The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir Page B

so different from this woman that you ought not to wish to see her. ”
    Elizabeth burst without warning into noisy tears, shocking to Kat, for this child was usually so composed, so contained.
    “What does he mean?” she sobbed.
    “I would not take it too seriously,” Kat soothed. “This is a difficult time for His Majesty. By all reports, he is not happy with the Queen.”
    “But what does he mean, I had a mother so different from this woman that I ought not to want to see her?” Elizabeth had ceased crying now, but her face was tragic and perplexed.
    Kat sat down at the table next to her and pushed away the copy book. She took the child’s hands in hers and held them tightly.
    “Elizabeth, your mother was a charming lady. She was not beautiful, but men found her very attractive. Your father the King pursued her for seven years, which must give you some idea of how fascinating she was. Accomplished too. Everything she did, she did gracefully—she could dance, sing, embroider, write poetry, play the lute and virginals, and as for intelligence and wit—well, she shone. She was slim and poised and always elegantly dressed, for she had a way with clothes and could make much from a little. You are very like her in many ways. Already I can see that.”
    Elizabeth smiled weakly, avidly drinking in this information about her mother. She had not known these details, and yet in some strange way, they were familiar to her. She could just remember a gorgeously attired lady, smelling of rosewater, running with her through a corridor or tying a pearly bonnet under her chin. There were other vague, less comforting, images, too, but they lay just beyond her recall now, no matter how hard she tried to summon them up. They were all she had of her mother, those memories, but now she could flesh them out from Kat’s revelations.
    “The King is right,” Kat went on, “Queen Anna is so different from your mother. In no way could she hope to conform to his ideals of womanhood, God help her. So my impression is that the King is feeling very sorry for himself, having married such a lady. He would never admit it, but he is probably remembering how much he was captivated by your mother, and who knows, he may even regret putting her to death. I do not believe he will ever love another as much as he loved her.”
    She patted Elizabeth’s hand.
    “So that is almost certainly why he says you should not wish to see the Queen. Calling her ‘this woman’ is not complimentary, and it appears he would rather you did not associate with her.”
    “But he could mean that Queen Anna is good, and my mother was bad, and that is why he doesn’t want me to see her, because I am not worthy.”
    “I hardly think so, having read this,” Kat said. “Sweeting, I knew that letter would hurt you, but I think it reflects your father’s own unhappiness. Do not set any store by it. Come, I have something to show you.”
    Kat rose and led an intrigued Elizabeth up the stair that led off her chamber and spiraled up to the attics above. Here there were dusty, unused rooms leading one into another. The first two that they entered were bare, but the third was filled with the detritus of past occupants of Hertford Castle. On an old settle lay two fraying cushions embroidered with designs of monkeys and butterflies, their colors faded with age. A threadbare tapestry and a scorched carpet lay rolled up on the floor. There were ancient chests, broken stools, bits of dented armor, and a curious horned headdress festooned with cobwebs hanging on a peg. Elizabeth reached out for it. She could see that the material had once been very fine.
    “Don’t touch,” warned Kat. “It’s filthy, and it will probably crumble to pieces if you do.”
    “I’ve never seen a headdress like that,” Elizabeth said.
    “It’s very old,” Kat said. “Long before our time. I’ve seen similar ones on effigies in churches. Many of your ancestors lived here in the past, so it