the wax over the corks and sighed.
"Send me a letter of intent," he said. "I will see that it goes to the right person."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Denoriel rose to his feet, started to turn, hesitated, and then said, "Since there is no hint of matrimonial negotiations abroad, I assume that the lady to be honored is English and will cause no ripples in trade?"
Norfolk stared at him again in silence for a long moment and then said, "So you have ears and eyes at court too."
"No, Your Grace," he said, with a knowing look. "Not at court."
For a moment Norfolk looked puzzled, then shook his head. "Ah, Mistress Champernowne."
"I did not mean to be mysterious, Your Grace," Denoriel said mendaciously; he had wanted to catch Norfolk's interest so he would be kept in conversation. And then went on, lying blithely so he would not need to bring Elizabeth's name into the conversation. "It was from the servants of Prince Edward that I had the news that the king planned to marry again. But they did not know to which lady the honor would be proffered and if she is of a great maritime house or—"
Norfolk's expression darkened. "Not at all. He seems to have chosen Catherine Parr. She is a nobody. Daughter of a simple knight of Northhamptonshire, although a man of good estate. She is no blushing maid either—"
His voice checked suddenly as, Denoriel guessed, he remembered the last "blushing maid" King Henry had chosen, what befell her, and the damage to his influence. Then he continued, hard-voiced, "She has been twice widowed already." But his grim expression eased. "She is a good woman, very devoted to her late husband's children, even after his death."
"Ah, that bodes well for the king's children," Denoriel said brightly. "If she desires young ones around her, likely the king will be happy to bring his family to court."
But the grim expression had returned to Norfolk's face. "She would be a better woman if she were not far too prone to thinking herself wise and a scholar, and offering support to such men as Miles Coverdale and Hugh Latimer."
"A reformer?" Denoriel cocked his head. "The king will not countenance a radical view of religion."
"Well . . . she is not so much a reformer or radical as she is one who questions long proven truths and encourages disputations." Norfolk's expression told clearly what his opinion was of a female who dared to question anything. "I prefer the lady who rules the king's children, most especially his heir, to spend more time with her needle than her pen and attend mass for her soul's comfort."
Denoriel murmured agreement and some meaningless phrases of good wishes and farewell and made good his escape. He didn't much care what kind of religion the lady practiced—so long as it didn't get her executed for heresy—but he was very interested indeed in what Norfolk had said about Catherine thinking herself a scholar. That and the fact that she was fond of children, and had taken seriously the care and education of her last batch of stepchildren, made Elizabeth's hopes of coming to court more likely to bear fruit.
He said as much, when next they met out riding. She was delighted with his news, her eyes gleaming gold in the brightening sun of what had begun as a cloudy day. "Shall I write to her?" she asked. "A scholar," she breathed then. "Shall I write to her in Latin and show—"
"You will not write to her at all!" he replied with alarm. "Elizabeth, that too-ready pen of yours will get you into trouble. Remember when you almost wrote to Queen Anne when the king was about to divorce her? You are not supposed to know that your father is about to take another wife. You will get Mistress Champernowne in trouble. Everyone will believe she gave you the news."
"Oh."
She was so crestfallen that he went out of his way to cheer her up. How could he help it? The one treasure she held most dear—regardless of her fondness for bright jewels and beautiful gowns—was her learning and scholarship. He hated to quash one of her rare opportunities to display it to someone who would appreciate it.
But though the bright eyes had dimmed with disappointment, fortunately Elizabeth was not doomed to live with that disappointment for long. On the twelfth of July, Henry did marry Catherine Parr and Elizabeth was able to write to her, wishing her happy and stating her own joy in gaining a stepmother. Unfortunately the letter did not have the effect she desired; Mary was invited to join the king and the new queen on their honeymoon progress, but not the younger children.
Denoriel soothed her by pointing out that Edward, the most important to the king, had not been invited either. Whereupon Elizabeth rather scornfully said that Edward did not ride well enough to go on a progress, and Denoriel riposted by saying that the king could not know how well she rode either, since most of her riding had been done in his company and was kept secret.
To his relief, Elizabeth did not say she would expose their clandestine meetings in order to prove how well she rode. That she valued his company more than the chance to join the court on progress made him ridiculously happy. Becoming aware of the unsuitable rush of satisfaction, Denoriel reminded himself that she was only a child, a little girl of ten. But sometimes the way she looked at him sidelong under her thick golden lashes . . .
However, the conversation about her dissatisfaction at not being invited to court was repeated so often through the end of the summer and the autumn, that when the invitation finally came in December Denoriel was almost glad to see her leave Hertford.
His feeling did not last long. He was shaken by the reports from Blanche Parry, transmitted by Ladbroke, of how strongly Elizabeth had responded to the warmth with which Catherine greeted her and Edward.
Denoriel, carefully not thinking about why, promptly wrote to Kat Champernowne and asked when he could hope to be placed on a visitor's list. All he received in return was a harried note saying that she had not yet even discovered to whom she needed to apply for such permission. And then, apologetically, that Elizabeth was so busy and so thrilled by the queen's reorganization of the "nursery" . . .
"Nursery?" Denoriel said, looking up at Ladbroke.
The groom laughed. "Lady Elizabeth wasn't best pleased by the word either and neither was His Highness, but the queen smoothed their feathers by explaining it was just a word to excuse keeping the children separate. The Lady Mary is not with them. She has her own apartment in the palace itself. It made it easier to guard the young ones—well, Her Majesty didn't say who from, but she meant from toadies and favor seekers—and to provide them with freedom, like their own space to play . . . and not ruin the formal gardens, which Her Majesty didn't say neither."
Denoriel smiled and shrugged. "The queen does seem to know how to deal with children. I suppose when they are settled—"
"It'll be a while, m'lord. The queen, she set up a school and she's invited a passel of noble lads and one little lady—Lady Jane Grey, which loves her books as much as His Highness and Lady Elizabeth. And you know Lady Elizabeth. She ain't to be bested by anyone, 'specially not in learning. She'll have her nose in the books and not look to anything else until she's the leader 'mongst them all in learning."
Denoriel nodded and sighed. Ladbroke knew his lady, and so did Denoriel. And the queen apparently understood scholars as well as children. Denoriel heard she had named Anthony Cooke, John Cheke, and William Grindal to be the tutors in the nursery. He mentioned them to Norfolk's son, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who scowled and said they were all damned proponents of the reformed religion, but Thomas Wyatt and Francis Bryan sang the scholars' praises.
Then Surrey admitted they were fine scholars but he felt they would lead the children astray into Protestantism. Denoriel thought he could keep Elizabeth on a middle path . . . if he could get to her. And of course Elizabeth needed to be well taught if she were to lead her country into the flowering depicted in the FarSeeing lens, but he could not completely put aside his disappointment in not being called on to share her joy.
For Elizabeth it was all joy. For the first time in her life she had the thrill of competing against others—she had always been ahead of Edward despite his almost frightening precocity because of the difference in their ages. Now she showed up very well in competition against the young men the queen had invited to join the royal children's lessons—and none of those young men ever forgot her. Nonetheless, in the midst of her excitement, she remembered her promise to Lord Denno to discover ways for them to meet.
Elizabeth was aware that she did not truly miss Denno right now. There were too many new people to study, too many new protocols to fix in her mind, far more demanding lessons. But she was also aware that the excitement of novelty would not last forever. Soon enough life would settle into known patterns, and she would begin to be bored and long for her Denno.
Already she had heard this and that she needed to talk over with him. Most things she could tell her dear Kat, and they would laugh or sigh together at the news and rumors; some things, however, would make Kat look horrified and shush her. Denno never did that. He would always warn her not to talk to anyone else, but then he would explain. As the thought crossed her mind, she smiled. She would send for him soon and show him the maze and the wonderful park.
Hampton Court Palace was ideally suited for clandestine meetings—at least for children. The nursery was quite separate from the palace itself, really an enclosure including a group of buildings rather than a single large structure. To the east, against the wall that extended from the palace, were the royal apartments, luxurious suites of rooms for Edward and herself, smaller but adequate chambers for their upper servants. On the south, nearest the north wall of the palace, were the barracks for the guards and a gatehouse; on the north and west were a variety of buildings, guest houses, kitchens, and storage sheds. Small gardens fronted the royal apartments and the guest houses.
Elizabeth had done no more than glance at those gardens. A medium-sized rabbit could not have concealed itself anywhere in them. She looked up at Kat and sighed.
"There is not even room here to take three quick steps. Where can I go to stretch my legs?"
Instead of replying that she would obtain permission for Elizabeth to walk in the palace gardens, Kat laughed and took her hand. She led her along an inviting graveled path, which passed behind the guesthouses and led northwest into a most entrancing area called the Wilderness. Elizabeth's anxiety about where to meet Denno disappeared. The Wilderness was planted with flowering shrubs, evergreen bushes, and trees and crisscrossed with grassy paths. Only the central area, around a small pond, was open and planted with flowers.
Most wonderful of all, in the northwest corner was a maze. Once in there, no one at more than arms' length would be able to see, and it would be very easy to escape observation by melting from a path into the hedges. So far so good, but Elizabeth put on a disappointed face.
"I cannot ride in here. It is a lovely place to walk but I hope I am not supposed to give up riding."
"Oh, no," Kat Champernowne said. "If you will walk with me past the maze we will come to the Lion Gate and you will be able to see through them to the great park. There is room enough to ride to your heart's content. And past the park is the forest itself, and when you are old enough to join in the king's hunts, you will even be able to find fine sport there."
"Then I could not be happier," Elizabeth sighed.
She meant to send word to her Denno, but she was caught up in the Christmas celebrations. She played a modest but significant role in the singing and set pieces and drew her father's attention. He spoke kindly to her and she replied, but meekly, low-voiced, curtseying to the ground. He asked about her lessons and she told him what she was translating in Latin, a piece by Cato, and that she had done most of the fables by Aesop in Greek. She saw that he was pleased, and yet his blue eyes, sunk so deeply in his fat cheeks, glinted cold, very cold.
Still his favor did not shift. He called her to him several times and teased her gently about her scholarship. Then he spoke to her in French, laughing to the courtiers who surrounded them when she replied easily and fluently in that language. She should keep up her French, he told her—and all the others nearby—because he would soon have French territory. And then the new year came and passed, and in the first days of 1544 the king went on to Greenwich, while the queen stayed at Hampton Court with the children.
Although she could not say why, this made Elizabeth uneasy. There was no sign she or Kat could detect nor was there any rumor about a disagreement between the king and queen. Also the king was much occupied with the preparations for the war against France and it was only reasonable that he not be disturbed by a noisy and exuberant pack of children. It was reasonable that he should go to Greenwich . . . but Elizabeth's belly now and then knotted with anxiety, and she would feel a chill pass across her heart, as if someone had closed a cold, cold hand about it.