Guildford drew her into his arms and kissed her, as he had always wanted to. Then, raising her chin with his forefinger, and staring thoughtfully into her face, he suddenly released her.
His expression puzzled her. She reached out her hand to him, but it was as if an evil phantom had glided between them, laughing as it kept them apart.
'No, I don't think I will,' Guildford said, smiling crookedly. 'Much as I want to. It will bring us both trouble.'
'But you said that if I should bear a child ...' cried Jane, confused.
'Christ's wounds! I never imagined the damned woman had so much wit - the saddest of the Tudors and a Catholic to boot. I thought she'd be kept down and so could be further weakened by any children we might have. It's true that our children would cast more shadow over her claim, but do you think she would be stupid enough to let that happen if she emerges the victor of this dispute?'
Jane, for once, was speechless.
Guildford shook his head slowly. 'If Mary emerges victorious, she might forgive us, but if you're with child, she'll behead you before the baby is born, regardless of the lax law that forbids the execution of pregnant women. It would be too dangerous to let you or the baby live.'
'Behead me!' gasped Jane, holding a hand to her throat, as if she already felt the cold blade upon it. 'But, Guildford, she can't do that. I — why, I won't be sixteen till October.'
'All England is behind her. Once they called her "The Scarlet Whore", and "Jezebel" — well, at least a great many of them did. Now they're calling you "The Imposter Queen" and, whether you like it or not, they intend to depose you for Mary.' He looked down at her with a gentle smile.
'I used to think you a fool,' Jane said, with disarming candour. 'I'm beginning to think differently now.'
Guildford laughed, rather pleased. 'Thank you. Your Majesty.' He clasped her small hands. 'And now you understand why we can't consummate our marriage for the present. We'll wait until the people decide "The Scarlet Whore" is not a wise choice.' He kissed her tenderly on the brow, then he left her.
Jane was alone with her confused thoughts and her wounded pride. He was the most handsome of the Dudley brothers and he loved her. How could she doubt that he loved her now? And she wasn't entirely indifferent to him. If only she were! 'Aylmer,' she whispered, 'why aren't you a Duke's son, to marry me?' And then: 'Damn Aylmer. He deserted me.'
She had lost Aylmer, whom she loved, but she couldn't be unfaithful to his memory. She had almost betrayed him. Pray God she would never be tempted to do so again. Uncertain whether to laugh or cry, she did both.
It was now beyond all dispute that Queen Jane's cause was collapsing and those who valued their hides realized that they must quickly dissociate themselves from her.
Many of those who had cordially condoned Northumberland's bold deeds began to slink away from the Tower. Those who didn't manage to escape were considerably less respectful to Jane and the abrupt change in their attitude caused her much alarm. Deserted by those who had called themselves her friends, the luckless young Queen wondered what would become of her. Never had the threat of death hovered so close to her.
She walked alone in the grounds of the Tower, thinking that nothing but disaster had ruled her life since they told her she must marry Guildford. She remembered how she had wept until she thought she must be dry and withered inside. She remembered how her poor body had ached from the vicious blows her father had dealt her. But could anything compare with the heavy despair that swelled in her heart at this hour?
Yet her faithful women stood by her. They loved her, and not without reason, for Jane was a generous mistress, as gentle as she was kind. Were it not for their loyal affection, it is possible that the poor girl's mind might have snapped beneath so much pressure.
Katherine, her sister, would talk to her of Bradgate days as they sat sewing in the sunlit chamber.
'I always thought that you'd marry Hertford after all,' the younger girl said. 'But I'm glad you didn't.'
'Why?' Jane asked, amused.
Katherine blushed. 'Well, you are so much better suited to Guildford. You know you are.'
'You can't lie to me, Kate. You had hopes of marrying Hertford, didn't you?'
Katherine bowed her head over the satin sleeves she was industriously cutting. 'What if I did?' she argued sullenly. 'He was handsome and merry and most agreeable. I can't help but love him.'
'You think too much about your looks,' Jane said, more sharply than she intended. 'And you're too young to talk of love.'
But was she so young? Jane herself had been thirteen years old when she had fallen for the quiet charms of John Aylmer. But she mustn't think of him now.
'Kate,' she said gently, 'you won't always love him, but while you do, don't let it make you unhappy.'
'Oh, I'm not unhappy.' Katherine exclaimed. 'I know I'll marry him when I divorce my first husband.'
'Kate!'
'Well, King Henry had six wives. Why should people object if I have two husbands?'
'Things are different for men,' Jane answered slowly.
'The end has come!' shouted the Duke of Suffolk dramatically, rushing into the little room where Jane sat, passing the time with her Latin grammar.
'What do you mean, Father?'
'Mary has raised the Royal Standard at Framlingham Castle. Even now, the nobles are flocking there to protest their loyalty. I'm afraid it's time for you to lay aside your royal dignity, my child.'
'At last this dreadful ordeal is over and I can go home.' Jane buried her face in her hands with relief at the joy of returning to Bradgate. Throughout the turbulence of recent events that had whirled dizzily about her, she had longed to be at Bradgate. She wanted to rest her tired heart in the softly shadowed groves where she used to ride her pony years ago. She wanted to throw her aching body down into the grass and cry and cry until all the fear and depression had been heaved out of her. She wanted to look on the beautiful, large red house where she had been born.
But her father was shaking his head at her, sorrowfully. He took her into his arms for the first time since she was a baby. He felt a rare wave of pity for this brilliant child of his whom he had never loved. True, he had not cared that he had gambled so callously with her life, but she looked so pathetic and so happy when she thought of home that it moved him.
'Why can't I? You said it was all over and ...'
'Jane, Jane, few of us can live the way we want to all the time, child. You must wait until...'
A disturbance outside the door silenced him. The Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, who such a short while ago had knelt before her and sworn to shed their blood in her cause, entered the room without ceremony. They were followed by Sir John Bridges, the lieutenant of the Tower, who threw the deposed Queen a sympathetic smile when nobody was looking.
'Lady Jane Dudley, I arrest you in the name of the Queen,' Pembroke announced.
She stared at him, dazed, her mind numb with shock, her eyes wide and incredulous.
And then Suffolk began to tear down her Canopy of State, with as much forceful panic as if he were trying to claw the guilt out of his soul. 'God save Queen Mary,' he cried, his voice a squeak of fright.
'So you too would desert me,' Jane said, lowering her head in sorrow. 'Everybody has deserted me except Guildford and Cranmer.' Warmed by affection for these two men, she managed to ask, quite unnecessarily, why she was being arrested.
'You are accused of plotting against the Crown, the Kingdom and the Queen's most precious person.'
'Long live Queen Mary,' repeated Suffolk idiotically.
'Neither God nor Queen Mary can save you now, my Lord,' scoffed Pembroke. 'You will pay the full price of your vicious act of treason.'
'It would seem that you are enthroned in your own hypocrisy, my Lords,' Jane remarked, with biting contempt. 'Have you forgotten how you pressed me to wear the crown and paid homage to me as your Queen?'
'Madam, pray delay us no longer,' Arundel entreated, his tone wearily
patient.
Gazing past him through the opened door, she saw that the dimly-lit passage was lined with guards.
'Where are you taking me?' she asked, her voice very low.
Sir John Bridges, who hadn't spoken a word until now, came forward and pressed her cold hand in his. 'Have no fear, my Lady, you will be lodged in the household of Master Partridge, the Yeoman Gaoler and a man who is noted for his tolerant disposition.'
'Better than she deserved,' commented Pembroke.
'How long must I stay there?'
'Until the Queen in her wisdom feels that you are no longer in need of care. Madam. Her Majesty feels that your parents have not reared you as well as they might and that, for a while, you ought to have someone sensible to look after you, until you are out of political danger — a temporary arrangement, I'm sure.'
Jane smiled feebly, knowing that he was lying. Mustering all her courage, she followed him out into the passage and down the wide steps.
The sun blazed down on the yard, for it was a stiflingly hot day, and Jane's heavy velvet skirts seemed to drag her along the stones.
A tall figure, also closely surrounded by guards, was moving towards the Beauchamp Tower. Guildford. Catching sight of her, he ran towards her, shouting her name. Jane collapsed into his arms, crying bitterly. There was something so earthy and comforting about him, something that she needed desperately at this moment.
'Oh Guildford, Guildford, what will they do to us?' she wept, clinging to him.
Guildford held her close, kissing the tears that lay on her cheeks. He caressed her loosely flowing hair, feeling her body trembling against his.
'My poor, solitary little girl,' he murmured.
Bridges made a strangled noise in his throat and even some of the hard-faced guards mopped their eyes. Then the lieutenant nodded significantly and the guards stepped in and dragged the wretched couple apart. All the way across the yard, they stared back at each other, helpless victims of one man's lust for power.
Jane was escorted to an upper chamber of Partridge's house, where a stately lady, plainly but elegantly dressed, was waiting to receive her. She curtsied low as Jane entered, as if the girl were still Queen.
'I am Lady Bridges, madam,' she began kindly, her round face very pleasant, 'I'm to wait on you during your confinement here.'
'Your husband assures me that I won't be here long,' Jane said. 'But he's just trying to be gentle. I will be here until I die. My cousin the Queen has no love for me and I have not been good to her.'
Lady Bridges hastily withdrew, bidding Jane to ring for her if there was anything she required.
Jane leaned against the wall, gazing curiously about the room. It wasn't as grand as the lodgings to which she was accustomed but a few tapestries and various other personal possessions spread about her would make her feel more at home.
Her women had not been allowed to join her — except Nan, who had flirted with the Captain of the Guard. Well, Nan was young and high-spirited, though Jane had no intention of detaining the bright young girl in this prison, unless she insisted on staying.
'It could be worse, madam,' observed Nan, looking about her.
'It could indeed,' answered Jane, with a smile. 'I'll send to the White Tower for my books and things and we'll turn my prison into a palace.'
However, although Jane was permitted her books, a lot of her property was either confiscated or stolen, and very little of it was ever recovered.
'Never mind, Nan. Mother will probably go home soon and she might send me some of my things.'
Thus, the Queen of nine days toppled from the exultant position she had never wished to hold and became a prisoner in the Tower.
Northumberland was arrested at Cambridge and brought before Queen Mary. There was, in this harsh, brutal man, the ingredients of a coward that leaped to the surface in the face of disaster. Knowing himself to be defeated, his loyalty traversed from Queen Jane to Queen Mary. He begged the new Queen to have mercy on him, to let him live, even if it be the life of a dog, that he might kiss her feet. Mary surveyed with disgust the clumsy figure grovelling at her shoes. This was the man who had plotted against her inheritance and, doubtless, against her life. She had heard that he'd bullied the dying boy-King Edward into denying her the throne. To sentimental Mary, his major crime was, not his treason, but his conspiracy to set a brother against his sister. The Duke, in spite of his unmanly sobs, lost his freedom as well as his pride.
Lady Katherine Grey was divorced from Pembroke's son and her sister Mary's betrothal to Lord Arthur Grey was annulled. But the Queen, anxious to prove that she bore no personal grievance against the Grey family, stated that she intended to receive them at Court and install Katherine as a lady of the Privy Chamber.
Chapter 15
The Princess Elizabeth was pensive as she awaited the approach of the Queen in Whitechapel Road. She had not seen Mary for some time, and had in fact never been able to relax in her rather austere company. What was going to happen now that Mary was Queen? she wondered. Would she accept Elizabeth as her heir and reinstate her at Court? Or would Elizabeth's Protestant leanings earn Mary's disfavour? She was dismayed to realize that she didn't know Mary very well at all.
'If only she doesn't marry,' said Elizabeth to herself. 'So much depends on that!'
This clever, adventurous daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn had never abandoned her ambition to be Queen. Young and slim in a plain white gown, she wasn't pretty, but her red hair and transparent white skin were unforgettable. Her greenish eyes seemed placid enough at the moment, but the quick, darting light of the shrewd adventuress flickered behind the apparent docility of her countenance. The people shouted with delight as she appeared among them, for she bore an astonishing resemblance to her father. They liked her youthful attractiveness and her friendly smile.
'There goes Old Harry's Own,' remarked a bystander, beaming on the young Elizabeth. 'The image of her father, too. He was never uppity to us, never too proud to stop in the street and talk to us. Why, I remember a time when my mother gave him one of her pies. He even asked her for the recipe.'
Elizabeth rejoiced in their good-natured admiration, and wondered how long it would be before they cried, 'Long Live Queen Elizabeth.' And now here was Mary, whose jewels and purple velvet could not disguise her failing health. She dismounted and embraced her young half-sister affectionately, even while her short-sighted brown eyes disapproved of her.
'I rejoice to see you, sister,' she greeted her.
'And I, to see Your Majesty,' murmured Elizabeth, sliding a furtive glance at the crowds, to see how they were reacting to this meeting. She need not have worried. The people cheered boisterously.
'How they love you, madam,' she said. She felt she had to say something to distract Mary's probing glances.
'They are willing to love anyone who will save them from Northumberland's tyranny,' was Mary's tart reply. Her eyes added: 'How fortunate that I beat you to the throne.'
Elizabeth lowered her tawny lashes.
'You've chosen a simple gown for this momentous occasion,' noted Mary, her eyes travelling over the demure white dress Elizabeth had chosen to wear.
'I deplore extravagance, madam,' the Princess lied. 'Especially when there are so many poor people in need. Of course,' she added breathlessly, 'the people expect Your Majesty to enjoy the splendour fitting to your rank, but I am only Your Majesty's humble sister and I don't propose to ape my betters.'
'Then we must endeavour to follow your example,' said Mary, with a dash of rusty humour.
The sisters mounted and resumed the journey to the Tower, Elizabeth riding half a head behind the Queen. She held her reins so that people noticed, and commented on, the beauty of her elegant, tapering hands. She knew herself to be a striking contrast to the thirty-seven year old Queen. So, presumably, did Mary.
In the streets, the conduits ran wine. Pageants were prepared at every comer, in honour of this Queen who had been chosen in preference to the
Lady Jane Grey. The people themselves had made that choice. Religion was of little consequence to them in this matter, but justice was. They refused to see a good woman cheated out of her rights.
In Gracechurch Street, an 'angel' dressed in bold Tudor green and white, towered above the portraits of Mary's parents, Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon. Mary shot a triumphant glance at Elizabeth, whose cheeks were burning.
The angel sounded his trumpet as Mary drew closer.
Thus, the magnificent party arrived at the Tower.
A group of prisoners were kneeling humbly on the Tower Green, and the sight of them moved Mary to tears. She raised each one in turn, saying, 'You shall come to the Tower with me, as my guest.'
To Bishop Gardiner of Winchester, who had been imprisoned during the reign of her brother Edward on account of his vigorous Catholic views, she declared, 'From this day, my Lord, you shall be my Lord Chancellor of the Realm.'
Besides Gardiner, there was Bishop Bonner, Tunstall, Bishop of Durham, the old Duke of Norfolk, who had escaped the axe because of the timely death of Henry VIII, the widowed Duchess of Somerset and Edward Courtenay, son of the dead Marquis of Exeter.
Mary seemed to have forgotten that Norfolk had once told her that, if she were his daughter, he would beat her soundly and knock her head against a brick wall until it was soft as a baked apple. Elizabeth had once thought the softening effect unnecessary, but the days of sniggering at Mary's shortcomings were past.
Both Mary and Elizabeth were attracted to the almost fragile beauty of Courtenay, who was slim, with exquisitely fair hair and skin. Already the seeds of a painful infatuation were being planted in Mary's heart.
For all her years, Mary was ignorant of the ways of the world and completely chaste. Her father, cynical about such a display of innocence in his corrupt Court, had once instructed one of his courtiers to swear in her presence, but all he got for his pains was a mildly curious stare. It did not occur to her, now, that Courtenay would find her middle-aged and unattractive.
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