Innocent Traitor (41 page)

Well, he couldn’t be more candid than that. As for a marriage between our children—the advantage will all be his. He might be a duke, but his father was a traitor, while our daughter is of royal blood. It’s as plain as day: Jane will be Queen, but Northumberland plans to rule England through his son, her husband.

“I have five sons,” he tells me. “John, Ambrose, Harry, and Robert are all married. Only Guilford is unwed, and it is he whom I am proposing as a bridegroom for the Lady Jane. He’s a virtuous boy, and only a year older than she. He’s his mother’s favorite, and a dutiful son. He will make an excellent consort.”

“I daresay,” I respond wryly. I know for a fact that the Duchess has spoiled that boy, but no matter. He’ll meet his match in Jane—
if
we agree to the marriage. Just now, there are more pressing issues to discuss.

“I must be certain,” I say, “that Jane’s title to the throne is sound. It will be, won’t it? It will be a legal title?”

“Of course,” the Duke answers, but he does not meet my gaze.

“And you would wish Lord Guilford to become King Consort?”

“Naturally. Who could contemplate a female sovereign ruling without recourse to the guidance of her husband?”

“Who will be subject to the guidance of his father,” I add, smiling.

Northumberland is immediately on the defensive. “Madam, with respect, I know how to govern this realm. These young people as yet lack the wisdom of age and have little experience of life. My aim is to guide them until they are capable of ruling unaided—with your help, of course, and that of my lord here. Once Jane and Guilford are steering a safe course, they will have no further need of us, but I am sure they will not forget those who launched them upon it, and thereby I see for us all a glorious future crowned by a peaceful and prosperous old age.”

“God willing,” I say.

“God,” he retorts, “helps those who help themselves, madam. Now, what say you? Will you give Jane this chance to fulfill her destiny?”

Why should I hesitate? The glory of a crown without the burden of one. There is no question in my mind now as to what I should do.

“I am with you,” I declare. “I give my consent. I will waive my right in favor of Jane.” Both dukes beam at me triumphantly, but the smile soon disappears from Northumberland’s face as he hears what I have to say next. “I have but one condition. I do not want the marriage consummated until all is assured. Your plan, my lord, might fail; nothing is certain in this life. And an unconsummated marriage can be annulled with little difficulty. It’s merely a wise precaution, in case anything goes wrong. I’m sure you can understand that we have to protect our own interests, and our daughter’s.”

Henry is staring at me in admiration, but Northumberland is clearly riled.

“I fail to see what can go wrong, Madam,” he says stiffly.

“I have every confidence that all will go as planned,” I reply. “You seem prepared for every contingency. But I feel that caution should be our watchword. We should not be too precipitate. I too want to be prepared for every eventuality.”

Ah! I have him there.

“Very well,” he agrees, his reluctance plain to see. “The consummation will wait until the crown is on Jane’s head.”

“There is one small matter,” Henry says, a little later.

“Yes?” asks Northumberland.

“We have for some weeks had an understanding with the Duchess of Somerset that Jane is to be betrothed to her son, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford.”

“But they are not formally betrothed?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Then break off your understanding. Say you have reconsidered. Young Hertford is a traitor’s son. The Lady Jane is far too good a prize for him.”

“I agree,” I say. “One question, my lord. Why did you ask to see our younger daughter Katherine tonight?” I suspect that Henry already knows what Northumberland will answer.

“Madam, I am seeking to retain the support of the chief men of the kingdom,” the Duke explains. “I believe the Earl of Pembroke to be stout in our cause. His son, you may be aware, has expressed an interest in the Lady Katherine. Should you agree to their marriage, we could bind Pembroke more tightly to us by ties of kinship.”

I recall the bold young man in Westminster Abbey. A handsome youth, and a good match for Katherine. I look at Henry.

“I have already given my consent in principle,” he says, somewhat abashed. “If you approve, my dear, we will go ahead.”

“Well, it’s good of you to consult me,” I say tartly. “But as it happens, I heartily approve.”

“Excellent!” cries Northumberland. “And now, if I may, a toast to the future?” He raises his goblet.

“To the future,” we echo.

John Dudley,
Duke of Northumberland

ELY PLACE, LONDON, APRIL 1553

I smile as Guilford enters the room.

“Be seated, my boy,” I say, appraising him as he sits opposite me at the table. Fair hair flopping over his eyes, full lips, elegant blue velvet doublet and breeches. He’s sixteen now, already over six feet tall, and long and lean with it. My wife says he’s graceful for a man, and good-looking.

She is partial—he is too immature for his years in my opinion. His older brothers were men at his age. Of course, his mother has spoiled him, right from his infancy. She’s soft, and I suspect she has made sure that I don’t always get to hear of Guilford’s transgressions, of which I’m sure there are many. Oh, she reproves him, but she has as sharp a bite as a kitten. He runs rings round her, smiles charmingly, says he loves her when she’s angry, and gets away with murder. She doesn’t know the half of it. If she heard one whisper of what my spies have told me of Guilford’s activities, she’d collapse in horror.

I know for a fact, because I had him followed, that last night my son frequented The Cardinal’s Hat, a notorious brothel in Southwark. I know that his friends paid for him to have a whore there, as he had spent all his money on drink. I suspect that this morning he is suffering from a sore head, at the least. God grant he has not got the clap or the pox.

“I have something very important to tell you,” I say, watching him closely. “Last night, I dined with the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk. We discussed many matters of great consequence—among them, your marriage. It’s high time you wed, don’t you think?”

“My marriage?” He is unprepared for this, of course. He looks shocked. I don’t know why this should be, because his brothers were all married off while they were young; but then, of course, Guilford lives only for the moment.

“Yes, your marriage,” I say, with some emphasis. “It’s high time. More than timely, if what I hear is true.” He has the grace to look both bewildered and embarrassed. “It has been arranged that you will marry the Suffolks’ eldest daughter, Lady Jane Grey. I saw her last night, and I am happy to report that she is a prize for any suitor, with her royal blood, her learning, and her comely appearance. You are a lucky young man, Guilford, luckier than any of your brothers. I hope you appreciate that.”

“Er, yes, sir,” he stammers. “I’m sure I’ve seen the Lady Jane at court, but I…I can’t remember her.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I ask, exasperated.

“No, I mean, yes, no. I am most honored, sir,” he stutters, plainly reeling at the thought of what marriage will mean to him. The loss of his freedom, the responsibility of a wife, the likelihood that children will follow hard on the heels of the wedding night. No more jaunts to the stews of Southwark! It will do the boy a power of good. Of course, he’s not ready for it, and no doubt his mother will have something to say, but it will do him no good, as my mind is made up.

“You’ll get used to the idea, Guilford. I did, when I was your age. We all have to. And remember, this marriage will bring you more status, wealth, and power than you can ever have dreamed of. The Lady Jane is a princess of the blood, a member of the royal House. What other youngest son, such as yourself, could hope for such a bride? I tell you, I have done well by you. It is the most brilliant match. And I have no doubt that, when Jane meets you, she will like what she sees. Remember, my boy, marriage has its advantages. I take it I need not spell them out.”

I grin at him, watching the flush redden his cheeks. I decide to bait him by pretending in his innocence.

“It’s all right, Guilford, you need not worry yet about that aspect of wedlock. For political reasons, which I will explain in due course, we have decided that you will not immediately consummate your marriage, but will wait until we deem the time to be right.”

“But why, Father?” He looks surprised.

“For reasons of state. You may rest assured that there is no other cause. May I take it that you are content with your good fortune?” I ask with some irony.

“Yes, sir. I am content.”

His scowl belies his dutiful reply.

Lady Jane Grey

SUFFOLK HOUSE, LONDON, APRIL 1553

Once they became Duke and Duchess, my parents took possession of Suffolk House in London. It lies in Southwark, hard by the residence of the Bishop of Winchester and the former priory of St. Mary Overy. The house is virtually a palace, having been given to my grandmother Mary Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk, by her brother, King Henry VIII. Its magnificence underlines our family’s royal connections.

We have now abandoned Dorset House for our new abode and are more than comfortably installed here. My sisters and I occupy sumptuous apartments in the turreted west wing, which are furnished with exquisitely carved furniture, family portraits, and bright tapestries. I’m sitting here by the open window, on a fresh morning in the middle of April, engrossed in a treatise denying the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, when Mrs. Ellen brings a summons for me to attend my parents immediately in the great chamber on the first floor. Reluctantly laying down my book, I smooth my skirts, straighten my hood, and hasten on my way, Mrs. Ellen following. What have I done, I wonder, to merit such a peremptory summons?

When I arrive, I find to my astonishment that my lord and lady, seated on either side of the fire, are beaming at me as I make my curtsy. This is more alarming than if their faces bore menacing frowns.

“Come and sit with us, Jane,” invites my mother. I take the proffered stool.

“Will you tell her, Henry?” she asks archly.

“No. You’re her mother. You know best how to put these things.” My father rises, plants his feet firmly in front of the fireplace, and begins caressing the head of his mastiff, which has loped over to his side, tail wagging.

“Well, Jane, we have some excellent news for you,” my mother says. “You will remember the night my lord of Northumberland came to dinner. After you had gone to bed, he suggested an alliance between our two families, to be cemented by a marriage between yourself and his youngest son, Lord Guilford Dudley. He is the only son who is as yet unwed. Lord Guilford is a virtuous and—”

“I beg your pardon, madam, but did you say that I am to be wed to a Dudley?” I interrupt, shocked into rudeness. “But why? You have told me yourself that they are upstarts, traitors, and hypocrites. How can you contemplate such a marriage?” The idea of it repels me: I am breathing fast and am flushed. “Lord Guilford cannot be my husband—everyone knows he is but a spoiled little mother’s boy.”

“That is enough!” shouts my father, since my mother looks astounded at my outburst and is, for once, lost for words. “I tell you, my fine lady, you will marry Lord Guilford, mother’s boy or no. He comes of good Protestant stock, and the marriage will bring us all splendid advantages.”

“Good Protestant stock?” I echo, my temper rising. For years I have bent the knee, and often my back, to my parents’ will, but this is the proverbial last straw, and all the pent-up anger at years of abuse and humiliation now bubbles to the surface. I will not let them do this thing to me—I will fight them until I have no breath left in my body. “Good Protestant stock?” I repeat, registering their appalled expressions. “Traitor’s stock, you mean. Northumberland’s father was sent to the block by Henry VIII, or have you forgotten that? And I daresay that, if all were known, he himself would deserve the same. Look how he treated the Duke of Somerset! I marvel that you can contemplate giving your daughter to the son of such a self-seeking, opportunistic tyrant.”