Innocent Traitor (57 page)

Lady Jane Dudley

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 3RD AUGUST 1553

Since before dawn people have been crowding into the Tower precincts. I can see them from my upstairs window: ordinary citizens, Tower officials and warders, Yeomen of the Guard, and, later on, courtiers, lords, and ladies, many of them known to me. All have come to see the new Queen, who is today making her state entry into London. Tonight she will take up residence in the Tower. Even the normally reticent Master Partridge has told me this much, adding that Her Majesty will be lodging in the palace for the next fortnight.

She will probably sleep in the very room I myself occupied, I realize, and wonder if it will put the Queen in remembrance of my being held a prisoner here, although more likely it will remind her that I slept there under false pretenses.

Mrs. Ellen has had word from Mrs. Partridge of several Catholic prisoners who spent King Edward’s reign in the Tower; recently they narrowly avoided Northumberland’s ax because, in his haste to make me a queen, the Duke neglected to sign their death warrants. Among them are the old Duke of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner of Winchester, and all are to be freed today by the Queen in person. I entertain the wild notion that I myself might be numbered among them, but as the hours tick by and no summons comes, it becomes obvious that I will not. Resolutely setting aside my disappointment—it is too soon, of course, what am I thinking of?—I try to settle down to translating a Latin poem, but the sounds from outside are too distracting. When, late in the afternoon, I hear distant trumpets and the deafening noise of the guns saluting on Tower Wharf, I give up writing and hasten to the window, leaning over the stone sill and straining to see if I can catch a glimpse of the Queen through the vast crowds. But it is a vain hope. Too many obstacles block my view, and the press of people is too thick.

An agitated movement below catches my eye. It is Master Partridge, signaling me to stand away from the window. My appearance is clearly exciting curiosity among the people, some of whom must have realized who I am. Reluctantly I step back, closing the casement and turning again to my books. Soon the cheers start dying away; the pageant must be over.

Presently Mrs. Ellen and Mrs. Tilney, who went with Mrs. Partridge to watch the procession, return with an account of what they have seen.

“Truly, the Queen is a most merciful princess,” enthuses Mrs. Ellen, with a significant glance at me. “When the Duke of Norfolk and the rest were brought out and knelt before her on the cobbles, she wept with emotion. ‘These are
my
prisoners,’ she said, and set them at liberty. Believe me, Jane, you have nothing to fear from her.”

I smile, but I am not entirely reassured. Those who have been released are all Catholics, but I do not like to dampen my nurse’s elation by pointing this out. Mary has not said when she will release me, and with a jolt I realize that I could be here for many years, perhaps my whole life. I pray God, therefore, that the Queen’s famed mercy will extend to one who is of the wrong religion and the wrong blood.

Queen Mary

THE TOWER OF LONDON, AUGUST 1553

Today is my first audience with Simon Renard, the new ambassador sent by my beloved cousin the Emperor. I know well it is Charles’s wish to support me in the great tasks that lie before me, and God knows I need such support. Early this month the privy council made its formal submission to me, smugly secure in the knowledge that, while I might formally refuse to pardon those who supported the usurper Jane, I dare not alienate all my lords because I need them. Of course, I made a token display of displeasure, but in the end I extended my hand for every single one of them to kiss, much to their evident gratification. Some were weeping with emotion and relief.

Even Winchester and Pembroke, whom I briefly imprisoned, are now back at the council table. Pembroke has hastened to have his son’s marriage to the usurper’s sister annulled and has, I hear, turned the girl out of his house. She is now with her parents at Sheen, disgraced and dejected.

There is one notable absentee from the council: Thomas Cranmer, whom I will not dignify with the title Archbishop of Canterbury. It is he whom I hold responsible for the breaking of my father’s marriage to my sainted mother, and he who was one of the chief instruments in establishing the heretical Protestant faith in England. He has been dismissed and imprisoned.

Renard now stands before me, a dapper little man with Italianate coloring and a large nose. His bearing is respectful, as becomes a diplomat, but I have heard that he is a person of forceful views and great moral courage. Charles has chosen well.

“Ambassador, you are most welcome,” I say, smiling, “and I declare to you most frankly that I intend to place all my trust in you, not only because you are a link with my beloved mother’s country, but also because I know you will be faithful to me and to the Catholic cause.”

“Your Majesty is most kind,” he replies. “Rest assured I will do my very best for you, even if it will not always mean following the easiest path.”

I take the hint. “Please speak freely.”

Renard’s face is suddenly sorrowful. “Madam, I am deeply troubled. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but I feel that Your Grace has been, if anything, too merciful in these past weeks. Mercy is a commendable quality in princes, but it is sometimes more productive for a sovereign to be ruthless in punishing traitors. There are those who pose a serious threat to your security—I am sure Your Grace does not need me to name them—”

“I asked you to be frank, Your Excellency. You know I value your advice, and that anything said to me in this room can remain confidential.”

“I refer, then, madam, to Northumberland, Suffolk, Guilford Dudley, and, above all, the Lady Jane. They should all be made an example of and put to death.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues. I had hoped he would not ask this of me.

“Ambassador, I cannot authorize the Lady Jane’s execution. She has been the innocent tool of ruthless men.”

“Madam!” he cries with feeling. “You are displaying a weakness that could have fatal results! Innocent she may be, but while that young lady lives, she will always be a lodestar for Protestant rebels, or for those with any imagined grudge against Your Grace.”

“I cannot credit that. By all accounts, she never wanted the crown. It was forced on her. She would never incite rebellion against us, of that I am certain.”

“No,
she
would perhaps not. But others might, in her name. Her very blood should condemn her.”

“I hardly think so. Remember, the people were scarcely ecstatic at the news of her accession. Who would support her now?”

“Anyone who is disaffected, madam. You have mounted the throne to great acclaim, but this present euphoria must come to an end. Contentious issues face Your Grace. Be assured that the restoration of the true faith will not meet with universal approval in this godforsaken land.”

“I think you worry overmuch, Ambassador. My subjects were well aware of my religious convictions when they rallied to my support. They knew what my accession would mean. And I sincerely believe that that shows how, in their hearts, most of them desire to return to the true faith. But I will take your advice in part. To put your mind at rest, I will send the traitor Northumberland to the block. Suffolk I have already pardoned, and I cannot go back on my word. Guilford Dudley is young, and as much a creature of his father as the Lady Jane. They will remain safely in the Tower. But execute them I cannot.”

“Your Grace is overmerciful,” Renard says again in a despairing tone.

“Ambassador,” I answer good-naturedly, “if I were to execute all those involved in this late treason, I would have very few subjects left.”

“My point exactly. That is why you cannot permit the Lady Jane to live.”

“We must agree to differ on that point.” I rise. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot agree to the shedding of innocent blood. And, on that, my word is final.”

Lady Jane Dudley

THE TOWER OF LONDON, AUGUST 1553

The Queen left the Tower for Richmond in the middle of August; I knew she had gone because it was suddenly so quiet here. Some days later Northumberland was tried in Westminster Hall and sentenced to death. They tell me he knelt abjectly, sobbing piteously, and confessed his crimes, begging for mercy. His pleas were ignored.

In a final bid to soften the Queen’s heart, the craven Dudley publicly announced himself a convert to the Catholic faith. This, too, proved in vain. Today, he went to the block. I watch from my window as the cart bearing his mutilated body, hidden under sacking, trundles back from Tower Hill to the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, where the Duke will be laid to rest beside Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard, and his old enemy Protector Somerset.

“I will pray for him,” I tell Mrs. Ellen. “He was a traitor, not only to his country, but also to God, and he brought me to ruin, but his soul is in dire need of salvation. I fear even now that he is suffering the torments of Hell.”

“He has paid a just price for his crimes,” she answers. “I find it hard to forgive him for what he did to you. But I too will pray for him, all the same.”

We sink to our knees, as the empty cart clatters away on the cobbles below the open casement.

Later, Sir John Bridges visits me.

“Madam, I bring you good tidings. The Queen’s Grace has decreed that the conditions of your imprisonment are to be relaxed. From now on, you may take the air along the wall walks and may meet with your husband there, although you may not, for obvious reasons, entertain him indoors.” I smile grimly to myself: as if I would wish Guilford to come near enough to get me pregnant. I have no wish to complicate my own affairs, let alone the Queen’s!

“Please convey my humble and grateful thanks to Her Majesty,” I say meekly.

Sir John does not answer. Ever vigilant in his duties, he is looking at the papers on my desk.

He picks one up, frowning. “What is this?”

“It is an expostulation against the Bishop of Rome,” I tell him with a hint of defiance. Northumberland might have proved himself a man of straw, but I will never compromise my principles.

“Madam, I am sure you do not need me to tell you that such writings are not only unwise, but could put you in danger at this present time, when the Queen is carrying out her intention of restoring the Catholic faith. There are those, I must tell you, who wish you ill. This kind of thing, if it were discovered, would be a gift to your enemies and might tip the scales against you. In the circumstances, you would be wise to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Whatever were you thinking of, child?” bursts out Mrs. Ellen, glancing fearfully at the Lieutenant.

“Calm yourself, mistress,” he tells her. “The young are prone to rash outspokenness. I know: I have children of my own, much of an age with this lady. They think they know all, and that they will change the world. It is up to us, who are older and wiser, to drum some sense into their silly heads. Now I assure you, this matter will not go beyond these walls, but my advice to you, my Lady Jane, is to dissociate yourself from such controversies and apply yourself to your needle, like any other girl of noble birth. That will keep you out of trouble.”