A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  Jane, although she was, as her father often said, more intelligent than a mere girl had any right to be, was very superstitious. She feared thunder since she had once been told as a very young child that it was a sign of God's displeasure. There were several seemingly petty things that alarmed her imagination, but this was not unnatural, as it was an age that was almost ruled by superstition, and fear of the Lord. It was this great fear of God that made men of conscience punish their less pious brothers in the hope of winning a home for their own souls in the promised land.

  Catherine Howard had been imprisoned for a short time in Syon House, and for Jane, a more impressive omen was not needed. King Henry VIII's coffin had also been brought there, where it was said that a dog licked his blood, as a bold friar had long ago foretold.

  Jane would have liked to disobey Northumberland's summons, and did not hesitate to tell Mary Sidney so. She was quite unprepared for the effect of her words. Mary's taut little mouth opened slowly and when she spoke, her voice was chilly and harshly penetrating.

  'That would hardly be very respectful, Madam.'

  'He deserves no better,' Jane retorted vehemently. Her horrible fears did not decrease. Why had Northumberland sent for her?

  'I trust I find you in good health, madam,' Guildford murmured, raising his wife's hand to his lips as she gracefully alighted from her barge. Her eyes were huge with fear and suspicion but she held her head high.

  Jane snatched her hand away quite rudely, noting with pleasure her mother-in-law's petulant frown. She curtsied indifferently before the Duke of Northumberland.

  'Why no, daughter!' the Duke exclaimed, 'It is I who should bow to you.'

  Before Jane could utter the crushing reply that rose to her lips, he swept off his hat and cried, 'The King is dead. Long live Queen Jane.'

  Jane, in her bewilderment, looked far from queenly. She was like a timid little girl who does not enjoy suddenly finding herself the centre of adulation and wants to hide behind the skirts of her mother.

  Northumberland smiled at his astounded daughter-in-law. 'The things I do for you, my dear. His Majesty died in peace, having done his Kingly duty by naming you his successor. Should you and your noble husband, my Lord Guildford, fail to provide legitimate heirs, and I think that most unlikely, the crown will pass to your most worthy sister, the Lady Katherine.'

  It was too much for Jane, who had suffered so much in the past few months. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. She felt faint, weightless, and her face was cold with tears that seemed to grow colder every second.

  She heard a voice as if from a great distance. 'She's going to faint.' And she thought she heard drums throbbing in her ears.

  As she swayed, she saw her husband's face, white with alarm. He caught her in his arms to steady her, and Jane clung to him, battling against the nausea that threatened to overcome her. Contact with him smoothed her frayed nerves, her strength began to return.

  'Let me take her to her rooms now,' Guildford said. 'I fear she is overwhelmed by this sudden surprise. Come, Jane.'

  'No,' she said, 'I'm all right now.'

  Despite her muffled protests, her husband lifted her into his arms, and the illustrious company, shocked into silence, fell back respectfully, to let him through. Humiliated but helpless, Jane was carried past those staring eyes and up the magnificent staircase of Syon House.

  'Soon you'll be yourself,' Guildford soothed her, carefully laying her on the bed. 'Shall I send for your women?'

  She shook her head, focusing her eyes with difficulty on his face. Quietly, he removed her head-dress and slippers and loosened her gown.

  'How you women manage to get dressed in the morning, let alone get through the whole day in all this depressing armour baffles me,' he said with a smile. 'But then, I always said women were far tougher than men.' He bathed her face and then proceeded to comb her hair. 'Now I shall go down in history as the first person to wait on Queen Jane.'

  'Please don't remind me,' Jane snapped irritably. She burst into tears and began to thump the satin cushions with her tightly clenched fists. 'I don't want to be Queen. Oh, how foolish I was to think that, by marrying you, I should be saved from the Crown. Oh God, they can't make me! I won't let them.'

  'Be quiet. Do you want everyone in the house to hear you?'

  'I don't care who hears me.'

  Guildford, angered by what he thought to be her childish defiance, furious with himself because he couldn't help her, strode out of the room.

  Presently, her father hammered on her bedroom door, demanding to be admitted. 'You'll be the disgrace of us all,' he reproached her.

  'And you and people like you are a disgrace to the human race,' Jane shouted. 'It's absolute treason to put me on the throne and you know it. Well, you can plot and scheme with the upstart Northumberland in dark corners, like two page boys planning to steal a slice of beef, but I will not do what you say. I will not expose myself to the vengeance of a woman like Mary Tudor. I will not be Queen.'

  'You will do as I say or, as God is my witness, I'll beat the impertinence out of you yet.'

  'God would not care to witness your callousness,' taunted Jane. 'And you can't frighten me with threats any more. I don't care what you do to me.'

  The Duke shot her a puzzled glance. This shrill, nervous, shaking girl was not the serene child who had worked with such quiet perseverance in the big red manor at Bradgate. Could she possibly be struggling against the nausea of her first pregnancy?

  Jane laughed bitterly as his searching gaze slid over her, guessing his thoughts. 'No, Father, you're not going to have a grandchild, and I don't advise you to pray too fervently for one.'

  Suffolk scowled and went to commune with his lady wife. After he had gone Jane had a sudden terrifying thought. Surely this was the room where Catherine Howard had passed those dismal hours, while waiting to be carried to the Tower? It seemed such a short time since Jane had stood at a window in the palace at Hampton Court and pictured the youthful, impulsive Queen laying her thoughtless head on the block. She remembered poor Catherine Parr's grim years on the throne, nervous, restless, trembling at the sound of every footstep, lest it be Henry Tudor's men coming to lead her away to her doom. Nobody knew better than Jane what mental agony Henry's sixth wife had endured. All the queens Jane had ever known had been unhappy ladies. Was she to join them in their terror?

  She cried aloud, bringing her women to her bedside.

  'I want the Archbishop of Canterbury,' she wept. Cranmer was her friend and she needed him now as never before.

  Thomas Cranmer found her sitting on a low stool by the fire for, even in July, Syon House could be chilly at night. She was wearing a very simple green gown and no jewels, except for her wedding ring. With her fair hair falling to her hips, she looked pathetically young, like a frightened little girl.

  'You sent for me. Your Grace.'

  Jane raised a pale, strained face and extended her hand to him, imploringly.

  'Please, my Lord, don't address me so formally. It sounds cold, and I am more in need of honest friendship now than I ever was. You are my friend, aren't you?'

  'You know I am,' Cranmer answered warmly. He took her hand and sat down beside her, thinking that she was the seventh English queen he had served. Was that why she had summoned him here?

  'Tell me,' Jane begged. 'You visited Catherine Howard here. Was she imprisoned in these very apartments?'

  'She was.' The Archbishop was unable to lie before those earnest grey eyes.

  'I feared as much,' Jane whispered. 'Poor wretched little Queen. Tell me, do you think I am at all like her?'

  Cranmer smiled at that. 'Not in the least. She was frivolous and scatter-brained and shamefully illiterate.'

  'And yet, in spite of her many frailties, she was said to be the most beautiful of my great-uncle's wives, and very lovable,' Jane argued. 'I don't think she was a wanton. She was just the victim of man's ambition, as I am. Why did he kill her? She was too young t
o die. But though her fate is not to be envied, she was loved deeply and passionately, whereas I have nobody to love me. And yet, how desperate she must have felt as she sat in these rooms and waited ...' Jane broke off, sobbing bitterly. Her fluttering, narrow hands rushed upwards to twine strands of her hair about her throat, in nervous distraction.

  'My child,' Cranmer said gently, 'I beg of you, don't distress yourself so. Remember that, whatever happens, you have a friend in me and your lord husband loves you greatly.'

  'Guildford.' Jane gave a hollow laugh. 'My Lord, that's too much.'

  'It's true enough,' Cranmer said, watching her. 'And now, I must ask something of you.'

  'Well, what is it?' she asked, interested in spite of herself.

  'I want you to agree to walk to the Tower tomorrow, as a queen, for the Protestant religion.'

  'And what has the Protestant religion ever done for me?'

  'Madam, you surprise me. I thought you a loyal Protestant.'

  'I am. But why won't anyone understand that I do not refuse the crown out of maidenly modesty, but from sheer foresight and common sense. I'm convinced that no good can come of this monstrous treason.'

  'Do you want to see this country led back to the yoke of the Church of Rome?' was Cranmer's next question.

  Jane hesitated. 'Well no, I should hate that, but you see, my Lord ...' She met his gaze pleadingly, then lowered her eyelids, ashamed because she was lacking in his almost zealous piety. Why did people always credit her with stronger religious impulses than she actually possessed? She loved her religion, but she loved herself so much more, and it seemed that these two loves would always be at war.

  'Like me, you want to fan England with the true Creed.' He seized both her hands in his and turned on her a beseeching look that was hard to resist. 'Jane, you are the golden flame of the Reformation. Hungry souls depend on you. Can you deny them?'

  It was a direct appeal to her soul. Jane felt a rush of dismay, for she was aware that her noble, better self was triumphing.

  'Oh, very well,' she said ungraciously. 'But I wish I could have what I want for a change.'

  A train of twenty gentlemen in black velvet doublets pompously led the procession to the Tower, closely followed by six well-groomed page boys. Behind them came the Earl of Northampton, and then Catherine Dudley and Katherine Grey.

  Immediately behind these two girls, Jane walked with her husband. Although she felt sick with apprehension, uncertain of her reception, the young Queen bore herself with the quiet dignity that came so easily to her.

  Her gown was of cloth-of-gold, studded with jewels. She wore an ermine-trimmed surcoat of purple velvet and an elaborate head-dress which confined her lovely hair. A rope of rubies and pearls glimmered at her bare throat. She wore chopins to make herself look regally tall, and though these were hidden beneath her gown, the news had already leaked out and was provoking some spiteful remarks.

  But Jane, her hand resting lightly on Guildford's arm, said nothing. Today it was the proud Duchess of Suffolk's lot to carry her self-willed daughter's train and Jane made no attempt to suppress the bubble of glee that rose in her heart.

  The common people lined the streets, pushing and scrambling to see what the now legendary usurper looked like, but not one of them raised a cheer.

  'Remove your cap in the presence of the Queen,' cried one of the halberdiers, sweeping the hat from the head of a brazen young man with his staff. 'Make way, make way, your Queen comes amongst you.' Importantly, he paved the way for the glamorous procession.

  'Which Queen do you mean, my good man?' called an apothecary, with a viciously exaggerated Oxford accent. This produced a delighted roar of laughter.

  From the corner of her eye, Jane saw her husband's mouth twitching. He pulled at his blond moustache and held her hand tightly. To her surprise it seemed as though her fingers drew courage from contact with his, and it spread throughout her veins.

  'Long live Queen Mary!' an honest spectator shouted, and all along the street, others took up the cry.

  'So much for Northumberland's public proclamations,' muttered Cranmer, to nobody in particular.

  An old beggar woman advanced towards the Queen, brandishing her fist. 'It's an evil omen when the people of England don't cheer a queen,' she shrieked. 'We didn't want that black-eyed concubine, Anne Boleyn, because she supplanted another, and she came to a bloody end.'

  'Step aside, you toothless old crone!' Guildford shouted. 'Or it will go ill with you.'

  'Oh, let her speak, my Lord. The privilege of airing their grievances in public seems to mean so much to these people.' Jane surveyed the beggar with more kindness than she had intended. 'You do not want me as your Queen, friend? I was unaware that we have an elective monarchy?'

  'There is only one Queen and she King Harry's daughter,' said the old woman boldly. 'You're young and blind to fate, but I'm old and wise and I tell you that, unless you go home and make amends to the true Queen, you are doomed to a tragic death.'

  'For your integrity I admire you vastly,' Jane answered, her tone bordering on coldness. 'But it doesn't make you superior to me, and you are in no position to threaten me. You have also to learn that age doesn't necessarily bring wisdom, for if you march through life blind to everything but your own virtues, you can't hope to learn anything, no matter how long you may live.'

  She dragged a great ruby from her finger, tossed it to the woman and passed on.

  It had begun to rain, and Jane shuddered in her thin surcoat. Thunder soon roared and crackled in the sky -another sign that Jane and all those who plotted and schemed for her had incurred the wrath of the Almighty Powers on High.

  'I never wanted to be Queen,' Jane thought as she passed under the Gothic arch. 'But today is my special day and whatever happens afterwards I will accept. I suppose I'm afraid, and too confused to think clearly. It is as though a great iceberg has settled over my brain, making it numb to peril. No, that doesn't sound right. Perhaps I should try thinking it in Latin.'

  She had travelled far from the quiet country life she had lived at Bradgate Manor. Glancing at these people who bustled around her, she felt scorn, and something similar to pity. 'Alas, good folk, they never have known real pleasure!' That was another of her remarks, spoken to one of her trusted friends, who she couldn't remember just then.

  And yet, how true! These people knew nothing of the joys of learning. Fifteen-year-old Jane had learned in her childhood that every human being needs something or someone to lighten and enrich their lives. In Jane's case, it was education, the beauty of which was so often marred by clumsy presentation. Her companions had never experienced the tutorship of John Aylmer, who had succeeded in presenting learning as something mysterious and challenging to be explored with delight. It was a precious adventure they had shared together.

  'Why, oh why, must I think of him now, when I am almost reconciled to my queenly state?' she thought and pain wrenched her heart. A sob rose in her throat but she choked it back. She tried to shake her sentiments from her, to fight off the plunging melancholy. She was married now and, for all she knew, so might he be. And perhaps it wasn't really love she felt for him ... it was absurdly easy for a young girl to imagine that she was in love, and to vow eternal loyalty to the object of her affections. But she was not the kind of person who loved lightly. When she lost her heart, it was for always.

  In the royal apartments, the Marquis of Winchester approached Jane with the Crown Imperial.

  'I refuse to have that object placed on my head,' flashed a now unhappy Jane. 'Take it away.'

  'You would be wise not to defy me,' Northumberland said harshly.

  'It's unfair of you to force me. You would never have dared had I not become so ill through suffering.' Once more Jane wrestled with her sobs but regardless they came, choking, convulsive, alarming in their intensity.

  Northumberland motioned Winchester to set the crown on Jane's head. This was done swiftly and skilfully.

  'You may have it
back now,' said Jane coldly. 'It requires no alteration.'

  'Another must be made for your Lord husband,' Winchester leered.

  'I alone can raise my husband to my height, and that I refuse to do. The Crown is not a plaything for girls and boys, nor is it to be treated with such shameful lack of respect. I am willing to make my husband a Duke, since I demean myself by being connected to a man of such insignificant rank, but he will never be King, and nobody shall refer to him as such.'

  It was fortunate that Guildford was not present to hear Jane pronounce this harsh statement, but no doubt there would be an ugly scene with him later. Had the atmosphere not been charged with so much animosity, the sight of those tall, hard-faced men being struck dumb by the opposition of a slightly built girl might have been comical. Even Northumberland was tongue-tied.

  Jane had the last word. Aware that he had met his match, Northumberland bowed low, grudgingly accepting this temporary defeat.

  The fifteen-year-old Queen withdrew to a private chamber, accompanied by her ladies. Here she stripped off the gown that was drenched from the humiliating journey through the wet streets.

  Mistress Ellen brought her a cup of warm, spiced wine, while the young maid. Nan, rubbed her feet briskly with a towel and Katherine, her sister, combed and braided her hair.

  'This isn't real,' Jane thought, looking about the bare chamber in disbelief. The crimson and white counterpane on the bed was worn, the hangings dusty. The air smelt stale.

  'I think I'll open a window,' Catherine Dudley said, wrinkling her nose fastidiously.

  'No, leave it closed, Catherine,' Jane ordered. 'I prefer the smell of an airless room to the stench of the river.'

  After a brief rest, Jane slipped into a clean gown and returned to the council chamber, her calm footsteps echoing along the gallery. The members of the Council, grouped about the table, bowed as she entered the spacious, emblazoned chamber. Northumberland escorted her to the Chair of State.