Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (13 page)

Liveried servants helped us disembark, then escorted us up the path to Syon House. I hesitated, but pride would not allow me to show my fear. We entered the building, all light momentarily blotted away. I blinked to clear my eyes as Lady Mary Sidney turned to the nearest servant. “Please tell my lord father that the Lady Jane has arrived,” she said.

The man bowed so low to me, it was unseemly. “Welcome to Syon House, my lady. You are to await His Grace in the great hall. He will attend you when all is ready.” What must be made ready? I wondered. It was as easy to order me about here as anywhere.

After a moment I heard footsteps approaching. I looked to the door and saw His Grace of Northumberland entering, the rest of the Privy Council close behind. What business did the most powerful men in the kingdom have here? With me?

Dr. Aylmer taught you not to leap to conclusions
, I chided myself.
How foolish you will feel if their presence has nothing to do with you
.

Perhaps the king was nearby. By definition the king’s Privy Council should be in the same proximity as His Majesty, should they not? I had seen these men gather numerous times—at my wedding and during those periods when I had visited court. They had even accompanied Cousin Edward to Bradgate when he came to hunt the Leicestershire deer parks. Then why did this encounter feel so different? I searched the crowd for my parents, hoping for some shelter from the strangeness that unbalanced me. Yet I could not find them, and none of the council addressed me. The men scattered in small groups about the vast chamber, speaking to one another in hushed voices and darting an occasional look my way. I clasped my hands together. They felt suddenly too large, and the ruby and pearl ring that Cousin Mary had given me one Christmas bit into my finger.

I strained to hear what the council was saying, but that only confused me more. Not a word that anyone could call remarkable passed their lips, and yet a sense of something momentous hung over the chamber.

The thought of an impending storm made me shudder, as I remembered the tempest that had hailed scarlet wrath from the sky. I might have thought what happened that night was a fever-bred delusion, but Mrs. Ellen had been as shaken by the strange red hail as I was. If only someone could guess what the storm might mean. My sisters would have opinions, of that I was certain. I longed to draw close to the bedchamber fire and talk with them late into the night.

After a moment I saw a familiar face, and my heart gave a tiny surge of hope. My lord the Earl of Pembroke, Kat’s father-in-law, stood in conversation with the Earl of Huntingdon. Was it possible Kat was near? Even if she and her husband were still at Baynard’s Castle, I might get news of my sister. As if he read my mind, Pembroke approached me with Huntingdon a half-step behind. Before I could address him, Kat’s father-in-law knelt and kissed my hand.

Words dried on my tongue and I stared at him, confused as Huntingdon repeated the action. Someone murmured “our sovereign lady.” Surely I could not have heard right, unless Cousin Mary was near. My stomach tightened at the notion. How affronted she must be after the slight of being excluded from the wedding.

I looked to Pembroke. “My lord, I am most eager to see my family. Can you tell me who is about?”

“Your sister Katherine will not join us until the morrow. She is lost in mighty preparations for the great event to come.”

“What event might that be? Is it possible that she might already hope for a babe?”

“No, I am quite sure she cannot,” Pembroke said, so sharply it startled me. Then he smiled in a way that only accented his strange haste. “There will be plenty of time for babes once all we have worked for is accomplished, will there not?”

“What is accomplished?”

“Suffice it to say that my family will arrive tomorrow. You will have your sister at your side before you know it.”

“Have you seen anything of my youngest sister?”

“She was vexing your father not an hour ago.”

So Mary was here. “I would like to see my sister at once. I fell ill during the six weeks since I last saw her. I know she must be worrying.”

“We all rejoice in your recovery,” Northumberland cut in. “I regret that any private reunion with your sister must be delayed, though she could well be in the company that awaits you.” My pulse lurched at the unaccustomed subservience in the duke’s tone. “At present there are important matters that claim your attention. Duty calls. You must obey.”

Northumberland’s mouth stretched in a grin, the rest of the council drawing close. A memory stirred in my mind. I was in Bradgate’s stable yard. One of the orphaned lambs Kat loved to adopt froze in the midst of nosing spilled oats. Six dogs, shaggy and avid, circled the tiny creature, trying to decide whether to guard it or rend it to bits.

“My dearest daughter.” Northumberland offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you hence.” I started to draw back, hoping for my parents to appear, but the lamb’s fate still haunted.
Do not move … do nothing to encourage an attack …

There was nothing to do but lay my fingertips upon the duke’s sleeve. My skin crawled at the contact as the whole council fell into procession behind us. He led me through rooms dripping with tapestries. A vast gold plate upon a sideboard trapped my image as I passed, distorting my reflected face in a kind of scream. When we reached the duke’s own presence chamber, what lay within startled me even more. A company of nobles filled the room, many of the great and powerful of the land lined up in order of precedence. They fell like hay culled by a farmer’s scythe, bowing low, curtsying deep.

I caught sight of two familiar figures among them, but my parents did not engender the feeling of comfort I had hoped for. My lady mother swept into her place of prominence like a galleon at full sail, her face flushed with pride. Father swaggered forward, his fists planted on his hips, chest thrust out in the attitude I had seen in portraits of King Henry. Both parents were garbed in their finest, their clothes glittering with jewels, but neither emerald nor diamond nor sapphire could match the brittle, bright gleam in their eyes.

Whatever honor Cousin Edward had in store for me, they were well pleased with it. In fact, I had never seen them happier in my life. Trepidation fluttered in my chest. It deepened as I saw my small sister peeking around my mother’s skirts. Then Mary’s face fell into shadow as another figure stepped into my sight and accorded me a fawning bow. Guilford. He beamed, his outward show of devotion chilling me. Even his mother, standing near her beloved son, shone with satisfaction. She curtsied to me—that proud woman who loathed me. A curtsy deep and reverent.

My gaze locked on a shimmery canopy of gold cloth embroidered with the royal coat of arms. What stood beneath that cloth of estate was so terrifying, my whole body shook as Northumberland urged me toward it. A throne.

Chapter Eight

J
ANE
S
YON
H
OUSE

orthumberland’s voice boomed out, devastating as cannon fire, obliterating forever the world I knew. “As president of the council, I do now declare the death of his most blessed and gracious majesty, King Edward VI.”

Exclamations of surprise rang out from some of those assembled. Others nodded, smug in their foreknowledge of this momentous news. A number scattered through the crowd stiffened and appeared as uncomfortable as I felt.

Edward was dead. The magnitude of the news reverberated through me, thickening the air. His suffering was over. Yet what had he left behind? An England torn between Catholic and Protestant. His heir—a sister who would hasten to draw England back to the corruption and superstition of what she saw as the “true faith.” A future so uncertain, we teetered on the brink of disaster.

“As we bid farewell to our king,” Northumberland continued, “let us take comfort that he prayed to God to defend his kingdom from the popish faith and deliver it from the rule of his evil illegitimate half-sisters.”

I saw my little sister tense at Northumberland’s condemnation. I could not blame her. Evil … to judge Cousin Mary evil … Lady Elizabeth evil … had Edward truly believed it was so? They were misguided perhaps. Reckless. Superstitious or stubborn. But evil? That was the realm of the nobleman standing before me. Northumberland turned to face me, and I felt as if the very foundation of the building were crumbling beneath me. Or perhaps the foundation of my world. The events of the past six weeks slid into place as Northumberland’s power-drunk gaze bored into mine.

“His Majesty has named Your Grace as the heir to the crown of England.”

Mary gave a distressed cry. I watched in horror as each man in the chamber dropped to his knees. Vows tolled like death bells in a city full of churches, the voices unique, certain phrases painfully clear. “I do swear … shed blood for Queen Jane.”

“No,” I whispered, staring into my sister’s stricken face. “God save me …” Northumberland grasped my arm to urge me forward. My gaze locked on the throne that I feared would be my downfall. Above the throne hung the cloth of estate boasting the royal arms of England.

The wood and gilt throne beneath the canopy seemed to grow like the mythical Kraken until it swallowed me whole. My world went black.

How long I lay there, facedown, I would never know. I came awake in aching moments, creeping back toward consciousness through a tunnel of ice and fire. Mary was clutching at me. I could hear her frantic voice calling my name, could feel her fingers being peeled away from my arm. My temple throbbed, something sticky matting my hair where my headdress had dug into the tender skin. The gold cross at my throat caught beneath me, twisting its chain so tight, the links had rasped away skin.

I slid my hands underneath my shoulders, the stone floor’s roughness digging into my palms. It felt as if I were underwater in one of Bradgate’s chill lakes. It took every scrap of strength I possessed to fight my way up to the surface.

Bewildered, I forced my eyes open. Ever so slowly the things filling the room took on shape, substance. My little sister was gone. Hauled away by some servant? I could only guess. A wide expanse of floor lay between me and the sea of rich gowns, elegant trunk hose, and fine cloaks that surrounded me in a ragged circle. Voices murmured, and I pushed myself upright, the cold from the stones seeping into my buttocks even through the layers of kirtle.

Through burning eyes I saw them all—the lords and ladies, Northumberland, my husband, even, God help me, my mother and father. They had told me I was queen, but now their faces angled away from me as if I were a child who had flung itself to the floor in a tantrum and, if they ignored it, might come to its senses.

I touched the small cut on my temple. My fingers came away stained crimson. Surely someone had seen I was bleeding, but the whole company had allowed me to lie there, hurt, unconscious. No one but Mary had stirred to help me. It was as if the flesh-and-blood Jane did not exist in the eyes of this assembly. I was a cold, carved ivory chess piece whose emotions were an inconvenience that was spoiling their pleasure in the game.

Completely and terrifyingly abandoned, I sank back to the floor and buried my face in my arms, sobbing. They would break me to their will, these powerful nobles. They would use me for their own ends, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Or was there? Bracing myself, I wiped my face with my sleeve, the embroidery and seed pearls leaving burning trails on my cheeks where the salt of my tears still clung. Though half-trapped by my skirts, I somehow managed to climb to my feet.

Dozens of faces turned toward me, marked with relief that my unseemly display was over. I knew what they expected. I was to be an obedient maid and walk to the throne. Had not Northumberland forced me to become his pawn? Had not my parents beaten me into becoming Guilford Dudley’s wife? But there was no force on earth that would impel me to do what I knew to be wrong. No, not wrong. Treason.

The world seemed to roll beneath me like a stone sea, but I fought for balance, fought for my very soul. I spoke, my voice strange yet clear. “My lords and ladies, the crown is not my right. My cousin, the Lady Mary, is King Edward’s rightful heir.”

How had I expected them to react? Not with the almost indulgent silence that greeted my pronouncement. I spoke louder, the walls flinging my words back at me in a hollow echo. “I tell you the crown is not my right.”

“You do wrong His Majesty and the house of Suffolk,” Northumberland said. “Moreover, you question the will of God.”

I wanted to dismiss Northumberland’s assertion out of hand, yet to do so was not as simple as it should have been. Was there a divine hand in this, or was this alteration in the succession merely the result of human ambition? How could I tell which? Scripture rose in my mind:
Ask and the answer will be given
. I fell to my knees and clasped my hands so tight my knuckles seemed like to split.

“Heavenly Father, give me some sign if it is your will that I accept the crown.” Broken pleas, fragments of prayer came from my lips, a desperate search for even a splinter of guidance. But it seemed even God had deserted me.