Chapter 1
"Elizabeth? Come and sit with me by the fountain."
My mother held out her hand to me, and I twisted away from the eager hands of my little sister, Blanche, to run over to her. It was a glorious day in late September and my sister and I had persuaded our mother, who had ridden over from Court to steal a few precious hours with us, to come out into the garden and watch us play with our ladies there.
Slipping my hand into that of my mother's, I allowed her to lead me over to a bench against a wall trailing Michaelmas roses. My mother leaned back and pulled a flower off the bush, tucking it into the hood of my gown.
"There. A rose for the Rose Princess."
I smiled, leaning my head against her shoulder, looking across towards the sparkling jets of the fountain. Beyond them, my sister Blanche still played; the others were all chasing after her merrily. Normally I would join them, but not now. Not while there was a chance of me having my mother to myself. I loved her too much for that.
Suddenly my mother reached out and cupped my chin in her hand, turning me to face her. "Elizabeth, you love Ellie and Jessica, don't you?" she asked solemnly, looking me straight in the eye, treating me almost like an adult.
"Of course I do! They're your daughters!" I exclaimed, my heart sinking at the gravity of her voice. What was this about?
"Listen to me, Bessie. No matter what anyone ever tells you, those girls, those Culpeppers, are your sisters. I need you to promise me that you'll look after them no matter what. Do you promise?"
"I promise!" I replied instantly and I meant it. I was thrilled that Mother would ask me to do something so grown up. I'd have done anything for her; even died for her if she'd wanted it, so something like this seemed simple to me. The twins were sweet – they were little more than babies. What trouble could they be? However, Mother obviously still had her qualms.
"I'm serious, Bessie. Your Papa loves you; and Blanche. You'll always have him, no matter what, but if anything should happen to me, Ellie and Jessica won't have anyone. They'll need their older sister's protection. Will you do that, my Rose Princess? Will you watch over them for me?"
"Of course, but what could happen to you, Mother? You're the Queen of England!" I asked, wide eyed and innocent.
My mother did not answer, only wrapped her arms around me silently and held me tight. I automatically responded to her embrace, swallowing the questions that burned within me. Maybe I didn't need to know any more. Maybe, for once, I would just do what my mother asked of me without question.
Across the lawn, Blanche shrieked with joy as she managed to evade the reaching grasp of one of her attendants. The delicate scent of the Michaelmas roses filled the air around us.
All of a sudden, Mother began to fade away, even as I held her.
"Mother!" I shrieked her name, straining to keep my arms around her swiftly vanishing figure, but to no avail. With a last yearning smile, she was gone.
I sat bolt upright, breathing hard. I did not need to touch my cheeks to know that they were wet. I had had this dream countless times in the past three years and I always woke up crying, for every time I dreamt it, I was reliving the last time I ever saw my mother. However, in this she always asked me to look after my little half-sisters, Eleanor and Jessica Culpepper, even though she never had in reality. In reality, we hadn't known it would be the last time we'd ever see one another. When we had last seen each other, Mother was still the favoured Queen, and I was still my father's beloved Princess Elizabeth – his Princess of Roses.
Realising that attempting to go straight back to sleep was fruitless, I slipped out of bed and went to the window, careful not to wake my maid Anne Boleyn, who slept on a pallet at the foot of my bed. Not that she would have minded if I had woken her. Anne had been nothing but a tower of strength for me ever since my mother died.
She was only three years my senior, but during those first few difficult months following my mother's beheading, it had been her, alongside my governess the Lady Katherine Ashley – my first governess, Lady Margaret Bryan, now ruled my sister's household rather than mine – who had made the simple decisions, such as what to wear, what to eat and what I should do to pass the time, for me. She had gently guided me through each and every day whilst I struggled to come to terms with the enormity of my mother's actions - which had only then dawned on me – and eventual death.
Because of this, I owed Anne; owed her a debt I could never repay, except with adoration. I adored Anne as fiercely as I adored my own full sister Princess Blanche, and everyone who served me knew it. To hurt Anne was to incur my full displeasure, for it broke my heart to see her upset, and I strove to right every injustice ever done her.
I don't know how long I stood there, weeping softly, but some time later a noise behind me made me turn. Blanche stood there behind me, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back, ruffled with broken sleep.
"Are you all right, Bessie?" she asked me, her voice soft and sweet. I turned back to the window.
"I can't sleep. And what about you? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I woke up thirsty and then I heard you crying. Are you okay?"
"Not really. I had the dream again. The one where Mother asks me to look after the twins." I confessed, gripping the window ledge so hard my knuckles went white.
"Oh Bessie!" Blanche came forward into the room, stepping gingerly over Anne's sleeping figure. Eventually she stood beside me, and though I knew that I should do the responsible thing and encourage her to go back to bed and back to sleep, I could not find it in my heart to do so, for she was offering me more comfort just by being there than anyone else ever could, no matter what they said.
"If only Mother were still alive." I whispered suddenly, my voice hoarse with longing as we stood there together gazing out of the window absently. Blanche stayed quiet, bless her, knowing that there was plenty more that I wanted to say. "She would have given him a son too, if he'd given her a chance. A Prince of Wales for England. A true Prince. A Prince with Howard blood; not the Seymour bastard of a Duke Father's trying to turn into his lawful heir these days!" I continued, not caring that anyone might be listening to my bitter outburst. Blanche put a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"At least you were eleven. At least you still remember her, and what she looked like. I don't. I'd have forgotten her face by now, if it wasn't for the portrait."
"That's true." I drew Blanche to my own bed, stooping to draw from beneath the mattress the last portrait that Father had ever had painted of our mother – the May Day portrait of 1540, which was the last carefree summer we had together, the last summer before he executed her. Blanche and I bent our heads over the miniature, one of us dark like her, the other fair like Father, both of us taking in every detail of our mother's face, staring at it greedily, learning her features by heart. I held the painting in one hand, but my other arm curved tenderly about Blanche's waist, as she rested her head on my shoulder.
"I won't let you forget her, Blanche. Not you, nor Ellie, nor Jessica." I suddenly promised my sister in an urgent whisper. "She's our mother. Her blood runs in our veins. Besides, I miss her as much as you do, if not more. We need to talk about her, and damn Father's rules." I swore fiercely.
"Can I stay here tonight, Elizabeth?" Blanche asked softly into my chest. I nodded, stroking her golden curls.
"Of course."
She did, too. We slept curled up together until the morning, when I woke to the sound of Father's heavy footsteps. To my horror, as I woke, I realised I had fallen asleep still clutching my mother's portrait. Not wanting to anger Father if I could help it, which displaying the portrait would certainly do, for all reminders of my Mother, save myself, Blanche and the twins had been destroyed in the wake of her execution, I thrust it hastily beneath the blankets. To no avail.
Father came in, stripped the blankets off me and Blanche in order to wake the latter and scold her for being so wanton as to fall asleep outside her own bed, and froze as he caught sight of the painting. Then he rounded on me.
"You've been telling them lies about their mother, haven't you?"
"You forget, Your Majesty, that the Lady Katherine was also my mother. What I tell them are nothing but memories." I replied cautiously. Not cautiously enough.
"No. Your memories, as you call them, are lies. Nothing but lies. Your mother was a whore, an adulteress, and a traitor!" he roared.
Perhaps I would have ignored the first two accusations – they were both half-true, at least, but the last one really stung. Forgetting for the moment who I was dealing with, I jumped to my feet.
"My mother was no traitor! She was faithful to you, and loyal to England for the whole length of her life! 'Twas you, Father, who drove her into Thomas Culpepper's arms in the first place with your rage over her short-lived sons! You are nothing but a monster and a tyrant! My God, you're meant to be a great King. Act like one!" I spat.
Everyone else around me froze, and I did too, when I realised what I had said. Though I trembled inwardly, however, I refused to beg Father's pardon, but instead stood, unrepentant, with my head held high in defiance, knowing his anger at what I had said would be great, but refusing to show I was afraid, and awaiting his verdict.
Father glared at me venomously for a moment, then, realising that I was too much a Howard, never mind Tudor, to fall upon my knees, weeping, at the first sign of his displeasure, snarled "Very well, Elizabeth. If you think like that then your favourite maid will have to be dismissed. I will ask Katherine Ashley to see to it that they go from Court this very day, whoever they are, and you and your sister will remain locked up in these apartments until I hear that you are willing to apologise for your wilful behaviour."
I opened my mouth to protest – I knew Anne would be chosen to leave, and she had done me too much of a service ever to deserve to be dismissed in disgrace but Father turned his back on me, leaving me unable to do anything except sweep him a low regal curtsy, saying as I did so "If that is what pleases Your Majesty."
I was far too proud to apologise immediately, even though it would have saved Anne from disgrace, and myself a lot of heartache later. Instead, I watched him go with poison in my eyes, honestly proud that I had, for once, spoken out in defence of the mother I had loved so much, and only wishing that I had done so sooner.