March 8, 1554
Elizabeth tossed and turned in the bed, tired of being miserable. Every part of her body was painfully swollen. Her doctors warned she was in a delicate state, but no one cared.
It had been a month since they’d taken her from her home, forced her on a march that might have killed her, and put her in this room by the water that was sure to weaken her lungs. A month of lying around, neither worsening nor improving.
Kat stroked her forehead. “You need to prepare yourself, lass. They have no mercy for your illness.”
“Not you too,” Elizabeth said. “I can do nothing about it, especially not when I am so scared.”
“Aye, that’s why you are sick. Your stomach always bothers you when things go wrong. But Mary and her minions don’t care about your pain. And now that her proxy marriage has been sworn, attention will recenter on you.”
“What would you have me do?” Elizabeth asked, ready to explain why any solution would fail.
Instead of answering immediately, Kat took a place next to her on the bed and held her as she would a small child. “When your blessed mother was brought to the Tower, her fear was used against her. You must not allow your weakness to be used against you. You must steel yourself for the coming ordeal. And trust in God’s mercy.”
The words dislodged something, but not all the way. Anne Boleyn had died in the end, after all. “It is hard to trust in His mercy when He is the one who brought me here.”
“He brought you here and not the Tower. Trust in Him.”
“As did Jane Grey?”
Kat’s face darkened. “Jane Grey claimed the Crown. You did no such thing. Now pull yourself together so they believe you when you say it. Remember what Howard said, cruel as he was. Remember who you are.”
“I am the daughter of a woman executed for treason.”
“An innocent woman who patiently suffered what the Lord decreed for her. As should we all.”
The comfort of Kat’s embrace allowed the wisdom to penetrate the shell of Elizabeth’s misery. Kat was right. Resistance would not help Elizabeth escape this Gethsemane. It was just making Mary mad and Elizabeth miserable. And depleting the mental and emotional resources she needed during this time, resources already weakened by the morbid excesses of a phlegmatic illness. She had brought this suffering on herself, and it would remain as long as she wallowed in it. Better to let it go, to accept that no one would come to save her. Indeed, they would soon come to attack her, and she needed to be strong when they did.
If Elizabeth were to have any chance of getting out of this, she had to get well. She had to. The Lord helps those who help themselves. It was time to rise. To build her strength, or die trying.
She studied her swollen limbs. They were not so bad as yesterday. Leaving Kat’s embrace, Elizabeth swung her legs over the side of the bed, and in a single motion rose to sitting with her feet flat on the floor. She rested there a while, to let the dizziness pass. She needed to stand today and walk around her room, so that she might resume real activity before the week was out. That would do a great deal for her strength and sanity.
Thank you so much for hosting Janet Wertman today, with an enticing excerpt from Nothing Proved.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club