Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
During the first year of Edward’s reign, Thomas was occupied every minute of every day, and Margaret began to worry he might die of exhaustion. At the age of sixty, he was far too old to be working such lengthy hours. But he felt utterly fulfilled. The king seemed fond of him, and Edward Seymour frequently sought his opinion, appearing to regard him with great respect. Whilst he could never feel as comfortable and relaxed with Seymour as he had with Cromwell, he nonetheless felt that they worked well together. It was a stimulating time for those of the Protestant faith, yet also a challenging one.
Only a minority of the English population favoured reform, but despite this, change was happening quickly. The Act of Six Articles and anti-heresy laws were repealed, meaning preachers were able to preach without being imprisoned. Men such as Hugh Latimer, who had spent the past few years of their lives either imprisoned, under house arrest, or else expecting to be imprisoned, were now able to speak out and make converts. Wherever preachers could find someone to listen, there they would preach, be it from pulpits, market stalls, town squares, or street corners.
English Protestants who had moved abroad out of fear of punishment now returned to England. The Schmalkaldic League of German princes had been destroyed by the Emperor Charles, and German reformists who feared the emperor’s wrath now fled to England. Under Thomas’ leadership, the use of images began to be abolished, and to the infinite anger of Stephen Gardiner, a translation of Erasmus’ much revered Paraphrase was, once again, rendered available for the common man, in English. It was not a Protestant work, but it did incline towards reform, and was much beloved by Nicholas Ridley, who carried his treasured copy of it everywhere he went.
In addition to this, a series of twelve sermons, written by Thomas, and dealing with subjects such as adultery, perjury, and justification by faith alone, were made widely available. The sermons were collectively known as Homilies, and were lauded by people such as Coverdale and Bucer. The forthright and honest Hugh Latimer also loudly praised Thomas’ work, which was gratifying to the author. He had originally written Homilies during the late king’s reign, as a guide for lay preachers, to help them understand religious dogma, but he had not dared bring it to light until now.
The most important change of all was that church services were now held in English only, regardless of the inclination of the officiating clergy, many of whom still preferred the familiarity of Latin. Mass was soon to be abolished and replaced by a Eucharist, in the English language, whilst all Bible readings and prayers were now required to be in English. As yet, clergy were not lawfully free to marry, but it was a change that would certainly happen in the not-too-distant future. To the surprise of Thomas and the Protestant clergy, protest against this principally came from the general public, who wished to see their clergy free from the duties of marriage, which they imagined would distract them from their commitment to God.
In response to this sudden surge in Protestant fervour, the government agreed to release guidelines where necessary, and Thomas immediately set to work, proposing recommendations that the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, should be taught to all people. He also advised against the selling of benefices; in his view, the sale of anything spiritual was surely wrong, and most of his senior clergy were in agreement with this.
He had also been working on a new litany, and with the aid of his clergy, and the young king himself, it was now completed. Nicholas Ridley wept tears of delight when Thomas showed him the Prayer of Humble Access – the writing of which had taken Thomas numerous weeks – which was to be uttered by the entire congregation when preparing to take the sacrament.
“‘We do not presume to come to this, Thy table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in Thy manifold and great mercies…’. I perceive this is a wonderful prayer,” Ridley announced enthusiastically. His lips then moved silently until he reached the conclusion, which he uttered aloud. “‘That our sinful bodies may be made clean by His body, and our souls washed through His most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in Him and He in us’.” Wiping tears from his eyes, he declared, “my friend, I pray you do not alter one word of this. It must remain as it is.”
“I hope everyone else thinks likewise,” Thomas remarked dryly.
It was anticipated that the new litany would be printed and introduced to the churches within the year, and despite Margaret’s fears that he was overworking and ruining his health, it was an exhilarating time. He was free to journey throughout the country to interview and examine the clergy, usually without issuing a warning of his imminent arrival. Unfortunately, a number of bishoprics, such as Gardiner’s in Winchester, still remained in the hands of the orthodox bishops, slowing the speed of the Reformation. He had hoped that some bishops might resign in outrage, but there was no evidence of this happening; they were all too eager to cling onto their lucrative positions of power.
Amid this climate of change, war broke out again between England and Scotland. Mary, the young Scottish queen, was no longer betrothed to King Edward – who still stubbornly claimed he would not have married her anyway, because she was Catholic –she was instead betrothed to the French king’s son, Francis. Most members of the Court judged this to be a snub, if not a downright insult, from the Scots to the English. To add fuel to the fire, the Scots were inflicting more and more raids on the borders, some of them very violent, prompting Edward Seymour to decree that it was ‘time to make a war to end all wars’.
Seymour’s standing had sunk exceedingly low in the eyes of both the king’s courtiers and the common people. After making himself Duke of Somerset, he had proceeded to build himself a new palatial home in London. He had not decided upon the name of it yet, but was considering calling it Somerset Place, or perhaps Somerset House. The ordinary people of London were not offended by the building of a great house; they were used to such constructions appearing in their city. They were, however, outraged that he had chosen to pull down parts of their beloved landmark, St. Paul’s Cathedral, to make use of the bricks. As far as Seymour was concerned, it saved money. If it happened to outrage the Londoners, so be it.
Regarding making war upon the Scots, to everyone’s surprise, Edward Seymour made it clear that he intended, once again, to lead the army in person. The English army headed to Scotland at the beginning of September, and despite them being heavily outnumbered, their impressive firepower won the day. Unfortunately for Edward Seymour, whilst he was away from the king’s side, the insidious voice of John Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, was subtly whispering in the king’s ear, amusing and flattering the youth, and turning him away from his austere uncle. As for Seymour’s brother, the Admiral continued to lavish money upon the young king, thus maintaining his position of favour.
It was also during the war with Scotland that Thomas tried to reason with Princess Mary. During King Henry’s reign, he had felt huge pity for her, and even now that she was officially a princess again, she seemed to have few friends. According to King Henry’s Will, Princess Mary was now first in line to the throne, followed by Elizabeth, at least until King Edward produced an heir, which, given his age, was not likely to happen any time soon. As such, Mary was now a person of significant importance, and after much consideration, when the council reviewed her situation, it was proposed that Princess Mary should, according to the law, be prevented from holding her private Masses, which she had obstinately continued to hold daily in her current home, Copt Hall in Essex, despite the Mass now being illegal. During Henry’s reign, Thomas had been lenient with her, but this time, he was in full agreement with the council’s decision. Her very status would make her a central figure for Catholics to turn to; she could not be seen to be setting a bad example to others.
Unfortunately, she refused to accept the council’s terms, writing a long, laborious letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, explaining why she would not stop hearing the Mass. It ended on a note of reproach:
‘But though you have forgotten the king, my father, yet both God’s commands and nature will not suffer me to do so. Wherefore, with God’s help, I will remain an obedient child to his laws as he left them, till such a time as His Majesty, my brother, shall have reached years of discretion to order the people that God has sent him, and to be a judge in these matters himself. I doubt not but he shall then accept my so doing better than those who have taken some of his power upon them in his minority.’
He read the letter several times, each time hoping he might spot some indication that Mary might be softening towards Protestantism. He found nothing.
John Dudley, who read the letter aloud to the Privy Council, was gleeful. He took it as a broadside against the Protector. Laying the pages on the table, he looked directly at Thomas. “What do you say, my lord of Canterbury?”
“That it is not a slight against the Lord Protector alone. She will not abandon her private Masses, nor will she accept The New Learning,” he replied simply. “As you know, I have always believed that, by treating her gently, she might warm to The New Learning. Unfortunately she remains devoutly Catholic.”
“She should be in the Tower,” Dudley snapped. “She should be arrested.”
“Whatever you threaten her with, she will not change,” Thomas warned. “I see in her the determination of her mother. If she is placed in the Tower, she will become even more of a figure head for Catholics than she is now,” he reasoned logically. Mary was troublesome, yes, but he did not want to see her incarcerated in the Tower. She was a princess; a daughter of the great King Henry VIII.
“She needs a husband to control her.” Dudley looked around at the council members, awaiting suggestions.
Dudley was a tall, good-looking man, very much similar to the Admiral, Thomas Seymour, and therefore also totally different to the Lord Protector. Of the three of them, Thomas much preferred Edward Seymour, who was apt to be more just and merciful, in spite of his chilly exterior and avaricious nature.
“My lord, she has been betrothed many times. They have all come to nothing,” he reminded Dudley. “If you dangle a Protestant prince in front of her, she will not take him. My advice is to treat her gently. Kindness will prevail more with her than threats. And do not forget, she is not only King Edward’s sister and therefore heir to the throne, she is also the daughter of King Henry VIII.”
He was relieved when Edward Seymour victoriously returned from Scotland. Once again, the Lord Protector took charge of the Council, deciding to leave Mary alone for the time being, as long as she did not make her private Masses public knowledge.
As the first year of Edward’s reign came to a close, the new litany was almost complete, and would soon be in circulation. Images and statues had been removed from churches, though not without a certain amount of protest, and most of the distinctly Catholic features of religious services, ceremonies, and celebrations, had been abolished.
In January, around the anniversary of the death of King Henry VIII, Hugh Latimer, by invitation of the Archbishop of Canterbury, gave an enthusiastic sermon at St. Paul’s Cross, attracting vast crowds. Thomas needed someone to convince the English populace that God desired for England to follow the Protestant path, and there was no better man to do that than Hugh Latimer. People flocked to listen to him, and he was utterly fearless regarding the subjects he addressed, directing his teaching towards lewd women, brutal husbands, dishonest shop keepers, and anyone or anything he considered in need of correction. Even the pickpockets listened to him; some had been known to drop their stolen purses in shame upon hearing his oratory.
Even his very good friend, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was not exempt from Latimer’s criticism. Latimer believed that the archbishop’s new catechism was not nearly radical enough, and he was not afraid to say so to his friend’s face. Thomas, knowing Latimer’s criticism was meant constructively, and having himself criticised Latimer’s own opinions many times in the past, gladly listened his views, though he did not always act upon them. Unfortunately, as archbishop, he had other, less considerate critics, the most prominent being Stephen Gardiner, who had written a scathing book, criticising Thomas Cranmer’s views and actions, and arguing against reformation. The book was purely a malicious endeavour. It was an attempt to make Thomas’ life more difficult than it needed to be, rather than a work of constructive critique. After years of enduring Gardiner’s constant disparagement, he was growing increasingly weary of his antics.
There was good news, however, from the household of the Dowager Queen. Catherine was pregnant, and delighted to be carrying a child at last. It was the king who informed Thomas of this, in the grave, formal manner he always used when trying to appear regal.
“We are well pleased to hear that our beloved stepmother is with child,” the young king declared.
“The dear lady has always longed for a child,” Thomas replied. “I shall write to her and assure her of my prayers.”
“We have already written to her.” Edward was solemn. “We have assured her of our continuing love and prayers. We have also advised her to take care of her person, and recommend that, in due course, she employs a wise and skilled midwife.”
Thomas had difficulty hiding a smile, though his now considerable beard was useful for disguising moments such as this, when his lips twitched with amusement. The boy could be very pompous at times, yet it was somehow endearing. Edward had never had the chance to be a child, and was far too young to know how to be an adult.
Back at Lambeth, Margaret, her face serious, informed Thomas that she had some new gossip to impart from the Sudley residence.
“I know, she is pregnant,” Thomas stated quickly, smugly pleased to have trounced his wife for once. She always managed to acquire the latest gossip, before he had even heard the faintest of rumours.
“Not only that,” Margaret revealed.
He sighed. Apparently, she had outdone him once again.
“From what I have heard, the Admiral is said to be in an improper relationship with the Princess Elizabeth.” Her face was a mask of concern. “She is but fifteen years old, my husband, and he is a married man. It is wrong.”
He nodded seriously, his expression equally concerned. If this was true, something needed to be done.
“Apparently, he goes into her bedroom on a morning, when she is wearing only her shift, and tickles her until she awakes.” Margaret shook her head vigorously. “The Dowager Queen must surely be aware of what is happening?”
“I wonder at the princess being left alone with him… surely her ladies are present?” he speculated. Elizabeth had a governess, Mistress Ashley, who would no doubt be aware of this. “Perhaps I should speak with Mistress Ashley… but how on Earth did you find this out? It could simply be a vicious rumour.”
“My lord Sudley’s gamekeeper is betrothed to a buttery maid at Sudley Castle, and she informed him of this. His own sister happens to be my laundry maid,” Margaret explained, with an air of triumph. “I pray it is idle gossip, but whether true or not, it is a cause for concern. Elizabeth’s reputation might suffer.”
“Since I am godfather to the young princess, I have a legitimate right to know exactly what is happening. I shall correspond with Mistress Ashley, her governess, and if I cannot obtain any information from her, I shall visit Sudley Castle.” He could ill afford to spend precious time visiting Sudley, but as her Godfather, he had a responsibility to protect the girl.
“I knew you would know what to do.” Margaret gave her bright, beaming smile, which never failed to raise his spirits.
He promptly sent a letter to Mistress Ashley, who immediately wrote back to him, saying that she too was concerned about the familiarity with which Lord Sudley treated the princess. She explained that she had remonstrated Lord Sudley, but that he had told her he was doing nothing amiss, accusing her of being an interfering old woman, seeing evil where none existed.
Relieved that Mistress Ashley was taking the situation seriously, he suggested that perhaps she should speak with the Dowager Queen and take her concerns there. After all, Elizabeth’s reputation was at stake; in the not-too-distant future, it was probable that a marriage would be arranged for her. What sort of prince would want a princess with a sullied reputation?
A few days later, Mistress Ashley wrote to say she had acted upon this advice, and that the Dowager Queen was now joining Lord Sudley with the morning games. Sometimes, said Ashley, the Dowager Queen was as lively as her husband; on one occasion, the princess had appeared wearing a gown which was much too old and sophisticated for such a young girl, so the Dowager Queen had held her while her husband cut the dress clean off, leaving the girl standing in her undergarments. This was startling, but at least the Dowager Queen was a well-respected figure; her presence should keep Elizabeth’s reputation clean. Optimistically, he hoped the situation was now resolved.
Soon afterwards, the Dowager Queen and Lord Sudley’s household moved to Chelsea, enabling the Admiral to visit Court more frequently, and also continue his seductive ploys to gain favour with the king. Edward Seymour was continuing to lose favour with both the king and his subjects, whilst John Dudley, ever the able statesman, was doing everything in his power to encourage this steady decline.
Thomas maintained his respect for Seymour. He was humane, genuinely cared about the poor, and he was tolerant of heretics. The Act of Six Articles had been repealed, which meant no heretics were being burned, and so far, the most severe action he had taken, was to insist upon some Anabaptists publicly repenting at St. Paul’s Cross. As for Dudley, he was a ruthless and uncaring man, and Thomas found his excessively rapacious – even cruel - nature repulsive. He sincerely hoped that the young king would see Dudley for who he truly was. Unfortunately, given Dudley’s charm and charisma, he sadly doubted that this would happen quickly.
The numbers of Protestant clergy were slowly increasing, and a steady stream of Catholic bishops and priests had begun to vacate their positions. Bishop Gardiner, his behaviour having become even more inflammatory and provocative, had been imprisoned in the Fleet Prison, and his position at Winchester had been given to a man named Ponet. Furious with his poor treatment, Gardiner wrote to the Protector, stating that he had been ‘somewhat straitly handled’, and that he wished to have some creature comforts. Edward Seymour, sick and tired of Gardiner’s provoking outbursts, charged the Archbishop of Canterbury with the task of speaking to him. With an utter lack of enthusiasm, Thomas agreed; after all, Gardiner was his responsibility. He promptly sent for the man who had so far been his greatest enemy. He could only hope imprisonment had mellowed him.
Gardiner arrived at Lambeth Palace accompanied by two gaolers, who waited outside whilst Thomas examined him in the library. Gardiner’s garments bore the stains of his sojourn in prison; it was apparent that he had neither been permitted a launderer nor a barber. Invariably, a prisoner such as Gardiner could purchase such help, but as he had complained in his letter, he had been ‘straitly handled’, and permitted no luxuries. Not failing to notice the belligerent expression upon Gardiner’s face, Thomas resigned himself to a difficult interview.
“Pray be seated, my lord Gardiner. Please, take some mulled ale and refreshments, if you desire them.” He indicated towards a platter of meats and cheeses, which Margaret had earlier laid on the desk.
Gardiner sat down with poor grace and accepted a cup of ale.
“My lord, you know that I sent for you only because the Protector desired it. I am requested to convince you of various points of theology, such as justification by faith alone, marriage of the clergy—”
“I do not support justification by faith alone,” Gardiner interposed abruptly. “As for marriage of the clergy, did not blessed Saint Paul himself explain the advantages of being an unmarried servant of Christ? A priest ought to be celibate.” He helped himself to some cheese, with hands that had not seen water for some days.
Thomas bit his tongue, refraining from pointing out that Gardiner himself had probably been far from celibate. “Saint Paul stated it as an advantage, not a law,” he reasoned gently. “Besides, marriage keeps a man from sin.” He gave his companion a meaningful look. “As for justification by faith, it is according to the word of God. If you read the New Testament, Christ Himself did not recommend that people should do anything other than be repentant to gain forgiveness.” Noting that his companion was readying himself to deliver one of his tirades, he swiftly changed the subject. “What about Erasmus’ pamphlet, Paraphrase? The Protector desires that you should resign yourself to the free use of this. Even Sir Thomas More approved of it.”
“More approved of Erasmus because he believed certain things in the Church needed improving. He did not, however, consider a complete reformation to be necessary,” Gardiner stated waspishly, before taking a deep draught of ale. “I have read Paraphrase and found things in it which condemn the work. I agree with those who say that Erasmus laid the eggs and Luther hatched them. Every monstrous opinion that has risen, has come from evil men, who have had a wonderful time extracting passages from that book.”
“They are not evil men—”
“I am not passing judgement on Luther, or anyone else. I merely believe that from this one man has arisen a whole nest of evil beliefs, which question and condemn the truth of the Roman Church.” Gardiner lifted the jug of ale from the desk and proceeded to refill his cup. Clearly, he intended to enjoy the archbishop’s hospitality.
“The Church of Rome is corrupt. You must see that—”
“It was founded on truth,” Gardiner yet again interrupted. “The Church of England and The New Learning is nothing but hot air. The Catholic Church is best left alone and should be allowed to do what it has done for centuries, which is to bring people to God.” This was uttered with an air of finality.
The meeting Progressed with Gardiner continuing to interrupt and contradict every utterance.
“Listen. If you accept The New Learning as it is, I can do much for you.” Thomas leaned forward earnestly. “You are a valued man, but your obstinacy angers many. If you are reasonable, you might live in comfort again, instead of dwelling in that foul and stinking prison.” His voice was low and urgent. Having leaned forward over his desk, he quickly leaned back again. Being too close to Gardiner was an offence to his nostrils. Ralph Morice was more fortunate; his desk was some distance away, allowing him to faithfully record the conversation, without being assaulted by the stench of their guest.
“I would never begrudge or complain of anything for myself.” Looking pious, Gardiner, who had already eagerly eaten several pieces of bread and meat, took a slice of lean and tender looking beef. “You must do with me as you will, for I will never change my opinion.”
“Then I must return you to the Fleet. However, I shall instruct for your food and conditions to be considerably improved.”
“Do so. For so long, my lord Archbishop, I have opposed you. I have waited, not always with patience, for the day when I see you fallen.” Suddenly, Gardiner slammed his hand upon the desk, startling both the archbishop and his secretary. He leaned forward, his posture threatening. “But that day will come,” he hissed venomously. “Surely my diligence shall be rewarded; one day, you shall be in the position I am now. When that day comes, I shall surely rejoice.”
Gardiner was swiftly led away, leaving Thomas to write to the Protector, and explain that the interview had been an abject failure.
*****
Later that month, more shocking news arrived from Sudely Castle. The Dowager Queen had requested that Princess Elizabeth be removed to some other household, as she had been caught kissing the Dowager Queen’s husband, Lord Sudley. The weeping and disgraced princess had written many tearful letters of apology, but Catherine had made her decision; she was kind in her dealings with the princess, but adamant that, for the foreseeable future, she must lodge elsewhere. Lady Jane Grey, who shared tutors and studied with the princess, was to remain.
“The sooner she is married, the better,” John Dudley gruffly declared.
Dudley and Edward Seymour were sitting with Thomas in an otherwise empty audience chamber.
“Who will marry her if her reputation is tainted?” Seymour reasoned logically.
“I cannot correct what has happened, but I should like to visit the child,” Thomas advocated. “She is much in need of spiritual guidance.”
“She needs a husband who will whip her soundly,” Dudley snarled, his upper lip curling with contempt. “Wolsey called her mother the Great Whore; clearly the daughter – who, might I add, is no child, my lord Archbishop – is heading in a similar direction!”
“Queen Anne was no whore,” Thomas protested.
“Ceres, this is getting us nowhere.” Seymour eyed Dudley with dislike. The man was getting far too cosy with the king, as was his own brother, Lord Sudley, who had so recently been caught kissing the princess. How typical of Tom; his wife was great with child, so he felt the need to entertain himself with a ripe young girl. Dudley was blaming the princess, clearly, but Edward knew his brother was equally culpable, if not more so; he was in a position of care. Looking at the archbishop, he could see a simmering of anger beneath the man’s usually kindly exterior, and sensed he shared his own low opinion of Lord Sudley, and Dudley too, for that matter.
“If she is moved to Hatfield, she will be away from Lord Sudley. If she lives quietly and prayerfully, perhaps this episode will blow over. People have short memories when it suits them.” Thomas looked at the Lord Protector. “Do I have your permission to visit her?” he requested.
“Pray do so, my lord.” Seymour nodded in affirmation. “As soon as you are able.”
“I shall go tomorrow.” Thomas shook his head sadly. “She has no parents to guide her, and so has been led astray by a handsome man. It is a grievous episode, but one I trust she can live down.”
Arriving at Hatfield, he found the princess penitent. She did not blame Lord Sudley for the situation, seeming to accept the blame personally. She looked dejected and weary, as if she had not been sleeping; she was seriously concerned about the pain she had caused the Dowager Queen.
He talked earnestly with her in the presence of Mistress Ashley, her governess, and recommended that she must live soberly, dress modestly and generally behave like a penitent. She should pray and study, avoiding all things giddy and frivolous. In due course, her reputation would be redeemed. When the princess assured him that she had done nothing more than permit Lord Sudley to kiss her, and deeply regretted her rash decision, Thomas believed she spoke sincerely. It was a great pity that one rash moment had the power to change someone’s life so radically.
Not long after Elizabeth had been relocated, grave news arrived from Sudley Castle. The Dowager Queen – a woman much loved by the people – had been delivered of a baby girl but had died in childbirth. A huge outpouring of grief swept across the country, which did nothing to redeem the reputation of Princess Elizabeth. Catherine’s husband pronounced himself to be stricken with grief, but perhaps inevitably, the Admiral had not been widowed very long before he began to seek out another rich wife. To his brother’s frustration, he was aiming high, his attention torn between King Edward’s cousin, Lady Jane Grey, and Princess Elizabeth herself. In his typically swaggering fashion, he seemed to believe both of them would welcome any overture of marriage from him. The choice was his.
Edward Seymour’s anxiety concerning his brother’s potential rise to power, was soon made obvious to Thomas, when the archbishop quietly commented that there was no legal reason why Sudley should not marry Princess Elizabeth. “They are not related,” he reasoned. “And if he marries the princess, he will, of a surety, clear her reputation.”
Edward Seymour gave a snort of disgust. He was no fool, and well aware that his hold on the government was tenuous; both Dudley and his brother persisted to shamelessly undermine his authority. “He needs to be locked away… in the Tower,” Edward declared, his face flushing with annoyance.
“Do nothing hastily, my lord,” Thomas advised. “Simply observe him carefully.” He thought for a few moments, then added, “perhaps you could have his servant, Parry, investigated, so that you may find out for yourself exactly how much money your brother gives to the king?”
Seymour recognised this as sound advice, but before he could act, his brother played right into his hands. On the sixteenth of January 1549, under the cover of darkness, Thomas Seymour broke into the king’s apartments, intent upon kidnapping his nephew and forcing the child to make him Lord Protector, in place of his brother. Mercifully, the Admiral’s entrance disturbed the young king’s beloved spaniel, whose barks awoke the king’s guards. In panic, Thomas Seymour struck at the dog, killing the poor creature. The king’s guards quickly apprehended the king’s errant uncle, and promptly escorted him to the Tower.
Unfortunately, Princess Elizabeth was also implicated in her brother’s kidnapping. Thomas Seymour had visited her at Hatfield, just a few hours before he had been apprehended at Hampton Court. Edward Seymour – and some of the Privy Council – believed the purpose of the visit was to ask her to agree to a betrothal. Consequently, no one could be sure whether or not the princess had been involved in the plot. This prompted the Protector to order the arrest of Elizabeth’s governess, Catherine Ashley, and place the princess in the care of Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt.
“Lord Tyrwhitt is trying to obtain information from her,” Seymour explained, during one of his now frequent visits to the archbishop at Lambeth Palace. “Gently, of course,” he added hastily, seeing a look of horror cross his companion’s face.
“And what have they learned?” Thomas demanded, more severely than he intended.
“Nothing,” Seymour swiftly replied. “She has said nothing. Everything she does or says is monitored and reported. But she cannot be coaxed, or even threatened, to say anything regarding my brother or his intentions.”
“Threatened?” He frowned.
“Not with violence,” Seymour hastily explained. “They simply threatened to take her books away… things like that,” he added lamely.
There was a lengthy silence before Thomas replied coldly, “Could it not be that she is innocent and therefore has nothing to say regarding this matter?”
“We need to be certain,” Seymour replied.
“I think you should send her governess back to her; she is very much attached to Mistress Ashley. Quite frankly, I cannot envisage her, or her governess, freely plotting with your bother.”
Seymour was unsure. Depriving the princess of her governess meant she must rely upon Lady Tyrwhitt; perhaps she might open up to her and admit that she and Thomas Seymour had agreed to wed. Ashley was loyal to the girl – she would reveal nothing seriously incriminating – but Lady Tyrwhitt had no fondness for her, and would certainly inform the Lord Protector if anything was said.
As if reading his mind, Thomas murmured, “I cannot foresee the princess confiding in either of the Tyrwhitt’s.” They were cold, humourless people, much like the Lord Protector and his wife, and were certainly not the type of people to coax confidences from a young girl.
Seymour sighed, then passed two documents to him: the signed confessions of Parry and Mistress Ashley. Both revealed that there had been much flirtation between Elizabeth and Lord Sudley, but neither mentioned anything of a betrothal. Ashley admitted she had sincerely hoped to see a union between the two, whilst Parry stated he had heard Sudley speak of his desire to marry the princess, and then added that he had promised Lord Sudley never to speak of this.
“You have shown the princess these?” Thomas queried, handing the papers back to Seymour.
“Yes. It seemed a good ploy to break her resistance.” Seymour was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the archbishop’s disapproving gaze.
“There is nothing incriminating in either document as far as the Princess Elizabeth is concerned.” He could hear the sharpness in his voice and did not regret it. Seymour was handling the girl as if she were already a condemned criminal. “What did the princess have to say?”
“She wept at the treatment of her governess; claimed she would not tolerate the presence of Lady Tyrwhitt, then said it was a great matter that Parry broke his promise to Lord Sudley.” Seymour snorted in disgust. He knew that Parry was not an honest man, and he was certain that he felt no guilt in breaking any promise he might have made to his master. “She then announced that she has heard a rumour going around, saying that she is with child. She desires to be brought to Court, so that people may see her and know that she is in no such condition; she even suggests that she should be examined by a physician of my choice, to confirm this.”
“What do you intend to do?” Thomas was curious. This seemed a sensible action in his opinion. So sensible, the blinkered Seymour might overlook it.
“Do you think it wise to bring her to Court?” Seymour questioned. “After all, a physician could be sent to Hatfield to examine the girl.”
“I do,” he nodded earnestly. “My lord, you must surely see that the princess is simply a girl, not yet a woman, who has had her head turned by an attractive older man. Let her come to Court and permit her see her brother. The king is fond of his sister Temperance, as he calls her. He will welcome any opportunity to see her.”
Seymour sighed, bowing his head in contemplation.
In that moment, Thomas felt sorry for the man before him. Seymour had desired power, but was overwhelmed by it, and now found himself drinking from a poisoned chalice. At least Cromwell had enjoyed the power he had possessed.
Seymour looked up, deciding to change the subject. “I have heard that some of your more…” He searched for a suitable word, “… modern clergy, are wishing to get rid of clerical vestments. Do you agree with this motion?”
“No.” Thomas gave a half smile. “Hugh Latimer has tried to persuade me, but I think I have convinced him that not everyone is like him… or indeed, myself. There are those who, if free from clerical robes, will strut around like peacocks.”
Seymour nodded gravely in agreement, relieved at having momentarily managed to escape from the uncomfortable subject of his brother and the Princess Elizabeth. “Yes, I think that is a probability, especially with the younger clergy. They would parade around in the latest fashions and set a poor example for the laity.”
“That is what I wish to avoid. There should be a certain dignity about the clergy, otherwise people will not respect their position. They expect us to be above vanity,” Thomas reflected.
Edward Seymour rose from his seat, ready to leave. “I bid you farewell, archbishop. I shall take myself back to Court and arrange for the princess to be brought to see the king and a physician. As for my brother… did you know that the Duchess of Rochester is besotted with him? She has been importuning me to release him.”
“She is one of many, I gather,” he soberly replied. He doubted if Thomas Seymour returned the affections of any of them. He seemed the kind of man who enjoyed female admiration, but whose heart remained untouched, set upon worldly wealth rather than love. “My wife tells me that the female servants love to be in the streets when he rides past.” He uttered the words ‘my wife’ with a sense of triumph, for finally Margaret could openly call herself the wife of the Archbishop of Canterbury – the very first woman to ever be able to do so. At last, an Act had been passed permitting clergy to marry.
Seymour noticed a fond expression pass over the archbishop’s face when he mentioned his wife. Momentarily, it irritated him. It seemed as if everyone’s marriage was happier than his. His own wife, Anne, was a haughty, demanding woman. He had seen the archbishop’s wife; indeed, he had recently been introduced to her. She had been pleasant to look at and modestly attired; in short, there was nothing amiss with her, apart from the fact that she was not an heiress. He failed to understand why any man would wish to marry a woman who had no dowry. Gloomily, he returned to Court, there to make arrangements for Princess Elizabeth to come and show herself to members of the Court, and be examined by a physician.
Some days later, the princess was escorted to the Court at Greenwich. She looked pale, but otherwise healthy, and had ensured that she was demurely attired: her gown had a modest neckline and was plain and unembroidered. She wore no jewels, whilst her hair was obscured by the primmest of headdresses. As for the king, he was delighted to see his sweet sister, and the two chatted eagerly together for over an hour, mostly in Greek. Once she had been seen by Dr Butts, who declared that she was most certainly not pregnant, there was nothing Edward Seymour could do but take the archbishop’s advice. He permitted Elizabeth’s governess, Mistress Ashley, to return to her.
A few days later, Thomas Seymour was charged with High Treason, and condemned to die on Tower Hill. The king, to the surprise of his Privy Council, did not protest against the Admiral’s charge, and calmly accepted his favourite uncle’s fate. When the day of the beheading finally arrived, to the superstitious horror of the watching crowd, the Admiral refused any ministrations from the clergy.
Immediately after the execution, Thomas learned that Edward Seymour had sent Lord and Lady Tyrwhitt to Hatfield, to inform Princess Elizabeth of the execution. In one final attempt to extract an admission from her of being illegally betrothed to his brother, Edward Seymour had requested that the shocking news be delivered to Elizabeth without any warning or former preparation. This, he hoped, would provoke an emotional reaction. Yet again, he was disappointed.
Visiting the archbishop at Lambeth, Seymour bitterly revealed the result of the Tyrwhitt’s visit to Hatfield. “She is an abnormal girl!” he exploded with suppressed anger. “Do you know what she said?”
“I have no means of knowing,” he replied coldly, disapproving of what he perceived to be an unkind act. “You have not yet told me.”
“When informed of my brother’s death, the princess replied: ‘this day died a man of much wit, but little judgement’. What sort of girl is that?” Seymour demanded waspishly.
Thomas privately suspected that the young princess was similar to her brother, who had also appeared unmoved by the death of his uncle. Both siblings were uncommonly clever, though in his opinion, Elizabeth was wise beyond her years. Her mother had been beheaded and she had subsequently been declared a bastard, unlike her brother, who had always been held in high honour. Elizabeth’s life had taught her to look after herself.