Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  “Yes, Madam,” Jane replied, aware that she hadn’t said she was content.

  It was all happening too fast. This morning she had been going about her daily duties without a thought for the future, and now, suddenly, she was to be married. She would willingly have poleaxed Thomas, if he had been within striking distance.

  * * *

  —

  The manor house at Wing was set in the midst of a beautiful country estate; it was an ancient stone building plastered white, with a tall oriel window in what Jane realized must be the hall, and a stout oak door set in a pointed archway. It bespoke wealth and good management.

  Their approach had been noticed. Suddenly the door opened and a man and a woman emerged, and stood there waiting for them to dismount. The man—Sir Robert Dormer, Jane guessed—looked to be in his middle forties, and wore a black gown of good quality; his wife was in black too, wearing a gable hood and a white partlet covering the neckline of her dress. He was smiling; she was not. In fact, she looked disapproving. There was no sign of William Dormer.

  Jane had an idea that this meeting was going to be an ordeal. “Welcome, Mistress Jane,” Sir Robert said, executing a slight bow. “And you must be Mistress Margery?”

  “Yes, Sir Robert.” Margery smiled.

  “Welcome,” Lady Dormer echoed, stone-faced. Jane dropped a curtsey. “Pray come in. You”—she looked at the groom—“may go through that door to the kitchen and have a cup of ale.”

  A copper-haired young man of middle height was waiting in the hall, a lofty room with a vaulted ceiling and two fine tapestries on the walls. So this was William Dormer. He was looking as nervous as Jane felt. Her second impression was that he was very handsome. Those cheekbones! And those blue eyes and full lips! Suddenly wedlock did not seem such a dismal prospect after all.

  William Dormer bowed lower than his father had, and Jane curtseyed again. He gave no sign that he found her as attractive as she did him. In fact, he spoke not a word. Sir Robert signaled that they should sit down beside the vast hearth, in which flowers had been tastefully arranged, and Lady Dormer beckoned a manservant. “We will have refreshments now, Walter. Please see they are brought promptly.”

  Wine was brought, and wafers and sugared fruits, as for a special occasion. The cloth that covered them was snowy white. It was clear that Lady Dormer ruled her household efficiently, and probably strictly too. Jane wished she would unbend a little and smile. She felt daunted at the prospect of having to live here under this woman’s rule. You could not compare it with the happy household presided over by Mother at Wulfhall.

  It was Sir Robert who tried to put them at their ease, asking if they had had an easy journey, and if the inns at which they had stayed had been satisfactory. He told them that Wing Manor had been built more than two centuries before, and that he had bought it soon after his marriage. “It is my wife who has made it what it is today,” he said, inducing a slight lifting of Lady Dormer’s lips.

  Dinner was served in the parlor. The conversation continued with awkward pauses, filled hastily by Sir Robert, who spoke of the good hunting hereabouts, and the new wing he was planning to build. Nothing was said of the marriage. William contributed little, but Jane was aware of his eyes on her. He seemed to be in awe of his mother, and kept looking at her, as if he needed her approval.

  “How does the Queen?” Sir Robert asked.

  “She is in fair health,” Jane told him, taking care to eat daintily, “but weighed down by sorrows.”

  “Alas, poor lady,” he said. “We feel for her.”

  “She is a good mistress, and we all love her.” Jane looked at Margery, who nodded agreement. “She does not deserve her misfortunes, yet still she stays cheerful, taking all patiently and with great faith.”

  Lady Dormer looked up from her plate. “Does it please you to be away from the court, Mistress Jane?”

  “I do not miss it, my lady. I wish only to serve my gracious mistress. There are things that go on at court of which I could never approve.”

  “That is why I stay away,” Sir Robert said. “It is better thus. All of us here are for the Queen—and the Pope.”

  “The court is a wicked and godless place,” Lady Dormer barked. “My brother, Sebastian Newdigate, was a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber to the King, and much favored by him, but when this vile divorce business broke out, I warned him not to stain his soul and honor with such dangerous and pestilent contagions as the bad example of his master might lead him to. Fortunately, my brother had already had a calling to the religious life, and two years ago he became a monk at the London Charterhouse. So, Mistress Jane, if you marry my son, we would not want you to return to court unless the Queen is restored to her place.”

  “I would not contemplate it,” Jane said. “I could never serve the Lady Anne.” She was disconcerted at the way Lady Dormer had said “if,” and annoyed that William had nothing to say to her. This meeting was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

  Lady Dormer dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. All her movements were economical, although there was a certain grace about her—the kind that Jane had seen in the nuns at Amesbury. She wondered if Lady Dormer had once been a nun.

  That lady turned to her. “I am determined to arrange a suitable marriage for my son,” she said. “When I saw the corruption of the state of this kingdom, I decided that I would marry him to some virtuous gentlewoman of equal rank. Sir Robert was in agreement, and he asked me to take charge of the matter, wishing me to resolve it before the King hindered our intention by commanding a marriage we did not like. For, William being our only child and heir to a great patrimony, many courtiers have sought to marry their daughters and kinswoman to him.”

  “Sir Francis Bryan’s but one of them,” Sir Robert said.

  “But he is a notorious favorite of the King, and we think he is only pretending to favor this match,” his wife put in. “He supports the Lady Anne Boleyn. Why would he interest himself in us, who are of the opposite party?”

  Jane was sitting there in mounting astonishment. “But Lady Dormer, why would Sir Francis sue for this marriage if he did not intend for it to take place?”

  “I think it is to put off someone who could have offered us a better match,” the woman said bluntly. “Whatever the reason, I would never trust the man or his motives. I detest him!”

  “Then why did you agree to my coming here?” Jane asked.

  “Sir Francis enjoys great influence as one of the King’s intimates,” Sir Robert said. “We are in a precarious position, and we thought it prudent to concur. After all, he seemed serious when he treated of this marriage with us.”

  “And he is serious,” Jane declared. “He wishes to see me married well, and approached you at my brother’s instigation. They both want me to leave the Queen’s service. Sir Francis proposed William as my husband because he is of like mind to me, and loves the Queen and his Holiness.”

  “This is not about you yourself, my dear,” Sir Robert replied. “You seem a devout and modest young lady, and I like you. I am sure William does too.” He looked at his son, and William made what passed for a nod of agreement. “But we would rather not have dealings with someone so close to the King as Sir Francis, whose reputation is not of the best.”

  “So what is to happen?” Jane asked, bewildered, for nothing was making sense.

  There was a short silence. “Fear not, we will treat again with Sir Francis to make sure that he really is sincere,” Sir Robert said. Lady Dormer’s mouth tightened in a disapproving line.

  Fortunately they had nearly finished eating, and could soon be on their way back to the inn at Tottenhoe where they had lodged the night before. Jane suspected Lady Dormer would do everything in her power to prevent William from marrying her. Inwardly, she sighed. Bryan had been the cause of all this, and her meddling brother Thomas, and they could deal with the matt
er. She desired no part in it, and she was convinced of the wisdom of that when, on parting, William Dormer did not even bow, but gave her a haughty stare that told her unequivocally that he did not want her.

  * * *

  —

  She knelt beside the Queen and told her what had happened. Katherine patted her shoulder.

  “You may have been mistaken, Jane. Why would they not want you as a bride for their son?”

  “I cannot think, Madam.” She could hardly tell the Queen how much the Dormers hated Bryan. It was cruel that his kind gesture in brokering a betrothal had been the thing that might wreck her prospects. She felt tears brimming. On seeing William Dormer, she had thought that happiness could be hers, and then, so rapidly, she had been disillusioned. The Dormers did not approve of the match, and William’s indifference had stung. Her one chance of marriage was going to end in humiliation.

  She got up and fetched her lute. She must not brood like this.

  * * *

  —

  Bryan wrote again, his tone indignant. He was sorry to tell her that William Dormer was betrothed elsewhere, to the daughter of Sir William Sidney, a prominent courtier.

  “Lady Dormer took the whole business, and the blame, upon herself,” Bryan had written, “assuring me she had negotiated the matter before with Lady Sidney and could not go back on her word. I have told her that they will see you just as well bestowed in life. I promise, Jane, that I will find you a better marriage.”

  So there had been another match in mind. Lady Dormer had wasted no time. She had hurriedly made an overture to Sir William’s wife, offering William as a husband for his eldest daughter, and Lady Sidney had evidently been well pleased. Bryan told Jane that Lady Dormer had ridden up to Sir William Sidney’s house in London with her son, and there the two mothers had concluded the betrothal.

  Try as she might, Jane could not but feel spurned, for the second time in her life. The whole business had been utterly distasteful. Her resentment simmered.

  When she told the Queen what had happened, Katherine displayed rare anger. “But there was an understanding,” she said, clearly appalled.

  “I knew that Lady Dormer was against it, Madam. I must confess, I am upset about it. Clearly I was not good enough for her son.”

  Katherine put an arm around her, something she had never done before. “Well, Jane, if you are good enough to serve me, you are too good for William Dormer.” That did make Jane feel happier. She was much better off here, in exile with a loving mistress, than she would ever have been at Wing Manor as William’s unwanted wife.

  As Christmas approached, and the maids occupied themselves with making gifts for the Queen and each other, Jane received another letter from Bryan.

  “You will not credit this,” it read, “but William Dormer has entered the service of Master Cromwell.” Jane was staggered. Cromwell was surely the last person of whom Sir Robert and Lady Dormer would have approved. But self-interest had evidently overridden all other considerations, because such an appointment was assuredly an advantageous step to advancement. What hypocrites these people were!

  And had Thomas and Bryan known that this might happen? Was it this that had led them to suggest a marriage that would have placed Jane advantageously in the reformist camp?

  Chapter 11

  1533

  The order came in February. The Queen was to move to Ampthill Castle, and her household was to be reduced. The vast train of extra maids-of-honor had been dismissed, and fewer than thirty had been retained. Jane was praying that she would be allowed to stay. She could not bear the thought of leaving Katherine, especially when it was clear that Ampthill Castle would be more of a prison than a house of retirement. Already they had been warned that new rules and restrictions would be imposed. They would not be allowed to leave the castle precincts, for a start. Exile alone not having worked, the King was further punishing his wife for her defiance. But Jane would willingly have endured any privations to stay with the Queen. It was unthinkable that she leave her at this time, with Katherine so low in spirits.

  The Queen appeared composed when she summoned her household, but her voice shook as she dismissed those who were to be let go. Jane waited, holding her breath, watching the women who were to leave break down in tears or kiss their mistress’s hand with emotion. She felt choked, for they had been her daily companions and friends; she shared a special bond with them. But her name was not on the list. She exhaled in relief.

  They were preparing to depart for Ampthill when Lord Mountjoy brought a letter for Jane. She could have wept when she read it.

  “Is it bad news?” Katherine asked, her face filled with concern.

  “Yes, Madam.” She could hardly speak. “My father commands me home without delay. He says that he has written to the King and found me a place at court, and has bought it dearly for me.”

  “With the Lady Anne?” Katherine’s voice was gentle.

  Jane could not bear the thought. Indignation rose in her breast. She was sure her brothers had urged this, out of self-interest, and Father had complied—anxious, no doubt, to win favor with Edward, she thought bitterly—and she must pay the price. No doubt Bryan had played his part too!

  “I fear so, Madam.” She found herself weeping uncontrollably, and fell to her knees by the Queen’s chair. “Let me stay, your Grace! Oh, do let me stay! You could write to my father and command it—”

  “Hush, child, do you think my word would carry any weight? Besides, it is more to your benefit to be serving one who is in favor than one who is not. Your father is wise; he sees this.”

  “But I cannot serve her. I hate her and all she stands for!”

  “I am very sorry,” Katherine said, “yet there is no remedy. You must obey your father and go home—but you go with my blessing.”

  At that, Jane wept afresh. “I will never have such a kind mistress,” she sobbed. “I wish—I so wish—your Grace and the Princess a happy ending to your troubles.”

  In streams of tears, she dragged herself to her feet and went to pack her things, while Lord Mountjoy arranged horses and an escort to take her on her way. She clung tightly when Katherine embraced her and bade her farewell.

  “Your Grace knows that I am not going willingly!” she cried.

  “I know that,” Katherine soothed. “May God be with you always.” One final curtsey, and Jane’s service was ended.

  * * *

  —

  Wulfhall slumbered as it had for centuries in its winter-wrapped valley. Sunk in misery and resentment, Jane was pleased to see it, and to be held against Mother’s ample bosom and have her tears dried. Mother was the same as ever, and here was Dorothy, fourteen years old now and very grown up, come to help her carry her bags up to her chamber. Otherwise the place was quiet, no longer the teeming household in which she had grown up. Father was at the assizes at Salisbury, Harry away at Winchester. They had had a letter from Lizzie, who was expecting her first baby.

  “She’s too young,” Mother said, as Jane joined her in the kitchen, where she was cutting pastry leaves for a pie. “I was nineteen when I had my first. Lizzie’s only fifteen. I pray that all will be well. She is looking forward to the time when she can leave the Lady Anne’s service and go to Jersey. I don’t think she’s enjoying herself very much, but then we all have to make the best of things. There was something she wrote in her letter, though…Dorothy, fetch it, please. My hands are all floury.”

  The letter was duly brought and Jane perused it. The Lady Anne, apparently, kept a lively court, with lots of dancing and merry pastimes, and the young gallants flocked to it. Yes, thought Jane, but she has no right to be keeping court at all!

  “I do not want to serve the Lady Anne,” she said.

  Mother made a face. “He must needs go that the Devil drives,” she observed. “But that wasn’t what I wanted you to see. Read on.
”

  Jane read—and read again. Lizzie had written that there were rumors at court that the King had already married Anne. She looked up, horrified. “That cannot be true! The Pope hasn’t spoken, has he?”

  “No,” Mother said, “nor Archbishop Cranmer, to my knowledge.”

  “It’s probably just gossip,” Dorothy opined, sneaking a sugar plum and cramming it in her mouth.

  “Knowing the Lady Anne, she will want a big state wedding with all the pomp and pageantry there could be,” Jane said. “She’s the last person who would consent to being wed in secret.”

  She could not go to court and serve that woman, even if she were queen. It would not be right. She would tell Father when he returned home.

  * * *

  —

  “No, Jane,” Father said emphatically, from the great chair he used as master of the household. “It is all arranged, through the good offices of Sir Francis Bryan, and if you do not go, it will give offense—and I will be out of pocket.”

  “I thought Sir Francis might be involved somehow,” Jane said, bitter. “I wish he would stop meddling in my life. Look at the Dormer fiasco.”

  “That was not his fault,” Father said. “It seemed a good match for you. And he himself offered to find a place for you at court to compensate for the disappointment. He smoothed the way.” He looked weary after his long ride. Mother handed him a goblet of steaming lambswool to warm him.

  “I know he has good intentions, but he does these things without even consulting me!” Jane complained.

  “He consulted me, which was more important,” Father said. “I made an approach to the King, and Sir Francis did the rest. I paid for the privilege. If this family is to prosper, we have to move with the times. The Lady Anne will soon be queen. Sir Francis was lucky to secure a place for you, and you will accept it and do your duty graciously. I would not offend the King for anything.” It was not like Father to be so severe, but he had been dealing with malefactors for days, and clearly accounted his daughter one of them.