Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (119 page)

“A King Guildford is better than a Queen Mary,” I said, but my voice sounded uncertain even to my own ears.

“It is not as if we have a choice, Bess. We must support him or lose everything.”

“We will. Others will, too.” We were not the only ones who had much to lose. I managed a brave, bracing smile, but I prayed with all my heart that a miracle would occur and young King Edward would recover.

40

T
he tempest began with a downpour in the early evening of the sixth day of July. Before long, hailstones fell from the sky. They crashed against the windows that overlooked the Thames, peppering them so hard that cracks appeared in the expensive glass. The wind howled. My ladies lent their shrieks to the cacophony until I ordered them to be silent.

“It is only a storm,” I said, turning away from the disturbing sight.

My chief waiting gentlewoman, Mistress Crane—known as Birdie both for her sharp blade of a nose and her surname—let out a terrified shriek and pointed at the window behind me. “The hailstones have turned bloodred! It is an evil portent. Soon real blood will be spilled.”

Frowning, I looked for myself. It was true that the hail did have a pinkish tinge. “It is only light reflected from the setting sun,” I said, still striving for calm.

“But the storm clouds obscure the sun.”

A flash of lightning and the nearly simultaneous crack of thunder saved me the trouble of answering. I gave thanks that Winchester House
had been built on a sturdy stone foundation. We would remain safe so long as we stayed within its walls, no matter how unnatural the weather. I was not quite ready to believe in omens, but I could feel the odd quality to the air. It made my skin prickle.

Cautiously, not quite certain I wanted to take a closer look, I approached the cracked window. The water in the Thames roiled and churned. It had swamped several wherries, caught halfway across the river when the storm hit. Passengers and boatmen alike clung to the overturned watercraft. Bigger vessels docked at the many wharves along the riverfront were likewise battered by the high winds and driving rain. The hail, at least, had passed, but the strip of ground below my window was littered with gray-white pebbles, some as big as tennis balls.

Lightning flashed again and I gasped as it struck one of the many church steeples in the city. The spire slowly tumbled to the street below. Now that, I thought,
was
a bad sign. My gaze shifted downriver, toward Greenwich. I could not see that far, but my thoughts continued on past London Bridge, past the Tower, straight to my husband and his deathwatch.

If nature rebelled at the loss of a king, then Edward was gone.

Superstitious nonsense, I told myself.

But what else could account for the devastation in front of my eyes? As I watched, a house on the opposite shore was swept away by the rising water. “A heavy rain at high tide always causes flash floods,” I murmured, but a shudder racked my body from head to toe.

The storm passed as abruptly as it had begun. When night fell, I lit every candle in my privy chamber and waited. I knew something momentous had happened, but it was nearly midnight before Will arrived home.

“He’s dead?” I asked.

There were tears in Will’s eyes as he confirmed that King Edward had departed this life at the exact hour the storm had struck London. “He suffered terribly at the end, Bess. Poor lad. He’s at peace now.”

“And we are left behind to carry out his wishes.”

“His and the duke’s. Northumberland wants to keep the king’s death quiet for a day or two, until everything is in readiness to proclaim Jane queen.”

“Until he has Princess Mary in custody, you mean.”

“He’s dispatched his son Robin with a small force to secure her person. And he’s sent word to his duchess to inform Queen Jane of her new status.”

“And Lady Jane’s mother, Lady Suffolk?”

“She met in private with the king a few days before his death and agreed to cede her claim to the throne to her children.”

I wondered how Northumberland had coerced her and her husband into giving up the chance to rule England themselves, but I did not ask. All that mattered was that they had, and that the Lady Jane, who would support the religious reforms of her predecessors and with them my marriage to Will, was now queen of England.

Will stayed the night. We made love in silence, finding satisfaction and comfort in each other’s arms, but it was not a celebration. He left to return to Greenwich at the crack of dawn.

I boarded our second, smaller barge and was rowed upriver the short distance to Durham House. Although the sun was barely up when I arrived at the water gate, Jane Northumberland was already dressed in court finery.

“How fares our new queen?” I asked.

“Wretched girl. She is not here. She is at Chelsea.”

“Be careful, Jane,” I said with a weak smile. “That ‘wretched girl’ is queen of England now.”

“I should have locked her in her chamber.” Jane’s words carried more heat than was her wont. “She’s been difficult from the first. And once my lord husband informed her of her new status as King Edward’s heir, she grew more unmanageable still.”

“It is only natural she should be upset at the news that His Grace was dying. They spent a good deal of time together when they were
younger.” When Tom Seymour was her guardian he’d seen to that. Tom had meant to marry Lady Jane to King Edward. I wondered if the girl had known of his plans for her.

“She was surprised, I suppose, by her good fortune,” Jane Northumberland allowed, “but she seemed willing enough to accept that Mary Tudor should not rule, given Mary’s religious leanings. The only thing that seemed to bother my new daughter-in-law was that she had taken her mother’s place in the succession. She demanded to speak with Frances, and when I refused permission, pointing out that the king’s death was imminent, she left on her own, hiring a wherry to take her to Suffolk Place.”

The girl’s boldness astonished me. I’d not thought her so enterprising, or so determined to have her own way. “You got her back, I trust.”

“She refused to return. I had to send word to Frances that I would keep Gil here until his wife relented. Lady Jane—Your pardon, I mean
Queen
Jane has grown very fond of her husband. Or at least she’s learned to like the coupling. Frances obligingly reassured her daughter that she does not want the crown for herself, but the foolish girl still balked at coming back to Durham House. Frances and I compromised by sending both newlyweds to Chelsea.”

“Perhaps it is just as well.”

For once, I was the one soothing Jane Northumberland. She was more settled in her mind by the time her daughter, Mary Sidney, arrived at Durham House. Mary had a sensible outlook on life. I supported her suggestion that she should be the one to inform Queen Jane of King Edward’s death and bring her to Syon, another of Northumberland’s houses, this one on the Thames, near Richmond Palace. There those of us most closely involved in the matter would gather to form a water procession that would end at the Tower of London.

“Mary is closer to the new queen’s age,” I argued. “Queen Jane will be more inclined to trust her than one of us.”

“But she is
my
daughter-in-law,” Jane Northumberland objected.

“And you will be there to greet her when she arrives at Syon.”

A few hours later, after the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk arrived at Durham House, Mary Sidney left to fetch Queen Jane. She was instructed not to tell the new queen that King Edward was dead. That unhappy duty was to be left for the Privy Council. At the same time, the Duchesses of Suffolk and Northumberland and I, as Marchioness of Northampton as well as Lady Northumberland’s close friend, embarked for Syon. By the time Queen Jane arrived there, so had the Duke of Northumberland and Will and other councilors. Lord Guildford Dudley was conspicuous by his absence. He had not been at Chelsea when his sister arrived. The new queen’s father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, was hastily dispatched to find him.

Together with the two duchesses and several other ladies who were privy to what had happened, Geraldine Clinton among them, I waited in an anteroom while the councilors informed Queen Jane that she was their new sovereign.

After a considerable time had passed, Mary Sidney hurried in. “The lords are having difficulty explaining the situation to Her Grace. My father requests your assistance, Lady Suffolk.”

When Frances followed Mary Sidney into the other room, Jane Northumberland and I were close behind. The Duke of Northumberland had seated Queen Jane on the dais in a chair placed under the canopy of state. While we listened, he told Her Grace that King Edward was dead. He spoke of the legacy His Grace had left and then officially informed Queen Jane that Edward had nominated her to succeed him.

Her Grace promptly burst into tears and was inconsolable for some minutes. When she could finally speak, she blurted out what was in her heart: “The crown is not my right and does not please me. The Lady Mary is the rightful heir.”

Shock rippled through the chamber. Jane Northumberland gasped aloud. Frances Suffolk took a step toward her daughter, hand raised as if she would slap sense into her. She stopped short of landing a blow, remembering that it was treason to strike a queen.

“Your Grace wrongs both yourself and your house,” Northumberland
said. “It was King Edward’s command that you succeed him. The Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth have no legal claim to the throne. Their mothers were never married to King Henry VIII, while you, Your Grace, are a direct and legitimate descendant of King Henry’s father, Henry VII, through
his
daughter Mary, your grace’s own grandmother.”

“It is your duty to your faith to accept the crown,” Frances Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk, told her daughter. “Would you give England back to Rome?”

Neither argument had any effect on Queen Jane. She continued to sob.

At that moment, the Duke of Suffolk arrived with Gil Dudley. That young man did not resemble either Harry or Jack physically, but I searched his face, hoping to find some vestige of his brothers’ sense of responsibility. Lord Guildford seemed hesitant to thrust himself forward and remained silent, but his eyes never left Queen Jane. Was that out of genuine concern for her? Or because he was waiting for his father’s orders?

I sidled closer. When I was near enough, I caught hold of Gil’s sleeve and tugged on it to get his attention. “A gentle wooing would not go amiss,” I whispered. “Your bride is frightened by the burden so suddenly thrust upon her. Let her know that she has someone with whom she can share it.”

Gil followed my advice, approaching the queen to offer first a handkerchief and then kind words. Light touches followed. She turned her tear-ravaged face to him and listened and in the end accepted the responsibility she owed both God and country. With her tall, handsome husband standing behind her chair of state, Queen Jane allowed those gathered before her to pledge their fealty.

We stayed that night at Syon, celebrating with a great banquet. Queen Jane retired early, with her husband. The next morning, we set out for London, traveling downriver on barges from Syon to Westminster. I felt as if I had never truly seen the city before, with its towering walls of silver-gray stone and redbrick. The houses of the gentry and
lesser nobility, simple structures of wood and plaster, were dwarfed by Westminster Abbey and Whitehall Palace. We stopped at the latter so that Queen Jane could be dressed in a green velvet gown trimmed in gold. Gil’s garments were a dazzling white, so that the Tudor colors would be on display.

“Her Grace is too short,” Northumberland complained, looking Queen Jane up and down. She was a tiny girl and looked even more so standing next to her husband. “The crowds will not be able to see her.”

The problem was solved by a high, white, close-fitting headdress heavy with jewels and by attaching three-inch chopines to the bottoms of Queen Jane’s shoes.

We moved on to Durham House to dine. While we ate, the Privy Council made final plans. Then we were on our way again, traveling downriver through the city of London to the Tower of London. The royal apartments there had been prepared to receive the new monarch.

It was a heady journey. Huge crowds gathered and cheered, although they must have been puzzled by the display—the king’s death had yet to be announced. Queen Jane and Lord Guildford were not the only ones resplendent in luxurious fabrics and glittering jewels. We all wore our best. I had rarely seen so many diamonds and sapphires and emeralds. When the sun struck them, they shone in all their brilliance.

Cannon boomed as we approached the Tower. By the time Northumberland helped Queen Jane onto the wharf, rumors of the king’s death had begun to spread. The crowd expected to see Princess Mary and was confused when Queen Jane and her young husband appeared, walking beneath a ceremonial canopy. Having this held over their heads clearly indicated royal birth, but no one recognized the couple.

“They do not know her,” I whispered to Will.

“As soon as we are safely within the Tower’s walls,” he whispered back, “proclamations will be read to announce to the people of London that Jane is their new queen.”

We passed through the Lion Gate. Waiting just inside were the lord lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Edward Warner, and his wife. Once Queen
Jane passed by, Aunt Elizabeth enveloped me in a warm hug. I had seen her from time to time since her marriage, but not often. I promised to come and sup with her in the lord lieutenant’s lodgings and then hurried after Her Grace.

“This way, Lord Guildford,” Sir Edward said when Queen Jane had been shown into the royal apartments. “I will take you to the consort’s lodgings.”

“You will address me as Your Grace,” Lord Guildford said.

“You are not king, Gil,” Queen Jane said in a soft voice, laying one hand on her husband’s white satin sleeve.

He stiffened and glared at her. “I will be.”

“No, Gil, you will not. You are my consort only.”

“I was promised—”

“Not by me.”

Gil continued to protest in heated terms. The queen remained firm. She had issued her first royal decree and did not intend to change her mind. After a few more minutes of fruitless argument, Lord Guildford stormed off in high dudgeon. His mother went after him.