The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir Page A

Elizabeth her song, line by line, until the child had it word-perfect.
    “I shall go and sing it to Kat!” Elizabeth cried, and hastened to show off her perfect rendering of the Welsh tongue to Kat.
    “I have learned a new song,” she announced. “I will sing it for you.”
    Kat seated herself on the settle, laying aside her hemming.
    “Now listen,” instructed the child. And she sang the Welsh carol, without faltering once, in a clear, true voice. Kat clapped in admiration when it ended.
    “Where did you learn that?” she asked, astonished.
    “From Blanche Parry,” said Elizabeth. “I want her to teach me more Welsh.”
    “That would be most fitting,” Kat pronounced. “Your grandfather, King Henry the Seventh, was half Welsh and descended from the ancient princes of Wales. He was born in Wales, at Pembroke, and the name Tudor, the name of your House, is Welsh. I will see that Blanche is granted an hour or two each week to teach you the Welsh language.”
    And that was what happened. Blanche was not the greatest of educators, but she was able to teach Elizabeth songs and poems, and their meanings. And during those hours spent together, Blanche conceived a great devotion for her vivacious young mistress, who was so interested in the history and traditions of a conquered people, and who was so friendly and kind.
    On the day Elizabeth gave her a red ribbon, which she thought would look pretty in Blanche’s hair, the woman was overcome and barely able to speak, and when she recovered her tongue, she fell to her knees.
    “I would serve you forever, my lady, so God spare me,” she declared fervently. Elizabeth smiled; Blanche’s response was so gratifying.
    “I will see to it!” she said. “You must stay with me.”
    “I will, I promise!” cried the Welshwoman.
     
    CHAPTER 4

    1539
    W hitehall Palace was thronged with people when the six-year-old Elizabeth and her small train arrived for the Christmas season. An air of happy anticipation filled the air, and it was not inspired solely by the coming festivities.
    “I cannot wait to meet my new stepmother,” Elizabeth declared as they followed the Lord Chamberlain to the apartment that had been made ready for her, one that overlooked the broad Thames meandering downstream to London.
    “Well, my lady, you will have to be patient because, from what I’ve heard, she is still in Calais waiting for a fair wind,” said Kat, opening a traveling chest.
    “There are so many ladies at court!” Elizabeth had marveled at their rich gowns, their bejeweled hoods, their air of sophistication.
    “The King your father will have invited them in honor of the new Queen,” Kat explained, unpacking chemises and nightgowns. “I’ll warrant he has already appointed some of them to her household.”
    “They say she is very beautiful,” Elizabeth said. “And I hope she is kind too.”
    “I’m sure she will be.” Kat smiled.
    The King, when he received his younger daughter in the presence chamber, was in high spirits.
    “Greetings, my Lady Bessy! Your sister Mary is already here, and your brother the Prince arrives tomorrow.”
    “I am very glad of that, sir,” Elizabeth said, delighted to be with her father again. “I cannot wait for him to come. I do not see him often, but I think of him a lot. And I have made him another shirt.” She pulled a wry face.
    King Henry smiled. “I am sure he will look well in it, however begrudging the effort to make it!”
    “Oh, but sir—” Elizabeth protested.
    “No matter. I recall that, when I was a boy, I chafed at being made to sit indoors scribing when I could have been practicing in the tiltyard or shooting at the butts. It was the same when I became King and found myself burdened with state business; all I wanted to do was go hunting—”
    He broke off, remembering those heady early days when he had been a young god in the saddle and in the bedchamber, when the world had seemed full of promise, and Kate and he had