Innocent Traitor (40 page)

Thus I play on his fears. Perhaps he suspects I have some scheme in mind. No matter. By the time I have finished with him, he will be grateful for it. I just pray that God grants me time to bring my plans to fruition, for I fear that the King is not long for this world.

Lady Jane Grey

DORSET HOUSE, APRIL 1553

Katherine and I stand before our parents in the great chamber at Dorset House.

“We have sent for you,” my lady begins portentously, “to tell you that we have invited His Grace the Duke of Northumberland to dinner here tomorrow, and that he has asked for you both to be present.”

My lord adds, “It is essential that you conduct yourselves in a manner befitting your rank and make a good impression on His Grace.”

“Yes, sir, yes, madam,” we reply, almost in unison. There follows a silence, as if some question needed to be asked and answered.

“That is all,” says my mother. “Oh, and Jane—dress appropriately.”

“Something is going on,” I observe as we climb the stairs to our rooms.

“What do you mean?” asks Katherine. She is a pretty, docile twelve-year-old, but not very perceptive.

“The Duke is coming to dinner. Why? He wants us there. Why? To inspect us for some reason. I tell you, I smell a rat.” I know it could not be anything to do with my mooted marriage to the King, for the King is ill, probably far too ill to wed. Anyway, how could that involve Katherine?

“But why should he be interested in us?”

“That’s what I should like to know.”

Northumberland is his most urbane and charming self at table. He compliments my mother on her cook’s efforts, discusses sporting pursuits at length with my father, and even condescends to speak to us girls, inquiring about our academic progress and our accomplishments. Katherine speaks up for herself in a pleasing manner, but I am more guarded. I dislike the way his smile never seems to reach his eyes. He is all falsity. I am sure he senses that I do not like him.

I am afraid, but I do not know why.

Frances Brandon,
Duchess of Suffolk

DORSET HOUSE, APRIL 1553

If it’s a marriage he’s after, Jane might be a great prize by virtue of her birth, but she has little else to offer any suitor. At fifteen, she’s small for her age and slightly built. There’s not much bosom beneath that stiff corset, I’ll wager, and her hands are positively childish, while her complexion is still marred by those wretched freckles. Her only good points are her lips, which are full and cherry-red, her dark eyes, and perhaps her hair, which tonight she is wearing loose about her shoulders. It is the mark of our royal heritage, that hair: all the Tudors have it. It’s Jane’s greatest asset.

Thank goodness the girl appears modest and keeps her eyes downcast unless she is spoken to. It annoys me that, when someone addresses her, she answers boldly, with a steady, disconcerting gaze. Fortunately, the Duke has not conversed much with her, otherwise he might be concluding, and with good reason, that she is not as biddable as she looks! But she will bend, she will bend to my will, and it will do her good in the long run, for she must soon, God willing, submit to the rule and instruction of a husband. Is this what the Duke has come about?

The table has been cleared, the cloth removed, and the girls dismissed to bed, along with the servants. We and our guest retire to the parlor with a flagon of the best burgundy.

“Madam,” says the Duke, “there is a matter of great weight that I must discuss with you.”

I glance at Henry and read in his face that he already knows what this is about. My irritation rises, for I feel myself at a disadvantage. These men have already made an important decision without me, I am sure. Well, I will not give it my blessing until I have scrutinized it from all angles.

“I am going to tell you something of vital importance, which you must not divulge to anyone,” Northumberland continues. “The King, I am saddened to say, will not live out the summer. What we have to ask ourselves is, do we want the Lady Mary to succeed him?”

I think of the frail boy at Greenwich, once his father’s pride and joy and the surety for the future of the Tudor dynasty. We knew he was seriously ill, but not that the end would come so soon.

“I am grieved for His Majesty,” I say slowly, “and for England.”

“Yes, for England,” echoes the Duke. “It is for England that I fear. I cannot sleep at night for worrying what will befall this fair land when Edward is gone—and what will happen to us.”

“Us?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes, us. For we have all been accomplices in establishing the Protestant faith in this realm, particularly your husband here, madam. Do you really think the Lady Mary will show favor to us when she is Queen?”

“She has always been most friendly towards me and my family, despite our differences in religion,” I point out. “I am, after all, her cousin.” While you, my lord, are not. I smile sweetly.

“Ah, but she will require you, like everyone else, to change your religion when she comes to the throne,” Northumberland pursues relentlessly. “She will not tolerate any Protestants in her court. And if you refuse, what price kinship and friendship then? Madam, you have not dealt with her as I have; you do not know how stubborn she can be, how fixed in her opinions. She is a fanatical Catholic and regards the rest of us as heretics. Your husband here, my lady, has been one of the chief promoters of the reformed faith. How will she deal with him? With me? If we do not recant our beliefs, she will put pressure on us. First, we will fall from favor, then we will go in fear of our lives. And,” he adds meaningfully, “our property.” A shrewd thrust, that. Well, he knows that my lord and I, like many others of the nobility and gentry, have grown rich on the pickings from dissolved abbeys, priories, and chantries. “Mary will give it all back to the Church of Rome.”

I shudder. With sudden clarity, I perceive what a calamity the death of the King will be. Yet, as I struggle to control the rising panic, I am also aware that, of the three people in this room, Northumberland has the most at stake. Clearly, he is scaremongering in the hope of gaining support. Being of the same royal blood as Mary, I cannot quite believe that she would treat unkindly me and my family. Yet it is indeed true that my lord has vigorously supported Northumberland—and Somerset before him—in the sweeping religious reforms of this present reign, and there might well be cause for concern there.

When it comes to religion, I must admit in my heart that my faith is not deep-rooted. I was brought up a Catholic until, influenced by Katherine Parr’s circle, I secretly flirted with the reformed faith, but with no great conviction. Then after King Henry’s death, I was happy to proclaim myself a Protestant: I needed no persuading. And if it comes to it, I will have few qualms about converting back to the religion of my childhood, if the law requires it of me; after all, we all pray to the same God. But I fear my husband is of another mind entirely.

“Mary will never make a Catholic of me or my daughters,” he is saying. “I am as committed as yourself, my lord, to the Protestant cause. And I suggest you now tell my lady wife what you have in mind.”

Northumberland clears his throat and turns to me.

“I have been studying the late King Henry’s will and the Act of Succession, as well as other records, and it is clear that the Ladies Mary and Elizabeth are legally bastards. In the normal way of things, bastards are incapable of inheriting titles and property as a lawful heir would inherit. The Crown is regarded as property in that sense by many judges; I have taken legal advice on this. Thus,” he goes on smoothly, “it might be possible to pass over their claims to the succession, and in that case, madam, the rightful sovereign of England would be yourself.”

Well, I had worked that out already. I shiver with anticipation, and something else less pleasant. Myself, Queen of England! The glory and riches of England to be mine…But would I want to bear the burdensome weight of government? I like my life the way it is: I enjoy many comforts, much leisure for sport, and the privileges of high rank without too much responsibility. True, I am ambitious and, yes, greedy (I freely admit it), but my freedom and a degree of privacy are just as precious to me, and my acceptance of the crown would deprive me of both. Moreover, could I, a woman in a man’s world, control my councillors and advisers? And, of course, Northumberland, who would be reveling in the role of queenmaker, and competing for ascendancy, no doubt? I shake myself inwardly. Of course I could rule—I am a match for any man. But would I want to? Would I not be happier remaining as I am, a private person?

The Duke is watching me intently, studying my face. “Does the idea appeal to you, madam?”

“No, it does not.” I have barely needed to think about it.

“I thought as much,” he answers, with a significant look at my husband.

“You have both discussed this,” I accuse them. Henry looks uncomfortable, but Northumberland smiles.

“Some sounding out was necessary, madam. The success of my plan is vital for the future of England and our faith, and it is essential that we are all of one mind.”

“It’s vital for your own surety too,” I point out, with a touch of malice.

“Naturally,” he agrees, unruffled. “But to be plain with you, madam, I had not laid any plans to put Your Grace on the throne. You are not well known by the people, and it is doubtful they would support your claim against that of the Lady Mary, whom they obstinately revere, if only because she is the late King’s daughter.”

“So what
is
your plan?” I demand.

“I believe, madam, that the future security and welfare of this realm and the Church of England lie in the hands of the next heir, your daughter, the Lady Jane. No, no, hear me,” he urges, as I make to interrupt him. “Should you renounce your claim, the Lady Jane could become Queen. She is young and pretty, which is ideal for my purpose, and she is biddable. Above all, she is famed, not only in England, but throughout Europe, for her learning and her love of the true religion. I have no doubt that, given the right kind of persuasion, the people would accept her as their sovereign.”

“Think on it, Frances,” chimes in Henry. “Our daughter as Queen of England; a new dynasty on the throne; us three as the power behind it. It is a wise choice.”

“It is the only choice,” declares Northumberland with feeling. “There is no other. Not if we are to survive.”

“I agree with you, my lord,” I tell him, “and I cannot deny that I am ambitious for my daughter. This is indeed beyond my wildest expectations for her, and I will offer her my wholehearted support and loyalty if it comes to pass. But I must ask you two things.”

“My lady?”

“First, this is a course fraught with dangers. We have our daughter’s safety to think of. I take it you have thought it through and planned for every contingency?”

“We have discussed everything,” says Henry.

“No, my lord, let me explain to your good lady,” puts in the Duke reassuringly. “Madam, I have planned this down to the last detail. When the King dies, his death will be kept secret for as long as possible. Soldiers will be dispatched to take the Lady Mary into honorable custody, and, if necessary, the Lady Elizabeth. I assure you, neither will be harmed, simply placed under house arrest at some secret location, where they will be well looked after. Only then will the King’s passing be made public and your daughter proclaimed Queen. Many lords will support us because they too fear a Catholic resurgence. I have no doubt that the people of England will quickly come to see the wisdom of my plan, and even if they do not, there are strict laws for dealing with those who spread sedition or incite riots. Does that set your mind at rest?”

“It seems infallible,” I say, with grudging admiration. “But I must also ask you what advantage there is in this plan for you, my lord Duke.”

“Great advantage, madam, but not only for me. The House of Suffolk will benefit more. But remember, madam, this plan cannot go ahead or succeed without me. I control the court, the government, the militia, and, above all, the King. What I am proposing—to seal our success and mutual advantage—is an alliance between our two families, to be cemented by a marriage between our children.”