“I wouldn’t agree to have him back here in any case,” said Francis.
“Well, it doesn’t arise,” said Perkins. “But the mistress says she’ll have naught to do with Mistress Sybil and the Stonecrop people are welcome to her.”
“How was she found?” Jane asked.
“I found her, mistress. I’d been riding out each day, first this direction, then that, and eventually I came across the place. It’s in Culbone parish—there’s a tiny little hamlet and a little church, both called Culbone, not far away, down in the woods toward the sea. The farm’s up on the edge of the moors, though, away from the woods. Bleak kind of place. She looked tired,” he said with some compassion, “and I reckon she works as hard there as she ever did with us, but she told me she was happy and that she was being paid. I suppose that’s a point. She can go to Porlock now and again and buy herself the sort of gewgaws women like.”
“Francis,” pleaded Jane, “couldn’t Sybil come home?”
Francis flushed an angry red and Eleanor said, “Better not. At least we know that Sybil is safe with respectable people.”
“Quite. I’ve said I won’t have her back and I keep my word,” Francis said coldly. “As for you, Jane, you should put your mind to your own future. And if you don’t like it, blame Sybil. If she had behaved herself, I wouldn’t be sending you to court. One sister there is an investment, but two would be an extravagance. However, as things are, it’s your duty to me.”
Jane, also recognizing the signs of Francis’s temper, said no more, but that night she knelt by her bed and once more prayed that no court vacancy would ever arise.
For some time, it seemed that her prayers were still being heard, for no vacancy came about and in late October the news reached them that the queen had borne the king the son he wanted, and had then died. There was no queen at court now, needing ladies to attend her.
Jane, mindful of the health of her soul, did not this time let herself feel glad that another young woman had lost her life. But the sense of freedom, of safety, of knowing for certain that she could not now be sent to the court, was immense.
Until the January of 1540, when King Henry, for the fourth time, got married.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Icy Welcome
1540
“There’s Greenwich Palace,” said Ralph Palmer to Jane, standing in the bows of the hired barge which was bringing the party to the court. “See—those towers and turrets—against the sky, to the right.”
“So we’re nearly there,” said Jane bleakly.
“I wonder what this new Queen Anna is like,” said Dorothy Stone, emerging from the little covered cabin amidships, pulling her furred cloak around her more tightly and thrusting herself determinedly into the conversation, as she had been doing whenever she saw Jane and Ralph in anything like private talk. Jane glanced at her with irritation.
She had known Ralph all her life, as a kinsman, albeit a distant one. She understood now that their common ancestor had been Ralph’s great-grandfather and Jane’s great-great-grandfather. Their cousinship was therefore remote and Ralph was certainly handsome, but the simple fact that they had known each other since childhood was enough to make Jane regard him as a brother rather than a possible suitor.
She knew, too, that his family, especially his stern father, Luke, and the wealthy London cousin, Sir Edmund Flaxton, to whom she owed her appointment to court, intended him to make a grand marriage or at least a moneyed one, and Ralph would not cross his family’s wishes. The Sweetwaters were not as wealthy as they used to be and certainly were nowhere near as rich as the Stones. Ralph’s father was acquainted with Thomas Stone and Francis had told her, before she left home, that there was talk of betrothing Ralph to Dorothy.
“Once Dorothy has had a little court burnish, of course,” Francis said. “She’s a pallid little thing and hardly ever has a word to say for herself. You and she will travel there together.”
“Very well,” said Jane without enthusiasm.
“I can’t escort you,” Francis said. “I have too much to see to here, but Dr. Spenlove and Eleanor will accompany you. Dorothy’s father is going with her and Ralph is going to court, too, and will also be in the party. Now, Jane, make sure you don’t—er—upset the plans for Ralph and Dorothy in any way. You know what I mean.”
She knew perfectly well what he meant, but could not see that merely talking to Ralph, as she had talked to him a thousand times already, was going to upset anything. Dorothy’s attitude was embarrassing and a nuisance. Well, it was cold out here on the river anyway. Quietly she withdrew to the cabin in Dorothy’s stead.
It was January, a terrible month for travelling. They should have set out sooner but their departure had been delayed by storms, and the journey had been slow. Floods after heavy rain had repeatedly forced them out of their way, and then the weather had turned bitter, with winds that penetrated the sturdiest riding cloaks as though they were made of tissue paper.
When they left their horses at Kingston and hired barges instead, Jane hoped the Thames would be warmer, but it was worse, with a leaden sky reflected in the water, and sleet on the wind. She had wondered at times if this arctic journey would ever end. Not that I wanted to start out on it in the first place, she said to herself, sitting down disconsolately in the cabin.
She was not alone in it, since Eleanor was there, and so was Dr. Amyas Spenlove, the chaplain who for the past three years or so had led daily prayers at Allerbrook. He was by nature rubicund and jolly, but didn’t seem so just now. On the contrary, he looked pinched and unhappy. Dr. Spenlove was an indoor man. In a world where printing had turned the making of illuminated manuscripts into a dying art, there were still people who loved them, and creating the colourful pages was Spenlove’s hobby. Over the years he had become quite well known. At the moment he was preparing a set of the four Gospels for a Taunton gentleman.
In his room at Allerbrook he had a cupboard full of pigments and fixatives and a locked drawer containing gold and silver leaf, and a smeary table to work on. He hated being separated from his hobby and he hated cold weather. He was also, as Jane knew, sorry for her. She had admitted to him, as they rode, that she loved Allerbrook and did not want to leave it to go to court, and although he had said all the expected things, such as “You’ll enjoy yourself once you’re there,” she had seen sympathy in his eyes. He wasn’t liking this journey at all, either on her behalf or his own.
Also in the cabin were the two middle-aged tirewomen Thomas Stone and Francis had found in Taunton.
“Maid of honour is a dignified post. You must have your own woman servant,” Francis had told Jane. “Thomas Stone is looking for one for Dorothy, as well. We’ll choose sensible women, skilled at their work and not too young.”
Eleanor and the two sensible women were talking together just now and they all smiled at Jane as she stooped her head under the cabin door, but although she smiled back, she sat down as far apart from them as the cramped conditions would allow. Eleanor glanced at her thoughtfully, but let her be, for which Jane was grateful.
At home there would be a roaring fire in the hall on a day like this, the sheep and cattle would be in the shippon, and the moors above the house would be dark and brooding and yet beautiful in their stern way. The trees in Allerbrook combe would be leafless, so that the sound of the swift Allerbrook would come up clearly, especially after the recent rain. She had not dared to protest when the news came that a place in the new queen’s entourage was hers. But now, less than a fortnight after leaving home, she was so homesick that she didn’t know how to endure it, and they hadn’t even landed at Greenwich yet!
They were arriving now. The plash of the oars had ceased and the barge was gliding silently onward under its own momentum. Ralph appeared. “Time to go ashore,” he said.
Jane obeyed, followed by the other three women and the chaplain. Dorothy was already stepping ashore on her father’s arm. Through stinging sleet they all beheld the palace fro
ntage, stretching left and right, full of windows, adorned with the towers and turrets that Ralph had pointed out. Straight ahead was a doorway, reached by a broad flight of steps. Heads bowed against the sleet, the party ran for shelter. There were guards at the top of the steps, but a large, impressive gentleman with a blond beard stepped out to greet them and led them quickly inside, into a wide vestibule.
“I’ve had someone looking out for new arrivals. When he said a barge was approaching, I hoped it would be you,” he said.
He had a heavy mantle edged with beaver fur and a thick gold chain across the chest of his black velvet doublet, and though he was not old, he had considerable presence. Jane, concluding that he was a senior court official, promptly curtsied with cheerful informality. Ralph, however, gave a perfunctory bow and said, “Hallo, Edmund!”
“Ralph! At last!”
“This is Sir Edmund Flaxton,” said Ralph, turning to the others. “My cousin—and yours as well, Jane. You’re related to him in exactly the same way as you’re related to me. He’s younger than me, believe it or not. It’s the mantle and the gold chain that give him all that gravitas.”
“You’re a cheeky puppy,” said Sir Edmund amiably. “Behave.”
“Edmund, we all want to thank you.” Ralph spoke seriously and then once more addressed the new arrivals. “He’s worked himself ragged to arrange your appointment here, Mistress Sweetwater, and yours, too, Mistress Stone, when your fathers and I requested it.”
“We are all very grateful for your endeavours,” said Thomas Stone gravely and Eleanor, who had also sunk into a deep curtsy, echoed, “Yes, most grateful” in heartfelt tones.
Ralph performed further introductions and Sir Edmund told them all to come with him. “I’ve an apartment in the palace and I’ve already bespoken some wine and hot pasties. My wife isn’t here—she’s at home in Kent with our little boy, Giles—but I’ve good servants with me. You must all be perished after travelling on water in this weather. Where did you leave your horses?”
“Kingston, to be collected on the way home,” said Dr. Spenlove glumly. “We understood that stabling couldn’t be provided here, and by the time we got to Kingston, the poor beasts had had enough, anyway. The journey was difficult. I fear we’ve arrived much later than we expected.”
“Yes. You’ve missed the wedding, as a matter of fact. This way,” said Sir Edmund.
The route to his rooms was lengthy, across courtyards through long passageways with ornate ceilings, but finally he stopped, put a key into the lock of an unobtrusive door and showed them into a well-furnished parlour with a bedchamber visible beyond a wide archway in the farther wall. A fire sent out blessed waves of heat.
“Please sit down, everyone,” Sir Edmund said. “Yes, all of you. You all look frozen.” The two tirewomen had been hanging back, but accepted the invitation thankfully. “It’s no wonder that you’re late,” their host said as they settled themselves. “Winter travelling is so difficult. But it’s a pity you took so long.”
“We made what speed we could,” said Thomas Stone anxiously. “The appointments are sound, are they not? I mean…”
“Yes, yes, perfectly sound.” Sir Edmund paused as two manservants came in with the wine and pasties he had mentioned. “Here—you probably need this. You’ve had an icy welcome.” He waited until they had been served and the servants had gone and then said, “Presently I’ll call someone to show the young ladies to their quarters and introduce them to Queen Anna and the rest of her household. But I think I had better explain the situation. If you’d been here earlier, you’d have seen it develop, but as things are…”
They looked at him in surprise, waiting for him to go on. “It’s very difficult,” he said, “and confidential. The wedding was three days ago, on the sixth of January. Since then, alas…Oh, how hard it is to explain! I must warn you. It’s no secret within the court, and if I don’t tell you, you’ll soon hear everything, but all the same, it must not be bruited about outside. The king is not pleased with his bargain. I must also tell you that Queen Anna herself seems unaware of this. She is, I think, a very decent and…and innocent lady.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Thomas. “You’re not making yourself clear.”
Sir Edmund looked at him and turned red.
“You mean,” said Ralph shrewdly, “that the marriage is no marriage and may not hold?”
“King Henry tried his best to get out of it before the vows were taken,” said Sir Edmund. “There was some talk of a pre-contract. But Queen Anna took an oath that it was untrue and that she was free to marry, and so that way of escape was blocked. You young ladies are coming into a delicate situation. You must walk carefully and watch your tongues, and how long there will be a queen in need of maids of honour or ladies-in-waiting, I wouldn’t like to guess.”
“But he can’t…he wouldn’t…!” gasped Eleanor.
“If there has been no carnal knowledge,” said Thomas, “he won’t need to do anything drastic. There could be an annulment. He certainly can’t behead the daughter of a noble European house, even if he manages to…er…invent…”
“Hmm,” said Ralph. “I’d heard that when His Majesty first began seeking a bride to replace Jane Seymour, Christina, the daughter of the Duchess of Milan, said she’d only marry him if she had two heads and therefore a neck to spare.”
“No one’s hiding behind any of my tapestries,” said Sir Edmund, “but there are things it isn’t advisable to say out loud. Tread carefully, cousin Ralph.”
He looked at Jane and Dorothy. “And be kind to Queen Anna. Protect her as long as you can. She, too, has had an icy welcome and she doesn’t deserve it. As a matter of fact, she is winning hearts at court and elsewhere. She is kind to her household and charitable to the poor. The only heart she can’t win, apparently, is King Henry’s!”
CHAPTER NINE
Strange New World
1540
Jane’s first impressions of life at court were blurred by bewilderment and loneliness. Of those who had come with her, Dorothy was soon the only one left and she had never been close to Dorothy. Thomas Stone, Dr. Spenlove and Eleanor left for home almost at once. Ralph stayed for two weeks, but was then taken away by Sir Edmund to a house party in Kent. After that, to all intents and purposes, Jane was alone.
She liked the new queen, though. Anna of Cleves was not beautiful, since her complexion was lustreless and her eyes heavy lidded, but she had a sweet smile and gracious manners. When Dorothy remarked to Jane that the new queen was ugly and had hardly any English, she received a sharp answer.
“She’s in a foreign country, trying to find her feet, and I think she’s got a lovely smile,” snapped Jane. “If you had to go and live in Germany, I wonder how fast you’d learn the language?”
And if there had ever been the faintest hope that because they, too, were finding their feet in a strange new world, Dorothy and Jane would draw together and make friends, it died at that moment.
Mistress Lowe, the stately matron in charge of the maids of honour, was more than a little intimidating. One of the first things that she impressed on the new arrivals was how much there was to learn. There was a routine to get used to, protocol to study and crowds of people whose identities had to be memorized just like the details of the routine.
Mistress Lowe undertook the introductions, to the court officials, the other ladies and maids of honour. There were so many that they made Jane feel dizzy.
“Mistress Sweetwater, Mistress Stone, these ladies have come from Cleves, to serve Queen Anna. This is Gertrude, this is Hanna, this is Eva…”
Of the German women, only Hanna had any English to speak of, and to Jane, they all looked alike—heavily built and dowdy. But the English women at the queen’s side were nearly as confusing. How will I ever remember all these names? Jane wondered in a panic as she and Dorothy were introduced to Mary, to Elizabeth, to another Mary, to Susanna and Elise. “And this is Madam Elizabeth, the king’s daug
hter.”
Madam Elizabeth was a small, solemn, redheaded girl, and she at least would be easy to remember, though in the event, Jane saw little of her, since she had her own apartments and rarely came into the presence of either the queen or the king. Another who was easy to remember, however, and was very much part of the queen’s entourage, was “Kate Howard, our youngest maid of honour.”
Kate Howard looked no more than fifteen and was as pretty as a rose, with winning manners. “You are a good girl,” Mistress Lowe said to her once when she had managed to soothe the hurt feelings of Hanna, who was sensitive. “You are like oil in a stiff lock.”
The maids of honour were supposed always to be near their mistress and ready to run errands. Jane found this hair-raising at first, as she was never sure where she was supposed to go or how to recognize whoever it was she was supposed to speak to. The principal officials, who carried white sticks as a sign of office and were actually called White Staves, all looked as dignified as emperors, while their supporting staff, who worked in a perfect warren of rooms, seemed as numerous as an army.
There was a huge department called Greencloth Accounting—because of the green-covered table at which daily conferences were held—which was entirely devoted to ordering food supplies, paying the suppliers, planning menus and dispensing the ingredients to the kitchens. Queen Anna sometimes wished for dishes not familiar to the English cooks, and Jane’s first errand was to the Greencloth Department, armed with a recipe, written out in English by the bilingual Hanna.
She lost her way three times and when she did find the right place, though people were polite and accepted the recipe she presented to them, she felt presumptuous, like a small child trying to give instruction to adults.
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