Elizabeth the Queen: Grandmother of Europe

Elizabeth of England: Grandmother of Europe

Chapter 1: Hatfield

In the rooms of Hatfield, the Lady Elizabeth awaits a message from her sister. While they had seemed to have reconciled at the Mary’s coronation, the Queen had again slid into paranoia and suspicion. So, the royal heir waits for a message, good or bad, to show her place in Queen Mary’s heart. Noticing her mistress’ worry, Joan Howard decided to see if she could help. Stepping behind Elizabeth, Joan lightly tapped on her shoulder and awaited a reaction.

She didn’t have to wait long; gaining a startled turn and a slow, wary smile that didn’t seem to meet the Lady’s eyes. Steeling herself for a possible scolding at what she was to say, Joan placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder and asked:

“Are you well, my Lady Cousin?”

She watched as a torrent of emotions crossed Elizabeth’s face; confusion, worry, grief and ultimately strength. Turning from the girl, the Lady composed herself and answered in a stable, very distant voice:

“Yes, Joan. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you seem tense. Are you worried because of…”

“Please, stop.”


Joan was startled at the snap that flew out of her mistress’ mouth. Elizabeth was usually very quiet and reserved; a paragon of a true Christian woman. Noticing her shock, the Lady took a deep breath and pushed the red-gold hair out of her face. Like pushing a veil behind the face of a bride, there was a feeling that she was going to reveal something more, something wonderful. But all Elizabeth showed was a perfect, demure yet counterfeit smile and downcast eyes that hid her apprehension.

“Dear cousin, why would I be worried? My sister is a just ruler. I will not be in any danger if I act as I always have.”

Studying her expression for a moment, the attendant couldn’t see the fear behind her eyes, the terror that gnawed at her soul as beavers do a log. But she also couldn’t see confidence that would usually emanate from someone who had nothing to fear. So, she had to wonder, does the Queen really scare Lady Elizabeth or not?

Whatever the answer, all she could answer with was:

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Good.”


Watching, Joan waited for an instruction; some indication of what she was to do now. Not immediately noticing, Elizabeth walked over to a chair by the fire and started to brush her hair, untangling it stroke by stroke. Looking into the fire, her dark eyes glinted with the waves of heat and flecks of light. After standing there for five minutes, Joan felt the need to cough to gain her attention. Flicking her gaze and honing her stare, the Lady Elizabeth looked at her confusedly for a moment before waving her hand as an indication to leave the room.

“Alone at last.”

The sigh floated to the window and dispersed; a pleasant scent that faded into the night. Reaching for the most recent book that she had been reading, Elizabeth walked to the window seat and positioned herself so that she might hear the sounds of the sleeping estate. In the distance a bird called out into the night.

What are you going to do with me Mary, she thought, when you can’t decide why you seem to hate me? Staring at her book, not taking in the words; she experienced a combination of terror and regret. Why don’t you love me anymore? What changed?

But she knew what had changed. Between the difference between Mary and Elizabeth’s religious beliefs, Mary’s jealousy at her sister’s youth and the bad blood that came from Elizabeth’s birth; there was going to be no stability in their relationship.

Putting the book back down, she looked at the ring on her finger, a gift from her father given to her in his final days. Done in red and black stones on a silver band, the contrast between it and her attire was always something that gave her hope, the richness steadied her heart when she wished to rebel from the simple apparel that she hid behind. If she could, Elizabeth would wear bright colours, cover herself in gems and become a jewel that no one could ignore. But her position would suffer. Time had shown the Lady that attention was at best fleeting and at worst fatal. One need only to remember poor Catherine Howard to see that.

Don’t forget Thomas Seymour, he almost destroyed me. The thought of the man who had attempted to seduce her, had tried to wed her fills her stomach with ice water. Given maybe a few more weeks, he probably would have succeeded. I guess I have to thank Catherine Parr, crosses her mind, she sent me away at just the right time.

Never will I let a man control me.

Lifting a candle from the table, she meanders over to the bookshelf and searched through for her manuscript’s place. When she finds that spot, she notices the volume next to it.

Lineages of the Royal Houses of Europe

How funny, seeing as to why her sister felt so superior to her. Mary could trace her line back to Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon. Even without her father she had a claim (however diluted) to England’s throne. Meanwhile Lady Elizabeth was only royal on her father’s side. Her mother’s family was born from both the Howard clan and a merchant family.

That doesn’t matter in any case, Elizabeth understood, she can’t get rid of me without an heir in England. I’m the last of two Tudors; fully English and no one can take that away from me.

Finally placing her book away, she wandered over to her bed and blew out the candle. Tomorrow would give her time to worry, tonight was for sleep.

___________________________________________________________

“Will you wait in the privy chamber m’lady?”

Margaret asked her mistress hesitantly. While Joan had the protection of her lineage and family connections, Margaret was simply lucky that her father had paid to get her a position as a Lady-in-Waiting to any noble at all. But that didn’t mean royalty didn’t scare her.

Gazing at her reflection on the side of the cup, Elizabeth barely noticed the timid little blond girl behind her. Waiting a second to let the idea poke into her mind, she finally answered:

“No, Mary might see that as overhigh and think I’m getting ideas.”

“Why?”


The words escaped her mouth before she could clamp it shut. Hand rising quickly to her mouth, the fearful and timorous adolescent shrinks as much as she can; the slenderness of her frame hiding amongst the loose black dress she is wearing.

But Elizabeth just smiled.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t m’lady.”


Now giggling to herself, Elizabeth turned to the girl and placed an understanding hand on her shoulder.

“Now, listen here. I’m not going it tell on you like some brat in a nursery,” the lady tittered, “I want to hear your thoughts. You can have opinions you know.”

“But mistress…”

“Please.”

“But…”

“No, say your mind or else you’ll be dismissed.


Shocked, the young girl stepped back in amazement. Her mistress had seemed so nice, so very kind and yet she had just said the one thing that scared Margaret most.

“Very well m’lady.”

“Finally. Now, spit it out”

“Okay. I think that this visit will only be one of two things. Either you are to go to court or to the tower.”


Elizabeth narrowed her eyes:

“Why would you think this?”

“Well, m’lady,”
Margaret gulped, hoping that her thoughts wouldn’t end her career before it had started, “Queen Mary is known for her, umm, moods. She’ll either love or hate you. So, it could be either the announcement that you are in favour or out of it.”

“How do you know all this?”


Sighing, poor Margaret responded:

“Mostly town gossip. The Queen is an infamous woman. Strong character, strong beliefs and no adaptability. No one can deny her truth of character, but when it comes to anything real…it doesn’t look good.”

‘So, how does this lead to me in the tower or at court?”

“She’ll want you nearby, and both will seem reasonable to her. She thinks that your mother was a whore, but is said to have loved you as a child. That love is your only hope, and you’ll only know today if it holds true.”

Stunned by the girl’s words, Elizabeth stumbled over to a chair and slid into the stiff fabric, melting into the shape. The concern that she should have been hiding was written all over her face as she assessed the situation that now confronted her.

The Lady had expected very little, maybe a piece of gossip that would show her position with the people of England. Not an accurate version of her position.

“Margaret, does everyone think this?”

The Lady-in-waiting ran from her task of pouring water for her mistress and fell to her knees in front of Elizabeth. Tears sliding down her face, she sobs:

“Well…most m’lady. Some say that…you’ll be dead by the end… of the year. But they’re wrong…you’re too good to die.”

Tilting her head up, she saw the incredulous look on her face. Stunned, Elizabeth could barely force the words out:

“Am I so hated?”

“Only by the Queen, or so the people say.”


Jolted, Elizabeth stands and in the process lifts her lady up with her. Turning to the door, she smooths her dress and enters the entry room to her chambers. Seating herself in the tallest, highest backed chair in the room, she motioned for Margaret to help her turn it so it was facing the doorway.

When finally seated, she turned her head to Margaret and said:

“When the men walk in, we must look like we were having a pleasant conversation about nothing.”

“Okay, m’lady.”

“I’ll start…Oh Margaret, are you yet betrothed?”


When the confused Margaret just stood there, Elizabeth just sighed and motioned with her hand that she should answer. Startling, Margaret managed to come up with an answer:

“Not yet, m’lady…”

“Please, call me Elizabeth.”


“Okay Elizabeth,” she said; the word odd in her mouth, “I’m not sure at the moment. My father was attempting a match with one of the younger Dudley boys, but as you can tell, that isn’t going to happen anytime soon”

“Well, why would you want to be tied to a family stained with treason?”

“Exactly what my father said. So now he is trying to marry me to Lord Westworth. No more royal blood than I have, but very rich.”

“Well that’s goo…”


At that moment three men walked through the door, followed by a manservant. The first of the three was obviously a Howard, but not the Duke. Next came two men who were so obviously father and son it was quite funny. But their features didn’t speak of high nobility, at least to the Lady Elizabeth. Rising from her seat, she curtseyed, to which she got three deep bows in response. Walking to the front of the group, the middle-aged manservant declared:

“May I present Thomas Howard: Grandson and Heir to the Duke of Norfolk, Henry Neville: 5th Earl of Westmorland and his son Lord Charles Neville to the Lady Elizabeth Tudor.”

Staring at her for a few moments, they seem to have been told that she deserves all the respect a person of Royal blood deserves. How very kind Mary, she thought, what do you want?

“My Lady, may we have a word in private?”


Waiting for a reply, the trio stand at the door like lost puppies, unsure if they can come further or will be asked to sit down.

Let them wait a bit.

Smiling pleasantly, Elizabeth looks at her companion and sees that little Margaret is staring at the realm’s peers in awe. While she knew that she might see the odd baron or two, she had not expected future Dukes and Earls when in the service of the bastard sister of Queen Mary.

Finally tired of her little game, the Lady beckoned the nobles to sit in the, purposely lower, chairs that were directly in front of Elizabeth. Pulling herself up to her full 6 feet she waited for them to reiterate their request.
Silence ensued for about 5 minutes.

“Ahem.”

“Yes, Lord Henry?”

Looking at her he felt many emotions. Anger for her impertinence, admiration for her intelligence and, surprisingly, fear. She was undoubtable pretty, if not even beautiful. But there was something off about her entire appearance. Where there would usually be warmth there was coolness, like something fundamental was lacking in her soul.

“Well, my Lady,” the Norfolk boy interceded, “we have been sent to accompany you to the Queen Mary’s court where she will further instruct you on her whims.”

“And can you give me warning as to those whims?”


The youngest man in the group, the earl’s son, stepped forward to speak to her this time. Obviously nervous, he stuttered as his speech mangled in his throat.

“M-my lady, w-we were n-n-not made privy to tha-at information.”

Concern touched the Lady Elizabeth’s face and even reached her eyes as she watched this peer struggle to remember his lines as his father had taught him. She motioned for Margaret to pour the young man a drink. The earl was happy to see that Elizabeth was capable of more than a farce emotion.

“Here you go, m’lord.”

Smiling at Margaret, Lord Charles drank deeply and sighed contently at the sweet, full flavour the wine had. It tasted like home to him.

“Very well, you men may escort me to the court. But might we wait until the morning? It is such a long trip and it is now so late.”

“Late?”
Lord Thomas exclaimed, “It is barely after noon. Do you happen to have dinner at 5 and sleep by 7?”

Giggling at his attempted joke, Lady Elizabeth answered with:

“Well, you obvious have never had to make packing arrangements for an entire household for court before. Trust me Sir, the night will make a big difference.”
 
I very much like this idea, given that it sets her up to be like an early analogue to the Queen Victoria centuries later in our timeline.
 
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