Carolyn Meyer - Beware, Princess Elizabeth

“Twenty-seven and still a virgin!” he would roar. “Perhaps I know of a German prince who would have you as his wife!” Then later it would be the French dauphin, or some Danish count. He teased her as one might taunt a dog with a bone.

“As my lord wishes,” Mary would reply in her deep, almost manly voice, taking care not to show her hurt or embarrassment.

Mary might have hidden her true feelings from our father, but I caught a glimpse of them one day when we stopped to rest by the side of a stream. Our servants rushed about, setting up planks on trestles beneath the branches of a large oak. While our meal was being laid out, I saw Mary wander off alone along the banks of the stream. My father’s leg was paining him, as it often did, and Catherine was busy tending to his needs. Edward had fallen asleep on the couch brought for him. Partly out of boredom and partly, I suppose, out of jealousy that she was the favoured sister – my father didn’t even bother to tease me – I decided to follow Mary and to spy on her. What I thought I would witness I cannot say.

After a time her footsteps slowed, then stopped. She flung herself down on the grassy bank and burst into tears. I watched from behind a tree as she sobbed as though her heart were breaking. Part of me wanted to flee back to the royal company, where perhaps I might now receive some of my father’s attention. But Mary’s grief touched something within me, and after a time I stepped out from my hiding place. I didn’t know what to say, and so I simply stood where she might notice me.

When Mary realised that she was not alone, she stifled a startled cry. “Yes?” she asked irritably. “What is it, Elizabeth?”

“You seem so sad,” I said.

Mary gazed at me thoughtfully. “I am twenty-seven years old. I have neither husband nor child, nor any hope of one. It is a terrible thing to live without love, Elizabeth.”

“I love you, dearest sister,” I murmured, and I moved to lay my hand softly upon her cheek.

“You!” she said harshly, pulling back, and I stepped away in surprise. “You!”

Stung, I turned and ran back to join the others. The board was laid with a meal of meat pasties and fish pudding and ale, but I had no appetite. Soon Mary joined us, her eyes puffed and reddened. My father noticed nothing, but I saw the new queen observing Mary carefully. Feeling rebuffed, I avoided Mary as much as I could for the rest of our journey. It was not difficult to do, for she seemed to avoid me as well.

When the royal progress ended at the close of summer, each of us returned to our homes. Mary went to her manor house at Hunsdon in Hertfordshire, north of London. Edward was taken to his palace at Ashridge and I to Hatfield Palace, also in Hertfordshire, accompanied by our various tutors and governesses. The king and queen returned to my father’s favourite palace at Greenwich, on the River Thames, east of London. For a time I missed them, until I got caught up again in my studies and thought less and less of my family.

Since then I had seen little of the new couple or of Mary, except when we all were invited to court for Yuletide and New Year’s, again at Easter, and once more at Whitsuntide. On those occasions I was careful not to approach Mary closely, no matter how genial she may have appeared. But now, at my father’s funeral, I had no choice. I wondered what my sister’s thoughts were as we stood side by side, her fingers entwined with mine.

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