Delighted to have apprehended his one-time ally, Huntingdon immediately arrested the two brothers in the Queen’s name, and under guard conducted them to the nearby city of Coventry.35 He wrote triumphantly to the Sheriff of Rutland that ‘by the providence of god the Duke of Suffolk and the Lord John his brother are this day apprehended and in my custody’, which news was ‘a wondrous good beginning’ in Renard’s view.36 Imprisoned with no chance of escape, and with a heavy heart, ‘The Duke of Suffolk has written out with his own hand and signed his confession.’37 Unfortunately the confession no longer survives, but Renard related that rather than displaying remorse for his behaviour, in the document Henry ‘owns that irritation at his arrest, the small esteem in which the Council held him’, as well as his conversations with his fellow conspirators Carew and Crofts, ‘who had plotted, together with many others, to set the Lady Elizabeth on the throne, moved him to leave the Queen’s party and join the rebels’.38 He also claimed that his brother Thomas ‘specially strove to persuade him, and also tried to win over Pembroke, who refused to listen’.39
Henry made no mention of Jane, the daughter whom he had betrayed in the most appalling manner. She was doubtless informed of his capture, and with that news vanished her last hopes of freedom. It seems that Henry still hoped for a reprieve, for Renard had learned that ‘he implores mercy, not justice’.40 As he left Coventry with his brother, escorted by 300 horses and destined for London, there to join his daughter in prison, there was no doubt that Henry’s actions had had disastrous consequences both for himself, and more poignantly for Jane. Renard confirmed that Queen Mary ‘is resolved to let justice have its course, as her clemency has already been abused, and allow their heads to be cut off’.41 Though Jane’s fate had yet to be announced, it was clear that Henry’s reckless stupidity had led to ‘the permanent ruin of the ancient house of Grey of Dorset’.42 It was as if the events of the previous summer were repeating themselves once more.
QUEEN MARY HAD made a decision. Agonizing though it had been for her, she now realized that while Jane lived, she could potentially form a focal point for future dissenters. She had done all that she could in order to preserve the life of the young girl, but she could do no more. Even after Wyatt’s treachery had been discovered, ‘the Queen was already considering to have her reprieved, but, judging that such an action might give rise to new riots, the Council ruled it out and sentenced her to death’.43 Moreover, ‘Renard in the closet, and Gardiner in the pulpit, alike told her that she must show no more mercy.’44 Thanks to the actions of her father, the death sentence handed to Jane at Guildhall would have to become a reality. As the seventeenth-century historian Sir Richard Baker put it:
The Fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge: the innocent Lady must suffer for her Father’s fault; for if her Father the Duke of Suffolk, had not this second time made shipwreck of his loyalty, his Daughter perhaps had never tasted the salt-waters of the Queen’s displeasure.45
The actions of her father had effectively signed Jane’s death warrant. More specifically, it was his cries for Jane’s restoration as he rode through Warwickshire that ‘determined the queen to sacrifice her to her own safety’.46 It is unclear precisely when Mary made this decision, but Jane was probably informed that she was to die on the evening of 7 February, the same evening on which Wyatt arrived at the Tower.47 The hour of her death was fast approaching, and as she heard this news, ‘Jane, as she had long expected it, received the message with great resolution.’48 Once more, Jane demonstrated the outer strength and dignity that she had shown at her trial, for what is clear is that she drew admiration from all of those who came into contact with her. The reality, however, was that Jane was seventeen years old and through no fault of her own she would never again see her home, her family or her beloved tutor.
Jane’s thoughts turned to her end, and she was determined to show courage and die steadfast in the faith that she had adhered to for all of her short life. She learned that her execution had been scheduled for 9 February: there was little time to be had, though Jane was about to be faced with one final challenge.
CHAPTER 22
Bound by Indissoluble Ties
ON THE MORNING of 8 February, a visitor arrived at the Tower. He was here, he said, to see the Lady Jane, by order of the Queen. As he was led through the Tower precincts and conducted to the house of Nathaniel Partridge, the sight of the young girl who had necessitated his visit confronted him. For Jane the arrival of a visitor provided a mixture of welcome relief at having somebody to talk to, and impatience when she was informed of the reason. Her visitor was Dr John Feckenham, Queen Mary’s personal chaplain. A priest was designed to offer comfort to the needy, but in Jane’s case it provided no such thing. For Feckenham had been sent with a very specific task – and if he was successful, he believed that it could save Jane’s immortal soul.
Though Queen Mary had resigned herself to the fact that she had no choice but to take the lives of Jane and her husband, her mind was still uneasy. For she was acutely aware that unless the couple abandoned their Protestant faith, in her mind their souls would be eternally tormented within the fires of Hell. She could not save Jane’s life, but she could at least attempt to save her soul. Thus when Feckenham arrived at the Tower, ‘after some words of ceremony, he began to desire to do as much as he was himself ordered’.1 It is unlikely that Jane had ever met Feckenham before, for though he too was a learned man, he was as staunch a Catholic as Jane was Protestant, and had spent much of King Edward’s reign as a prisoner in the Tower for his beliefs. His feelings at returning there now must have brought back unpleasant reminders of his imprisonment. But perhaps Feckenham more than any other had an understanding of how Jane felt, caged and alone, and this may have increased his empathy for her. Nevertheless, he had not been sent merely to commiserate with Jane on her fate. As this ‘clever and crafty papist’ began his attempt to ‘free her from that superstition in which she had grown up, so that when dying her body, the soul would not be lost’, though Jane ‘listened to him considerately’, she replied that he had come too late, for her end was fast approaching, and she had not enough time to consider such things now.2 She had been born and raised a Protestant; it was a faith in which she had been nurtured by some of the most influential theologians of her day, and she was not prepared to abandon it now. But neither was Feckenham ready to give up so easily, and believing himself to be able to return Jane to the folds of the Catholic Church, he left the Tower convinced that he might be able to achieve his objective. All that was needed was a little more time, and the only person with the power to necessitate this was the Queen. Keen to fulfil his task, Feckenham approached his mistress, and informing her that he felt hopeful of swaying Jane, asked that ‘a new lease of life should be granted to her so that she might have time to get converted’.3
Mary was delighted by Feckenham’s news; perhaps some good might arise from the situation after all, and she graciously agreed to postpone both Jane and Guildford’s executions by three days. Little did Mary and Feckenham know that Jane’s belief in her faith had deeper roots than they could ever have anticipated, and that she was prepared to stand her ground come what may.
Relieved that Queen Mary had so readily agreed to delay Jane’s execution, Feckenham returned to the Tower once more. In high hopes of a positive outcome, he informed Jane that ‘the Queen had granted her three more days of life to enable her to amend her errors and therefore she should prepare herself to that for the weal of her soul’.4 But Jane was alarmed when she heard Feckenham’s words, and was at pains to assure him that she had already resigned herself to her fate:
She had taken leave from all earthly matters so that she did not even think of the fear of death and that she had prepared patiently to accept it in the way in which the Queen would be served to command; it was quite true that it would be painful to her flesh as mortal thing, but her soul was happy to abandon this darkness and ascend to the eternal
light, as she was confident, putting her trust in God’s mercy alone.5
Her reaction was extraordinary. Her father-in-law had done all he could in an attempt to evade death, but Jane it appeared, positively welcomed it. Her declaration was admirable, and surely masked her inner feelings of terror. So thought Feckenham, for perhaps she could yet be persuaded to relinquish her faith? Thus, he began to debate with Jane on that very question, and was amazed by her response. ‘What is then required of a Christian man?’ Feckenham asked her. Jane replied simply and with confidence, ‘That he should believe in God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, three persons and one God.’6 The differences in their religious beliefs were highlighted when the chaplain questioned Jane as to how many Sacraments there were. ‘Two,’ Jane answered, ‘the one the sacrament of baptism, and the other the sacrament of the Lord’s supper.’7 Appalled, Feckenham told her that she was wrong, for there were in fact seven Sacraments. But Jane did not back down. ‘By what Scripture find you that?’ she replied defiantly. ‘Well, we will talk of that hereafter: but what is signified by your two sacraments?’ Feckenham probed. Jane was ready with her answer:
By the sacrament of baptism I am washed with water and regenerated by the Spirit, and that washing is a token to me that I am the child of God. The sacrament of the Lord’s supper, offered unto me, is a sure seal and testimony that I am, by the blood of Christ, which he shed for me on the cross, made partaker of the everlasting kingdom.8
Jane had proven that not only was she more than capable of holding her own against a man of differing beliefs, but also that she was indeed worthy of her scholarly reputation. She was ‘very learned in matters of the Bible’, and she did not stop there.9 Each question that Feckenham fired at her she responded to fully, and it became clear that she would not renounce the faith in whose cause she so steadfastly answered.
Feckenham had tried his utmost, but ‘he had great difficulty in trying to convince her’.10 Nevertheless, according to Foxe he tried one last time. ‘You ground your faith upon such authors as say and unsay both in a breath; and not upon the church, to whom ye ought to give credit.’
‘No,’ Jane responded,
I ground my faith on God’s word, and not upon the church. For if the church be a good church, the faith of the church must be tried by God’s word; and not God’s word by the church, neither yet my faith. Shall I believe the church because of antiquity, or shall I give credit to that church which taketh away from me the half part of the Lord’s supper, and will not any man receive it in both kinds? Which things, if they deny to us, then deny they to us part of our salvation. And I say, that it is an evil church, and not the spouse of Christ, but the spouse of the devil, that altereth the Lord’s supper, and both taketh from it, and addeth to it. To that church, say I, God will add plagues; and from that church will he take their part out of the book of life. Do they learn that of St Paul, when he ministered to the Corinthians in both kinds? Shall I believe this church? God forbid!11
Jane was triumphant: she had stood her ground and fought for her beliefs. Her faith had withstood the scrutiny and questioning, and now as the hour of her death drew nearer, she was determined that she would die for her faith, another female martyr to the Protestant cause.12
Even Feckenham, though saddened by his failure to turn Jane’s heart, could not help but be impressed by her fortitude. Indeed, he felt an admiration for her that he had never expected to feel, and decided that ‘with kind zeal and charity’ he would not abandon her until the end.13 Jane too, found that not only had her debate with the Queen’s Chaplain been stimulating, but that she also quite liked Feckenham. Be that as it may, she was determined to have the last word, and as Feckenham stood to leave he turned to Jane, telling her that he was sorry for her, for ‘I am sure,’ he began, that ‘we two shall never meet’. With a steadfast countenance Jane agreed: ‘true it is’, she said, ‘that we shall never meet, except God turn your heart; for I am sure, unless you repent and turn to God, you are in an evil case. And I pray God, in the bowels of his mercy, to send you his Holy Spirit; for he hath given you his great gift of utterance, if it pleased him also to open the eyes of your heart.’14
Exhilarated by her final declaration and confident of finding eternal glory, Jane was now left alone with her thoughts. She hoped that her conversations with Feckenham might be circulated after her death, highlighting her desire to be seen as a martyr. The next days would be her last: a time for reflection, contemplation and composition. A time to prepare herself to die.
EACH SECOND THAT passed brought Jane closer to death. The date that had been fixed upon was 12 February, and preparations were already well underway. Guildford was to die on the same day, on the same scaffold on Tower Hill on which his father had so recently lost his life. But there was to be no such public spectacle for Jane, for it had been decided that she would die within the confines of the Tower, away from the curious eyes of the city folk. Through her mercy, Queen Mary had been gracious enough to commute the full horrors of their sentences to simple decapitation. Despite the Queen’s clemency it was still a fearful prospect, which before long would become a conclusive reality. All of those imprisoned in the Tower would have heard the hammer of nails on wood as the scaffold on which Jane was to be executed was erected, and all would have known that her cause was now hopeless. From her rooms, Jane could even see the scaffold just a short distance away, yet she remained unfazed.
As she prepared herself for what lay ahead amid the noise of the Tower, Jane’s thoughts turned to her family. On 10 February her father, himself now a prisoner, had arrived at the Tower. He was reported to be in distress, possibly exacerbated by the fact that he had recently been ‘very sick with colic and stone’, while her mother and her two younger sisters now faced an uncertain future tainted by their father’s treason.15 As Jane was shortly to remind her sister Katherine, ‘if God had prospered him [Henry], you should have inherited his lands’.16 It had been six months since Jane had seen her parents, perhaps longer since she had seen her sisters; none of them could have envisaged that the girl who had shown such promise would soon have her life taken from her in the most brutal manner and undeserved circumstances. Jane knew that she would never see her family or her home again, and in an attempt to comfort them she began to write. She was aware that her words in the last letters she ever wrote would serve as a final testimony to the strength with which she met her end, and so she resolved to make them count.
Her sister Katherine had always been frivolous, and as the eldest of her sisters, it was important to Jane that she should offer her guidance. She decided to send Katherine her copy of the New Testament in Greek, and chose to accompany it with a stern lesson in morality. ‘I have here sent you, good sister Katharine, a book, which, although it be not outwardly trimmed with gold, yet inwardly it is more worth than precious stones,’ Jane began.17 Such sentiments indicate the low value that Jane placed on material objects, and demonstrate once again her belief that what lay within ‘shall bring you to an immortal and everlasting life’. Jane saw it as her duty to guide her thirteen-year-old sister, and exhorted her to pay heed to the words of the book, for ‘It shall teach you to live, and learn you to die.’ In what was perhaps a sad hint at her own situation, she warned Katherine not to trust that ‘the tenderness of your age shall lengthen your life; for as soon (if God call) goeth the young as the old’. As if to reassure her sister, however, Jane urged ‘as touching my death, rejoice as I do, good sister, that I shall be delivered of this corruption, and put on incorruption. For I am assured, that I shall, for losing of a mortal life, win an immortal life.’ Though the book no longer survives, Jane’s message was ultimately an account of how she had prepared for her end: ‘die in the true Christian faith, from the which (in God’s name) I exhort you, that you never swerve, neither for hope of life, nor for fear of death’.18
Despite the impersonal tone, it is clear that Jane had a genuine desire to instruct her sister. She had clung to her faith so d
evotedly, and perhaps she realized that, like her conversation with Feckenham, this letter too would be circulated among her co-religionists after her death, as indeed it was. Jane’s thoughts also turned to her mother. No letter to Frances survives, and this has often been taken as evidence that the relationship between mother and daughter was a fraught one. However, according to the account of Jane’s Italian tutor Michelangelo Florio, Jane did indeed write to her mother during her final hours.19 If this is true, then the fate of the letter is a mystery. Perhaps it was destroyed by Frances, in which case she must have had a good reason for doing so. She may have found the reminder of her daughter’s situation too unbearable to contemplate, or perhaps in view of the new reign, deemed it wise to burn it. Equally mysterious is the contents of the supposed letter, but it may have been designed by Jane to offer some comfort to her mother in a similar manner to the words she would write to her father.
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