A/N: Welcome to what is - alas - the penultimate chapter of That Subtle Wreath. England is secure, Elizabeth has borne an heir and things look set fair for England's future. While England's great Statesman is no more, life goes on.
There is, of course, one thing left to be done - and the steps to make it happen still lie ahead. First, however, the Queen has a reshuffle to sort out...
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Starting Anew
"Yes, my Lord Richmond, that shall be most suitable." Elizabeth smiles at the rough drawing of the plaque that shall be placed in the Abbey to commemorate the late Lord Cromwell, "I am minded that it should be set in the wall of the south ambulatory of my grandfather's Lady Chapel. I wish to set it aside as a chapel to commemorate those of my Subjects who have served England well, and he should be in the most prominent position. I do not wish for my most faithful servant to be forgotten."
Richmond nods, "I shall see to it, Majesty."
"Thank you." She smiles at him, and he bows, before gathering the papers to depart, but then she stops him, "Before you leave, my Lord, I must ask one more thing of you."
"Majesty?"
"The loss of Lord Cromwell has robbed me of a Lord Chancellor. I should be most grateful if you would consent to accept the office, and serve England as he did."
For a moment, his mouth opens, then shuts, then opens, then shuts again, "I…" God, why is he not grasping at the offer? It is all that he has ever wanted, all he has worked for - and yet; to take it seems almost to be wrong, "Majesty; forgive me, but I do not think I could serve England as well as he did; I should have no wish to disappoint you."
He sounds most contrite; but Elizabeth smiles at him, "I think you to be perfectly capable, my Lord Richmond; but would I be correct to presume that your greatest concern is a sense of disloyalty to the man who preceded you?"
Richmond reddens somewhat, and her smile becomes kind, "Do you not think he should be pleased? I think that he should be most pleased, for he regarded you with great respect as much as friendship. Did you know that he often told me that, were he no longer fit to serve as Lord Chancellor, he should wish that no other than you step forth to take his place?"
"He said so?" Richmond looks surprised.
Elizabeth nods.
"Then I shall do so willingly, and with gratitude, Majesty; and I swear that I shall serve you as honestly and unstintingly as he did." He bows again, rather more deeply than he ever has before, and withdraws.
Seated in her chair nearby, Lady Astley smiles over her embroidery, "To my recollection, Majesty, my Lord of Cromwell spoke well of Lord Richmond on many occasions, but I do not remember him suggesting such a thing."
Elizabeth turns to her Chief Gentlewoman, "That would be because he did not, Kat; but my Lord of Richmond does not need to know that. He is more than capable of leading my Council, but his loyalty to the late Lord Chancellor prevents him from agreeing to do so. Thus I removed that barrier, and we can begin anew."
"Now, however, you must appoint a new Lord Treasurer."
"Indeed, but I think it is time to elevate one of the younger Councillors, and thus we can begin the process of moving from the old guard to the new, slowly and with the care that such a change requires."
"They have indeed made a politician of you, Majesty."
"Indeed so; and I think my late Lord Essex should be most discomfited had they not."
For a moment, she wavers, and her lip trembles at the grief of her loss; but then she turns as one of Edward's nurses enters the chamber, babe in arms, and she smiles. While the Lord has taken away, He has also given, and her late Chancellor's joy at her motherhood is a warm balm that salves the sadness of his death. Gently, she takes the child into her own arms, and wonders at the love that floods through her at the sight of her boy. Still smiling, she carefully settles alongside Lady Astley, who marvels at the sight of England's first male heir since the late King was born, "You have done most well, my dear Queen." She says, softly, "My own heart is fit to burst with joy - and I think that that is less than half of that joy experienced by your dear mother, for he has salved her hurt as much as he has salved England's."
"I am truly blessed, Kat." Elizabeth smiles, leaning forward to kiss her former tutor upon the cheek, "I was born to a loving mother, served by kindly, well governed women and taught to rule my Realm by wise, and honest men."
"Mostly honest men." Lady Astley corrects with an amused smile.
"A husband of great kindness and a loving nature," Elizabeth continues, returning the smile, "and a beautiful son who shall rule England after I am gone."
"The first of many."
"I pray also for that. I wish for the Tudor line to rule England for more centuries than the Plantagenets did."
"A noble aspiration, my Queen." Mistress Astley approves, "England has prospered greatly in Tudor hands, and thus I pray for the same."
Rising, Elizabeth joins her ladies and carries Edward out into the gardens, while the most favoured of her women sits in the sunlight alongside a window and watches her depart with a smile.
Wiltshire laughs as Richmond shifts his shoulders awkwardly, unused to the weight of a collar of esses. While he has worn a chain of office for as long as he has been on the Council, those chains have always been considerably less heavy than this solid, gilded silver decoration, "Be grateful that you are not also a Garter Knight; two chains of office should be almost unforgivably ostentatious."
"And heavy." Richmond grunts, "Thomas bore this without complaint; as shall I. Though I think I shall accept the other burdens of this post with perhaps a deal less equanimity. For all the abilities that I can bring, I am not he; and I lack many of the skills that he possessed."
"Know that you shall not bear those burdens alone, Richard." Wiltshire reminds him, "While there are two where once there were three, we shall work together as we have always done, and gradually we shall - between us - prove to be the equal of one."
"Jesu, listen to us." Richmond shakes his head, ruefully, "Were he with us now, Thomas would laugh at us and remind us that he is not some equivalent to the Gods of Antique Greece. Furthermore, he would reprove us for our foolishness, and spur us on to do our best for England, as he did. So we shall."
The pair make their way through the corridors of the palace to the council chamber, and there is a ripple of mild amusement amongst the gathered councillors as Richmond accidentally moves to take his habitual seat and almost sits upon Sir Walter Mildmay, who has been appointed Lord Treasurer in his place. Even so, he seems quite reluctant to sit in the chair immediately to the Queen's right, as though it is still not his place to do so; but eventually he sits.
"Perhaps a round of applause, Gentlemen?" Wiltshire asks, with an impish smile, "Is it not an achievement to learn to sit?"
Richmond reddens, but smiles: he knows that it is but a kindly jest.
Their conversation is quiet, but as the time passes, the gathered men begin to exchange bemused glances; where is the Queen? The great palace clock struck the hour of ten a while ago, and then it strikes the quarter. She is never late…what is wrong? Please, God, do not let the babe Edward be sick…
Then, at last, the door from the Queen's apartments opens; but it is not her Majesty. Instead, King Philip enters, his expression most sad, "Forgive her Majesty's absence, my Lords; but I regret to inform you that she returned from the privy garden, in which she had been walking with her ladies and the prince Edward, to find that Mistress Katherine Astley had passed away in her absence. She came upon her - seemingly asleep in her chair - only to find that she had passed in her sleep."
For a moment, all are silent. After a time, Richmond remembers that it is his role to speak for the Council now, and rises from his chair, "We are most grieved to hear this news, your Majesty. Please extend our deepest condolences and sorrow for her bereavement; Mistress Astley was a most valued member of her Majesty's Court, and we shall also be the poorer for her loss. I shall ensure that the work of Government is undertaken while her Majesty is in mourning, but we shall await her resumption of rule before any work of substance is considered."
"Thank you, my Lord." Philip answers, "Thank you all. Sir John Astley has asked that there be no grand ceremonial. Thus her Majesty shall attend to devotions privately prior to the transportation of Lady Astley's mortal remains to the chapel at Allington Castle, for its is now completed and consecrated, and it is ready to accept her."
The Councillors bow, and the King quietly withdraws.
His expression grim, Richmond sits again, "Under the circumstances, I shall suspend this meeting; but I ask that the Lords of the Council kindly agree to a single meeting each week to consider the ongoing work of her Majesty's Government in her time of grief. While we shall not undertake matters of substance, we must endeavour to ensure that there is a Realm to be governed when her Majesty's time of mourning is complete; and that no attempt is made to seize England."
Wiltshire looks startled, "Do you think such a thing might occur?"
"No - but it does not hurt to be prepared. Turmoil in a Royal house has sometimes proved an encouragement to Kings to widen their borders at the expense of the Realm that is troubled. It may be that some could claim these grievous losses to her Majesty are a message from God that she must bring up her son in the Roman faith; for both our late Lord of Essex, and Lady Astley were chief of those who taught her the new faith. It remains politically expedient to recognise our realm and leave us be - but there are younger, more impetuous men upon the thrones of France and Spain, so we must demonstrate to all that England's Queen may grieve, but her realm is secure."
"I shall advise my men to keep watch and report of any activity that could be seen so." Hackney advises, before rising from the table, bowing and departing.
With nothing to keep them, the rest of the Council also rises, but Richmond stops one of them: "My Lord of Lincoln, would you be so kind as to attend to her Majesty the Queen Dowager?" he asks, "There are, doubtless, matters that must be dealt with at this time; and, as her Private Secretary, it is best that such matters be placed in your care."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Very smooth." Wiltshire whispers softly as Lincoln departs, "We shall make a Lord Chancellor of you yet."
Richmond, on the other hand, does not smile; "It is as though the fates are determined to strike at her Majesty's heart in her time of triumph, George. She has given England the son that we have awaited for more than seventy years; and in return she has been robbed of two of her most loved servants. That is a cruel price to pay for her joy."
"Alas, that is so." Wiltshire agrees, sitting again rather heavily, "But her mother is in excellent health, and is present to comfort her. That is at least something for which we can be grateful. She also has a loving husband who shall share her grief, so she is not obliged to endure her loss alone."
"Come. There is little that we can do in this chamber. I shall return to the offices and ensure that there are plans set to continue the operations of government. That, at least is a burden that I can carry in her stead."
Elizabeth emerges from her private closet above the Chapel royal, her eyes damp. With no means to attend the actual burial of her beloved Kat, she has instead spent the time in contemplation with her Chaplain, praying quietly for her Chief Gentlewoman as others oversaw her consignment to God.
Philip is, as ever, at her side, his left arm about her shoulders, his right hand holding hers, "She shall be welcomed into Heaven, my beloved." He assures her, "A heart as filled with love as hers shall be most precious to God, and he shall grant her the greatest of heavenly rewards for the life that she has lived."
"I am assured of that, Philip," she answers, sadly, "but I am selfish in my desire to keep her at my side. I have been most fortunate to have been blessed with two mothers. The mother who bore me, and the mother who tutored me, for I have been doubly loved. To lose one leaves me afeared that I shall lose the other, and I should rather have lost neither."
The couple make their slow way back to the chambers that have been set aside for the royal nursery, where Edward is sleeping, one of his nurses carefully minding him, "In the midst of death, we are in life." Philip smiles at her, gently, "Lady Astley was grateful to God for His kindness in granting her a length of life that permitted her to witness the birth of our son; as was my Lord Cromwell. And I think they have both entered heaven with joy, for they have seen England's first son and heir."
"First?" Elizabeth asks, a little coyly.
"The first of many, my dear darling wife." He smiles back at her.
Outside, in the Privy Garden, Anne sits quietly with Lord Lincoln, secluded by high box hedges, while Jane accompanies them to circumvent the inevitable rumours. As always, she is as far away from them as she can be while maintaining the appropriate decorum.
"How is the Queen?" He asks.
"Greatly bereft, I fear, my Lord." Anne answers, sadly, "Lady Astley was much loved, and she feels almost lost without her. While I am her mother, there are matters of importance to women that are sometimes better shared with those who are not their mother. I am fortunate to have Lady Wiltshire as a confidante, while my daughter looked to Lady Astley."
"And what of you?" Lincoln's voice is a little more pointed. In the rush to comfort the Queen over her losses, most have stepped past her mother without noticing her equal grief.
"I am greatly saddened, my Lord." She admits, "For my Lord Cromwell granted me a wondrous gift - but to rejoice in it seems most wrong to me, for others are so saddened by his loss, and now with the loss of Lady Astley, I should feel most cruel were I to make use of that gift."
"What gift would that be, Majesty?"
"A means for us to marry." She says, her voice a mere whisper.
For a moment he is absolutely silenced. For all their discretion, of course the Lord Chancellor would have known that he wished to wed the remarkable woman at his side. Cromwell missed nothing amidst the undercurrents of rumour and gossip in the Court, and saw far deeper than most others would. They might have seen a chaste affair being conducted surreptitiously; but he saw the love that had grown between them, and wished for them to find happiness together.
"There are no legal impediments;" he murmurs, eventually, "You are widowed, as am I."
"But a multitude of political ones." Anne reminds him, "I was the wife of the King, and I am an anointed Queen. Were you to marry me, you should receive all that is mine - including my Crown. Who would countenance such a thing? Equally, I have lived ever under the burden of accusations against my chastity. I am a wanton, a sinful creature who destroyed a Queen to take her place. All that I have done, I have done with the intention of ensuring that Elizabeth's reputation is not damaged by it. That included my conduct with men. Did you know that, when she was a child, she was tainted by my reputation? I was 'the great whore' and some called her 'the little whore'. She was but a babe in arms, and already they called her a slattern. All that I have done from the moment she came to the throne is exhibit an excess of chastity. To do otherwise now seems almost more than I could countenance. But he has determined that I should marry, and has set plans in place to enable me to do so. His Grace of Richmond shall see all in place to remove any obstacle, and thus I could be your wife."
Again, Lincoln is silent; but only for a short time, "Would…would you wish to be?"
She turns her head and gazes deeply into his eyes, "Yes, William. Most willingly - for I have only once felt such a sense of completeness as I have when I am with you. Only when I held Elizabeth in my arms. I did not feel it in the midst of my calf love for Henry Percy, nor when I submitted to the will of the King. I convinced myself that I loved him - and thus I wailed in grief when he was taken from me - but in reality, I loved him not. Not as I love you. Until I found myself in love with you, I had not known what love could truly be; for I had known only infatuation and submission to another's desire. Now, I know love - and I desire to grasp it, and all that it carries, more utterly than I have ever known. I have lived most of the years that I shall spend upon this earth, I think; but to live those years that I have left as your wife would be all that I could ever want."
Slowly, Lincoln rises from the bench that they share, turns to her and clasps her hands, "Then, my beloved Lady Anne, Dowager Queen of England, I ask you to be my wife."
Rising to her feet, she faces him, her joy almost palpable, "My beloved William of Lincoln; I gladly accept."
"He has asked you?" Elizabeth, despite her mourning garments, is bright with excitement at the news, "And you have accepted?"
"I have, my dear daughter." Anne answers, a little tentatively. While she has no fear that Elizabeth shall be anything other than delighted at her news, there is still a Court to convince.
"Then there is cause for joy after such grief, Mother; for your joy is my joy. I have seen the pleasure in your eyes when he is in your company, and his equal delight. To love, and be loved, by a good man is a gift that we are rarely granted in this life. I should be a cruel creature to forbid you the happiness that I know with Philip, so I shall permit Lord Richmond to commence work to ensure that none can object to your union with Lord Lincoln. He has shown me the papers: you shall renounce all claim to the throne for yourself and any children that you might bear," she pauses as Anne laughs at the thought of bearing children at her age, "I shall elevate his Grace of Lincoln to an Earldom, and create you a Countess, for your Marquessate fell into abeyance when you married my father. Thus you shall be of equal rank, have no claim to the throne and there is no reason for you not to be married. The late Lord of Essex has also - upon my instructions - included the deeds to Leeds Castle, a suitable home for the Earl and Countess of Pembroke, I think."
"We are not formally betrothed, Elizabeth," Anne adds, "While my Lord of Lincoln has indeed asked me to consent to be his wife, and I have answered that I shall, we have not formally promised ourselves to one another. No matter how much I should wish to marry him, I would never do so if our union would damage your reputation or your rule."
"Now that I have a son, Mother? England adores her Queen, and her King. If I decree that you shall marry the man that you love, then who shall gainsay it? Always you have been claimed to be a woman who has demanded a throne that was not hers to have - but this shall ensure that you shall never claim it for yourself or any children that you might bear within your marriage. Thus what right would any in England have to demand that you be denied this happiness?"
Anne smiles at her daughter, and the determination upon her face to ensure that her mother shall not refuse to be married. She is young, and loves her husband deeply. She cannot fathom the degree of cruel comment and accusation that a marriage made by her mother shall inspire: the suggestion, perchance, that William is marrying her in order to gain high office at the Court, or perhaps that the two shall - once married - conspire with the devil to remove England's new heir and replace him with a changeling spawn born to them through the power of witchcraft. There was a time when folk considered her responsible for everything ill that befell the Realm, though most assumed it was God's displeasure at her theft of the Crown from their adored Queen Katherine by means of whorish tricks rather than a curse or a hex. Even after twenty years and more, a few remain who despise her sufficiently to ascribe all manner of misfortunes to her, and would think the worst of her no matter what she did.
"I shall retire from Court, my precious; remove myself from public view entirely. Then, I hope, England shall forget me, and look to you without my shadow upon you."
Immediately, Elizabeth's face falls, "Nay Mother - you shall not leave Court! I forbid it!"
"Dearest darling, you know that I must." She says, gently, reaching for her daughter's hands, "You are Queen, you have your King consort, and a son in the nursery. There is no need for me to remain here, and I am naught but a nuisance to you now."
"Never, Mama - you are my mother, and I do not wish for you to leave me - now most of all! Not when my darling Kat is gone! You must not go!"
"But I shall only be in Kent, my precious. I grew up in Kent, and it is beautiful there. That you have granted me Leeds Castle is a kindness for which I am most grateful; but is it not a great house that can accommodate many? Then we shall happily welcome the Court should your Majesty wish to undertake a progress to the County."
For a while, Elizabeth is silent, but eventually she sighs, and shakes her head, "Forgive me, Mama; I am being most selfish, demanding that you remain at Court instead of granting you the happiness of a private life with the man that you love. I shall speak to his Grace of Richmond in the morning, and we shall set to work upon ensuring that it shall be done. Tonight, however, you - and your beloved - shall sup with us, and we shall celebrate your news, even though the Court knows nothing of it."
Anne takes her daughter's hand, "I should like that very much, your Majesty."
Cranmer is wheezing somewhat today, but his smile is bright, for he has always been most fond of the Queen Dowager; and indeed would have been a voice for her upon the Council when all others were not. Albeit a rather weak and nervous one, "I am delighted, your Majesty; should it please you that I conduct the ceremony, it would be a great honour."
Anne smiles and takes his hand, "Forgive me, my dear old friend; but I wish for my marriage to Lord Lincoln to be quiet and private. Thus it shall be conducted in the Queen's closet by her Majesty's Chaplain, with those who are closest to us in attendance. I should, however, very much like one of those who attend to be you, and - if you should agree to it - I ask that you escort me to my betrothed's side."
"Happily, Majesty." He smiles, his grip tightening upon hers, "It is plain to see the joy in your heart. As I end my days upon this Earth, it shall be my final, proudest duty."
"And," Anne continues, still smiling, "if you were to - inadvertently - bless our union once we are wed, I shall hardly object."
"Then that shall be my last ceremony. After you are wed, Majesty, I shall retire from the Archbishopric, and seek to end my days quietly in a peaceful parish where I shall see out my service to God amongst the poor, rather than politicians."
"There is still much to be done, your Grace." Anne advises, "Soon I shall renounce all claim to England's crown; for, regardless of all, you anointed me with Holy oil, while Henry himself set the Crown of St Edward upon my head. Then, as my Marquessate was granted back to the late King upon my marriage, I shall be naught but the Lady Anne again."
"Until, of course, you are made Countess of Pembroke, while his Grace of Lincoln shall be granted an Earldom."
"I would be come a Countess merely through marrying him, your Grace," Anne admits, "But my late Lord Cromwell did not want me to marry him bereft of a noble rank, and sought to lay the ground for us both to assume an appropriate rank to be husband and wife together."
A Steward enters, "Majesty, my Lords of Richmond and Wiltshire are without and seek an audience."
"Thank you, Paul; please show them in and fetch them some sack."
The Lord Chancellor's expression is rather impish, "We have established Lord Lincoln's new Earldom, Majesty. It is most fortuitous that the Earldom of Kent fell into abeyance a century ago. Thus it shall be entirely appropriate that your new residence of Leeds Castle shall become Earldom's seat when he is created Earl of the county in which it lies. As he shall also assume the earldom of Pembroke when you are married, you shall be well provided for by virtue the rents and incomes of both Pembrokeshire and Kent."
Anne reddens somewhat, "That is most kind of her Majesty; I fear that I have become too well accustomed to living richly - though I have learned restraint during the years since I ruled as Henry's Queen."
Richmond and Wiltshire have the grace not to comment; the cost of her household in those far-off days had been quite shockingly profligate: more than two hundred servants, jewels, velvets and silks, the finest foods and wines to grace her table, hand-woven carpets from the lands of the Turk and the Indies, musicians and dancing masters; even great ostrich feather fans imported from Venice at enormous expense. She had needed to demonstrate her royal state as much as Henry had - but the sheer amount of money that had been spent upon it never entered her head until she was obliged to rule without him, and witnessed her household accounts for the first time.
"The arrangement have been made for your renunciation of your royal state next week, Majesty." Richmond continues, consulting his notes, "After which, her Majesty the Queen shall restore you to the nobility as Countess of Pembroke, restoring your properties there, and the income that they shall earn for you. Two days afterward, in recognition of his service to her Majesty during the recent insurrection, his Grace of Lincoln shall be raised to the Earldom of Kent, while others who served are also granted honours. Where upon your betrothal to his Grace of Kent shall be made known."
"And then we must wait." Anne sighs. A great deal of the distaste for her marriage to Henry stemmed from its largely clandestine nature, for they had been initially married in secret to ensure that the babe she carried was born within the bounds of wedlock, but not this time. This time the banns shall be called, and thus she must wait until they have been called three times before she can marry William. At least the Archbishop has decreed that they shall be called upon three successive Sundays, rather than on three occasions during a three month period. All know that both parties are widowed, but she has endured life in a marriage that is not universally considered to be valid - and has no wish for such doubts to be expressed again.
"Patience, sister." Wiltshire smiles at her, "Think of it as suitable time to ensure that you are appropriately gowned to wed your betrothed."
"Three weeks to create a gown?" She stares at him, scandalised, "That would be impossible! I shall wear one of my favourite gowns; perhaps the ivory kirtle and russet overgown…"
"You shall not." Jane interrupts, firmly, "Do you truly think that his Grace of Essex was not advised to consider such things? I have been overseeing the assembly of a suitable trousseau for near-on half a year!"
"You too?" Anne stares at her, astonished. Politics has been the province of men for such a long time that it had never occurred to her that the men who have made her marriage possible would have looked to a woman to aid them.
"Of course! His Grace had not the first idea how to dress you; had he been left to organise such things, you should have found yourself walking to your wedding in a purple kirtle and red overgown! Even he knew that he could not be trusted with a woman's garments, so he came to me for advice. You shall enter your marriage with Lord Lincoln in a gown fit for a Countess who has borne England a Queen. The three weeks that you must wait are quite sufficient to ensure the fittings and final decoration of both the gown, and the slippers to be worn with it."
Delighted, Anne rises from her chair to embrace her sister in law, "My dear Jane - where would I be without you?"
"Utterly lost, I think." She smiles at her, "For your head is in the clouds now that you are in love."
"Thank you - all of you." Anne turns to those who have worked to bring this about, "I thought, once, that I could never love again; but I am delighted that God has chosen otherwise. If it is my late Lord Cromwell's last gift to his former Queen, then I shall honour him by embracing it to its fullest, and I am sure that even now he watches us from heaven, and smiles that we are all content."
Cranmer raises his glass of sack, "Amen, your Majesty."