by Alison Weir
Mother would not look at him. Edward got up and walked out. “Margery, come into the Broad Chamber,” Father said, and stood back so that she could precede him, his eyes wet with tears. Jane was shocked. She had never seen him weep.
* * *
—
Neither Father nor Mother ever revealed what had passed between them on that hot August afternoon, but it was clear that both were making an effort to go on much as before—except that nothing could ever again be the same. At supper, Father occupied his high chair at the head of the board, as usual, and Mother seated herself at the opposite end, as she always did. Between them, they kept the conversation going, and their children took their lead from them. It was not their place to censure their father.
Jane’s heart bled for her mother. She was being so brave. Jane did her best to keep up the pretense that all was normal, but she was aware of her mother’s pain and her father’s shame, and was struggling to come to terms with both. Edward was sitting there like a furnace about to explode. The tension was palpable. No one was eating much of the good food that had been set before them.
“I had a letter from Sir Francis today,” Father said, toward the end of the meal, as if it were something unimportant he had forgotten. “He writes that he will willingly sue for a place for you, Jane. He implied that I might ease his labors with the hope of a reward. Fear not, I will recompense him. It is the way of the court. Patronage was ever lucrative. I will send the money tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Father,” Jane said, her heart beating faster at the realization that she might really be going to court. But oh, how much more thrilled she would feel if this good news had arrived in happier circumstances! How could she leave Mother at this time?
“It will be a fine opportunity for you,” Mother said stoutly, “and it may help you to a good marriage. I pray it comes to pass.” Jane felt somewhat relieved.
At last, the interminable meal was over, grace was said and they could all escape to bed. Jane took a candle and went up with Margery. In the chamber they shared, with its low beams and wooden bedstead hung with embroidered curtains, they undressed without speaking, folded their clothes, pulled on their night rails and climbed into bed. Jane blew out the candle, and they lay there with the room bathed in the moonlight that shone through the open latticed window.
“I wish you weren’t going to court,” Margery said.
“I may never get there,” Jane answered. “Nothing is certain yet. But if I do, I will ask the Queen if she has a place for you too.”
“Would you?” Margery’s voice was full of longing.
“Of course, dear sister. I love you so much. I will miss you dreadfully.”
“But it’s always easier for those who go to new places than it is for those who are left behind,” Margery observed, with a wisdom that belied her fifteen years.
“Yes,” Jane agreed. “And things won’t be easy here for a long time, I fear.”
“Do you think that Mother and Father will be able to put this behind them?”
“What else can they do? They are married. Father is an important man hereabouts. Mother will not risk any scandal. We have all agreed that secrecy is the best policy. And that begins at home.”
“Well, I shall try to go on as normal,” Margery declared, turning over in the bed, “and I pray that everybody else does. Good night, Jane.”
Jane could not sleep. She lay fidgeting in the darkness, trying to curb the teeming thoughts in her head. At length, she got up, put on her night robe and tiptoed into the empty chamber next door, where there was a privy. When she emerged, she was wide awake, so she crept downstairs to the Old Room, where there was sure to be a book that would take her mind off all the tumults. Father James being a lenient tutor, the room was a jumble of hobby horses, dolls and spinning tops, with horn books and papers strewn across the desks. Jane smiled as she spied young John’s untidy letters, then felt a pang as she thought of the loss that her unsuspecting nephew must soon face.
On a shelf there were some favorite books from childhood. Taking Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, she sat down and opened it. As she began to read, she became aware of a soft noise beyond the door at the far end of the room, which led to Father’s closet. Was he up at this late hour?
She waited, wondering if she should make herself scarce, but then the door opened and Father walked through it.
“Jane! What are you doing?” He could barely meet her eye.
“I couldn’t sleep, Father. I came to find a book.”
“Alas, poor child, I doubt that any of us will sleep much tonight.” He swallowed and came toward her. “My darling girl,” he said, and folded her in his arms. “I am so sorry. What have I done?” His voice was muffled against her hair. His shoulders heaved. She did not know what to do or say.
“It’s all right,” she whispered at length. “You must give us all time.”
“Try not to think too badly of me,” he murmured. “I was a fool, fancying myself in love. Edward neglected her, and I took advantage of her misery.” He released Jane and faced her, her big, strong father, weeping and looking strangely diminished. “Though she was willing, the blame was mine. I can never sufficiently atone.”
Jane forced a smile. “I make no doubt but that you are forgiven in Heaven already, since you so truly repent. I forgive you heartily, and I will try to forget.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I do not deserve such charity, but I thank you, Jane, from the bottom of my heart. Your mother told me it was you who urged that we keep this within the family, and for that I thank you again. I am truly blessed in such a daughter.” He had controlled himself now, and reached out his hand. Jane hesitated. More than anything, she wanted him back as he had been. Forgiving him was the first step toward that. She took his hand.
* * *
—
The letter from Sir Francis Bryan arrived a week later. Sir John came into the kitchen where Jane and her mother were baking pies, and read it aloud. “Jane, you are to go to court. The Queen has graciously consented to receive you as a maid-of-honor, and the King has signified his approval.”
Jane’s heart began thumping with excitement. “That’s truly marvelous news! I never expected that it would come to pass.” She could hardly focus on the list of things she would need for court, which threw Mother into a spin and mercifully distracted her from her unhappiness.
“You can only wear black or white, it says. No colors. We’ll have to send to Marlborough for the mercer to come, and tell him to be quick, if you’re to be at Greenwich by the end of the month. Why you can’t just wear your best gowns is beyond me!”
Edward was standing behind Father, listening to the conversation—or rather, Mother’s monologue. “Only the Queen and her ladies-in-waiting wear colors, Mother. All her maids-of-honor wear black and white.”
“Why is that?” Jane asked.
“So that they do not eclipse her. Most of them are young, fair maidens, while the Queen—to be plain—is no beauty. But she is very stately and dresses sumptuously.”
“What is Queen Katherine like?” Jane asked.
“I have never spoken to her, but I have seen her on many occasions. She is always gracious and smiling, even though she has many crosses to bear.”
“Yes, she has no son,” Father observed, sitting down in the chair by the hearth, “and she is past the ways of women.”
Edward did not answer. Still he would not speak to his father. The atmosphere in the house remained tense, and Jane felt guilty for feeling relieved at the prospect of going away and leaving the rest of them to cope with it.
“Is the Queen beautiful?” eight-year-old Dorothy piped up.
“She was in her youth,” Father told her. “Alas, she is no longer young. She is older than the King.”
“I want to go to court,” Dorothy insisted. “I want to wear p
retty clothes and dance and sing and see the King.”
“All in good time,” Father said.
“As if I haven’t enough to do fitting out one daughter for court,” Mother huffed. “Jane, we must go upstairs and go through your chest, to see what can be used. You’ll need new hoods, too. You can’t wear your hair loose at court. When the mercer comes, we must allow extra for trains. And you can take my pearls—”
Edward interrupted. “I will escort you to court, Jane, before heading north to Sheriff Hutton. I am due back there soon.” The hint of relief in his voice was unmistakable.
* * *
—
After supper, Jane and Edward walked in the gardens at Wulfhall.
“It’s a solace to be out of the house,” he said, his thin features drawn, dark eyes shadowed. “Our departure can’t come soon enough.”
“Won’t you miss the boys?” she asked.
“They will do well enough with Mother.”
“But they need you at this time.”
“Jane, don’t meddle!” Edward flared.
“If I meddle, it’s because I care for them,” she retorted, stung. “They have just lost their mother.”
“And that’s my fault? I didn’t wallow in incest for nine years.”
“Did she wallow?” Jane said slowly. “Or was she afraid to say no to Father? She was never happy, was she? A woman in love, who is indulging that love, must look happy. I cannot but think that the love was all on Father’s side.”
“The lust, you mean!” Edward growled.
“For nine years? I had heard that lust was quickly sated. No, Edward, I am certain that Catherine was more sinned against than sinning.”
“You must remember how she conducted herself at the first,” he snarled, bitter. “Older than Eve. Certainly she worked her wiles on me. She was no innocent; she knew what she was about. You do me wrong to take her part.”
“No, Edward!” Jane cried, aware that she could not afford to anger or alienate him. Stiff-backed, cold and moralistic as he could be, he was yet her brother, and from next week he would be her only link to home. She touched his arm. “I am sorry for you both, but whatever Catherine’s part in all this, she has lost her children, and that must be dreadful for her.”
His shoulders slumped. “You are too soft-hearted, Jane. By her conduct, she has forfeited her right to her children’s company. I cannot risk their being infected by her wickedness. She is no fit person to guide and rear them. And you might think of me. I have a wife—and no wife. I cannot remarry, unless Catherine takes vows, or I apply for a divorce, but that would be prohibitively expensive. It would take an Act of Parliament. So I must resign myself to being alone.”
Or not so alone, she thought, but decided it would be wiser to bite her tongue. “I am truly sorry for you,” she said, and linked her arm in his.
They strolled on in silence.
“What is the King like?” Jane asked, trying to break the mood.
“He’s very handsome in person, or so the ladies say,” Edward told her. “He’s tall and magnificent, as a great prince should be, and he carries himself regally. Sometimes he’s more of a good fellow than a king. He’s not above sharing a jest with his inferiors, and I’ve even seen him playing at dice with the master of his wine cellar. Once, when an envoy was nervous at being in his presence, I saw him put an arm about the man’s shoulders and talk with him familiarly, to put him at his ease.”
“That’s encouraging.” She was rather dreading the prospect of meeting the King.
“He doesn’t bite.” Edward attempted a smile. “Don’t look so frightened.”
* * *
—
At last, everything was ready. As she said farewell, Jane clung to her mother. Father kissed her, then gave her his blessing and a purse of coins. Mother was putting on a brave face, smiling and bidding her to write often. Her brothers and younger sisters crowded around, with the children, to say goodbye. Jane gave Margery a special hug. “I haven’t forgotten my promise,” she said.
She climbed into the litter, next to the chest in which her new gowns had been carefully laid, with the hoods, wrapped in old silk, on top. There was a smaller chest containing body linen, furs and a winter cloak, and a small casket of jewels: Mother’s pearls, which had been passed down from Grandmother Wentworth, three rings, a small pendant with a diamond, and a lozenge-shaped brooch of enamel depicting the Five Wounds of Christ. Tucked in beside Jane was a large basket containing food for the journey.
Edward mounted his horse, two grooms took up the rear, and slowly the little cavalcade passed out of the Great Court, through the Little Court and the gatehouse, and then took the road that led to Marlborough, Newbury and Maidenhead, where they would board a boat for Greenwich. Jane forced herself not to look back.
Chapter 5
1527
The hosteler gave them a warm welcome at Hurley Priory, ringing the sanctus bell on the wall by the entrance to the guest house.
“Father Prior always likes to be told the instant that distinguished visitors arrive.” He beamed. He was a rotund, apple-cheeked fellow, a merry monk in the mold of Friar Tuck, as Jane imagined him. The right man for the office. He showed them to their chambers, which were small and plainly furnished, but spotlessly clean, while the groom brought in their baggage. They were staying for one night only. Tomorrow, Edward and Jane were to take the boat at Maidenhead, and the groom would return home with the litter and the horses.
Prior Thomas was as jovial as his hosteler, yet there was steel beneath the charm, Jane suspected. At dinner, which they ate as his guests in the parlor of his house, he became quite heated about Cardinal Wolsey. “It’s not fitting for a clergyman to own such wealth. He is Archbishop of York, but he has never been there.”
Edward helped himself and Jane to more roast beef, placing slices on their shared gravy-soaked bread trencher. “People say it is he who rules England, rather than the King. I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I’ve seen them together. They are great friends, and it seems that the Cardinal is almost a father figure to his Grace. There’s no doubting that he is a very able man, but certainly he has too much power—and it is widely resented.”
“Our Lord, whom he serves, was a humble carpenter. He did not own great palaces and vast wealth. I have seen Hampton Court and York Place. No churchman should enjoy such worldly riches.”
Jane liked the Prior’s sincerity. She was comparing the comforts enjoyed by Prioress Florence at Amesbury with the old table and chairs in Prior Thomas’s dining room, his patched scapular and the simple wooden cross, the only object to adorn the walls. If the Prioress had been as holy as this good man, would she herself have stayed at Amesbury? She suspected that if she had, the world would still have beckoned her. She wondered how poor Catherine was faring there now. Edward had not mentioned her once on the journey.
“Wolsey is not the only prelate to pursue wealth and worldly advancement,” her brother was saying.
“The Church is often the route to power,” Prior Thomas observed, “and ever has been. But there is great corruption, and if the popes in Rome set a bad example, who will curb the excesses of a man like Wolsey?”
“The popes set a bad example?” Jane was shocked. All her life she had been taught to revere the Holy Father in Rome, who was Christ’s Vicar on Earth and the fount of all spiritual wisdom and authority.
“I fear so,” the Prior replied. “Surely you have heard of the excesses of the Borgias? Our present Pope Clement and the late Pope Julius both fathered bastard children, and…Well, I will not speak of the rest in your presence, Mistress Seymour. But popes are invested with Christ’s authority to pronounce on moral matters. If they lack probity, what hope for the rest of us?”
“Father Prior, when we have the example of good men like you, who truly follow Christ and His laws, then there is much
hope.” Jane smiled. “I am an ignorant woman. I know nothing about the Borgias, nor do I think I want to, but I’m sure there are many like me who try to observe our faith in quiet and humility. We always hear about the scandals of the few, but what of the goodness of the majority?”
Prior Thomas smiled at her. “My dear child, it may be that a simple maid like yourself has more wisdom than a disillusioned old man like me. I pray that the court will not change you. It is not for the faint in spirit. Guard your innocence well. At least you will be serving our most virtuous Queen. She is the mirror of piety, and a very gracious lady.”
“Aye,” Edward agreed. “She is much beloved. Alas that she has no son.”
“It is a great tragedy.” The Prior got up, fetched a bowl of fruit from the window ledge and laid it before them. “The Princess Mary is the King’s only heir. No woman has ever ruled England before, and any one of the surviving members of the old royal House of York might challenge her title. We could see a return to the civil wars of my youth, when Lancaster and York contested the crown.”
“Heaven forbid!” Jane breathed. The apple she was eating suddenly tasted sour.
“I serve the Duke of Richmond,” Edward said. “There is talk at court that the King may get Parliament to legitimate the boy and name him his successor.”
The Prior frowned. “But would the people of England accept a bastard as king? That would be the great test.”
“Some think the people have such love for the King that they would prefer his bastard son to any sprig of the white rose of York. But there are traitors who call the Tudors usurpers and long for the return of the old royal line. Who knows what would happen?”
“It must worry the King greatly,” the Prior sighed.
“Some say he should marry the Princess to one of the Yorkists and hope for grandsons,” Edward opined.
“A wise idea.” The Prior’s eyes twinkled. “You should be advising his Grace, not Wolsey.”