Elizabeth was not one of those with least to fear, and it is the more honourable to her that she showed no inclination to follow the example of others, or to abandon the cause of her lover. She was in an embarrassing, if not a dangerous situation. No one knew to what extent she had been compromised, morally or politically, and the distrust of the Government was proved by the arrest of both Ashley and Parry, and by the searching examination to which the Princess, as well as her servants, was subjected.
Sir Robert Tyrwhitt, placed in charge of the delinquent, with directions to obtain from her all the information he could, found it no easy task.
“I do assure your Grace,” he wrote to Somerset, “she hath a good wit, and nothing is to be got from her but by great policy.”
She would own to no “practice” with regard to Seymour, either on her part or that of her dependants. “And yet I do see in her face,” said Sir Robert, “that she is guilty, and yet perceive she will abide more storms before she will accuse Mrs. Ashley.”
Whatever may be thought of Elizabeth’s former conduct, she displayed at this crisis no less staunchness and fidelity in the support of those she loved than a capacity and ability rare in a girl of fifteen, practically standing alone, confronted with enemies, and without advisers to direct her course. Writing to the Protector on January 28, she thanked him for the gentleness and good will he had displayed; professed her readiness to declare the truth in the matter at issue; gave an account of her relations with the Admiral, asserting her innocence of any intention of marrying him without the sanction of the Council; and vindicated her servants from blame.
“These be the things,” she concluded, “which I declared to Master Tyrwhitt, and also whereof my conscience beareth witness, which I would not for all earthly things offend in anything, for I know I have a soul to be saved as well as other folks have; wherefore I will, above all things, have respect unto the same.” One request she made, namely, that she might come to Court. Rumours against her honour were afloat, accusing her with being with child by the Lord Admiral; and upon these grounds, that she might show herself as she was, as well as upon a desire to see the King, she based her demand.
Tyrwhitt shook his head over the composition. The singular harmony existing between Elizabeth’s story and the depositions extracted from her dependants in the Tower struck him as suspicious, and as pointing to a preconcerted tale.
“They all sing one song,” he wrote, “and so, I think, they would not, unless they had set the note before”; and he continued to watch his charge narrowly, and to report her demeanour at headquarters, assisted in his office by his wife, who had been sent to replace the untrustworthy Ashley as governess to the Princess.
“She beginneth now a little to droop,” he wrote, “by reason she heareth that my Lord Admiral’s houses be dispersed. And my wife telleth me she cannot hear him discommended, but she is ready to make answer thereto.”[91]
Put as brave a face as she might upon the matter, Elizabeth was in a position of singular loneliness and difficulty. Her lover was in prison on a capital charge, her friend and confidant removed from her, her reputation tarnished. Nor was she disposed to accept in a humble spirit the oversight of the duenna sent her by the Council. As the close friend of the step-mother whose kindness the Princess had so ill requited, Lady Tyrwhitt, for her part, would not in any case have been prejudiced in favour of her charge, or inclined to take an indulgent view of her misdemeanours; and the reception accorded her when she arrived to assume her thankless post was not such as to promote good feeling. Mrs. Ashley, the girl told the new-comer, was her mistress, and she had not so conducted herself that the Council should give her another.