Later I looked at the sealed paper again. I feel sure it is a letter. But from whom? And who is EL—? The only names I can think of that begin with E and L are Eliza, which is too short, and Elizabeth and Eleanor. But I do believe I can see the tail of a Z as it swoops downwards, though it is not all that clear.
Later
A great and wonderful thought has come to me! Father said someone of importance gave the book to him. Could it have been the Princess Elizabeth? Is she the mysterious EL—? No. If the book had been hers, she would have known the letter was there and would have opened it. The seal is unbroken.
So perhaps the book belonged to someone who had written the letter to the Princess. I am sure it will be useless asking Father who the mysterious person of importance was. He never utters the name of any prisoner to us. He says that side of Tower life must stay outside our door. But I could try to find out more.
22nd May 1553
Sal said there was a lot of talk at the fish stall this morning about a wedding. “The Lady Jane Grey,” she said, “did wed a son of the Duke of Northumberland yesterday. ’Tis said she did not want to, but her parents beat her until she agreed.”
What a strange thing. My parents would not have to beat me to make me marry the son of a duke! Imagine, Lady Tilly – no! Lady Matilda. I would meet the king (or queen).
I asked Sal why this girl’s wedding was so interesting, and she told me that Henry VIII was great-uncle to the Lady Jane, which makes her a sort of cousin of King Edward, so she could be in line for the throne. The King, we hear, is steadily pining away, and may die shortly. It is nearly June, after all.
Hah! Lady Jane might dream of the throne, but I should like to hear what the two princesses would say about that! Anyway, I do not know if any of this is true – Sal is always full of fanciful notions.
I wish that Tom would not talk to her – he is my friend.
31st May 1553
Mother slapped Sal today, and I for one am glad. My uncle, who is a Chief Yeoman Warder, had a puppy that died, so he took it early to the menagerie for the beasts and found Tom and Sal together, teasing the wolf. I hope it chews through the wooden slats of its cage and eats them. Mother said Sal had better think only of her work, or she will be turned out of the Tower.
I could not bear that to happen to me! Although sometimes it feels as if we are all in a prison, I would not wish to leave here, ever. It is my home, my safe home.
Father has been busy and irritable lately, and it was only today that I dared to ask him about my book. He said he attended a noble lady as she went to the block. The lady gave her possessions to her attendants, so that the executioner should not have them, then she pressed the book into Father’s hands and said, “Take this . . . give it to a lady.”
“I hope you care well for your book, Tilly,” Father said. “It has passed through some of the most noble hands in the land.”
1st June 1553
The whole day has been spent caring for the little ones, and helping Sal with the work of the house. Mother has pains in her belly. Father is anxious, but she does not want him near her. The midwife has called three times, and Mrs Nell from the Tower tavern is sitting with her. Maybe the baby will come too soon, like last time. I am frightened that Mother might die. I have just had a little cry and have prayed for Mother and the baby, and for myself, and feel better for it.
The boys are asleep and the house is quiet apart from Sal banging up and down the stairs below me. Now I have time to think about the “EL—” letter. Shivers run down my spine when I consider what it might contain. For I have reached a great conclusion. I am convinced that the noble lady whom Father attended was none other than Queen Anne Boleyn, the mother of the Princess Elizabeth. And if I had been Anne Boleyn, about to be beheaded, my thoughts would be of no one but the little child I was to leave behind.
I believe this tiny letter was to be smuggled out of the Tower. I think Father made a mistake. He was not to give it to any lady. He was supposed to give it to one of Anne Boleyn’s own ladies (when they were safely outside the Tower walls) and she would see that it reached the Princess or was held for her until she was old enough to understand the contents.
I am tired, and keep falling into a daydream. I dream that I am the one to hand the letter to its rightful owner, the Princess Elizabeth.
23rd June 1553
I have been too busy and too tired and upset to write in my book. There are still just four children in our family – William, Harry, Jack and me. The baby, a girl, was born but did not live. She was called Susannah, and was baptized by the midwife. I do not know why it hurts me so much to think of her. I did not know her. I cannot even see her in my mind when I close my eyes. Everyone in the Tower has been so kind. That hurts me, too.
Today I went out for the first time in many days. Apart from the guards, I saw no one I knew as I passed through the Lion Tower, but on reaching Tower Hill I saw Tom coming towards me.
He did not stop. He did not smile or even look at me, but kept his eyes cast down. I suppose he just wants to be friends with Sal now, and not with me, although what he can find to interest him in a maidservant, I do not know. Mind, Mother says that to me about him. “What you can find interesting in the chatter of a boy who does nothing all day but shovel animal dung,” she grumbles, “I cannot imagine.”
I try to tell her he is just my friend – I am hardly going to marry him. She snorts when I say that. “Indeed you are not. Your father will decide who you marry, my girl.”
“Then please let me be friends with Tom,” I say. “I have no other friends near my age in the Tower.”
Anyway, Tom does far more than shovel dung. He feeds the animals and makes sure the carpenter keeps the cages in good repair, so fine ladies and gentlemen can see the beasts in safety. Even the King may come, for the menagerie belongs to him. The King’s safety is an important responsibility, so Tom is not just a dung-shoveller. Clearly, my mother does not understand this.
But the poor King will not come now because he is so ill, and I care not whether he comes here anyway. If Tom will not speak to me and be my friend, I will not visit the menagerie, either.
25th June 1553
Something strange is happening. At church, we prayed as usual for the health of the King, but when we came to the part where we normally pray for his half-sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, their names were not mentioned. After the service, men gathered in their groups as they always do, but today the groups were larger, and there were arguments and raised voices.
At dinner, William asked Father why Princess Mary’s name was not mentioned. “After all, though I pray Almighty God will spare the King,” he said, “we should surely pray for his successor.”
Father looked serious. “All is not as it seems, William,” he said. “The Lady Jane Grey is being talked of a great deal at Court.”
“Talked of how?” asked William.
“She married the Duke of Northumberland’s son, Guilford Dudley, not long ago.”
“I heard that,” I said, and wished I had not, when Father gave me a sharp look.
“Northumberland wishes to make his family great,” he continued. “Indeed, he works hard to make it the greatest in the land.”
William made his eyes wide, and he nodded slowly, as if he understood. He did not, I am sure, for he is not that clever. But whatever can Father mean? Northumberland’s family can never be the greatest in the land. The King’s family is the greatest.
7th July 1553
The Tower is alive with rumours. Gossip in the city reached the guards on duty at the gates and, once they heard, so did the rest of us. They say the King is dead, but no one seems to know for sure. There has been no proclamation. If he is dead, then Mary must be queen!
8th July 1553
It is true. The King is dead. It is a sad day – he was only fifteen.
Sir John Bridges (the Lieutenant of the Tower)
has received a letter announcing the death. Edward died two days ago. But I cannot think why the council kept his death secret. People are saying that as he died there was a great storm and hailstones red as blood beat down. I remember a storm for I was delivering a fruit pie to one of Mother’s friends, and it was a very watery pie by the time it reached her. I am sure I would have noticed red hail.
9th July 1553
The Tower has been a busier place than usual today. Basket upon basket of food has been brought in – every sort of fowl and fruit you can imagine – and the glorious scent of sweetmeats masks even the stink from the river. There are great sweepings and cleanings and the Yeoman Warders are scarcely to be seen, for they are brushing off their best uniforms, and the Guards are polishing their pikes. This makes me think the Queen will visit soon. But which queen? Mary – or Elizabeth? Oh, my heart burns for it to be Elizabeth. Mary is 37, and plain, and sounds dull to me, but Elizabeth! Elizabeth is said to be very clever, with a lively spirit, and she is only nineteen!
Mother asked why I look so cheerful. She suspects that I have been out talking to Tom, but I have not. I swear that I have almost forgotten him. As he has forgotten me.
10th July 1553
It is early morning and the air is fresh and cool. I have been woken by so many comings and goings that I think something important must be happening. I hear marching feet, and men’s voices. They try to speak quietly, but their words echo within the Tower walls. I burst to know what is afoot, but I cannot go down below, for fear of waking my brothers and angering Sal who, it is true, has little enough sleep. For a long time, I have been picking at the small hole in my roof with a piece of metal I found outside the Mint. If I make it larger, I will have a little daylight in my garret room. Mother says I burn too many candles, and asks, “Do you think I am made of tallow?” This morning’s activity has made me work a little harder at the hole, and I have enough light now to write.
Later
Such a wonderful day this has been – but strange! We have a queen, and I have seen her. We knew we would have one, but her name is not Mary, nor is it Elizabeth. It is Jane – Jane, the Queen. She is only fifteen years old.
What has happened, Father says, is this. King Edward wished our country to stay Protestant, with the monarch as head of the church in England. Therefore, he did not want the papist (that means Catholic) Mary to succeed him. He really disliked the Catholic church so he wrote a device, like a will, declaring that as both Mary and Elizabeth were not born in legal wedlock they must be known as bastards, and so cannot inherit the crown. Instead, he chose the Lady Jane Grey to be his successor. Lady Jane – I should say Queen Jane – is a Protestant. She is the one Sal told me about, the one who married the Duke of Northumberland’s son, Guilford Dudley. Northumberland’s name has been on many people’s lips today, and they do not always speak politely of him. Some think he deliberately married Guilford to Jane, and that this was part of his big plot to put her on the throne and so make Guilford king. Now he will become grander and richer than he is already, so it will not matter to him that he is not liked. A clever plan.
I wonder if Jane is angry that her parents made her marry Guilford. I am sure she is happy to be queen, but I think that if I were in her place of power, I would punish them.
It grows dark, and my candle is but a stump. I have moved my mattress so that the rising sun will shine on to my face. In the morning I will describe the rest of today’s happenings.
11th July 1553
I have some time before I must rise and help Mother and Sal. Where shall I begin?
The beginning, of course – the beginning of that glorious summer’s afternoon. At midday, here at the Tower, a Royal herald proclaimed Jane as queen, but we knew already. Sal went out before eight to buy a sugar cone and said the heralds had been to other places, too, with trumpeters blowing a fanfare. She said (I do not know if this is true) that few people cheered at the new queen’s name. I said, “How unkind,” but I realize now that I did not cheer, either. Although it was certain that Mary would not be queen, I had hoped for Elizabeth – my princess. She is, after all, a Protestant like Edward. Mother said most people had never heard of Jane Grey, so why should they cheer her, and anyway, they probably believed that it was Mary’s right to be queen. Father told her to hold her tongue.
At half past two, Sal and I ran down to the river to wait for the procession. Mother followed with the boys. She is still not lively. Father waited at the gate with Sir John, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and the other officials.
We waited an age, but when cheering started from the west, we knew the Royal barge was coming. When it appeared, followed by several others, how Sal and I did gape! The glory of it! The ladies and gentlemen, in red and purple and silver and gold, in velvet and brocade – so beautiful! As they turned their heads to see the people, the sun glinted on the jewels in their caps and head-dresses!
And Jane, the Queen – this is what she wore. A green damask skirt, a green and white bodice (absolutely thick with embroidery), a white head-dress encrusted with jewels, and wooden chopines, strapped beneath her shoes to make people think she is taller. I know, because I saw them as she stepped from the barge. She must indeed be very tiny.
As the guns on the wharf fired their salute to the new queen, she walked into the Tower under a canopy held by six fine men, with her mother bearing her train. As she came close, I saw she has freckles, and her hair looks slightly red. Her husband, Guilford Dudley, was dressed in gold and white, and was bowing to all sides, especially to the Queen whenever she spoke. The Yeomen of the Guard carried gilded axes that flashed in the sun.
I must go downstairs now.
Much later
At last I can finish my account!
Sir John and the other officials – Father, too – greeted the Queen and escorted her to the White Tower, where the Royal apartments are. Sal and I followed, at a distance. How the people stared as the Porter and guards let us pass! All the Lieutenant’s servants were in his garden looking out as the procession skirted the Garden Tower. Most people call it the Bloody Tower now, because of a terrible murder that’s supposed to have happened there. (Father says the whole place should be called the Bloody Tower. I say that’s horrible, but William says he and Father know what goes on.) We followed up the slope of Tower Green to the White Tower which, thanks to our house being so tall and thin, I can see from the hole in my roof.
A noble knelt to present the keys of the Tower to the Queen, for it is her palace now, but the Duke of Northumberland took the keys and handed them to her himself. As he is her father-in-law, and the main reason she is queen, perhaps he thought it was his right.
At dinner, Father told us how, after the Queen had attended worship in St John’s chapel at the top of the White Tower, he had been among those who had knelt before her in the presence chamber below. She was seated on the throne, still beneath the canopy, and he kissed her hand. My father!
They brought her the crown jewels (which I have seen and are glorious) but when they went to put the crown on her, Father says she drew back, shaking her head, and said something like, “The crown had never been demanded by me or by anyone in my name.” But they kept on and, in the end, she gave in and allowed them just to see if it fitted. Immediately, she went pale, and Father was called to attend her.
I cannot understand it. I would love to wear the crown. It seems that Guilford will not wear one, though. Father said the Queen was stone-faced at talk of having a crown made for her husband. His father, Northumberland, will not be pleased at that!
Something happened at the banquet which followed. Father has not spoken of it to any of us, but I know! Sal has friends in many places – at least she is useful for something! Apparently a letter arrived from the Lady Mary demanding that she be proclaimed queen immediately, because she is the legal heir to the throne. That must have given them all indigestion! Then in the night there was a row
in the Queen’s apartments between Jane and Guilford. He brought his mother, the Duchess of Northumberland, into it, and the row grew worse. Indeed, the Duchess made to take Guilford away, but Jane ordered them to stay. They had to obey her – she is the queen! The power is all hers from now on.
13th July 1553
I have not seen Queen Jane once since she arrived, and nor has Sal. She has kept to her apartments and has only been seen in public at midday dinner. She stays with her ladies, and is visited when her signature is needed on state papers. This is not how I imagined a young queen would behave. If I were in her place, I would have a banquet every day, with music and dancing and masks and jesters, and all around the room would be dozens of dainty sweetmeats in little dishes, with rose petals scattered in between.
14th July 1553
There is trouble, and now I know why the Queen keeps to her rooms. The Duke of Northumberland has taken an army into the east of England, and is to bring back the Lady Mary. The longer she is free, they fear, the more people will rally to support her claim to the throne. But it is not just ordinary people who wish for a daughter of Henry VIII to be queen – the gentry do, too, and are refusing to help Northumberland capture her.
Bloody Tower Page 2