Sharington, however, while feigning to accept these terms, went to Somerset and confessed what he had done and what the Admiral was forcing him to do. Sharington was pardoned. He had given the Protector what he needed—that evidence which would allow him to arrest his brother as a traitor.

So Thomas Seymour, my would-be lover, was in the Tower.

I thought about him a good deal, and there was a terrible misgiving in my heart. I was old enough to realize that because it was known that he wished to marry me, and because of my position in line to the throne, I could be drawn into this.

I HAD BEEN RIDING in the woods, my thoughts still with Thomas Seymour. I wondered whether the Protector would stand by and see his brother condemned to death. After all there was a blood tie between them. Did men, for ambition's sake, forget those early days when they had played together in the same nursery?

My brother Edward had told the Council that Thomas had indeed bribed him with money, and he admitted to the conversations they had had about the Lord Protector. I wondered at Edward. He was such a calm, serious boy, and I thought he had loved Thomas. How could he have betrayed him—and without a show of reluctance? I did not understand my brother. In the nursery days he had seemed so loyal. Yet it was true that Thomas had used and exploited him. It was long since I had been close to my brother. They had taken him away and made a king of him. A boy king vulnerable to the wiles of these shrewd Seymours as I was beginning to characterize them.

When I reached Hatfield House, a quietness seemed to prevail. The grooms took my horses and I went into the house. A strange man and woman came to greet me. The man bowed; the woman curtsied, while I looked askance from one to the other.

“My lady,” said the man, “I must tell you that I am Sir Robert Tyrwhit, and this is my wife. We have been sent by the Lord Protector to have charge of your household.”

“I…do not understand.”

“There have been changes,” he said.

“Changes! Without consulting me?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I shall want some explanations.”

“Your servants John and Katharine Ashley with Thomas Parry have left Hatfield.”

“Left! But they were here—”

“They left on our arrival.”

“They left! Without my permission! This is my household. I give orders here.”

“No, my lady. I have orders from the Protector and the Council. My lady will take the place of Mistress Ashley.”

“Where is Kat Ashley?”

“My lady, she is on her way to the Tower of London for interrogation.”

The hall seemed to swim around me. My head was pounding and I could feel one of my dreadful headaches coming on.

He went on: “Her husband and your cofferer Parry are with her. They are to be questioned too.”

“But… for what reasons?”

I disliked the man Tyrwhit. He looked at me slyly. “You might know the answer to that question better than I do, my lady.”

The man was insolent. How dared he be! And then I understood that he had reason for being so. I was, as I had feared I might be, under suspicion. His very presence meant that I was, in effect, under his guard even in my own house.

He turned to his wife. “Pray help the Princess to her chamber. This has been a shock to her.”

Lady Tyrwhit came to me and laid a hand on my arm. I shook her off angrily.

“I will know more of this.” I remembered that I was still the late King's daughter. “I shall demand an explanation.”

“You will get it very soon, I have no doubt, my lady.” There was a threat in his words and I felt limp with horror, and although I had had my misgivings I was taken by surprise.

One thought kept hammering through my aching head: Be calm. Be careful. You are in acute danger.

HOW WRETCHED I WAS without Kat! I dearly loved the frivolous creature and I was very anxious for her. And Parry … foolish Parry who couldn't even keep his household accounts in order, how would he fare under questioning, under torture even?

I hated Lady Tyrwhit, mostly because she wasn't Kat. I glared at her and refused to talk to her except when it was necessary. She was a patient woman and she showed no resentment. In fact she behaved rather like a jailer and even at such a time I recognized that hint of hesitation which all displayed when dealing with someone who had a claim to the throne. It suggests that they do not really believe one will ever reach that exalted position—but caution bids them play safe in case one should.

I do not remember how many days passed before Sir Robert Tyrwhit came to my bedchamber. He had sheaves of paper in his hand. These were, he explained, the confessions of Parry and Katharine Ashley.

I took them and read them. It was all there… the rompings, the tickling in bed, the cutting of the dress, the morning visits to my bedchamber in his nightgown with bare legs. They had told everything. Parry had said that wild horses could tear him asunder and he would not tell. How different was the true case.

I did not blame them. I just thought of them—and particularly of Kat— in some dark dungeon waiting with trepidation the hour of questioning, no doubt dreading in terror the terrible means that could be used to prize information from them. The thought of Kat on the rack was more than I could bear. I forgave them… readily… for telling all they knew.

I was ill and rather glad of it. I could shut myself away in my bedchamber and with good excuse, and only answer Lady Tyrwhit when absolutely necessary. I remembered that she had been lady-in-waiting to my stepmother and had been present at her death-bed when Katharine had accused the Admiral of wishing her ill and to be with others. And that meant me. I could understand then that vague attitude of triumph that I, who had caused her beloved mistress so much anguish, was now suffering myself.

Then I began to realize that there was some good in Lady Tyrwhit. She was better than her odious husband in any case.

The whole country was talking about Thomas Seymour. He had always caught people's attention because of his presence and good looks; and I had noticed that people like little better than to see those who were mighty brought low.

They talked more of his matrimonial ventures than his treason to the Crown. The affair of the Bristol Mint was not so interesting as what his life had been like with the Dowager Queen. It was proved that he had tried for me first—and to my horror and astonishment that he had also had his eyes on the Princess Mary and Lady Jane Grey, all not without some claim to the throne. Had he poisoned his wife? it was being asked. She had accused him on her death-bed of wanting to be rid of her. Had he not had his eyes on the Princess Elizabeth?

How do these matters become public knowledge? There are spies everywhere, as every royal daughter knows. The distressing nature of malicious gossip is that it is embellished as it passes along. It grows like a living evil, like a malevolent disease.

They were destroying my reputation. Seymour and I had been lovers, they said. I had had a child by him. One account had it that a midwife had testified that one dark night she had been taken to a house blindfold so that she would not know where she was going. She saw nothing in the house but candlelight, but she did know that she had delivered a fair young lady of a child. There was an even more horrible version. It claimed that the child had been taken away and destroyed.

I accepted the fact now that I had been entirely foolish in allowing the Admiral to pay court to me when he was married to my stepmother; I had been duped. But the monstrous nature of these accusations infuriated me.

After much reflection, I rallied my courage. Though fearful, I wrote a carefully worded letter to the Lord Protector in which I told him that I trusted and believed in his good will toward me. I asked him directly to make a declaration that people should refrain from circulating falsehoods about me, for they must know that they were falsehoods, and I was sure they would wish to protect the King's sister from such calumny.