"Master Feodary, bid your varlets stand to their
arms."
And at a word from Master Avery Mitchell, late Lord of Misrule,
there flashed from beneath the cloaks of certain tall figures on
the circle's edge the halberds of the guard. The surprise was
complete. The Lady Elizabeth was a prisoner in her own
manor-house, and the Yule-tide revels had reached a sudden and
sorry ending.
And yet, once again, under this false accusation, did the hot
spirit of the Tudors flame in the face and speech of the Princess
Elizabeth.
"Sir Robert Trywhitt," cried the brave young girl, "these be but
lying rumors that do go against my honor and my fealty. God
knoweth they be shameful slanders, sir; for the which, besides
the desire I have to see the King's Majesty, I pray you let me
also be brought straight before the court that I may disprove
these perjured tongues."
But her appeal was not granted. For months she was kept close
prisoner at Hatfield House, subject daily to most rigid
cross-examination by Sir Robert Trywhitt for the purpose of
implicating her if possible in the Lord Admiral's plot. But all
in vain; and at last even Sir Robert gave up the attempt, and
wrote to the council that "the Lady Elizabeth hath a good wit,
and nothing is gotten of her but by great policy.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188