Jane Seymour: The Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  Jane saw Edward’s smile waver and Thomas frown. Of course, they had other ambitions.

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” Bryan warned. “It’s what Chapuys is hoping for, but will the King want to admit publicly that he was wrong to put Katherine away, and that the Pope was right all along?”

  Edward spoke up. “I think his Grace should put his first two marriages firmly behind him, and make a third, which will not be tainted by the rights and wrongs of the past.”

  “The Lady might fight back,” Jane pointed out. “She could be a constant thorn in the King’s side.”

  “Without him, she has no power,” Bryan said dismissively. “While he loved her, she was invincible, but he loves her no more, it’s plain to see. And when the ship sinks, all the rats will desert it, I promise you. What profit is there in supporting a fallen queen?”

  * * *

  —

  Jane stood with her brothers and Nan near the back of the Chapel Royal. It was Passion Sunday, and the Queen’s chaplain, Father Skip, was mounting the pulpit. Above their heads was the royal pew, where Henry would be sitting with Anne. Across the nave, some way ahead, was the portly figure of Master Cromwell, with Chapuys next to him.

  “Which among you accuses me of sin?” the chaplain’s voice rang out. “It is not I who have attacked the Church! A king needs to be wise and resist evil councillors who tempt him to ignoble actions. A king’s councillor ought to take good heed of what advice he gives in altering ancient things.”

  There was murmuring among the congregation. People were glancing at each other, amazed that Father Skip should so publicly attack the King. Jane trembled for him. Henry would be furious, she could not doubt it.

  But the chaplain was undeterred. “Look at the example of King Ahasuerus, who was moved by a wicked minister to destroy the Jews,” he continued. “That minister was Haman, who had also tried to destroy Ahasuerus’s queen, Esther. But after Esther exposed his evil plot and saved the Jews from persecution, Haman was justly hanged. And thus triumphed this good woman, whom King Ahasuerus loved very well, and put his trust in, because he knew she was ever his friend.”

  Jane winced. Anne was fighting back. No one could be in doubt that this had come from her as a warning to Cromwell, who was standing there with a half smile playing about his lips, looking for all the world as if he found it funny to be compared to a wicked minister. Effectively Anne had declared war on her most dangerous enemy. But who would the King support?

  Skip pressed on perilously. “Among his evil deeds, Haman had assured Ahasuerus that eliminating the Jews would result in ten thousand talents being appropriated for the royal treasury, and for the King’s personal gain.

  “So, in our own day, we have cause to lament that the Crown, misled by evil counsel, wants the Church’s property, and will have it. We can only lament the decay of the universities and pray that the necessity for learning will not be overlooked.”

  Anne might have said it herself. But was it not madness to provoke Henry thus, and in public too?

  Yet there was worse to come. Skip was looking sternly on his flock. “But it is not only in fleecing the Church that corruption lies. Look at the example of Solomon, who lost his true nobility through his sensual and carnal appetite, and taking too many wives and concubines.”

  This really was going too far. Henry had proudly shown Jane an exquisite miniature by Master Holbein that depicted him as Solomon, the wisest of kings. She knew there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind as to whom Father Skip was referring. And people were looking at her, Jane, because she too was implicated in the chaplain’s diatribe.

  * * *

  —

  When Henry came to see her that evening, he was still simmering with anger.

  “I am sorry that you and I were insulted by that sermon, darling,” he said, his eyes like steel. “I have had that priest censured for his slanders. He disparaged not only us, but my councillors, my lords and nobles and my whole Parliament.”

  Henry must know who had been responsible. But he did not mention Anne, and Jane did not like to criticize her directly. Yet here was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

  “I feel sorry for Master Cromwell,” she said. “To be publicly humiliated like that is dreadful. But the worst of it was the insult to you, Henry. No subject should even think of his or her king in such a way.” She laid the slightest stress on “her.” “Do you think he said those things of his own accord?”

  Henry snorted. “I am aware of who put him up to it.”

  “How can a woman do that to her lord, whom she is bound to love and honor?” Jane wondered, shaking her head. “Especially when you have raised her so high and done so much for her.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. He looked sorry for himself. “It seems I am fated to be unlucky in my wives. Katherine defied me, and now Anne shames me. She doesn’t know when to stop. I am weary of her tantrums and her opinions. I shouldn’t be saying these things to you, Jane. But you are so different from her, and when I think of this mockery of a marriage in which I am trapped, I want to weep and rage!” He balled his hands into fists; the knuckles were white.

  “Henry, I am so sorry,” Jane said, thinking that she had said enough for today. She reached out and placed her hand on his. “You can talk to me anytime you need to.”

  He relaxed a little and patted her hand in return. “You are like an angel,” he told her. “I know that God has sent you to me for a good purpose.”

  * * *

  —

  Lady Exeter had gone to considerable trouble over her supper. Her table, laid with a gleaming white cloth, was weighed down with roasted meats, raised pies, capons in a sauce, and a great venison pasty, on which Henry’s eye alighted greedily, for it was his favorite dish. The wine flowed freely, and the sumptuously furnished little apartment was soon filled with the sound of lively conversation. Jane was delighted to find herself seated at Henry’s right hand, while Lady Exeter was on his left beside Lord Exeter, a dignified auburn-haired man who bore some resemblance to his cousin the King.

  Messire Chapuys was sitting next to Jane. Her brothers were placed with Bryan and Carew on the opposite side of the table. Inevitably the talk turned to Sunday’s scandalous sermon and another in similar vein preached since by Hugh Latimer, one of Anne’s reformist protégés.

  “It is appalling that the Queen’s own chaplain should preach such calumnies,” Lord Exeter said.

  “He will be holding his tongue in future, if he knows what is good for him,” Henry growled, but half in humor.

  Jane gathered her courage. “It is not just he who should be silenced, is it, Sir?”

  He stared at her. The merry mood was rapidly dissipating.

  “Your Grace, there is much talk that he did not act alone, but was encouraged to preach sedition,” Lady Exeter said.

  There was a pause. Henry speared another slice of beef on his knife. “I am sure of it,” he said. “But the person concerned told me that the attack was aimed not at me, but at Master Cromwell.”

  “Sir, it did not come across that way,” Bryan declared.

  “I felt that some of it was aimed at me,” Jane said. “I was most embarrassed. People were staring at me.”

  Henry took her hand in his. “I will not have you upset by this, darling.”

  Chapuys smiled at her. He had never said much to Jane beyond the courtesies so far, but his manner had been deferential. “Your Majesty, we all know who was behind this outrage. May I speak frankly, as a friend?”

  Henry nodded, frowning slightly. “Go on, my lord ambassador,” he said.

  “Believe me, I speak only out of concern for your Grace,” Chapuys said. “You know I have never approved of the Lady, for many good reasons, but she has gone too far this time. Your Grace’s patience is admirable. It is the talk of the court.”

 
He had given Jane an opening. “Sir, the talk is not just confined to the court. Yesterday, Lady Seymour and I visited the market by London Bridge. There was a man with puppets in the guise of your Grace and the Queen, and I was shocked to see that the Queen was beating the King over the head with a rolling pin.” It was the truth.

  Henry flared. “By God, I’ll have him arrested!”

  “But Sir, there is more!” Jane laid her hand on his. They were all watching her intently. “Among the crowd, I heard things that concerned me. People were clapping and jeering, and saying how much they detest your marriage to the Queen. Some openly said that they do not consider it lawful. If they represent public opinion generally, I fear that the people of England will never accept Anne as their true Queen.”

  “Such opinions are indeed widespread,” Chapuys said.

  “I’ve heard them expressed often enough,” Edward added, looking at Jane with approval.

  “And I’ve heard many deplore what they call the Queen’s heretical leanings,” Lord Exeter revealed.

  Henry’s cheeks were flushed. “You think I am not aware of this? Every week my Council receives reports of slanders against the Queen. If the offenders are caught, they are punished, but it seems I can’t silence everyone.”

  Edward spoke. “It is said, Sir, that the voice of the people is the voice of God. Is it too presumptuous of me to suggest that your Grace ought to heed public opinion? Maybe it is telling you something.” Jane held her breath at his boldness.

  “Three months ago you would not have spoken thus,” Henry said.

  He was not as angry as Jane had feared, but rather thoughtful.

  “Three months ago, her Grace was expecting a child,” Lady Exeter pointed out.

  There was another silence. When Henry spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Yes, but she lost it. All my sons by her have been stillborn. Have I truly offended God by marrying her?”

  Jane lowered her eyes, but she was listening avidly.

  “If your Majesty is not quiet in your conscience, then perhaps you should seek a remedy,” Chapuys suggested.

  “Perhaps I should,” Henry said, with an air of finality. He attempted a smile. “But this is not a conversation to aid the digestion. Lady Exeter, pray summon your fool to cheer us!”

  He had changed the subject, but Jane was not disheartened. It was enough that he had not reacted with anger to the opinions expressed here tonight. On the contrary, she believed he appreciated the concerns that had been voiced by her and others. She had done rather well, she reflected, surprised at herself.

  * * *

  —

  On Maundy Thursday, Henry invited Jane and her brothers to join him for a game of bowls. To her consternation, she saw Anne and her ladies returning to the palace. Anne glared at them, her face a mask of enmity. Jane was frightened that she would make a scene, but she swept past without a word.

  “Her Grace is on her way to the chapel for the Maundy ceremony,” Henry said in Jane’s ear, looking as relieved as she felt. It was customary for the Queen to distribute money to beggars and wash their feet. Tomorrow would be Good Friday, and the King would be creeping to the Cross on his knees and blessing rings to be given to those suffering from cramp.

  “Do they really work?” Jane asked.

  “Well, kings of England have been blessing them all the way back to Edward the Confessor, so there must be some virtue in them,” Henry chuckled.

  After the game, which he won, they strolled through the gardens, the courtiers following just out of earshot. Henry tucked Jane’s arm in his. His face was troubled.

  “You know why I have doubts about my marriage,” he said. “I have spoken to Cranmer. He wasn’t happy, for he loves the Queen and shares her zeal for reform, and he fears it would look bad if he were now to annul a marriage that he confirmed just three years ago. But he has agreed to look into the matter.”

  Jane’s heart began racing. Surely Cranmer would see that it had been no marriage at all. And if he did, he only had to pronounce it invalid, and then…

  * * *

  —

  On Easter Saturday, while Henry was meeting with his Council, Jane was wandering along the riverbank. With no duties at court, she had a lot of leisure these days, and it was her great pleasure to be out in the fresh air.

  She had had a letter from Father this morning, asking her what Bryan had meant about seeing her well bestowed in marriage soon. Clearly he felt he ought to be more fully consulted, and Mother, of course, was agog. Did Bryan really mean what they thought he was implying? he asked. What was going on? Should they come up to court? She had hurriedly dispatched a reply, saying that the King’s love for her had increased, but that he had so far said nothing to her that indicated he wanted to marry her, although he did have doubts about his marriage. Bryan had jumped to conclusions of his own. There was no need for them to travel up to Greenwich.

  On her way back, she met Margaret Douglas and Thomas Howard emerging from one of the banqueting houses. Margaret’s face was flushed, her French hood slightly askew. It was obvious that they had been indulging in some dalliance.

  “Good afternoon, Mistress Jane,” Margaret said. “We miss you in the Queen’s chamber, although I dare say you do not miss being there.”

  “It is a relief to be out of it, my lady,” Jane admitted.

  “You did well to leave. Her Grace’s mood becomes more uncertain by the day.”

  “Does she speak of me?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, you are her constant refrain. She blames you for the loss of her son, and for her present unhappiness. But you have friends in her chamber, Jane. Even Lady Worcester has turned against her. And Margery Horsman speaks well of you. They would love to see you. They have been bidden to avoid your company, you know.”

  “I thought as much,” Jane said sadly. “My lady, I would like nothing more than to see them.”

  “Then come to my lodgings on Thursday, at eleven o’clock. The Queen should be in bed by then.” As the King’s niece, Margaret had her own fine apartment in the palace. “I will look forward to seeing you,” she said, and walked on.

  Chapter 21

  1536

  Jane stood next to her brothers in the nave of the Chapel Royal, waiting for the Easter Tuesday service to begin. She was aware of a hum of excited anticipation among the congregation, which seemed larger than usual.

  “What is happening?” she asked.

  A man in front turned round. It was the handsome Sir Francis Weston of the King’s Privy Chamber. “Ambassador Chapuys was received by Lord Rochford at the palace gates this morning,” he told them. “It seems that he has made peace with the Boleyns, and we are waiting to see if he acknowledges the Queen.” He nodded toward the other side of the chapel, where Chapuys was standing near the foot of the stair that led up to the royal pew.

  “He will never acknowledge her,” Jane said, astonished and bewildered.

  “If this new alliance with the Emperor is to go ahead, it may be expedient to do so,” Edward murmured.

  “She is not in favor with the King,” Thomas said, “so it will profit him little to pay court to her.”

  “We shall see,” Edward said. He hated it when Thomas challenged what he said.

  A hush descended. The King and Queen must be arriving and taking their places.

  During the service, Jane kept glancing at Chapuys. She thought he looked unusually tense. Surely he would not recognize Anne as queen? What of his promises to support her, Jane?

  Presently, Henry appeared at the foot of the stairs, and proceeded to the altar to make his offering. Anne followed, with all eyes upon her. As she came through the door, Chapuys hesitated for a moment, then bowed. Jane was not the only one who gasped. That this man, who had been such a champion of Katherine and Mary, who had defied the King by calling them by their proper titles, and wh
o had, for years, steadfastly refused to recognize Anne as queen, would do reverence to her was unbelievable. And now Anne was performing an elegant curtsey in exchange, before processing to the altar with a triumphant air. To Jane’s amazement, Chapuys followed, and handed Anne two candles to use in the ceremonies. Jane was shocked.

  Edward whispered in her ear, “He must be acting at the Emperor’s bidding.” But it was small comfort. It felt to Jane as if she had lost something very valuable. And then it occurred to her that Henry himself must have arranged or approved the encounter, for Chapuys had been placed in a position where he could not but have come face to face with Anne. Why would Henry want Chapuys to acknowledge Anne as queen if he was thinking of divorcing her?

  She left the chapel despondent, thinking she might go home to Wulfhall, try to forget about Henry and the court, and ask her father to find some acceptable husband, so that she could be free of all the intrigues and uncertainties, and live out her days in peace and obscurity, surrounded by her children. When Edward hastened after her, she pushed him away and fled back to her bedchamber so that she could weep in privacy.

  In the middle of the afternoon, there was a sharp rap at the door, and there stood Lady Exeter. She took one look at Jane’s tearstained face and shook her head disapprovingly. “Battles were never won by weeping!” she declared. “Come! I have rallied the troops. We are going to pay a call on Messire Chapuys!”

  Jane could not but be heartened by such resolve. Hurriedly she washed her face, put on her hood and followed Lady Exeter into the outer gallery, where she found her brothers, Exeter, Montagu, Bryan and Carew waiting for her. As they went to find Chapuys, they expressed their anger and astonishment at the deference he had paid to Anne.