A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  Elizabeth, who was not prone to such helplessly passionate attachments, nevertheless basked in the lingering gaze of admiration Edward Courtenay sent her way. Silly, affected fop, she thought scornfully, though her face betrayed nothing.

  Simon Renard, the Spanish Ambassador, hovered at the Queen's sleeve.

  'There is one matter which I would like to call to Your Majesty's attention,' he mumbled, trying to urge Mary away from Elizabeth's tingling ears. 'Have you any plans concerning the Lady Jane and her husband?'

  Mary peered across the green where, in the Yeoman Gaoler's house, the 'Impostor Queen' was imprisoned. Today she was so radiantly happy that she felt she could be clement even to Jane. Jane had written a strangely penitent letter to Mary, apologizing for her part in the conspiracy and explaining, lucidly and without exaggeration, what had happened.

  'They were Northumberland's victims, as I myself was,' she replied tolerantly. 'I've known the Lady Jane since she was a baby and, whatever opinion I might hold of her general behaviour, I'm convinced that she would not deliberately or willingly harm another person.'

  'She signed a paper, declaring both Your Majesty and Your Majesty's sister illegitimate and herself "Jane the Queen",' Renard reminded her.

  'Then perhaps she'd better undergo the formality of a public trial,' Mary said.

  The Spanish Ambassador scowled. His Royal master of Spain wanted Jane's life, and Elizabeth's too, if she proved to be difficult. Already Mary seemed willing to listen to Spain's advice. Deeply sentimental, she recollected that her holy mother came from that sun-drenched land of stiff courtesy and tense discipline. Spanish Katherine had raised her daughter to believe that Spain was superior to all other lands (yes, even to England) and that Spain always knew best. It was impossible to shatter Mary's strong, solidly walled beliefs.

  Elizabeth Tudor stood apart from the others. She was thinking of her beautiful mother whose exciting dramatic life had ended barbarically on this very green, on a sparkling morning in May seventeen years before. It was almost as if she saw Anne Boleyn, the most vital and fascinating heroine of Henry Tudor's age, climbing her scaffold in rich robes of scarlet and grey, to act out the final scene of her life; Anne, whose bright black eyes dazzled the French swordsman and momentarily distracted him from his duty.

  Elizabeth shivered, although the day was warm. 'For me it is to be the scaffold or the throne,' she thought. Shrewdly, she watched Mary. At present, the woman was merciful, but Elizabeth, familiar with her sister's rages and tantrums, saw hazards ahead. Today England shouted for Mary, but how long would the people tolerate a Catholic theology, which Mary was certain to give them? What would happen then? Probably there would be cries for Queen Jane or Queen Elizabeth — preferably, thought Elizabeth, the latter.

  Soon, Mary would expect her to adopt the Catholic doctrine, and quite frankly, Elizabeth was not particularly drawn to either Faith^ but she had been brought up as a Protestant. Her father had married her mother in unseemly haste so that she, Elizabeth, might be born inside wedlock, and thereby the last link with the Roman Church was broken. If Elizabeth accepted her sister's religion, she would be forced to agree that the marriage between her parents was illegal and, therefore, she herself a bastard with no true claim to the throne, since that was the opinion held by all good Catholics. To refuse to acknowledge the Catholic Faith would be to invite her enemies to have her burned for heresy.

  Elizabeth did not intend to reach a hasty decision. She would evade the ultimate decision for as long as she could. She had wits and she daily thanked God that they were very sharp ones for she'd have need of them during the reign of her erratic sister. She would also have need of extreme caution.

  No sooner had Lady Jane Grey been evicted from the State apartments of the Tower than Gardiner was sent to bait her with questions. The dramatic series of events that had centred round Jane had tired her, and she was not so ready with her clever retorts. She listened halfheartedly to Gardiner's fierce sermons and answered his questions with the sincerity for which she was famous but, in her fragile body, there lurked a hard, stubborn spirit that would not yield easily. Gardiner sensed it and he left in a fever of annoyance.

  Confined to her apartments, the 'Nine Days Queen' had plenty of time to think about religion, among other things, and she found herself praying more frequently than had been her custom. She also loved to pass the hours with her books, and would often sit far into the night, reading and writing in French, Italian and Greek. It gave her the consoling feeling of being brought closer to Aylmer, although in reality they were miles apart. Jane was given an allowance of ninety-three shillings a week, by the Queen's order, and her servants received one pound apiece. She was able, therefore, to buy food, candles, ink, quills and other necessities.

  Lady Sarah Bridges had been selected by Queen Mary to wait on Jane. She shared her office with Lady Throckmorton, Elizabeth Tylney, faithful Mistress Ellen, Nan, and two or three other ladies. One afternoon, when Jane was resting. Lady Bridges found an essay, written in Jane's elegant hand. She didn't understand it, since it was written in Greek, but the ink was blurred and paled with tears. Shortly after this, Jane was disturbed by forty gaunt matrons, whose mission it was to give her an internal examination, since the rumour that she was pregnant was circulating the land at an alarming rate.

  'You must lie down on the bed, my Lady,' said the eldest and most formidable of the women.

  'This is quite out of order,' Mistress Ellen complained, bristling with anger.

  The woman shrugged. 'The Queen's command, mistress.'

  Jane lay rigid against the pillows, making an effort not to yell as each woman in turn examined her. It was a painful and humiliating experience, and she hated Mary, who probably knew perfectly well that her marriage had never been consummated. The women agreed that Jane was a virgin.

  'Is that why the Queen has separated me from my husband?' she asked coldly, smoothing down her gown.

  'It would seem so, my Lady,' replied the matron wryly, and took her leave.

  'So,' Jane said, to Mistress Ellen. 'Now we have it. The Queen is frightened that I'll get pregnant.'

  Throughout that summer, her thoughts were frequently with Guildford. She would stand at her window and stare across the green at what she could see of the grim, forbidding walls of the Beauchamp Tower. She would wonder whether he was thinking of her, and marvel that she should think of him so often. 'But then,' she told herself, 'if one doesn't think of something other than death in this place, one is likely to go mad.'

  Still, it was strange he should be so much on her mind. She didn't love him, she loved Aylmer, but there were times when she could almost feel sentimental towards him. Once, she had disliked him intensely, but there was something about the tie of marriage. And when a girl who is not quite sixteen years old finds herself a prisoner in the Tower, threatened with the possibility of death, it is comforting to know that there is someone in a similar position who loves her utterly.

  Bored, frightened, puzzled, Jane made a list of the possessions that she wished to be sent on to her, and sent it to her mother at Bradgate.

  Item. A muffler of purple velvet, embroidered with pearls of damask gold garnished with small stones of sundry sorts and tied with white satin.

  Item. A muffler of sable skin, with a head of gold with four clasps set with five emeralds, four turquoises, six rubies, two diamonds, and five pearls, the four feet of the sable being of gold set with turquoises and the head having a tongue made of a ruby.

  Item. A hat of purple velvet embroidered with many pearls.

  Item. A hat of black velvet laced with aglets, enamelled with a brooch of gold.

  Item. Eighteen buttons with rubies.

  Item. Eighteen gold buttons.

  Item. A helmet of gold with a face, and a helmet upon its head and an ostrich feather.

  Item. One shirt with collar and ruffles of gold.

  Item. Two little images of wood, one of Edward VI, and the other of Henry
VIII.

  Item. A dog collar wrought with red work with gold bells.

  Item. A picture of Queen Catherine Parr, that is lately deceased.

  Item. One alarum of silver enamelled, standing upon four balls.

  Item. One round striking dial, set in crystal, garnished with metal gilt.

  Item. One pillar with a man having a device of astronomy in his hand, and a sphere in the top, all being of metal gilt.

  Item. One alarum of copper garnished with silver, enamelled with divers colours, having in the top a box of silver, standing upon a green molehill a flower of silver, the same altar standing upon three pomegranates of silver.

  Item. One little striking clock, within a case of letten, book fashion, engraven with a rose crowned, and 'Dieu et Mon Droit.'

  These articles, along with several items of clothing, were delivered to Jane at the Tower.

  'What possible use she can have for such fripperies in the Tower I can't imagine,' Sir John Bridges complained, distressed that so much valuable space was to be occupied by the illustrious prisoner's property. 'And why the devil does she need so many clocks?'

  'Biding her time?' Partridge suggested, and guffawed in appreciation of his rather feeble joke.

  'When you've quite recovered,' said Bridges sharply, 'and please don't hurry on my account, we will return to this matter.' He glared in disapproval of such undignified clowning.

  Master Partridge heaved a long sigh, mopped the tears from his face and, still shaking with mirth, apologized.

  A few days after the execution of Northumberland, Partridge invited a friend of his to dinner, little knowing that the Lady Jane had chosen to dine downstairs that day.

  Seeing Partridge's embarrassment, Jane smiled at the two men and bade them join her.

  'Please don't bother to remove your caps, gentlemen,' she said graciously, as they stood awkwardly in the doorway.

  Partridge was a little bewildered. Hitherto, his relationship with the young prisoner had been strictly formal. He pitied her, even admired her in some ways, but he had never been able to dispense with ceremony.

  If Partridge and his companion were awestruck, Jane was in total command of the situation. She began the meal by drinking to their health, and then opened a discussion on politics.

  'Is it true that Mass is being celebrated in London?' she asked.

  'Quite true, my Lady. There are many who welcome the change.'

  Jane was quiet for a moment as if considering the matter. 'Oh well,' she said at length, 'I suppose it isn't as strange as the sudden conversion of the late Duke of Northumberland. Who would imagine that he would be so perfidious — he who preached Protestantism until his tongue was blue.'

  Northumberland's unexpected conversion to the Catholic religion had indeed caused a great upheaval. The gentleman who had joined her for dinner was inclined to be sympathetic to the Duke.

  'Perhaps he hoped it would win him pardon,' he said.

  'Pardon!' Jane cried. 'God damn his insolence! He made my family and his miserable because of his ambition. What man is there living, I ask you, even if he were innocent, who would hope for life after being in the field against the Queen in person as General, and especially as he is so hated by the Commons? What fool presided over his trial, that he should even think of pardon, he whose life was odious to all men? But what more can you expect from such a man? His life was wicked and full of dissimulation, and so was his death.'

  She looked gravely at her new acquaintance. 'I presume you are of the new faith, sir?'

  'No, my Lady, I am a Catholic. The Reformation is for the young and fashionable. I'm too old to learn the new ways of worship. Catholicism suits me well enough.'

  Jane refrained from comment, not wishing to offend him.

  'But there is a challenge and excitement in the new Creed that the old one lacks,' Partridge argued. 'It is an adventure for the daring and the eager, and no doubt it will be dangerous in this new reign. Not,' he added, 'that I'm criticizing the Queen.

  In order to clear any doubts about his loyalty to Mary, he rapidly proposed a toast to their Glorious Sovereign Lady.

  As cups clinked, Jane remarked, 'The Queen's Majesty is a merciful lady. I pray God she may long continue.'

  The men threw her puzzled glances, but Jane was in excellent spirits, having heard recently that the Queen was reluctant to behead her and her young husband.

  The meal over, the visitor rose to keep an appointment in the City. As he kissed Jane's hand, he said, 'Madam, I have rarely enjoyed a meal so much. It delights my heart to have met you at last for I've heard some unwholesome stories.'

  'Indeed! What stories? You know you may be frank.'

  'In London, you are said to be pert, bigoted and er — well, rather uncharitable also. I hope I don't offend you.'

  'I am not offended and I hope you'll come here again. It's refreshing to meet people from outside.'

  'What a charming man,' gushed Mistress Ellen, when Jane went upstairs to wash her face. 'I'll swear he was struck by you, my Lady. You can be charming when you care to be.'

  'Have you been eavesdropping again, Ellen?'

  ***

  It was a ripe morning in October and the bells were ringing for Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry and Katherine.

  London screamed itself hoarse as Mary, drowned in purple velvet and ermine, passed through the glittering streets, bowing and smiling regally. Her heart, which had suffered many blows, tingled with gladness. If only her proud Spanish mother had lived to see this!

  'Oh, Mother, wherever you are, give me your blessing today,' she prayed, bowing her sandy head reverently. 'Lend me but one ounce of your fortitude and I'll wipe the heresy from this land as you and my grandmother, the great Isabella of Spain, would have wished.'

  The Princess Elizabeth rode close behind the Queen, very attractive in pale blue silk. Beside Elizabeth, in the richly draped litter, sat Anne of Cleves, the fourth wife of Henry VIII and the only one still living. This lady had lived in obscurity since her divorce from the tyrant Henry. She was happy, however, and had found contentment in her quiet, beautiful home at Richmond. Elizabeth wondered why her father had found Anne so repugnant. True, she was large and Henry had always liked his women slim and elegant, and her skin was a little pockmarked, but she wasn't ugly. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, her eyes fine, her features firm. She was a homely, good-natured woman, the kind that people are inclined to make fun of but always feel affection for. Anne had no patience with intrigue and politics. She was a woman of sound common sense, who preferred to spend her time cutting sleeves for her gowns, supervising her household and baking quince pies, rather than making trouble for the State.

  'Wise,' Elizabeth thought, watching her second stepmother out of the corner of her eye. 'But I don't envy her. She lives safely because she lives in the shadow, but I would rather live dangerously.'

  There were many in the crowd who were captivated by the Princess; many who, Elizabeth was certain, would prove loyal and faithful subjects. Already their glances were warm with approval as she rode among them. They admired her and nothing was more pleasing to Elizabeth than to be admired.

  In Westminster Abbey, Mary was crowned. It was a very emotional moment, and she felt the tears threatening, but she blinked them back, as she held the orb and sceptre and felt the weight of the crown upon her head.

  I will be a good Queen, she resolved. My reign will be remembered for its humanity. I will be just and kind. I will be generous and charitable. Above all, I will try to be tolerant. My memory will build a shrine for itself in the heart of history.

  Those were the thoughts of the Queen who was to bring gloom and torment to the people of England; who was to torture bodies in order to save souls and placate a God whom she believed to be as vindictive and terrible as she was to prove herself to be. But that was to come. The tragic flames of Smithfield had not yet risen to muffle the screams of men, ignorant cottage wives, blind boys and small babies. On her coronation the Ca
tholic Queen, who had so far led a life of almost unrelieved sorrow, was determined to make herself and her country happy.

  The first threat to her longed-for happiness appeared in the shape of the Princess Elizabeth. Mary was very conscious of her half-sister. She had seen the admiring glances that had been cast towards the Princess when they proceeded through the streets. And had she imagined that the cheers for the Queen's sister were louder than those for the Queen? She knew that Elizabeth, in her own crafty manner, flirted irresistibly with the people, winning them over to her side with her vitality.

  Closeted with the Spanish Ambassador, Mary confided her fears. 'The major problem is her faith,' she fretted. 'Could she but bring herself to adopt the true religion, I would look upon her as my friend and sister and protect her from her enemies.' Loyalty to her Council deterred Mary from warning the enemies.

  'Your Majesty is too lenient,' Renard said. 'You must surely see that Her Grace is trying to woo the people. So many of them are steeped in heresy already. To please them, she plays with Martin Luther's slander. While she lives, Your Majesty can expect only trouble.'

  'She is young,' the Queen said wistfully. 'I don't want to hurt her. I confess I have little affection for her, but she has been surrounded by heretics since she was born. Why, her own mother gave birth to English heresy when she bore Elizabeth. She ...'

  But Mary couldn't bear to think of Anne Boleyn. She covered her face with her hands, trying to shut out the memory of that excitable, raven-haired lady who had contributed enormously to her girlhood unhappiness. Hate, horror, fear and envy were at war within her whenever she thought of her. Sometimes, even in her dreams, she thought she heard Anne's shrill laughter, saw her dark eyes sparkle with vindictive devilment.