Brandy Purdy

by The Queen's Rivals

  The Dudley men were soon arrested and led back to London in chains as the people hissed and reviled them, shouting, “Death to the traitors!” They pelted them with horse turds scooped from the street, rotten eggs, and cabbages; some even brought their chamber pots to hurl the contents at the detested Dudleys, who walked tall and proud through this rain of filth as though they were being showered with gold and silver.

  On the days when Jane, through sheer will, dragged herself from her bed, she sat listlessly, wan and feverish, upon her unwanted throne, decked in her undesired finery, tensely awaiting the end, watching the number of her attendants steadily dwindle. And Guildford, to whom she had contemptuously thrown the dukedom of Clarence, like a bone to a dog, kept to his own rooms, dining in state with his ducal coronet perched upon his golden head while his musicians played, having fittings with his tailors, and filling the Tower with an ungodly screeching as Maestro Cocozza diligently plucked out the scales on the ivory keys of the virginals.

  Then it was all over. It lasted just nine days; people would later speak of it in awe as “the nine days’ wonder.” I remember so well that tense, hot day, July 19, 1553, when Jane, in gold-embroidered, spice-orange velvet, sat tensely upon her throne beneath the crimson canopy of estate, which seemed to weep golden tears, as all the bells in London rang, and an ecstatic nation, delirious with joy, danced in the streets, flung their hats high in the air, and cried, “Long live our good Queen Mary, long may she reign!”

  Wine flowed freely in the conduits, strangers embraced strangers, and nine months later many babes would be born, and the female ones christened Mary in honor of the woman whose ascension they had been celebrating during the conception. Suddenly the great, carven double doors slammed open and Father rushed in, golden spurs jangling noisily on his high leather boots, a big, sticky bun clutched in each hand, and his mouth rimmed and auburn beard crusted thick with cinnamon and sugar like hoarfrost. At first we could not understand what he was saying and stared at him blankly, trying to puzzle out the mumbled jumble of pastry-muffled words. He quickly gobbled down one of the buns to free one hand and swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with his tawny velvet sleeve. He strode across the room to Jane. Ever one for a dramatic gesture, Father leapt up and ripped the canopy of estate down from over Jane’s head. “You must put off your regal robes, my daughter, and content yourself with a private life,” he said with a crestfallen sigh before turning to the remaining bun for consolation.

  “I much more willingly put them off than I ever put them on,” Jane answered. “Out of obedience to you and my lady-mother, I have grievously sinned. I most willingly relinquish the Crown.”

  But Father wasn’t listening. He crammed the last bit of bun into his mouth and pulled a jet-beaded rosary from his pocket, and out he ran, waving it wildly in the air for all to see, ignoring Jane’s plaintive question, uttered with a sense of great relief as she slumped back gratefully against the velvet cushions of her unwanted throne: “Father, may I go home now?”

  But it was too late, Father was already gone, and I doubted he had even heard. I caught a glimpse of him from the window, dancing a joyful jig on Tower Green, waving his rosary in the air, and shouting, “God save Mary, the one true queen, long may she live and reign! Ho there, you, old woman by the gate! I’ll have two more of those buns; I think they must be the best in London!”

  When Guildford wandered in and was told what had just happened, he just shrugged. “Here today, gone tomorrow.” He sighed. “Now where is Maestro Cocozza? Now that the Devil is done tempting me with the lure of a golden crown, it’s time for my music lesson. I must work even harder now. Since I am a duke’s son, I have always had to work very hard, to prove myself, as no one takes me seriously, so this is really a blessing in disguise. Just think how much harder it would be if I were King; then they would only applaud out of politeness and to flatter me. I could croak like a frog or yowl like a cat in heat and they would still throw roses at my feet and tell me how wonderful I am. But I don’t want that—I want them to really mean it! I want people to hear my voice and weep! Because it’s so beautiful,” he added as an afterthought, lest there be any misunderstanding.

  While Guildford’s voice was soaring zealously over the scales, displaying a great zest to conquer, Kate skipped in. She was wearing a new gown of “ashes and embers,” which she twirled prettily to display. A pert, little, round, feathered hat of dark gray velvet trimmed with orange roses crowned her cascade of coppery curls, long ropes of black pearls swung and clacked about her neck all the way down to her waist, and her favorite fire opals flashed against her throat, breast, and fingers. She was carrying the most adorable little dog, a tawny bundle of fluff with eyes like black buttons and a turned-up tail that it fluttered like the most graceful plume. Kate had even tied an orange satin bow around his neck.

  Jane was by then lying listlessly on her bed, stripped down to her shift, with a cold cloth draped over her brow, trying to ease her pounding head and cool the persistently simmering fever that stubbornly refused to leave her, but she raised her head long enough to chide Kate for being so pretentious. “Embers and ashes indeed!” she scoffed. “Why not just call it dark gray and orange since that’s obviously what it is?”

  But Kate just smiled, set down her little dog, and went to take Jane’s hand.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I am glad to put off this regal burden as I never desired it,” Jane answered. “Truly, by accepting it I showed a great want of prudence. But what’s done is done,” she said stoically. “We can never go back, only forward, and I must wait and face whatever punishment is decreed for me.”

  “Cousin Mary will understand that none of this was your doing,” I tried to reassure her, telling her what I indeed believed as we had never known anything but kindness from our royal cousin. “You must write to her and tell her all that happened, that you never desired this and knew nothing of it beforehand, that you were forced to accept the Crown. Put the blame where it belongs, on Northumberland, and I am sure she will pardon you.”

  “Of course she will! It doesn’t even bear brooding about!” Kate declared, hopping up and crossing the room to examine the glittering heaps of finery, some yet unfinished, others just waiting to be stored away with sachets of lavender in the great gilded and carved wardrobe chests.

  Across the room, Kate and I exchanged glances. Each knew what the other was thinking. We smiled, and Kate darted back to grasp Jane’s hand as I scrambled down from the bed and took the other one.

  “Just one last time!” Kate said as we pulled Jane from the bed and led her to stand in the center of the room.

  We acted as her handmaidens and bathed her naked body with rosewater before lowering a fresh lawn shift edged in gold embroidery over her head. While I knelt to roll gold-embroidered white stockings up Jane’s limbs, tie her white satin garters below her knees, and ease her feet into a pair of new golden slippers, Kate laced her stays and fastened a padded bum roll around her narrow hips to lend a feminine fullness there and give her skirts a beautiful bell-like sway. Then came the petticoats, new, white, and crisp. And then . . . it was time for the dress! A pale, walnut-colored silk figured with grandiose gold arabesques, whirling and swirling everywhere, to beguile and bedazzle the eye, over a rich, diamond-latticed petticoat of gold upon gold. The full gold and white striped sleeves were slashed with cloth-of-gold and garnished with loops of pearls and gold and diamond clasps, with frills of golden lace at the wrists. It was the dress that would have been her coronation gown.

  Kate pinned a gold and pearl filigree brooch to the low, square bodice. I handed Kate a necklace of golden dewberries interspersed with pearls, and she fastened it around Jane’s neck, then, dipping into the jewel coffer herself, Kate chose a long, v-shaped gold necklace set with diamonds and beautiful deep green agates, each one carved with a star, that ended with a great tassel of Venice gold that hung almost to Jane’s waist. Around her waist, I fastened a girdle of go
ld filigree and pearls with a beautiful ornament of gold and dangling pearls attached to the end, but Jane unclasped this and asked that I bring her black velvet-bound prayer book from the table beside her bed and attach it there instead, which I did. Then Jane obediently slipped her arms through a sleeveless robe of ermine-bordered gold brocade that Kate held up for her.

  I brought a stool for Jane to sit upon, then Kate, whose nimble fingers had always been clever with coiffures, brushed Jane’s still shedding hair, which still hung only a little ways past her shoulders, and braided it with gold ribbons and ropes of pearls, and rolled it up into a becoming little bun speared with diamond-tipped pins and crowned her with a delicate circlet of gold filigree and pearls.

  When Jane was ready, the three of us went to stand before the big, silver looking glass that had been brought in to replace the one Jane had broken her first day in the Tower.

  There we stood, Jane in her golden royal regalia, Kate in her fashionable embers and ashes gown and feathered hat, and me in my deep green damask blooming with teal roses.

  “Go on,” Kate prompted, giving Jane an encouraging nod.

  Jane hesitated only a moment before she stepped up to the mirror and declared herself, “The brilliant one!”

  Kate followed, with a sunny smile and a pert sashay of her hips. “The beautiful one!”

  Then I stepped forward. “The beastly little one!”

  We clung together and laughed until we wept. But Kate would not let us give in to sorrow.

  “Come, Mary!” She rushed around to gather up the hem of Jane’s heavy golden robe, and I hurried to help. Jane, casting her habitual solemnity aside, to be once again—just one last time!—a little girl playacting, pretending to be queen, raised her chin high and swept grandly out into the presence chamber and took her place upon the throne for what we all knew would be the last time.

  Kate and I arranged the folds of her robe gracefully around her feet and sat on the top step of the dais, each of us reaching up to take one of Jane’s hands, as we waited for the inevitable.

  As the wild jubilation continued outside the windows, with a party on every street in London, joy spilling from every door and window, we sat and waited. Guildford peeped in for a moment then disappeared. We shared a glance, disdaining him for being a coward, for deserting us. But we misjudged him. A little while later he reappeared in his splendid gold coronation suit with a servant walking behind him, carrying a gilded chair. At a nod from Guildford, the man placed it on the dais next to Jane’s throne and Guildford sat down. Kate smilingly relinquished Jane’s hand, and Guildford took it, and this time Jane did not pull away.

  Thus Sir John Bridges and the guards found us, sitting as though we were posing for our portrait. Very gently, he informed Jane and Guildford that they must vacate the royal apartments and come with him now.

  Hand in hand, Jane and Guildford descended the dais, as grand as a king and queen about to lead the opening dance at a court ball, and as she swept past us both, Kate and I reached out to smooth and straighten the folds of her gold and ermine train. As they faced their guards, Guildford turned to Jane and leaned down and gently kissed her lips.

  “I am sorry,” he said, “for depriving you of the pleasure and consolation of my body these last days.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Jane answered, then added as a soft, hesitant afterthought, “I forgive you.”

  “Of course you do.” Guildford nodded understandingly and smiled, still holding her hand, massaging the back of it with his thumb. “I’m much too beautiful for anyone to stay angry at for long.”

  Then the guards led them away. At the last moment, Jane shrugged off her royal robe. “ ’Tis a great, cumbersome thing, and I shall not be needing it where I am going,” she explained as she bunched it up as best she could and tossed it to Kate. In the open doorway, she paused and turned back and implored us to “please tell Mrs. Ellen to bring my books.”

  Then she was gone.

  Mercifully, a dungeon was not our sister’s destination. Speaking soft and gentle, to try to allay her fears, and gesturing for the guards to fall behind as they crossed the Tower Green, Sir John escorted her to the pleasant home of the equally pleasant gentleman gaoler, Master Partridge, and his wife, which adjoined his own fine timbered residence, and possessed an excellent view so she “could sit by the window for hours and watch all the doings and comings and goings” at the Tower. She might even, if she liked, walk out to enjoy the gardens and fresh air or to feed the Tower ravens.

  “A pack of greedy voracious pets they are, my lady,” Sir John said fondly as one of the big, black birds lighted in his path and gave a great squawk before taking wing again. “You are to be treated well, my lady,” he assured her, “and have naught to fear from any of us.” He paused and added meaningfully, “We know ’twas all none of your doing, and though some would adjudge you a traitor, you are an innocent one and have every hope of receiving the Queen’s pardon in due course; it’s sure to come when things have settled some.”

  The Partridges were a well-named couple, plump, amiable, and smiling. Introducing themselves as “Nate and Nelly,” they greeted Jane warmly as though she were their much-loved niece. Mrs. Partridge had even baked some apple tarts to welcome Jane and told her that she was “bound and determined to put some meat on your poor bones.” Mrs. Ellen and Mrs. Tylney were already there. It turned out that there was no need for us to convey Jane’s message; they had anticipated her desire and were already busily unpacking the plain garb that Jane preferred, putting her beloved books on the shelves, and arranging her desk before the window, so she would have the best light for writing. Nelly Partridge herself had already made up the bed fresh with fat, goose down pillows and a bright quilt “to help chase out any gloom from the room.”

  Poor Guildford was not so fortunate; he was taken to the Beauchamp Tower, albeit to a commodious and comfortable cell that he was to share with his brothers, and the Dudleys’ wealth afforded them many luxuries denied to common prisoners. Guildford was even allowed to have Fluff and all his fine clothes with him, and many delicacies and fine wines for their table. They even had apples to feed to the porcupines in the Tower menagerie, to which the brothers had taken a fancy.

  There was no more we could do at the Tower, so we hired a barge to take us back to Baynard’s Castle. Kate kissed me and said, “All will be well,” and even let me hold her little dog, whose name she said was Cinnamon.

  But all would not be well, and even more unpleasant news awaited us at Baynard’s Castle. A maid met us at the door and said we must go straight in to the earl’s study. The Earl of Pembroke had, with the rest of the Council, thrown a cap of gold in the air and declared himself all for Mary, and he would not suffer his only son to be bound in “pernicious wedlock with the daughter and sister of traitors.” Kate’s marriage—fortuitously yet unconsummated—must be annulled right away. Her things had already been packed and sent on to Suffolk House, and all her animals too, and she was to be turned out, to go to the devil or wherever pleased her; it was a matter of complete indifference to her formerly fond and indulgent father-in-law, who now stood there staring at her as though she were a loathsome, leprous thing he could not bear the sight of.

  With a heartrending cry that brought tears to my eyes, Kate fell on her knees and clung to him, sobbing out her love for Berry and begging that he let her stay. Spying her husband, watching covertly from behind a velvet curtain, Kate reached out an entreating hand to him, but he hadn’t the courage to defy his father and, with tears in his eyes, and mouthing the words “I’m sorry!” Berry turned away.

  “Kate”—I pulled at her and pleaded—“do not so humble and demean yourself before this man; neither he nor his cowardly, milksop son are worth it!”

  But Kate would not hear or heed me, and her tears fell on the Earl of Pembroke’s shoes like rain as she groveled shamelessly, forgetting all pride and thinking only of love.

  In desperation, she lunged up and g
rabbed Berry’s arm, forcing him to stand with her before his father.

  “You cannot annul our marriage,” she said boldly, lying blatantly. “It has been consummated. We defied Northumberland’s edict, and I may be with child.” She laid a hand on her belly. “Surely you would not want to risk your grandson being born a bastard? Berry is frail and sickly, and you have no other son, or daughter either, so unless he gets a son, your line will die with you!”

  Oh, Kate! My jaw dropped and I shook my head as I stood there, dumbfounded. I could not believe what she was doing. What did she hope to gain by this deception? Time to drag it out and be hurt all the more? A slow torture instead of a swift end? She could not hope to have the chance to get Berry alone and make the lie true. If he decided to be patient and wait to see if Kate bled, Pembroke would be sure to have them watched even more vigilantly than ever before. Stop, Kate, stop! I wanted to shake her and shout. You are fighting a losing battle that you cannot win! Recollect your pride and leave this sorry wretch and his sniveling boy with your head held high! You deserve better and you can find it!

  The Earl of Pembroke took a step forward and stared straight into the stormy ocean of Kate’s blue gray eyes, still glimmering wet with the tears of her heart.