The Sisters Who Would Be Queen

by Leanda de Lisle

  Mary’s allies at court were, however, keeping her informed of the developing situation, while her household built up support for her in the areas where she held her estates. Unaware how powerful she was growing, the regime was, meanwhile, making a belated effort to prevent her gathering recruits at court by seeking to address quarrels within its ranks. Strenuous efforts were made to heal the rift with Archbishop Cranmer that had opened after Somerset’s execution, and plans were laid to release the Protector’s widow, Anne Somerset, from the Tower.

  It soon emerged that William Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke, was also back in Northumberland’s embrace. His son Henry, Lord Herbert, and Lord Guildford Dudley were to become brothers-in-law, with the twelve-year-old Katherine Grey marrying Pembroke’s son on the same day that Jane Grey was to marry Guildford. At twelve, Katherine was only just old enough under canon law to be legally wed, but she, at least, was not unhappy at the news. She knew and liked the fifteen-year-old Lord Herbert. Poor little Mary Grey, age eight, was to be betrothed to a middle-aged kinsman, Lord Grey of Wilton. His face had been disfigured with a Scottish pike, thrust through the roof of his mouth at the battle of Pinkie in 1547. The battle-scarred warrior must have looked terrifying to the undersized Mary. He was regarded, however, as “the best soldier in the kingdom”: a man to have on your side if there was to be fighting ahead.

  Three further marriages designed to unite and shore up the regime were also planned. Though the number of names may seem confusing, only one detail is really significant: these marriages all bound Northumberland’s family closer to the Greys and to other significant royals. Northumberland’s youngest son, Henry Dudley, was to marry Suffolk’s only evangelical niece of marriageable age, Margaret Audley. His daughter, Catherine Dudley—also aged only twelve—was to marry Henry Hastings, the teenage son of the Greys’ neighbor the Earl of Huntingdon. Huntingdon had never been close to Northumberland, but his wife was of Yorkist royal descent, making his son an evangelical male with a claim to the throne, albeit a distant one. The third marriage was announced a few weeks later. The Earl of Cumberland, who had rejected Guildford Dudley for his royal daughter, Margaret Clifford, despite the pleading of the King, now mysteriously agreed to marry her instead to Northumberland’s aging older brother Sir Andrew Dudley. Since he was conservative in religion, and had nothing to fear from Mary’s accession, he appears to have bowed to pressure of a different kind: fear of Northumberland. The duke’s modern apologists claim that these six arranged marriages were just normal aristocratic unions. But nobody at the time thought so, or even pretended that this was the case. It would be truer to say that he was not the only one to benefit from them: if the evangelical elite was to stay in power they needed Northumberland on their side. And this was the price.

  X

  A Married Woman

  ON 25 MAY 1553, NORTHUMBERLAND’S LONDON RESIDENCE, Durham House, witnessed a triple wedding. The young couples wore silver and gold, fabrics forfeited to the King from the Duke of Somerset in 1551 and, figuratively at least, marked with his blood. Guildford dutifully stood by Jane, but the fifteen-year-old Henry, Lord Herbert, standing alongside the twelve-year-old Katherine, just looked ill. He had been brought from his sickbed, where he had been lying for weeks. The young Lord Hastings was the third groom, matched with another child bride, one of Guildford’s sisters, the twelve-year-old Lady Catherine Dudley. The King, too unwell to attend, sent “presents of rich ornaments and jewels” and the English nobility turned out in force. There were games and jousts, a great feast and two masques, one performed by the men of the court, the other by the women.

  Observing this extravagant spectacle of blood pacts and power politics was the French ambassador, Boisdauphin. The French were as opposed to Mary becoming Queen as any English evangelical. They remained at war with her cousin the Emperor Charles V, and feared that Mary, who had long looked to him for protection, might one day wish to wield her kingdom in his defense. It was now widely accepted at court that Edward was dying and a decision over the succession was, therefore, imminent. Northum berland hoped Edward might live until September, when a new Parliament could repeal the 1544 Act of Succession, but most believed Edward had two months at the most. The imperial ambassador, Jehan Scheyfve, had learned that Edward’s body was now covered in ulcers and horribly swollen. The tormented teenager could not sleep or rest without the aid of opiates. The government continued nevertheless to fight a rear-guard action against the rumors concerning his health, disseminating counter-rumors that his condition was actually improving. It was in this spirit of pretense that Mary Tudor composed a note of congratulations to her brother on his supposedly restored health the day of Jane and Katherine Grey’s marriages.

  With the wedding celebrations finished, Jane and Katherine retired into the houses of their respective fathers-in-law: Jane at Sion in Richmond, and Katherine to the gloomy royal fortress of Baynard’s Castle, nearby on the Thames. There was a portrait of Lord Herbert’s late mother, Anne Parr, hanging on one wall. Katherine must have felt her absence, but her sick husband brought out her protective instincts, and she was young enough to be able to shut out from her mind the roar of impending political crises. Jane had no such luxury. She was acutely aware of her place as her mother’s heir, and the expectation that she could have a son who would one day be King. Scheyfve reported that it had been agreed that Lady Jane Grey’s marriage to Guildford Dudley would not be consummated because of her tender age. It is likely he confused Jane with Katherine. But it may be that the Greys were reluctant, even at this stage, for Jane to fulfill her wedding vows, and conceive the son that would disinherit Frances from her prospective role as governor of England on Edward’s death. If so, it was an argument they lost. Jane’s marriage was consummated; had it not been, this fact would have emerged later.

  On 28 May, Edward’s doctors confirmed to Northumberland privately that the King would not live beyond the autumn. Soon afterward, the imperial ambassador heard “from a good source” that the French had promised Northumberland their support in any plans that deprived Mary of the succession. Edward, meanwhile, was making small, but highly significant, changes to his will, ones that would confirm the Greys’ suspicions of Northumberland. He drew a line through the provision that Frances would rule as governor if he died before any male heirs were born and inserted a short phrase above the line. The throne was to pass to Frances’s male heirs, but in the absence of such issue “before my death” the throne was to pass to Lady Jane Grey “and her” heirs male. Since Frances was not pregnant and had no sons, she was, effectively, excluded from becoming governor or claiming the throne, which would pass directly to Jane as Queen regnant. Edward could justify this because his father had—deliberately or otherwise—also excluded Frances. But whether he decided on the changes himself, or whether they were suggested to Edward by Northumberland’s crony Sir John Gates (as the Grey camp believed) we can only guess.

  According to information gathered later by the papal envoy Giovanni Francesco Commendone, it was Northumberland who gave Jane the shocking news that she was now the King’s heir. It left her completely stunned and “deeply upset.” The strength of her religious beliefs, and her refusal to accept even the gift of a dress from Mary, suggests she would have been content to see Mary excluded from the succession—but she would have had no desire to take her mother’s place. Commendone learned that Jane asked permission to return home briefly to see her mother, but the Duchess of Northumberland refused, reminding Jane that she needed to be on hand for the moment of the King’s death. Jane, however, with her old spirit of defiance, crept out of Sion and took a boat down the Thames, home to Suffolk Place.

  Jane’s father was furious that her mother was being passed over in the line of succession. He was convinced that Northumberland’s intention was to crown Guildford, nominally as Jane’s coruler, but with the intention that he would be the dominant partner.

  There was nothing the Greys could yet do to regain control of the
situation: when the time came, however, and Jane was Queen she could deny Guildford the crown. As Frances comforted her daughter, the Duchess of Northumberland sent an angry message to Suffolk Place threatening to keep Guildford with her if Jane did not return. Such a breach would have risked a public scandal, which neither family could afford, and so, it seems, an accommodation was reached.

  The contemporary diplomatic traffic reveals that Guildford and Jane were soon together at Catherine Parr’s old house in Chelsea. There the young couple entertained their friends in the house the Queen dowager had turned into a “second court.” The roses were already in bloom, their heady scent redolent of happier times. But if any romance began to develop between Jane and Guildford it came to an abrupt end when the honeymooners and several of their guests fell victim to food poisoning. The source was believed to be a salad made by a cook “who plucked one leaf for another.” Jane came to suspect her mother-in-law, however, for, as she lay incapacitated at Chelsea, Edward’s decision to name her his heir was being sealed at Greenwich.

  Senior judges had been summoned by the King to ratify his will. With Parr of Northampton and Sir John Gates—Northumberland’s eyes and ears in the King’s private quarters—standing by, Edward gave his reasons for disinheriting his sisters in favor of Jane. Then, gathering what strength remained, he instructed his judges to draw up a legal document that would declare his decisions concerning the succession and his reasons for them. As the judges retired, however, some expressed concern that Edward’s will could not be enforced until the Act of Succession of 1544 was rescinded. Nervously, they delivered their judgment before the Council. The physically powerful Northumberland promptly threatened to strip down to his shirt and fight with anyone who denied the King’s wishes. The frightened judges were then called to see Edward, swollen and wretched on his bed. The King (who appears to have been given private legal advice) insisted that he, and not just his father, had the right to bequeath the crown by testament, and that his will could be ratified by Parliament. He also promised pardons under the Great Seal for any treason they might be committing by obeying his instructions. Fourteen of the judges agreed to do as he asked, but four, possibly five, refused. Frances was then summoned to see Edward. He expected and, perhaps, demanded her submission to his decision to pass her over in favor of her daughter.

  Over the next week, the last details of the legal document the judges had been instructed to draw up were concluded, and on 21 June the nobility and leading officials were asked to sign it. Edward claimed that he had considered the question of the succession for a considerable period, “as well since the time of our sickness as in the time of our health.” He drew attention to the illegitimacy of his sisters, who, he noted, were only his “half blood,” and gave stark warnings of the dangers of their marrying foreigners. By contrast there was praise for his married and betrothed cousins, Lady Jane, Katherine, and Mary Grey, and no mention of their having to rule in conjunction with Privy Councillors. He described the Grey girls almost as if they were his true sisters. They had been “natural born here within the realm, and have also been very honourably brought up and exercised in good and Godly learning, and other noble virtues.” Their education was very similar to his; “Trust and hope” could be placed in them. The Privy Council, Archbishop Cranmer, the Officers of the Household, the civic dignitaries, and twenty-two peers all signed the document and swore a solemn oath to uphold its provisions. But some of the signatories remained uneasy. Not only did the statute of 1544, which had declared Edward’s half sisters his heirs, remain in place, so did the 1547 Treasons Act, which made it a capital offense to change its provisions. Was English law really no more than a way of advertising the royal will, as King Henry and his son Edward believed? Not everyone thought so. The very fact that they had been asked to put their names to the document is suggestive of the uncertainty over its legality. The radical bishop John Hooper insisted that they should put their trust in God’s providence and accept Mary as Queen. She was middle-aged and if she had no children, the evangelical Elizabeth would be her heir. Many doubters who signed, including Sir William Cecil, who was Surveyor of Elizabeth’s estates, were waiting upon events before deciding their next move. But a few, including a number of anonymous figures on the Council, had gone so far as to inform the imperial ambassadors that they hoped Charles V would assist Mary, when the time came.

  In a desperate effort to keep Edward alive until Parliament could be called in September, an old woman renowned as a healer was brought in to care for him, but her potions did no good, and the efforts of his doctors—which included, apparently, dosing him with arsenic—only added to his agonies. Edward had been raised among Councillors, tutors, and clerics since he was orphaned at the age of nine. He had, as King, been utterly in their power. Many had idealistic motives. But this is where it was ending: in pain, tenderly inflicted, for their own ends.

  Edward’s subjects were increasingly restless. It was being said that Northumberland was “a great tyrant,” and that he was poisoning the King with the intention of handing the country over to the French, England’s traditional enemies. These rumors grew after the events of 27 June. Edward made his last public appearance that day, showing himself at a window to prove to the gathering crowds that he was not yet dead. What they saw, however, even from a distance, convinced them that, though he was still alive, his death would not be long coming. That night, Northumberland was seen entering the residence of the incoming French ambassador, the aristocrat Antoine de Noailles. The news of the clandestine visit spread rapidly and two members of the public were chained to a post and whipped “for opprobrious and seditious words” about Northumberland and his allies. In the Privy Chamber, Edward was now coughing up the stinking remains of his lifeblood. His favorite Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, Nicholas Throckmorton, had whiled away hours over the previous months playing board games with the royal invalid, but Edward was now too ill to play, and far beyond further medical help. There was nothing left for those at Edward’s bedside but to pray and comfort him, as best they could.

  On Sunday, 2 July, the contents of the King’s will were signalled to the public for the first time in a church service that excluded the usual prayers for the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth. The following day, as Mary traveled to London to see her brother, she was warned of his imminent death and of possible plans to seize her. She changed course, and on 5 July, Mary was heading for Kenninghall at the heart of her estates in Norfolk. From there she could flee to Flanders and to the protection of her cousin the Emperor. But, to the amazement of Sir John Gates, when the news reached the Lord President he showed no obvious concern about it. “Sir, will you suffer the Lady Mary escape, and not secure her person?” he asked incredulously. Northumberland may have hoped that Mary would escape abroad. She had proved an awkward subject to her brother, and they would be well rid of her. He did not believe the Emperor would want to attack England while he was at war with France, and if Mary stayed he doubted also that she would try any military enterprise. As one of her supporters observed, he was “very ready to despise the plans of a mere woman.” To pacify Gates, however, he later ordered his son Lord Robert Dudley to pursue Mary with a small contingent of horses and bring her to London.

  Between eight and nine on the evening of 6 July, Edward sighed: “I feel faint.” One of Northumberland’s sons-in-law, Sir Henry Sidney, gathered the boy in his arms and Edward uttered his last words: “Lord have mercy upon me and take my spirit.” The suffering of the boy had ended at last. Northumberland intended that the news be kept secret for three days, as the death of Henry VIII had been. He needed to prepare for possible unrest in London over the exclusion of Mary, or, perhaps, of Frances. The capital was the evangelical heartland of England, but the people still had a strong sense of “right order.” Everyone lived according to their place in the social hierarchy, obedient to their superiors and expecting obedience from their inferiors. Mary was King Henry’s daughter, and that of a much-loved Queen;
Jane was not, and in any case, Frances preceded her in the line of succession. Why, the people would wonder, would Jane supersede Frances unless Northumberland wanted to rule through his son? There had been rumors for years that he sought the crown, based on nothing but fear and hatred of him. That his detractors now had something more made the rumors dangerously potent. Northumberland and his allies needed to plan carefully.

  The next morning, 7 July, the Mayor of London and City magistrates were called to Greenwich and, along with the guard, they swore an oath of allegiance to Queen Jane. The Tower was being reinforced, and Henry Sidney’s wife, Mary Dudley, who was close to Jane in age, was dispatched to Chelsea to bring her by river to Sion, Northumberland’s house at Richmond.

  When they arrived the palace was empty and Jane was told only that she must wait there “to receive that which had been ordered by the King.” She must have guessed what was coming, if Mary Dudley had not already told her. In the capital, divisions within the Privy Council ensured that news of Edward’s death had even leaked to the public. The newly arrived imperial ambassador, the chilly, efficient Simon Renard, had heard the reports that morning and by the evening it was all over London. The Princess Mary first heard the news from her goldsmith, who, riding hard from the capital, met her as she reached Euston Hall near Thetford on the Norfolk-Suffolk border. Mary responded cautiously. Had she proclaimed herself Queen before Edward was dead she would have been guilty of treason, so she waited for confirmation, as she continued moving ahead of Robert Dudley and his men.