Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (26 page)

Henry and I could pledge our love and vow to be faithful until the favor of God or the favor of the queen smiled on our union. As long as we two were of one mind and heart, Pembroke could separate our bodies, but he could not break the bond forged between us.

That hope was what I lived for. Through the early dawns, the queen’s tiresome routines, the praying and popish rites, the dispatches and granting of charity that made up our everyday life, I had wished this moment between Henry and me into being. As I moved through the festivities of the coronation, I was certain he was thinking the same thing.

I waited for the tiniest signal all through the feasting and dancing, through tournaments and masques, taking care to be alone as much as possible where Henry could see me. When I could bear the suspense no longer, I begged my little sister to tell him I wished to speak to him in private, but when Mary approached Henry, he looked more awkward than before, then moved deeper into his crowd of friends.

The snickers of Henry’s companions made my stomach queasy. I wished the floor would gulp me down, but God was not disposed to be that merciful. I tried to keep tears at bay as I watched my sister move toward me with her odd gait.

She regarded me solemnly. “Henry says he does not have time for frivolous concerns and cannot imagine that changing in the future. I did not know Henry was such a blockhead.” Mary’s brow wrinkled. “Hettie knows how to put something in a man’s drink so his bowels turn to water. Do you wish me to give some to Henry? It is hard to be so pompous when you are constantly running to the closest stool.”

At least I no longer waited for a moment that would never come. There would be no tender words, no kisses stolen from beneath the watchful gaze of Pembroke. Grief welled afresh at the death of hope.

I wished to put all thoughts of marriage behind me, but that was impossible in my cousin’s court. Everyone from the lowliest scullery maid to the queen herself was consumed with the question: “Who will Her Majesty marry?”

The decision Mary Tudor made would rock the foundations of her kingdom and cost my sisters and me more than we could bear.

Chapter Eighteen

J
ANE
T
OWER OF
L
ONDON

he queen may kill me when she wishes—so say the tribunal of lords who presided over my trial. How many of my judges had vowed to shed blood for me at Sheen such a short time ago when I was queen! Now I am condemned to be consumed by flames that will eat their way up my body, or to face a quicker yet no less gruesome death by the blow of an ax to the back of my neck.

I touch the place with my fingertips, feel bumps of spine pushing against the thin covering of skin. Some part of me cannot believe that I will die. I am still young, my birthday, spent in this grim place, just a month ago. Is it possible not to hope for life when one is only sixteen? Especially when the death overshadowing you is such a brutal one?

People carry tales of headsmen who miss their mark, making a painful business of executions. Is that not why crowds of onlookers come to watch? I have too much time to think on it and wonder how soon I will be summoned to Tower Green to meet my end.

Will the ladies who combed my hair and laced my bodice and tied the points of my sleeves come to watch me die? They are Queen Mary’s servants now, all save Mrs. Ellen and two other ladies who chose to stay with me. Grateful as I am for that, they are not my sisters, not my parents.

I have heard nothing from my family since Mary thrust her poppet into my arms. I know she will be safe from the new queen’s retribution. Our cousin would not make war on children, and she has always been fond of my little sister. Mother and Father are courtiers born and bred, with skills that might help them weather this blast. Even though they embroiled me in the midst of all this trouble, I pray they will escape punishment as well. If they do not, I comfort myself by remembering that they joined Northumberland’s schemes of their own free will.

But as weeks have passed, and I am still cut off from what is happening beyond these fortress walls, my fear for Kat grows deeper and darker. What is happening to my sweet-tempered sister? Pembroke survived the new queen’s ascent—I saw him at my trial, looking down his nose in condemnation, smug and safe and free. What measures did he take to lift himself out of the morass? I can imagine little that he would not do to save himself. Like my parents …

If Kat has Henry to comfort her, she will survive no matter what transpires with the rest of our family. He loves her—that was evident in my brother-in-law’s eyes. But does he have the courage to match? I do not want to imagine my sister stripped of that love.

I rub my arms to chafe warmth into them, the chill of my cell seeping into my bones. Not that I am being treated harshly anymore. The guards were cruel when they knew our cause was lost, moving us to cruder quarters, taunting me and Guilford and his mother.

But the place I am quartered now at the queen’s order is comfortable enough. If only I were not left so alone. Kat would laugh out loud at my complaint. I have spent most of my life wishing to be left alone. I did not expect silence to be so loud—hammering at my concentration.

———

A
t length I heard a sound at my door, and the jailer, Mr. Partridge, opened it. “My lady, you are to make ready for an audience with the queen.”

My stomach plunged, cold sweat dampening my palms. I dreaded facing her, so shamed by what I had done. I feared what she would say: that she was loath to sign my death warrant but must do so to protect her throne. Exactly the words I might have said to her, if Robert Dudley had captured her as the conspirators planned. “When are we to leave?” I asked Partridge.

“The barge will carry you to Winchester after you break your fast, my lady.” I could see he feared for me. Kindness moved me nearly to tears now.

“I am not hungry, Mr. Partridge,” I said, wishing my encounter with Cousin Mary over. “I will be ready as soon as I am able.”

Still, time dragged like boots caught in fresh mud as Mrs. Ellen laced me into the simple black gown I had worn to my trial. Partridge himself escorted me to the water gate, where a barge sat, moored and waiting.

From the time my conveyance landed at Winchester to the moment I was ushered into the queen’s presence chamber, every person I passed stared at me with a macabre curiosity—condemnation, wary empathy, and in many cases relief that I was the one in such straits. Many of my observers had gambled on Northumberland’s coup, as my family had. Were it not for good fortune and God’s grace, they could have been facing the same grim future I was.

When I reached the presence chamber, my hands were trembling. It took all my will to remain calm. My cousin sat on the throne. Her crimson gown, with popinjay-blue silk drawn through the slashes, was dripping in gold lace and spattered with sapphires. A great gold chain about her throat displayed a table pendant painted with Saint Catherine being broken on the wheel. A set of old, priceless beads hung from her waist. Most startling of all, though, was the sight of her attendants—my sisters stood flanking each side, their garb lovely. I gasped aloud in relief.

“You may approach,” she said. As always, her voice startled me, but I did as she commanded. She waved one hand to the other courtiers assembled. “The rest of you will leave us. Lady Katherine and Lady Mary, you will await my pleasure just beyond the door.”

Kat gave me a pleading look, begging me to keep rein on my tongue, while Mary dragged her feet, loath to leave me. But after much bowing and scraping, the rest of the crowd exited with visible reluctance. It was like watching a bear baiting, I imagined, but just when the hounds would have torn out the bear’s throat, these spectators were banished from ringside.

The moment the last person vanished behind the closed door, my cousin motioned me forward. This cousin, with whom I had been at crossed swords for so long, appeared both stern and triumphant. “Come forward, Lady Jane. I would examine you more closely.”

“I am too ashamed. Majesty, I pray you believe I am sorry for the grief I caused you.”

“It was considerable.” She laid one finger alongside her cheek. Her ring of state sparkled—I had worn it a short time ago. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“I did not seek the crown, tried to refuse it, but it was pressed upon me by my lord father-in-law and by the order of succession signed by King Edward, may God rest his soul.”

“The order was not legal without an act of Parliament.” The queen’s voice turned harder than the diamond decorating her brooch.

“I know that now. I had no time to unravel the truth before. Northumberland insisting I must take the crown threw me into such a state of shock, I could not sort it out.”

“Your sisters claim you did not wish to wed Northumberland’s son. Your parents forced you to do so, then made you accept the crown.”

I hesitated, fearing to make my parents’ situation worse by some blunder. But by hedging the truth, I might hurt my own cause or damage my sisters’ standing with the queen. “It is true my parents compelled me, Majesty. But I believe they were fearful of Northumberland as well.”

“Many people were. But it is harder to intimidate people when one is lighter by the weight of his head.” I fought the urge to touch my own neck. “You say nothing?”

“He was a traitor, deserving of punishment.”

“As are you, according to many.”

“I am certain that is so.” My voice cracked. I looked at the hem of the queen’s gown.

“Cousin.” The queen’s voice grew suddenly gentler. “I see the truth in your eyes. You would never have challenged me of your own free will. I know what it is like to be forced by one’s parent to obey. I did so many years ago, when my own father demanded a terrible price to enable me to return to court. I signed a document that I knew was a lie. I loathed myself for it. I have spent many hours on my knees, praying for God’s forgiveness.”

I remembered the tale. Tenderhearted Jane Seymour had convinced King Henry to forgive Mary if she signed a document declaring that her parents’ marriage had been rightfully annulled, that Queen Katherine of Aragon had lied to her husband and the church and had not been a virgin when she had come to Henry Tudor’s bed. To reconcile with the only parent she had left, Mary had signed. In that one stroke of her pen, Mary surrendered all that her proud mother had suffered for six years to preserve for her: legitimate birth, her claim to the crown. Only when no more sons were born after Edward had Henry reinstated both his daughters into the succession. He had never removed the stain of bastardy that tainted the girls, but it had mattered little in Mary’s case. The English people had never accepted the annulment of the king’s first marriage. To them, Mary was their princess, daughter of the queen whom the witch Anne Boleyn had betrayed.

The queen pursed her lips. “There are many things you and I do not agree on, cousin. But let us agree that it is painful when parents, who are supposed to protect us, force us to do what we know is wrong.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Also, there are those who love you who are especially dear to me. For their sake if not your own, I am disposed to be merciful to you.”

I caught my breath. “Majesty—”

“You have been tried and condemned—by many of the same men who pressed you to take the crown, I am certain. No matter. To fulfill the sentence they laid down for you, I would have to sign the death warrant. That I will never do.”

I fell to my knees at the queen’s feet and kissed her ring of state, weeping. “Majesty, I beg you believe me, I never sought to displace you.”

She stroked my hair, a little awkwardly, but with real empathy. “There, now. When the time is right, I will set you free. You can live quietly in the country where your sisters can visit you when I can spare them. They are ladies of the bedchamber now.”

I smiled at the queen through my tears. “Lady Katherine would love that above all.”

“She is quite the most elegant and gifted among my ladies. As for Mary—she is devoted both to you and to me, Cousin Jane. It is hard for her, I think.”

“I thank you, Your Majesty, for your many kindnesses to my sisters and to me. I swear you will never have a more loyal subject than I will be. I will give you no more cause to worry.”

“Not even should we debate religion? Ah, well. God will see those issues resolved in His own time.”

“Majesty, my sister Mary does not give her affections easily, but when she does, she is fiercely loyal. I am grateful she has found another person she can trust.”

“I will keep her close to me. Safe. As for your sister Katherine, she knows how to make herself agreeable—as do your parents.” Her eyes narrowed. “It is a trait you could benefit from learning, Lady Jane.”

“My parents—Your Majesty, forgive me for asking—but I have had no news of what has befallen them.”

She regarded me strangely. “They are family. They were kind to me when the rest of the world scorned me. I owe them a debt. Now it is paid. I intend to pardon Suffolk, return all his property, and reinstate his dukedom. So, cousin, it appears the Grey family has survived this tumult with little damage, well earned though harsh reprisals would be.”