Sir John Bridges informed the Queen that the Lady Jane's health was failing because of lack of outdoor exercise. She was weak and inclined to giddy attacks. Shortly afterwards, Mary sent word to the Tower that Jane might walk in the grounds every day, but her guards were never to be far behind her. The exercise and the fresh air revived Jane considerably.
The warder's little son. Will, was excited by the presence of the famous Lady Jane, who seemed to be the cause of so much trouble. 'Dangerous' was the word his father used when talking about her. Watching her as she wandered aimlessly about in the Tower garden. Will was disappointed to discover that she didn't look at all dangerous, but pale and tired and more than a little sad. Will asked his mother why the lady was being kept in the Tower instead of her lovely Leicestershire home.
'Because she needs a rest badly, poor lady,' was the reply.
One day, Jane noticed Will peeping out at her from behind a tree and she called him over to her. Uncertain whether to go to her or to run away, Will slowly went, dragging his feet.
Jane sat down on a nearby bench and drew the little boy close to her.
'What's your name, little boy?'
'I'm Will - William on Sundays and the Queen's birthday.' The large brown eyes never left her face and, somehow, she was reminded of dead Edward Tudor as a child.
'Are you really a queen?' Will asked.
'No, not any more,' answered Jane. 'I used to be, but I didn't like it.'
'I didn't think you were a queen,' Will said, with an air of profound wisdom. 'Queens have crowns and eat eel pie whenever they want to. They have grey hair and cry when they see prisoners.' (Will had been allowed to witness Mary's triumphant entry into the Tower at the beginning of her reign.)
'Well, I used to wear a crown also, but it was too heavy for me, so I gave it to another lady.'
Will was silent, digesting this information. *So now you've come here to play with me,' he surmised.
'My Lady! My Lady!' Partridge came running across the grass, panting. Jane waited patiently as he fought for breath. There is somebody waiting to see you in your room.'
'Do you know who it is, Master Partridge?' Jane enquired.
'He — er - well, he is Master Feckenham, the Queen's confessor.'
'Then I suppose I had better see him.' Jane stooped to kiss the round, freckled face of the little boy who was watching the scene with grave interest.
It was growing chilly as she returned to Partridge's house, and she drew her cloak about her, trying to suppress a shiver. Master Feckenham was a small, bald man, bustling, obstinate and totally devoid of humour. He scorned women, and especially despised Protestant women. But most of all, he hated women who thought themselves clever and tried to pitch their wits against those of the opposite sex. However, he had made himself at home by Jane's fireside and was amusing himself with one of her leather-bound books, chuckling contemptuously into his fist, when Jane appeared. Behind him, Mistress Ellen sent Jane an imploring look.
'Ah, my dear Lady Jane.' He rose to meet her, grinning wryly. 'I have so longed to meet you. Tell me, do you find this Lutheran literature interesting?'
Jane fixed him with a stony stare. 'I find it hard to believe that you called to discuss my literary tastes, sir. However, I've a great deal of business to attend to, and I would appreciate it if you'd state your business.'
'You certainly fit your reputation,' said Feckenham, rubbing his bald crown ruefully. 'But since you're so obviously direct, I will pay you the same compliment. My mistress, the Queen, wishes to express her sympathy for your most unhappy state.'
'I am deeply moved,' returned Jane, her smile poisonously sweet.
'And,' Feckenham went on, ignoring the interruption, 'despite the fact that you've offended her beyond forgiveness and stand condemned, she is inclined to be merciful, in view of your youth, and has sent me here to offer you your liberty.'
'My liberty!' Jane gasped. In another moment, she would have flung her arms around his neck, but common sense and her knowledge of Tudor policy halted her. She asked sharply, 'Under what conditions?'
'On condition that you retire to the country and never dabble in the politics of this country again.'
'I'll do that willingly. Politics have never interested me, and I find London is noisy and brawling, so I'd love to go home.'
'And also, you will be expected to adopt the true Faith,' he added coolly.
'I have already adopted the true Faith.'
'I meant, madam,' snapped Feckenham, 'the Catholic Faith.'
Jane lifted her greyhound puppy from a chair and crumpled into its cushioned depths, her brain whirling rapidly. Life could be sweet and she, at sixteen, had tasted little of it. But the severity and intolerance of the Catholic Church was acutely distasteful to her. Besides, she was shrewd enough to realize that Mary would never relax if her rival was set loose.
'I think, sir,' Jane said coldly, 'that you haven't acquainted me with the full conditions of my release. Do you expect me to believe that Her Majesty will trust me out of the sight of those who can watch and report my actions?'
'It is true,' Feckenham said, finding this girl's prickling intelligence rather uncomfortable, 'that you would still have to be protected from — er — well, plots and conspiracies and things of that nature, but under very different circumstances.'
Jane shook her head sagaciously. 'I would only be exchanging one prison for another and the Queen would delight in playing with my life and — and I could never forgive myself if I acted hypocritically. God knows, I have no wish to die, but I'd rather die with dignity than live as a cowering turncoat, haunted by my guilt.'
'My Lady, your are a fool,' thundered the Queen's confessor.
'Fool I may be. But nobody on earth, or in heaven for that matter, can call me a hypocrite. Thank the Queen from me, Master Feckenham, and tell her that, though I appreciate her kind proposal, I must reject it for the reasons I've stated. Though I'm far younger than she, I know what is being offered to me and I'm most unimpressed. I shun her half-liberty if, by having it, I must perforce live the life of a coward and a liar.'
Feckenham stalked off in a temper, without saying goodbye. The door slammed after him, expressing the oath that his tongue dared not utter, for fear of damnation.
Jane kneeled against the wall, her knees weak and trembling. Had she done the right thing in refusing the Queen's offer? Would she later regret her bold decision?
'God's death,' she whispered, sinking to the floor in a paroxysm of bewilderment, 'I had the courage to resist their tempting invitation. I didn't think I could, but I did. John Aylmer would be proud of me. Oh God, somehow I'll find the courage to face the axe.'
Robert Dudley sat under the window of his cell, writing a letter to his wife. Amy. He was explaining, yet again, why he couldn't go home to her. He wrote swiftly, impatiently, his handsome face sombre.
'Poor girl,' remarked Guildford, peering over his brother's shoulder. 'Haven't you any pity for her?'
'Pity! No. Good God, if she had any pity for me, she'd stop writing these absurd letters. Listen to this one.' He picked up a tear-blotched paper and proceeded to read aloud its contents in a high, whining voice: 'Darling Robert, it is very late now and I am missing you dreadfully. I am so very alone. Pinto (that's her maid) is very dull and though she looks after me very well, she can never take your place in my affections. (I should hope not.) I love you and miss you. Why can't you come home, so that we can be happy again?'
'Why on earth did you marry her if you find her affection such a bore?' Guildford asked. 'I often wondered.'
'Partly because helpless country maidens appeal to my native chivalry and I have a decided knack of doing impetuous things.'
'But mainly because you wanted to go to bed with her.'
'Guildford! Remember yourself.' Robert grinned, then frowned. 'I do wish she would get it into her head that I couldn't go home now, even if I wanted to. She is such a half-wit, and I curse the day I married her.'
'Oh no,' Robert said airily. 'She'll always be faithful to me, just like that little dog I used to have when we were small.'
Jane and her maid, Nan, were walking slowly through the grounds of the Tower, closely followed by two or three guards.
Their footsteps led them past the Beauchamp Tower and Robert, who was standing by his window, called to Guildford.
'Hey, Guildford, here comes your wedded love.'
Guildford, engaged in a game of chess with his valet, Cholmondeley, was beside his brother at once. He caught sight of Jane's slight, grey-cloaked figure and his breath was trapped in his lungs. He had almost forgotten how gracefully and easily she moved, like a white swallow rippling through smooth skies. Her movements had always fascinated him.
'Who's her little stablemate?' Robert enquired, but Guildford made no reply.
Nan nudged her mistress. Jane glanced up towards the window and, catching sight of the two young men, waved her kerchief and smiled.
Guildford wrote to her that very day, but she didn't answer his letter. Ignoring his brother's jeering comments, he tried again a week later. Would she see him? Such things could be arranged in the Tower quite easily if one were a little diplomatic.
This time, she wrote back. She had no objection to meeting him.
'I'll wear my red doublet,' said Guildford simply.
And Robert, hardened cynic that he was, almost wept for his brother.
'How do I look, Ellen?'
A half-clad Jane, holding a gown against her, turned from the mirror and submitted to Mistress Ellen's disapproving scrutiny.
'Well enough, I think,' replied the nurse dourly.
'You disapprove, don't you? But low necklines are attractive and. Lady Bridges tells me, still fashionable in spite of the new, severely respectable styles favoured by the Queen and her ladies. Anyhow, it isn't very low.'
'It's not your neckline or anything of the sort. Madam. I am not so far behind the times as everyone thinks — but this whole idea! Madam, what if the Queen finds out?' Ellen had seized Jane's small hands. 'She has forbidden you to meet your husband. Please, my dear little lady, show some care.'
'We are married, Ellen. Will you lace me, please?' She slid the leather stays over her thighs and turned round so that Mistress Ellen could lace her.
'Hold on to the bedpost,' ordered Mistress Ellen.
'I don't see why — I should have to — wear stays,' Jane panted, between breaths. 'I'm not fat.'
'I know you're not, and you should count your blessings.'
'Then why do I have to lace?'
'A lady, especially a well-born lady, always wears stays. It's not only fashionable, it prevents the body from losing its shape in later years.'
Jane's gown was of dark grey damask, almost the same shade as her eyes. Beneath its hem, her small golden slippers peeped out mischievously. Then she dabbed French musk on to her wrists and between her breasts. Lady Bridges combed her hair.
Once the tiring ordeal of dressing was over, Jane sat down at the table, and nervously sipped wine until the sound of voices downstairs distracted her. Her heart began to thud sickeningly. He was here.
'Oh, Ellen,' she breathed, 'what shall I do?'
Mistress Ellen patted her hand reassuringly. 'Be at peace, child. You've known him long enough.'
What was she afraid of? He couldn't have changed drastically since their trial. And he must still love her, or he wouldn't have bribed his way into Partridge's house.
The mirror was fairly reassuring, but still Jane wasn't fully satisfied. She was too pale and slight, and the powdering of freckles on her small, flat nose seemed a great affliction. Guildford adored her freckles, but they weren't considered beautiful by society. Her mother used to say that they were a serious handicap, and they displeased and irritated Jane. And she had never been tall and arresting, as she would have liked to be. But at least her hair was smooth and glossy and her waist small, even without the menacing stays. Her eyes, a warm, clear grey under a thick starring of lashes, were easily her best feature. She drew a deep breath and went out to meet him. The house seemed deathly quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of her trailing skirts.
Lord Guildford hesitated when he saw his wife, but not for long. With one of his quick, light movements, he came towards her and, gripping both her hands, kissed them eagerly.
'You look beautiful. Doesn't she, Cholmondeley?' he enquired of his young valet.
'Most ravishing, sir,' Cuthbert Cholmondeley agreed.
'I don't really, but it's nice of you to say so.' Jane laughed, nestling into her husband's arms.
He was pale and had grown thinner. In spite of the dashing clothes he had donned for her benefit he looked rather unkempt. There was a look of terrible, bitter hunger in his eyes that she couldn't understand but which frightened her.
That was what the Tower did to people. How very lucky she was to be lodged in this pleasant little house!
They supped privately in her rooms, for there was so much to talk about. Guildford admired her elegant furnishings.
'It's fortunate that you didn't see it when I first arrived,' Jane said. 'There wasn't a tapestry in sight. But Lady Throckmorton, who is gifted in such matters, helped me to arrange it.'
He avoided discussing his lodgings which were, she guessed, most probably damp.
'The food's reasonable enough, I suppose. I too have an allowance and a little charm goes a long way with the officials, or I wouldn't be here tonight. They are so accustomed to insults and surliness that it's quite a novelty for them to be treated civilly.'
'But you don't look well,' Jane gently persisted.
'Do you care so much?'
'Well, I'd hate to think I am so callous as to wish another person ill.'
'As always, you evade my questions. Sing to me instead.' He lifted the beribboned lute from a small stool and laid it in her arms.
Intuitively, Jane began to sing, not a jovial Court song, but a sad little song she had heard long ago.
'Oh death, rock me asleep
Bring forth my quiet death
Let pass my very guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast
Ring out the doleful knell
Let its sound my death tell
For I must die.
There is no remedy
For now I die.
Farewell my pleasure past
Welcome my present pain
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain
Sound now the passing bell
Rung is my doleful knell
For its sound my death doth tell
Death doth draw nigh
Sound the knell dolefully
For now I die.'
'What a tragic song,' Guildford said, as the last melancholy note faded slowly. 'Who wrote it?'
'It was composed by Queen Anne Boleyn, only a few hours before she died. Legend has it that she rose before dawn on the day of her execution, unable to sleep, and wrote the verse to steady her nerves. Apparently, she never had time to finish it, or she lacked the heart, poor lady. She wanted the poet, Wyatt, to complete it for her because, of all the men who had loved her, he alone was constant.'
'Jane, other men can be constant.'
He placed the lute delicately across a footstool and pulled her close to him. Jane heard a roaring noise in her ears as her head tilted back and their mouths were crushed together. There was no going back now, and somehow she didn't want to any longer. Tonight it seemed right and natural that she should sleep with Guildford. Soon the cruel axe would cut off her life and there would be no more opportunities to be bold and adventurous. Cholmondeley, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, waited all night for his master to come down from Jane's bedroom. Towards dawn, his chin sank drowsily into his collar and he, too, fell asleep.
Guildford w
as to ask her often why she finally surrendered to him, but she would never tell him. Perhaps she wasn't too certain herself.
Sir John Bridges was quite aware of what was happening in Partridge's house, but he chose to turn a blind eye. He believed, as did most people, that the Dudleys had little time left on this earth, and when the time came for them to die, his conscience would not be troubled if he showed a little leniency. They ought to be allowed some happiness now.
Guildford and Jane met as often as they dared — usually one night a week but sometimes less, for often the guard on duty was not to be trusted. They had to be careful. At first, Jane was haunted by the fear that she might get pregnant, but even that fear was drowned in the new recklessness that had entered her heart. She cared about nothing. If she should have a child, she would somehow smuggle it out of the Tower and send it to one of her friends - to her sister Katherine or, better still, to some relatives of Mistress Ellen. No, pregnancy wasn't such a terrible problem, even in the Tower.
'It shouldn't be too difficult to escape from this place,' announced Guildford one morning. It was three o'clock and they were lying side by side in Jane's huge bed.
'I could never escape,' Jane said mournfully. They are rather lax with you because your one crime is that you're my husband. But they'd never, never let me out of their sight.'
'One day, Jane, we'll leave this hellpit.'
It was so easy to believe it when his arms were locked around her and her head rested on his chest, but on the nights when he didn't come to her, she would lie between the sheets, her body stiff with terror, wondering what would become of her.
Unable to sleep, she would toss back the sheets and pad barefoot across the floor. Yellow specks of torchlight dotted the blackness outside her window. A guard plodded back and forth across the yard. Jane would listen to those heavy footsteps — slow, sinister, grimly conscious of duty. And knew she would never escape.
A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey Page 26