by Alison Weir
* * *
—
It could not be, Jane thought furiously, as sleep eluded her and she tossed in her bed. Edward could not be in love with Nan Stanhope. Of all the girls to choose! Why could he not have fallen for the lovely Joan Champernowne, or Margery, or Bess? Why was he pursuing one who was so sharp-tongued, so volatile and so unpleasant? Not that he was actually doing much pursuing, for Nan had been throwing herself at him for two weeks now, all through the summer progress—or that part of it in which the maids-of-honor had participated, after the King begrudgingly summoned the Queen to join him and the court, and Mistress Anne, at Woodstock. It sickened Jane as much to see Edward dancing attention on Nan and caressing her openly as it did to witness the King’s displays of devotion to Anne Boleyn.
Now it was September, and the court was crammed into the small hunting lodge at Grafton, with the maids cramped together in a tiny attic. The cardinals had arrived that very day, for the legate to take formal leave of the King, and everyone had thought that Henry would refuse to receive Wolsey—but no, he had welcomed him with open arms and great emotion. It was as if nothing had gone wrong between them, and the court had been buzzing with speculation that Wolsey was about to be restored to his former eminence. Mistress Anne and her party had gone about with glowering faces, leaving no one in any doubt that she would discountenance the Cardinal if she could.
The next afternoon, Henry and Anne rode out to the chase. From an open window overlooking the courtyard, Jane watched as the King bade a smiling farewell to the cardinals, who were due to leave for London later that afternoon, and heard him say he would see Wolsey on his return. She noticed the sly expression on Mistress Anne’s face, and was not surprised when the hour for the cardinals’ departure arrived, and still the King was not back. Jane and the other maids were in attendance on the Queen as she did her best to entertain them. She saw the grim disappointment in Wolsey’s lined, careworn face, and the defeat in his eyes. Eventually, he had no choice but to take his leave, for dusk was falling and they had to be on their way.
Jane was in bed when she heard the hunting party return, some hours later.
* * *
—
Jane stood watching as the new Imperial ambassador presented himself to the Queen. The last one had been a great support to Katherine, who had been sorry to see him leave, but it was obvious from the warmth in her expression that she liked what she saw of this new man, who had been sent by her nephew, who was Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, and the most powerful ruler in Christendom. Jane took to Messire Chapuys too. She guessed he was in his late thirties, and found herself arrested by his angular, sensitive face and the sincerity and admiration in his eyes when he spoke to the Queen, assuring her of the Emperor’s love and concern for her interests. Jane hoped her instincts were right, and that this new ambassador would champion Katherine’s cause as vigorously as his predecessor. Certainly his assurances suggested that he cared about what was right and just. She sensed the strength and wisdom in him, and passion even. When he had gone, the Queen looked a hundred times happier.
God knew, she had need of good cheer. The King had begun to persecute her with petty unkindnesses and wild threats. Her daughter would be taken from her care; she would be banished from court; he would bring down the full force of the law on her. They heard him shouting behind the closed door of her closet. And Anne Boleyn was now omitting the courtesies due to the Queen, spitting venom and dropping dark hints of vengeance. For Jane’s good mistress, life had become a nightmare, yet she bore it all with patience.
* * *
—
They had not been back at Greenwich for long when Edward came looking for Jane. Usually Nan was with him, weaving her coils around him, but today he was alone. Taking advantage of weather that was unseasonably mild for December, brother and sister took a stroll in the palace gardens, and sat down on the stone rim of a fountain.
“You’ve heard that the Cardinal has been stripped of his office of Lord Chancellor,” Edward stated. “He was adjudged guilty of allowing the Pope to interfere in English affairs.”
Jane was shocked. She had not heard. The news must be very fresh. “Are not England’s affairs the Pope’s lawful concern?”
“Not any more, apparently. Jane, this is cause for rejoicing. Wolsey’s fall is a victory for those of us who want to see the Church reformed. Nan agrees with me.” He recalled what details he knew.
What victory was there, Jane wondered, in an old, broken man being stripped of all his lands and goods, and banished to the country? It was hard to believe that this was the once-mighty Cardinal, whose word had been equal to the King’s. She had not liked Wolsey much, or approved of his worldliness and greed, but he had represented everything that was stable in the Church, and the traditions that were steadily being undermined.
“The King has seized Wolsey’s house at Westminster, and is having it refurbished as a palace for Mistress—sorry, the Lady Anne.” Yes, they must all now call her that, her father having lately been created earl of Wiltshire and Ormond. Anne was now queen in all but name, and Jane was burning at the injustices done to Katherine.
Edward was no comfort. It was no secret where his loyalty lay. Jane knew it was futile to try to bend his opinions, so she always avoided discussing the matter on the few occasions she saw him.
“I didn’t actually come just to tell you about Wolsey,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “There’s something else. I wish to marry Nan.” It was the last thing Jane wanted to hear, but it was no surprise. “I’ve been home. I saw Catherine. I tried to persuade her to become a nun and set me free, but she refused. By God, now I know how the King feels!”
What could she say that would not make things worse? He had dealt severely with Catherine, and now he was reaping the harvest of his cruelty. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But she betrayed me, Jane. It was unforgivable.”
“It is two years now,” Jane said, wishing—as she often did—that she had been able to do more for Catherine in that time. “Can you not find it in your heart to forgive her? Mother forgave Father. And the boys need a mother.”
“And they shall have one, in Nan, as soon as I am free.”
“Nan?” Nan would have those boys disinherited as soon as she could snap her fingers. She was selfish and ambitious; she would be thinking of her own sons.
“Aye, Nan. I know you don’t favor her, Jane, but she has been a great support to me. It was she who made me go to the King and ask him to restore Catherine’s inheritance.”
“You did not tell him the whole truth?” Pray God he had not told Nan either!
“I spoke to his Grace in confidence. He was most sympathetic, and said it was not right that I should lose my wife’s inheritance on account of her misconduct.”
“It was on account of your misconduct too, Edward!” Jane could not stop herself from reminding him. “And you have shamed Father by telling the King! I cannot believe you could have done it.”
“Jane, a lot of money is at stake, and I needed the King’s help. I told him we have resolved never to speak of what happened, and he has agreed to lay the matter before Parliament on the grounds that I was deprived on account of my wife’s adultery. No man is named.”
“Before Parliament! Then the whole world will know that Catherine betrayed you.”
“Yes, but they will never know that it was with our father. I assure you of that, as the King assured me.”
“You told only the King? Not Nan?”
He looked away. “Of course she has to know, if we are to be married.”
Jane stood up. “You have told her, then?”
“Yes.”
Jane sighed. “You fool. She is the last person you should have told. She will never keep it a secret.”
Edward spoke through his teeth. “She has given me her promise not to utter a word a
bout it. And I ask you to be friendly to her, as my future bride.”
“You ask too much!” Jane cried. “She has a poisonous tongue. No one likes her. And Catherine is young yet—you may not be a free man for years, and praised be God for that!” In a rare passion, she walked away, shaking.
Edward came after her. “She is the woman I love, and I intend to wed her if I have to wait till my dotage to do it!”
“I pray you do!” Jane flung back. “And if she dies first, you will have had a lucky escape!”
Chapter 8
1530
That winter, Parliament passed an Act setting aside the terms of Sir William Fillol’s will, and overnight Edward became a man of substance. Nan Stanhope went about with a smug smile on her face, and Jane did her best to avoid her.
But Nan would not have it. It seemed that she sought Jane out at every turn—at meals, during the gatherings in the Queen’s chamber, where she was always hanging on to Edward’s arm, or as the maids formed a procession to attend their mistress to hall or chapel. Her approaches were friendly, but there was always a barb to them.
“How I look forward to meeting your father,” she would say, or, “I have heard say that your father has an eye for the ladies,” or even, “I dare say I shall find your father as handsome as his son!” It was infuriating, and Jane went in dread that someone would overhear her remarks and guess the truth.
She hated confrontations, and avoided them if she could. In the end, she decided to ignore Nan’s insinuations, in the hope that Nan would tire of them landing on deaf ears. But Nan seemed to sense her discomfort, and gave her no peace.
Jane complained to Edward. “You must stop her!” she cried. “She keeps taunting me with what she knows, and I can’t bear her malice anymore.” Edward sighed. “I will speak to her,” he said. “But maybe you perceive malice where none is intended. I know you don’t like Nan, but please try to get on with her.”
The injustice of this stung. “You might well ask her the same! I’d be happy if we could just keep to the courtesies.”
Whatever Edward said to Nan, it bore fruit. The barbs ceased and she kept her distance. And soon there was much to distract both her and Jane, for in the spring, the Princess Mary paid a rare visit to court. They were at Windsor Castle, the most ancient of the King’s residences, where the Queen’s chamber in her lodgings in the Upper Ward had a ceiling studded with tiny mirrors, and windows overlooking gardens and a vineyard. Jane felt quite emotional as she watched Katherine embrace the beloved daughter she saw all too rarely. She believed that the King kept them apart on purpose, to punish Katherine for denying him his freedom and for infecting Mary—as he would see it—with her opinions. For Mary had openly said that she would accept no one for queen except her mother, and she made no secret of her hatred for Anne Boleyn.
Jane felt sorry for the Princess, who was now a small, slight fourteen-year-old with wary eyes and all kinds of ailments brought on, she was sure, by unhappiness. She herself had known what it was to suffer helplessly through the infidelity of a father. Watching mother and daughter together, her heart bled for them, especially as the King was riding out hunting with Anne Boleyn nearly every day, leaving the Queen to her own devices.
“I cannot believe that my father has brought that woman here with him,” Mary said, as they sat sewing with the Queen’s women. Jane heard the bitterness in her voice, a bitterness Katherine never expressed.
“Do not let it upset you,” Katherine soothed. “One day soon, his Holiness will speak, and then his Grace will return to me, and the Lady Anne will be sent away.”
Jane saw the doubt in Mary’s eyes. What great grief infidelity could bring in its wake. Look at her own motherless nephews—or half-brothers, if you believed Edward. Didn’t anyone think of their children when it came to gratifying their illicit passions?
“I hear that the Cardinal is proving himself a devout shepherd for his flock in York,” the Queen said. “Exile, it seems, has awoken him to his spiritual responsibilities. Messire Chapuys told me that the Lady Anne would have had him arrested for treason, yet the King refused to proceed against him. I think his Grace still has a deep affection for him. But the Lady has not ceased to work against the Cardinal, and I doubt we shall ever see him restored to favor. He is not a well man. I never thought to feel sorry for Wolsey, but I do now.”
Jane felt pity for him too. Harry had been in his employ since Bishop Foxe died and the Cardinal had been made Bishop of Winchester in his stead, and had found him a fair employer; Wolsey might not have spent much time in his diocese, but he knew all that went on there, and took an interest in his servants. Whatever his failings, he had worked tirelessly to secure a divorce for the King, and it was not his fault that the case had been revoked to Rome. That had been more than a year ago now, and still the Pope had not spoken.
News that Sir Francis Bryan had offered Thomas a post in his service had been the only cheerful tidings in recent weeks. Bryan was going to France, as England’s ambassador, and Thomas was to be his messenger. “I’ll be going to and from the King,” he told Jane excitedly when he arrived at court and came with Edward to see her in the Queen’s chamber, looking as charming and handsome as ever. “I’ll be reporting personally to his Grace. That should get me noticed!” He was desperate for preferment.
“Assuredly it will.” She smiled.
Edward raised his eyebrows. “So long as you behave yourself, little brother.”
“Sir Francis has again been very good to us,” Jane said quickly. “Does he really do it without hope of reward? That is rare for a courtier.” She had been at court long enough now to know how things worked.
“Oh, he will reap a reward,” Edward said. “He is high in favor with the King, and his Grace is appreciative when his gentlemen recommend able and apt persons for royal service. And in gratitude, we may do Francis good service in time to come.”
“Then he has advanced us for his own profit?” Jane asked, disappointed. “I had thought he liked us.”
“I have no doubt that he does,” Edward said. “I don’t think it’s all about self-interest. He likes you especially. He often speaks of you.”
That was unexpected.
“Ah, now we get to the nub of the matter.” Thomas smirked.
“You have not encouraged him, I hope!” Jane cried. The last thing she wanted was for Bryan to think that she was pressing her brothers to arrange a marriage. Her cheeks burned at the thought.
Edward paused. “I did, but he did not take the bait. I said you were twenty-two and that Father is hoping for a good match for you. Francis said you deserved it, and he himself would keep an eye open for someone suitable.”
“Then he is not interested,” Jane said, knowing she had no right to feel spurned.
“He’s forty, and not yet wed,” Edward said. “He ought to settle down soon.”
“The eternal bachelor,” Thomas observed. “I don’t believe he’s waiting for a rich wife to come along. But I am!”
“Don’t heed him,” Edward muttered. “It may be, Jane, that a seed once planted takes root. It would be a good marriage. Don’t hope too much, though.”
“I hope for nothing,” she replied, with a touch of bitterness. “None of the other maids-of-honor are spoken for, so why should I complain?”
Edward flushed. He would not speak of Nan Stanhope in front of Thomas.
“Have you paused to wonder, sister, if that is because you all serve the Queen, and she is out of favor?” Thomas asked, lowering his voice, for Katherine was only feet away from them. “Few now ally themselves with those who are associated with her.”
“Young gentlemen still gather in her chamber,” Jane said.
“Aye, but not in such numbers as they did,” Edward put in.
“I will not leave her service!” Jane hissed, fierce. “No one could have a better mistress.
And I would never serve the Lady Anne, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“All right, sheathe your claws.” Thomas grinned.
“You never take anything seriously!” Jane chided him.
“Believe me, I take my family’s interests very seriously,” he declared.
“More like your own,” Edward muttered.
“That’s enough,” Jane told them. “Believe me, I am content to wait until a suitable husband presents himself. And if he does not, well then, I am happy serving the Queen, and if the worst comes to the worst, I can yet become a nun!”
Chapter 9
1531
Jane had told herself that she had no great desire to be married, but at heart she wondered if that were true. She was more upset than she would admit about Bryan’s lack of interest, and it had long disappointed her that not one of the gallants who came to the Queen’s chamber had ever done more than make polite conversation with her. Plain Jane, Nan had once called her, in spite, yet it was true. Maybe she should have entered a convent after all.
She had always thought that, as the oldest daughter in the family, she would be married first, so she was shocked to receive a letter from Father telling her that Lizzie was to be wed to Sir Anthony Ughtred, a widower whom Sir John had known in his fighting days, and a soldier who captained the King’s garrisons at Berwick and on the Scottish border. As well as his military duties in the far north, Sir Anthony had mercantile interests in various counties, and while visiting Wiltshire, he had spent two nights at Wulfhall, seen Lizzie, been smitten and asked for her hand. Just like that.
The wedding was to take place without delay—Mother was in a fluster getting everything prepared—and after the ceremony Sir Anthony would bear his bride north to Yorkshire, where she would be mistress of two great houses, Kexby Hall and Leppington Manor. The King himself had granted Kexby to Sir Anthony, whom he much favored; it was one of the properties confiscated from the late Cardinal Wolsey, who had died last November on the way south toward the Tower to face charges of treason.