Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (9 page)

W
hile I was glad to have not been arrested, I had been left to languish. My husband and his family had gone to court to serve Her Majesty. Pembroke, the wretch, had left me with the words that my family were traitors and he would not associate with traitors, nor allow his son to remain married to a traitor.

Traitors.
His liberal use of the word made me sick to my stomach. People were executed for being traitors, their heads stuck on pikes on London Bridge, and he would toss such an expression toward me? Had he no care for my wellbeing, my soul, at all? I had done nothing wrong, save be born to a father who would seek power and a mother with royal blood flowing through her veins.

If only I were of an age where I needed no guardian
. I could have sought an annulment, run away to the continent. Or rushed off to a convent to live my life in peace with God.

My stomach
pained me much. My humors were completely misaligned. Jane used to tell me of Princess Elizabeth taking to her bed often when they lived together at the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr’s residence. How Elizabeth complained of headaches and stomach pains. She had been under the same duress I found myself under, constantly embroiled in some sort of courtly debacle. Would this be my life? Constantly in turmoil? I could trust no one, not even myself at times, because my fear for my family made me want to toss caution to the wind.

I
was in limbo, unsure of what would happen next. Perhaps I would lie in bed until someone ordered me out of it. How else could I go on? Without my family, I had nothing, and this farce of a family, this Pembroke household, had not truly accepted me.

The Tower
was where I should have been—as much as I abhorred the idea, I should have been there to take care of my dear sister. But the great Pembroke would have never allowed that. He might imprison me in his own castle, but he would not see me to the Tower. That would only have made the eyes of the council and the new queen look on him in a negative light. He would save himself and the rest of his brood by keeping me here. In the dark.

“I wish to rest.” I wave
d away the maids with my hand and stood on weary legs.

The bed
was plush, and its comfort beckoned me.

“Shall we undress you, my lady?”
Mrs. Helen’s voice was soft and comforting. I wanted to run to her, rest my head against her breast and weep, but I knew I could not. That would only have started more talk, and the last thing we needed was more talk.

If only there
was someone who could deliver me from this place, from this pain, from this confusion! Flashes of my dance with Lord Beauchamp invaded my mind. A vision of his formidable mother quickly shoved them aside. ’Twas a fanciful thought. He may have been the only man I’d thus far in my life felt understood me, but there was not even a smidge of a chance he would come to my rescue. Most likely he barely remembered me.

Mayhap, I should write to my step-grandmother
, Katherine, Duchess of Suffolk. She had a way of swaying people to her cause, especially now that her two sons, the heirs to the throne, had passed away—she was no longer a threat.

July 25, 1553

An urgent letter arrived from my mother. I excused myself from the few servants I’d been advising on herbal remedies to read her missive. She feared my father’s imminent arrest and begged me to pray for him. It was as if they had forgotten my sister, who languishes without any hope for release other than the queen’s consideration. I burned the letter, hating every scrawled word written upon it. My father should have had to take Jane’s place. Had not Jane done what he wanted? She’d borne the brunt of his cruel words and the backlash of my mother’s anger for not obeying them in doing what was right for England until she’d given in. ’Twas for those reasons she was in the position she was in today.

Another letter
gave me greater pleasure and eased some of the ache in my head from reading my mother’s news. It was from my step-grandmother relaying that she would visit me in a few days’ time. Even better, she would be venturing to Baynard’s with Lord Beauchamp’s mother, the Duchess of Somerset and her daughter Jane Seymour.

The
duchesses were both in good standing with Queen Mary—at the moment—and so had been allowed to come to me. Hope ignited inside me, although I would not allow even the smallest spark to flourish into flames—if I could be put into the queen’s favor, perhaps I could ask her to be more lenient on my family, seek pardon for them?

But even this bit of reaching out
could put me in a bad light. It was a quandary, a game. Lady Katherine was staunchly evangelical, and Queen Mary could take great offense to her displeasure with the Catholic Church the queen so aptly loved. Unless she were paired with Lady Anne, whose late sister-by-marriage, Queen Jane Seymour, loving wife of Henry VIII, had been a true friend of the queen, as had Anne herself.

It would be a great risk to ask
these women for guidance, but a risk worth taking, nonetheless.

I hurr
ied to the chapel within Baynard’s to pray. For only God was on my side, it seemed, and perhaps if I reached out to him, he would cast a hand of light upon me and spark a mercy within the queen herself for my sister Jane.

July 27, 1553

Though I’d been allowed to plant some herbs, the gardens at Baynard’s were pitiful compared to Bradgate. But even still, it was the only place on this vast manor where I felt comforted. I shooed away a bee, gathering a basket full of lavender. The scent calmed me, and lavender tisane helped with the exhaustion and headaches I suffered from.

After the news I’d received, I was certain to need it.
Father had been arrested as Mother feared, along with Guildford’s brothers and father, and many other courtiers who were seen to have played a part in Jane’s crowning. I was not surprised, as many, including me, had wondered only when—not if—the arrests would take place. I was, however, surprised my mother and myself had not also been taken.

My father-by-marriage
had all but guaranteed my marriage to his son would be dissolved as he gathered men close to him in secret meetings. His efforts were to gain the queen’s favor. If only I could do something to sabotage his plans. The man was so uniformly selfish. Did he not understand the black mark he was slashing across my reputation? I would be the scorned woman set aside and yet not even a true wife!

His threats and whispered words
had visions of heads on spikes flashing through my mind. He kept me on my toes, and everywhere I walked, it was as if I tread a battlefield of upturned swords. I could not even guess the horrendous things he must have been whispering in the queen’s ear about me—and who would naysay him? I was sister to the woman who’d tried to usurp her. A princess of the blood. I was naturally her enemy.

She would have
had to be in an extremely forgiving mood not to reach out with her own two hands to tie the noose around my neck.

Arabel, my little sweet
toy spaniel pup, jumped onto my lap, curled herself within the folds of my skirts and closed her eyes. I stroked her silky fur. Rex, a pup of the same litter, would not be outdone and came to rest his pretty face upon my slippers. The two soft balls of fur were gifts to me from my father—guilt gifts but happily accepted nonetheless.

Rex upended the basket of herbs, stealing a strand and running off with it. But even his puppy antics could not take me from the grave depression I found myself in.
I prayed hourly that my family was kept safe. My knees bore purple bruising from kneeling on the stone floor overlong.

I stuffed the spilled herbs back into the basket and set Arabel down, clucking for her and Rex to follow as I headed back into the manor toward the kitchens.
A bitter laugh escaped me, drawing attention from several servants who busily scrubbed the floors and walls. Arabel cocked her head, dark brown eyes gazing into mine, as if she, too, were just as confused by Pembroke’s ironic statements. I would have invited scandal by returning home to Bradgate—yet he sought to annul my marriage from his son which would cause even more of a gossip.

While I waited for
my lavender tisane to brew, I stood before the kitchen fire, my gaze fixed on the flames. Mrs. Helen pressed a finished, steamy cup into my hands, and I drank greedily, before pulling my mother’s missive from my sleeve and tossing it into the hearth. The embers sparked on the parchment, creating red holes, black around the edges, until the entire thing appeared to melt into ashes.

Mother
would be visiting the queen with my sister Mary to beg for father’s pardon and that of Jane’s. I held out little hope. This queen would seek revenge on those who’d gone against her. She’d spent too much of her life—nearly four decades—thrust into a living hell. Now that she’d obtained what she believed—and was—rightfully hers, she would stop at nothing to keep it.

July 30, 1553

My nerves were wound tight for the visitors that should arrive today. The Pembroke household had yet to return, and I was essentially mistress of this place.

My mother did train me to be a lady of the castle when I
was grown. I was actually quite pleased with how well I did preparing rooms, food, drink and entertainment for our guests. I’d picked rosemary from my garden and slipped it between their sheets as it was a soothing herb and I wanted them to be calm instead of chastising me for seeking their company.

They
should stay with me for one night only, but despite such a short visit, I had been like a child wanting a sweet for the last couple of days.

My gown
was newly made of tinseled silk and lace, a pretty yellowish orange that made me think of springtime flowers and happier things. The good Lord above knew I had been lacking in pleasantries. Every day I awaited the news of impending doom—whether it be my own or that of my family.

A flurry of footsteps and loud whispers
interrupted my thoughts as a half-dozen servants rushed into the great hall, Mrs. Helen among them.

“My lady, your guests are arriving
. Their barge has only now pulled up to the quay.”

“So soon?
” I dropped my embroidery into the basket beside my chair, stood and rushed, servants following, through the myriad corridors until we reached the door to the gardens. I hurried through the flowery scented paths we meandered, the quay in sight.

The two
duchesses disembarked with the support of several footmen. Their clothing and jewels sparkling in the sunshine, the women stood tall, stoic, a fearsome duo, and beside them, the young Lady Jane Seymour, Lady Anne’s daughter.

I was jealous of her—that this Jane, named for the late
queen like my sister, should stand there free.

The sharp eyes of
the Duchess of Somerset found me and looked me over. A hint of a smile touched her lips. My step-grandmother, too, considered me, albeit her gaze more gentle and even somewhat guarded.

“Your Graces, I am honored to have you visit me here at Baynard
’s,” I said with a deep curtsy.

“We are most pleased to join you,”
the Duchess of Somerset replied with an incline of her head.

“Let me see you, child,”
Lady Katherine said, twirling her finger to indicate that I should also do so.

I turned in a delicate circle, not wanting to trip on the length of my gown.

“I see marriage has treated you well, dear,” she said.

“As well as could be expected for one who is still
a maid,” I replied quietly.

The women nodded, and Jane looked at me with eyes as sharp and questioning as her mother
’s.

“We have heard the rumors of Pembroke seeking the
queen’s permission to annul your marriage on the grounds it was never consummated,” Lady Katherine said.

I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard. Rumors were already flying around court about such things? How could I ever face anyone if they were to think me so disgraced?

“Perhaps you might plead the marriage was consummated if you wish to stay married,” Lady Anne stated. “If it were said, then the queen—indeed the pope of Rome, for that is where we shall be headed—could not offer an annulment, and she would not grant a divorce.”

The i
dea had merit. I wondered if Henry would want to plead such a case with his father. He was such a tenderfoot, though, that I was not positive he would. And we’d not spent enough time together in truth to develop a deep relationship. I did not abhor him, and in time could perhaps enjoy his company, but he was weak when it came to his father’s demands.

I chose not to answer her suggestion and instead changed the subject.
“Should you like to walk in the gardens before we dine, or would you like to retire to your rooms for a short rest?”

Neither of
the duchesses looked at one another, their gazes steady on me, but they each seemed to come to the same conclusion and did not press me.

“Let us walk.”
Lady Katherine linked her arm with mine, and behind us walked Lady Anne with her daughter. “Baynard’s is very beautiful. Did you know it was built by a man named Baynard who was a follower of William the Conqueror?”