“Name your shop Il Limone Zuccherato, The Sugared Lemon, for me!” Guildford breathed, and another silence followed as I imagined their lips locked, their bodies crushed, close together, tart and sweet.
“But what shall we do for money?” Guildford asked. “When I sing, will the people throw enough money for us to live in the style to which we are accustomed?”
“Do not worry, my love, I shall supplement our earnings, from your singing and my pastry shop, at the gambling tables!” Father said, confident and reassuring.
Inwardly I groaned. Father was a terrible gambler. Some said he was the worst in London, and the higher the stakes, the better he liked it; his losses were astronomical, and we lived perpetually on the threshold of financial disaster. Dr. Haddon, our chaplain at Bradgate, had spoken to him numerous times, pleading with him, begging him, for the good of his soul and the sake of his family and to stave off ruin, to renounce this reckless and ruinous habit forever.
“What’s one fortune?” Father said with what I could well imagine was a blasé shrug. “I can always win us another and another after we’ve run through that one, and then another! You shall stand beside me and be my good luck charm! With your beauty and my brains we make a perfect match!”
“Heavenly!” Guildford sighed and surrendered to Father’s embrace one more time.
Quietly, even though the heat was stifling, I closed the casement and returned to my bed, with a sick, frightened feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to hear any more and wished with all my heart I could erase from my mind what I had already heard. It was too absurd; my father, the Duke of Suffolk, wanted to run away with his son-in-law to Italy, to live and love, in the most sinful way known to man, warmed by the sun, while one sang, on a stage he would most likely be hissed and booed from as he was pelted with rotten vegetables, and the other renounced his proud and noble heritage to run a sweetshop. It was mad, utterly mad!
No, Father, no! I sobbed into my pillow as I pounded it with my fists in pure frustration. Guildford is meant for Jane! How can they ever become a loving couple if you come between them?
The next morning there was no sign of Father, and when I discreetly inquired if perchance he had arrived during the night, I was met with blank and puzzled stares from the servants. Clearly his clandestine visit was intended for one person alone—Guildford.
5
On the ninth day of July, 1553, the country idyll, and with it Jane’s self-imposed sulking isolation, came to an abrupt end when Lady Mary Sidney arrived, her barge gliding silently up to Chelsea like a black swan darkly silhouetted against a glowing orange sunset. She had come bearing orders from her father, the mighty Northumberland, to bring Jane and Guildford to Syon House “to receive that which has been ordered for you by the King.” More than that she would not say, not even when my sister stamped her foot and demanded, imperiously as a queen, that she be told for what and why she was being summoned.
Guildford did not bother to ask questions. Excited as a child over the idea of an outing, he ran back inside to change his clothes. When he returned, elegantly garbed for travel, with Fluff purring in his arms, he paused to kiss his sister’s cheek and called back casually to his valet to follow directly with his things, then settled himself comfortably in the barge, languorously against the velvet cushions, ready to be off. “This place begins to bore me,” he declared, nonchalantly trailing his fingers through the water.
But, ever balky, endowed with a stubbornness that put every mule in Christendom to shame, Jane resisted, digging her heels in and claiming that she could not go, she was too ill to obey the Duke’s summons even if the King commanded it. She tugged, slapped, and fought against the determined hand Mary Sidney clasped around Jane’s delicate wrist as she endeavored to pull her across the grass to the water stairs, urgently insisting that Jane must obey. “It is necessary for you to come with me, Jane; Father said you must come even if I must give orders to have you bound and carried into the barge, you must come now!”
With an anguished cry, Jane took refuge in unconsciousness and fell fainting to the ground. Before I could reach her, Mary Sidney had already summoned four of the bargemen, clad in the Dudleys’ blue velvet livery with their proud emblem of a bear clutching a ragged staff emblazoned on their chests and sleeves. They easily lifted Jane up, a featherlight burden in her flowing gray silk gown, with her arms outstretched, and her legs straight, like Christ nailed to the cross, and gently carried her to the barge. They laid her on the cushions beside Guildford, who flicked some water onto her moon-pale face on which her freckles stood out like cinnamon stars, Guildford observed, adding languidly that if mathematics didn’t bore him he would be tempted to attempt to count them. His sister did not dally; she clasped me beneath my armpits, despite my protests at this indignity, and nigh threw me into the barge, then climbed in herself and gave the order to “Row! Take us to Syon House!” as we crouched around Jane, rubbing her hands and fanning her, imploring her to open her eyes.
“Yes,” Guildford drawled, “it is such a beautiful sunset; you really should look at it. Lying down as you are, you have the most splendid view; I almost envy you, but I don’t want to take off my hat, it’s so beautiful, or rumple my hair after all the hours I spent on these curls. But”—he heaved a martyr-worthy sigh—“methinks beautiful things—like me—are wasted on you; you just don’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life—like me.” With those words he snapped open the yellow enameled comfit box Father had given him and began nibbling daintily upon a sugared lemon.
I opened the collar of the white lawn partlet that modestly filled the low black-braid bordered square bodice of Jane’s dove gray gown and pressed a damp handkerchief to her throat. She felt feverish to my touch, and I feared the nerve-induced illness that had lately plagued her was returning with a swift vengeance. Mary Sidney quickly poured a goblet of spiced red wine, and as Jane moaned and her eyelids began to flutter, lifted her head and urged her to drink.
Jane sat up, sputtering wine and demanding that we turn around and take her back to Chelsea at once. “I order you!” she screamed, hurling the goblet of wine at the bargemen, and balling her hands into fists and futilely hammering them and her heels against the floor, but they, being Northumberland’s men, ignored her, and Guildford petulantly ordered her, “Do sit still, Jane. You’re rocking the boat and will bring on the mal de mar—that means seasickness,” he added helpfully.
“I know it means seasickness. I speak perfect French, you nitwit!” Jane spat back at him. “And it’s not mal de mar. It’s mal de mer!”
“Who cares?” Guildford shrugged, selecting another sugared lemon from his comfit box. “It’s not the spelling that matters, only the meaning. And everything I say is very meaningful; isn’t that so, Mary?” He turned to his sister for confirmation.
“Yes, dear, very insightful and meaningful,” she promptly agreed, and our little voyage continued in bored, curious, and angry silence, making the two hours it really took seem like an eternity for all of us.
It was after nightfall when we arrived at the erstwhile convent of Syon that the Duke of Northumberland had converted into a country estate for himself as it was situated conveniently near London, so he need never stray too far from the throne and the puppet king whose strings he pulled. We passed through a long, torchlit corridor in which the gray stone walls were covered with ornate gold-fringed tapestries. The house seemed curiously silent, which had the unnerving effect of making our footsteps sound inordinately loud, and strangely deserted for a nobleman’s house; there seemed to be no one, not one single servant, about to welcome or attend us. Just as Guildford was complaining that such laxity deserved the horsewhip, a door at the end of the corridor swung open and the Duke of Northumberland emerged, smiling broadly, to welcome Jane as though she were the only one there and the rest of us were invisible. Guildford was so astonished he couldn’t even speak.
I watched my sister shy warily away from her father-in-law
with fear and mistrust filling her eyes. But he ignored this and led her on, as we tentatively and uncertainly followed, through the door, into a room lit by hundreds of candles with a dais and gilded chair, clearly a makeshift throne, beneath a gold fringed scarlet canopy, at the far end. It was obviously a presence chamber intended for someone great and important to receive visitors or hear petitions.
As soon as Jane entered there was a great rustling as men and women, high born nobles all in fine array, and men who were clearly members of the King’s Council in somber black robes and the heavy golden chains of office they were so proud to wear, broke apart and moved to stand in a double row, facing each other, clearing a path leading up to the throne. As Jane passed them, the ladies curtsied low and the men knelt, all of them murmuring soft and reverent words such as “sovereign lady,” “Your Grace,” “Majesty,” “Your Highness,” and “our gracious queen.”
Jane gasped and leapt back and stumbled against Guildford’s chest. From his arms, Fluff gave a loud hiss and, claws bared, slashed an indignant snowy paw at Jane’s head, tearing the black veil hanging from her hood. “Now see what you’ve done!” Guildford petulantly wailed. “You’ve upset Fluff!” Whereupon he shoved her forward, as his father rushed to reclaim her hand and, walking backward, guided her, like a man pulling on the bridle of the most recalcitrant mule, to the throne even as Jane, meek and pale-faced, shaking with fear, repeating, “No, no, no!” dug in her heels and tried to wrench free, turn, and run away.
But Guildford wouldn’t let her; he stayed right behind her and made sure she kept moving forward. “You cannot run away from this honor. It is your destiny, Jane,” he said, patting her shoulder. “But don’t worry, you have me, and I shall be glad to share it with you. We’re young and beautiful and everyone will love us, once we do something about those plain, drab clothes of yours, of course; they’re so dreary, no wonder you’re so melancholy. And I really think you should have a henna rinse as soon as possible. Picture us standing side by side in the sun, you with your red hair and me with my golden. The people shall worship and adore us!”
I wanted to go to her, but Mary Sidney grabbed my shoulder and drew me back to join the others and gestured for me to follow her example and curtsy. Farther down the line, I saw Kate, standing between the Earl of Pembroke, in his long black robe and heavy gold chain, and frail, flaxen-haired Berry clad head to toe in the most delicate blue. Kate looked radiant in a beautiful gold-braided garnet satin gown with her hair glowing and free-flowing, dancing down her back like a cascade of crackling flames. Feeling my eyes upon her, she leaned forward and looked down the line, and when she saw me, her face brightened and she fluttered her fingers in a merry little wave before, at Berry’s nudging, straightening her back and assuming a properly dignified pose.
“As head of the Council,” Northumberland gravely intoned as he pulled the reluctant and tearful Jane along, “I do now declare the death of his most blessed and gracious Majesty, King Edward VI . . .”
Jane gasped loudly and staggered, and for a moment I feared she would faint. I noticed then that she was the only one who seemed surprised by this news; no one else reacted at all. Then our parents, smiling broader than I had ever before seen them, came from where they had been standing nearest the dais, to embrace and kiss Jane’s cheeks. Beaming as he embraced her, Father declared that he was so proud of her, that she was the shining star of the House of Grey, and even though he had been disappointed at her birth that she was not a boy, she had with this newly attained glory atoned for that more than a thousand times over.
Northumberland cleared his throat loudly, and our parents resumed their places, and, oblivious to Jane’s astonishment and distress, he continued his speech.
“We have cause to rejoice for the virtuous and praiseworthy life that His Majesty hath led, as also for his very good death. Let us take comfort by praising his prudence and goodness, and for the very great care he hath taken of his kingdom at the close of his life, having prayed God to defend it from the rule of his evil sisters.
“His Majesty hath weighed well an Act of Parliament wherein it was already resolved that whosoever should acknowledge the Lady Mary or the Lady Elizabeth and receive them as heirs of the Crown should be had for traitors, one of them having formerly been disobedient to His Majesty’s father, King Henry VIII, and also to himself concerning the true religion. Wherefore in no manner did His Grace wish that they should be his heirs, he being in every way able to disinherit them.”
As Jane shrank back from him in horror, still breathlessly murmuring, “No, No, No!” Northumberland, with a firm, unshakable grip, forced her up the steps of the dais, with a little help from Guildford, who gave a hard push to her rump. Poor Jane would have fallen face-first into the purple velvet cushions had Northumberland not deftly caught her beneath her arms and spun her around and sat her down properly.
“His Majesty hath named Your Grace as the heir to the Crown of England,” he announced, moving to stand beside the throne and gesturing for Guildford to do the same, as he calmly clamped a hand on Jane’s shoulder when she attempted to bolt up from her unwanted seat. “Your sisters shall succeed you if you should happen to die without issue . . .”
With these words, Kate suddenly became more important than she had ever been in her life, or ever imagined she would be, except to the man who loved her. Everyone turned to look at her, to appraise her, with calculating and conniving eyes, considering how she could best serve their interests. Until Jane birthed a child, or if she proved barren, or her babies died, Kate would be the heir to the throne. From now on, people would praise, admire, and flatter her more than ever before when it was only for her beauty, and they would look to her for favors and beg her to intercede with Jane or bring their petitions to her attention. Kate was now a young woman of great importance, after Jane, the highest ranking lady in the land, and I sincerely hoped Berry would be able to help her bear the weight that was about to descend upon her pretty shoulders.
“This declaration hath been approved by all the lords of the Council, most of the peers, and all the judges of the land,” Northumberland continued. “There is nothing wanting but Your Grace’s grateful”—he paused meaningfully as his eyes bored into Jane’s and his fingers dug deeper into the tender flesh of her shoulder—“acceptance of the high estate which God Almighty, the sovereign and disposer of all crowns and scepters—never to be sufficiently thanked by you for so great a mercy—hath advanced you to. Therefore you should cheerfully”—his fingers bit harder—“take upon you the name, title, and estate of Queen of England, receiving at our hands the first fruits of our humble duty, now tendered to you upon our knees”—he paused long enough to kneel—“which shortly will be paid to you by the rest of the kingdom . . .”
With a gesture, he brought the whole room to their knees and every voice swore to be loyal to and defend “even unto death, our sovereign lady, Queen Jane.”
With a wrenching cry, Jane levered herself up from the throne, staggered forward, then fell in a dead faint. Northumberland rose swiftly and stood staring down at her with a grimace of distaste, while Guildford, jostling Fluff from one arm to the other, bent to pull her skirt down into a more modest drape “as only the king and her female attendants should ever see the Queen’s garters.” The highborn lords and ladies made a great show of pretending not to notice. Only Kate and I attempted to break from their ranks and rush to assist her, but Pembroke and Berry held Kate back, adamantly shaking their heads, while Mary Sidney restrained me.
“Guildford, how well you are looking, you look good enough to eat!” Father exclaimed, breaking the awkward silence as Jane lay, defenseless and unconscious, upon the dais, with her hood knocked askew and her gray skirts trailing down the steps like dirty rainwater.
Guildford simpered and preened and, stepping down from the dais to stand before Father, did a little turn to show off his buff-colored doublet and matching hat, both trimmed with layers of white and gold lace, gilt and s
ilk braid, and lustrous gold and white pearls. “Isn’t it delicious? The color is called marzipan; my tailor says it is London’s latest fancy. He says I should never wear anything that doesn’t make people want to devour me!”
“More apt words have never been uttered since God created the earth!” Father agreed. “Mmmm . . . marzipan! A most delicious creation!” His eyes closed and his mouth fell open, and for a moment he seemed lost in a fantasy world before he recovered himself. “I dream of you in marzipan! A gilt marzipan sculpture come to life! How you tempt and tease and torment me!”
Guildford smiled. “I am constantly amazed by how well you understand me!”
There was a groan from the dais as Jane slowly sat up, rubbing the back of her head where it had struck the dais. “No, no,” she said groggily, massaging the small of her back as she maneuvered herself around to sit upon the top step, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, “the Crown is not my right and pleaseth me not! The Lady Mary is the rightful heir!”
“Nay.” Northumberland shook his head as he reached down to jerk Jane to her feet, like a puppet master pulling the strings. “Your Grace does great wrong to yourself and your house!”
“Shut up, Jane, and do as the Duke says! You stupid girl, by the way you’re behaving, anyone would think you were being forced into the tooth-drawer’s chair instead of being honored with a throne!” our lady-mother exclaimed. “It is your duty to obey the last wish of your cousin, King Edward, entrusting you on his deathbed with safeguarding his kingdom so that the light of the Reformed Faith should not be snuffed out as it surely would if Papist Mary came to the throne! Do you want the Pope’s good shepherdess leading us all back to the Catholic fold, bringing the Spanish Inquisition to our shores, and burning those who resist? Is that what you really want? To end the enlightenment and go back to the dark ages, the Catholic creed, selling of indulgences, and Latin litanies? Enough of that, Hal! Here! Wipe that drool off your face!” she snapped angrily, impatiently thrusting her handkerchief at Father, as she moved swiftly past him to take Guildford’s arm, and, rather forcefully I noticed, urge him back up onto the dais “to stand beside your lady, until such time as we can have another throne made for you, Your Grace.”
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