Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (5 page)

I saw Mary’s sad face and noted the poppet crushed in the crook of her arm as a commotion sounded outside the door.

“Jane, you cannot be free of this marriage. Can you not postpone your melancholy for me? Just enjoy this day for what it is? I do not want to carry away the memory of you being unhappy.”

“I am unhappy.”

I reached out to squeeze Jane’s arm as two figures swept in: first, our mother, the Duchess of Suffolk, her Tudor-red hair decked with emeralds from the royal wardrobe, and behind her, Anne Dudley, the Duchess of Northumberland. But my attempt to warn Jane did not matter. As ever, Jane’s misery showed on her face.

Anne Dudley looked down her nose at Jane as if she had seen gold beneath a pile of offal and disliked the necessity of having to dig what was valuable out. “What have you to be unhappy about, I would like to know?” She regarded Jane’s tear-swollen eyes and ghastly pale face with disgust. “My husband warned me you were a sullen, stubborn girl.”

“All we Tudors are headstrong,” my mother said. “It is part of our royal blood, which is, after all, the reason you sought my daughter for your son’s wife. Once wed, she will be too busy doing her duty to indulge in such nonsense.” Our mother dealt Jane a pinch so vicious that my arm ached in sympathy. “Until then the Lady Jane will not displease Her Grace of Northumberland or embarrass her father and me by displaying such distasteful emotions.”

Bess of Hardwick entered the room in a swirl of rose satin, the pretty lady-in-waiting’s cheeks flushed. “His Grace of Northumberland wishes you to hasten. He bids me remind you there are three weddings to achieve this day.”

I remembered the third with surprise. One of Northumberland’s daughters was to marry Lord Huntingdon’s son in another ceremony this day. Mary had overheard Mrs. Ellen and Hettie Appleyard gossiping about how rare it was: three alliances struck in one day between England’s most powerful families. It
was
strange, how quickly the events had been pushed forward. Not that anyone would suspect unseemly haste. The proud Suffolks and our cousin King Edward had made certain that the marriages of Kat and Jane—Henry VIII’s great-nieces—were accompanied by the pomp and majesty a royal wedding deserved.

I nibbled my lower lip, not liking the twinge of uneasiness that pricked me.
Careful. The last thing you need is to have Jane’s worry rub off. Or to have our lady mother’s displeasure spill over onto you
. But Mary did not seem to care about the threat of our mother’s anger. My little sister stole past the duchess to slip Jane a small embossed book.

“Mary!” our mother said. “Do not step on the train of your sister’s dress! And what is that thing you are holding?”

“Jane’s prayer book,” Mary said, as Jane took the volume. “She does not like to go anywhere without it.” It was true. While our parents also adhered to evangelical beliefs—especially the one that claimed the riches of the church should be taken and distributed to loyal courtiers—Jane was different. She clung to her faith as a sailor might a floating barrel from a sinking ship. Perhaps it was all the time she had spent with Catherine Parr, who had been so devoted to the reformed faith that she had almost been arrested by her own husband.

“It is not the book I speak of, you quarrelsome child,” Mother said. “What is that bundle of cloth tucked under your arm?”

Mary shifted the object, cradling it with a tenderness she rarely showed. “It is a poppet. Jane made it for me because I will miss her when she goes far away.”

I felt something between jealousy and shame. I had not thought of giving anything to our little sister. Jane might have told me so we could share in giving her the gift.

“Get rid of it at once, Mary,” our mother ordered. “You are too great a girl to be dragging a plaything where the king’s whole Privy Council can see it.”

Mary thrust out her bottom lip. “I want to show my doll to Cousin Mary. Even though she is quite old, she likes poppets. She told me so when we visited last Christmas.”

I knew Mary Tudor had always shown Mary kindness. Perhaps it was because King Henry’s eldest daughter had suffered a great deal herself, her alarming stare similar to our Mary’s, her gruff, manlike voice startling when first one heard it.

“Lady Mary will not be attending the wedding, nor will Lady Elizabeth,” Mother said.

“Why?” Jane asked, the worry lines deepening between her brows. I felt an answering tension in my own shoulders. “They are not ill?”

“Why do you care what the reason is?” I asked. “You do not even like them.”

“But they are cousins. We have spent Christmastide with Lady Mary and visited her often. I cannot think why they would not come to see us wed.”

Our mother averted her eyes in a manner most unlike her usual forthrightness. “We did not invite them.”

“What?” My shock was mirrored on my sisters’ faces.

Jane washed a shade paler. “But that makes no sense.”

There were few friends our mother deigned to be kind to, but she had always courted the Lady Mary’s favor. Excluding the Lady Elizabeth might be no great matter—our mother regarded Anne Boleyn’s bastard with barely veiled contempt. But Lady Mary had been our mother’s playfellow, ridden on countless hunts, and gambled long into the night with the nobles that thronged Bradgate Hall. She had even stood as godmother to little Mary. I could see Jane’s mind dark with suspicion. Of what?

Nothing
. I brushed aside the nagging uncertainty in my own mind. Was this not one more thing to cast a pall over the wedding day?

As if sensing my thoughts, our mother regained her customary belligerence. “That is just like you, Jane, to kick up a fuss now!” Mother said. “You take no interest in your gown or any other wedding plans, then criticize the guest list.”

“I only think it strange my royal cousins were not invited.”

“It is largely on your account that the Lady Mary has been omitted. After your performance at Newhall, she is not nearly as fond of you as she once was.”

“What performance?” the Duchess of Northumberland demanded.

“One of Lady Mary’s maids-in-waiting curtsied to the Host when she passed it, and Jane debated theology with her, insisting the bread is but a symbol, not Christ’s Body.”

Color flooded back into Jane’s cheeks, passion into her eyes. “You know I spoke rightly, my lady. The popish religion deceives people. It is not logical—”

“True or false, there is no reason to quarrel over matters of religion with your cousin. She has never felt quite the same about you since that outburst, and it is never wise to make an enemy of a king’s daughter. As for her attending the wedding, the Lady Mary makes people uneasy with her clinging to the Catholic faith.”

“The Lady Elizabeth is not Catholic.” Mary scratched her nose.

Mother’s lip curled. “It is hardly fitting to have the concubine’s bastard honored at Durham House when Katherine of Aragon’s daughter is not here.”

“Parliament made Lady Mary a bastard also,” Mary insisted. “My tutor said so.”

I saw my mother’s displeasure, a force as alarming as old King Henry’s. “Troublesome child!” she said. “See what you have done, Jane? Infecting your sister with your quarrelsome nature?” Our mother turned back to my little sister, looming over Mary. “I cannot punish your sister for fostering your bad behavior. I will have to discipline you. You will ask no more questions, or you will spend the wedding feast locked in your room, mistress. Make a burden of yourself once more, and I will not even allow you to peep from the back of the chapel.”

Jane started to step between them, but her silver tissue train caught upon something behind her. “Do not banish Mary. I beg of you.”

Mother leveled Mary with the glare that always made me surrender. Mary did not flinch. “Nor do I want to see that doll in your hands all night. Do you understand what I expect of you?”

“You do not wish to see me, my lady.”

It was true, I knew, but I could not bear Mary’s wrenching up the tension in the chamber a moment longer. “Mary, why can you not do what our lady mother says? Just put the silly toy in your Thief’s Coffer with the rest of the rubbish you steal!”

“Thief’s Coffer?” the Duchess of Northumberland asked sharply. “My lady of Suffolk, my family is not accustomed to mingle with thieves.”

I saw our mother’s affront, but before she could speak Mary cut in: “It is not stealing if you only take things nobody else wants, Your Grace.”

Anne Dudley sniffed. “Well, I had best not see you taking anything tonight.”

“Never worry, Your Grace.” Mary curtsied with a hint of smugness. “You will not see me at all.” I watched my sister limp off and knew she was going to the battered wooden chest where she had secreted away her treasures since she was five years old.

I went after her, glad to leave behind the disagreeable women who were attending to Jane. “Mary,” I called, catching her beside a window set with the Dudley coat of arms.

She stopped, clutching her poppet as if she feared I might snatch it away. “Jane gave this to me.”

“Do not make that face at me!” I said. “I could not care less that Jane gave you a gift. Poppets are for babies, and our lord father bought me ever so many wedding clothes.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wished to ask you something.” My cheeks burned. “I do not know exactly how to say it. You know I love you and—and Jane and I … everyone in Father’s household is used to the way you stare at people and blurt out the things you do. But Henry is not. Please do not be—be mucking about him and …”

Something in Mary’s face made me hesitate. I did not want to hurt my sister, yet the idea of being humiliated in front of my bridegroom was more distressing still. “A young man like Henry might …”
fear I will make a babe like you
. Even though I did not speak the words, they shamed me. But I had seen that fear in Henry’s eyes, and it cut. “He might take what you say amiss. I want Henry to love me,” I said, feeling raw inside.

“He does love you. I heard him talking to Guilford Dudley out in the gardens.”

My pulse tripped. “What did Henry say?”

“That he got the beauty. Guilford whined that Jane is a tiresome prig, but at least he and Henry did not have to swive the royal toad.” A rare vulnerability darted into her eyes, and I was struck by the difference between Mary and me, the bones in her face thick and off-kilter where mine were delicate and fine. “Did Guilford mean me, Kat?”

I felt a surge of dislike for Jane’s betrothed. “Even if he did, Guilford should not have said that! Your blood is more noble than a Dudley’s will ever be.”

What would it be like, I wondered, if people shuddered when you drew near? Made nasty jokes about you? Despised you for things that were not your fault? Mary could not help being different. “Mary, I have something for you, too. A take-leave gift.”

The child brightened. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” I said. I just was not sure what that gift was yet.

N
ever, if I lived to be a hundred, would I forget this day. No, I thought with a delicious shiver. There was no Katherine Grey now. I was Lady Katherine Herbert, wife of the youth sitting beside me on the dais. His thigh crumpled my wedding dress as he pressed as close as he could get to me amidst the voluminous folds. His eyelids drooped, but not with an excess of drink like Guilford Dudley, who sat beside Jane, his broad shoulders slouching from all the toasts he had drunk with his scoundrel friends. Henry’s eyes sparked eager as he and I stole kisses while the crowd applauded, and Mary looked out from her hiding place behind a pillar, practicing kissing on the back of her hand.

“You had best send my lord and lady Herbert to their bridal bed, Suffolk!” one of my father’s hunting friends bellowed. “The groom chafes so, I doubt he has tasted a morsel of this splendid feast you have spread before us.”

“I fear my new sons will need to be patient,” Father called back. “His Grace of Northumberland and I have decided it will be best for the young people to get to know each other better before they bed together.”

“What?” I paused with an almond cake halfway to my mouth, honey dripping on my fingers.

Henry grasped my wrist and licked the sticky golden drops. “Never worry, wife. Your father is jesting. It is the custom with a bridal couple. My lord of Suffolk, you must not tease when Guilford and I have been anticipating the wedding night with such enthusiasm. You will not get grandsons with patience. Surely you are not so cruel as to give us the slightest sample of sweetmeats, then snatch them away.”

But Guilford Dudley looked as bored as ever, and Jane … I looked at my sister. Jane looked as if she had received a gallows pardon.

“Guilford, tell our new father how anxious we are to do our duty!” Henry kicked his friend under the table.

Guilford sucked the marrow from the peacock bone he was eating, then threw it aside. “I bow to the wisdom of my lady’s father.”

Anne Dudley fluttered her ring-laden hand. “Was there ever such a handsome, amiable youth as Guilford? My last babe, the child of my older years. You are a lucky bride, Lady Jane. Guilford is wise enough to be guided by his elders in all things.”

Henry leaned over and murmured in my ear. “Perhaps Lady Dudley will observe her precious darling in the bedchamber to tell him how prettily he swives his wife.”

I choked on a laugh.

Henry thumped me on the back. “You and I, sweetheart, will need no such encouragement. We shall find our own way together, shall we not?”

My cheeks burned, but I smiled. “You are my lord and master now.”

Yet my father rose from the table and strode to Henry and me, gathering us in his embrace. “You hear this little beauty, everyone? Of the three, Katherine is most my daughter. Hot-blooded and ripe for her husband. Lord Herbert is a fortunate man to have such an eager bride.” He turned to Henry. “She is worth waiting for, my lad. It is only the final act you are forbidden. There is much you can amuse yourselves with until then.”

Henry was no longer smiling. He looked puzzled. “You are serious, Your Grace?”

“His Grace of Northumberland thinks it best. Wipe away those long faces, children. You are not the first bride and bridegroom to tarry before consummating the marriage.”