The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir Page A

standing at her elbow, for enlightenment.
    “Madam, the King wishes you to dance,” frowned the matron disapprovingly, as if this were a most outlandish and immoral request. Henry glared at her.
    Anna’s face fell, and she spoke in a low voice to the interpreter.
    “Your Majesty, the Queen does not dance,” announced that lady virtuously. “We do not have dancing in Cleves.”
    “By God, she will dance!” Elizabeth heard her father say irately. “Get that dragon out of my sight!” As the woman was escorted, protesting, away, he turned to Anna.
    “Up!” he commanded, rising. There was no mistaking what he meant. The Queen rose and allowed herself to be led out. It was true, she could not dance, and the courtiers held their breath as she stumbled, fell in and out of step, and trod heavily on the King’s toe. He winced but said nothing as he lumbered heavily across the floor. At last, the dance drew to its embarrassing close, and the King handed his red-faced bride back to her seat.
    “We will retire now,” he announced, and the whole court rose to its feet. Anna’s ladies followed her out, and the King and his gentlemen went after. As he left, Elizabeth heard him muttering to the Duke of Norfolk, “I tell you, my lord, if it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not do what I must this night for any earthly thing!” And he stumped out of the chamber.
    After that, Kat hurried a sleepy Elizabeth away to bed, fearing she might overhear more bawdy talk and speculation among the courtiers.
     
    Elizabeth had seen lots of letters written by grown-ups, so she knew what to write. She dipped her quill in the ink and scribed slowly and laboriously in her clear, childish script.
     
Permit me to show, by this letter, the zeal with which I respect you as Queen, and my entire obedience to you as my mother. I am too young and feeble to have power to do more than send you my felicitations at the start of your good marriage. I hope that Your Majesty will have as much goodwill for me as I have zeal for your service.
     
    That sounded well, she thought, and it might move Queen Anna to invite her back to court. She was enjoying her sojourn at Hertford, that pleasant red-brick palace nestling on the banks of the River Lea, as well as the company of her little brother, for it was rare that they were lodged in one place together, but she had had a prolonged taste of court life and she was desperate to return there.

Kat entered the schoolroom.
    “What’s that you’re writing, my lady?” she inquired.
    “A letter to the Queen,” Elizabeth replied imperiously.
    “To the Queen?” Kat was astonished. “Let me see.” She read the letter carefully, twice.
    “I’m not sure that you should send this,” she said.
    Elizabeth looked crestfallen.
    “But I so want to go to court,” she said plaintively. “ Please, Kat.”
    Kat thought for a moment.
    “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “I suppose there’s nothing in it that could give offense. Seal it and I’ll have it sent.”
     
    Elizabeth spent the next few days excitedly anticipating her return to court. She looked forward to the feasts, the revels, the chance to wear her fine clothes, and the lords and ladies praising and complimenting her. She resolved to win the love of Queen Anna, unpleasant odors or not, who would surely use her influence with the King so that Elizabeth could be given her own apartments at court. That would be wonderful!
    What happened next therefore came as a shock.
    “You have received a letter from Master Secretary Cromwell,” announced Kat, entering her chamber. Elizabeth jumped up excitedly, then checked herself, for Kat’s face was grave.
    “What does it say?” she cried.
    “I hardly know how to tell you, child,” Kat said, her voice sounding unusually emotional. “He writes, I am commanded by the King to say that he will not hear of your coming to court to attend upon the Queen. I am to tell you that you had a mother