The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

believed it was a sin to envy anyone and not to accept that lot which a Greater Power had ordained must be borne. She, Mary, had been the petted darling of the court when she had been a little girl. Her mother, who had adored her, had made great plans for her and longed to see her Queen of Spain. There had been a time when Mary had thought she would be Queen of France. And here she was, a Princess whom her father refused to recognize as his legitimate daughter; for if he did so it would mean that he had been wrong to set aside her mother. The King could do no wrong. That was the order of the day. So from great honor Mary had been cast down—not only to obscurity, but to actual danger, for the King had at one time threatened her life.
    She, who had been brought up under her mother’s eyes, felt this deeply. She was steeped in tradition. She was the daughter of a Princess, the daughter of a King, and she possessed all that love of solemnity and ritual which came from her Spanish ancestry. There could not be two sisters more unlike than Mary and Elizabeth.
    Elizabeth’s manner had changed at the entry of her sister as rapidly as Elizabeth’s moods could change. She had become demure.
    “We were speaking of the news, sister,” she said. “You have heard it?”
    “You mean that our father thinks to marry again?”
    “Yes,” answered Elizabeth, watching her sister.
    “It is Lady Latimer,” said Edward. “Jane and I are very fond of Lady Latimer.”
    Jane smiled at him. She was awed by the two Princesses. They alarmed her slightly, each in a different way. With Elizabeth she could never be entirely at ease; and Mary seemed so old, dignified and solemn.
    “She is a very virtuous lady,” said Mary, “and one who should bring great happiness to our father.”
    Elizabeth looked at her slyly. Did she not know then that Lady Latimer was interesting herself in the reformed faith? Apparently she did not, for Mary would never esteem virtuous anyone who was not a good Catholic.
    Mary did not know as much of what was going on at court as did Elizabeth. Mary spent so much time on her knees asking for guidance and courage to endure her lot. Elizabeth kept her eyes open, her ears trained, and had developed the trick of worming secrets out ofher women. As for her courage, she was not sure of that, but she hoped that her wits would prevent its ever being put to the test.
    “Another stepmother,” she said. “I am glad, sister, that the King has chosen one who is such a great friend of yours.”
    “It will be a pleasure to welcome her,” said Mary, thinking: Perhaps she will ask our father to have us reinstated at court.
    They had been fortunate in their stepmothers; there was not one of them who had been unkind, except perhaps Anne Boleyn, and she had tried to become reconciled to Mary before her death. Mary refused to see that Anne Boleyn had had no alternative but to ignore and debase her, since any honor done to Mary must minimize that paid to her own daughter, Elizabeth. Mary never saw any point of view but that dictated by her own rigorously observed religion. Jane Seymour had been kind to the Princesses; so had Anne of Cleves and Catharine Howard. But Mary, as did Elizabeth and Edward, believed that their new stepmother would be the one whom they would love best of all.
    Mary dismissed the subject; her father had not yet announced his decision to marry Lady Latimer and, until he had done so, it was neither wise nor tactful to discuss it. She must curb that vulgar curiosity of Elizabeth’s, inherited from her lowborn mother; she must not allow her to chatter of court gossip to the little Prince.
    So Mary looked at his books and talked earnestly with him for a while; and Elizabeth, joining in the conversation, immediately became a prim little maiden of nine years, learned for her age—for she too had been made to work hard under her tutors, and as she was avid for all knowledge she, like her brother, had been a praiseworthy