Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  It would be the master bedchamber, Jane knew. They had no finer one.

  Joining the other maids who had been deputed to attend the Queen, she watched her father proudly showing the King the long gallery he had had built, and the chapel, which had been new-hung with tapestries in his Grace’s honor. Everything looked polished and gleaming. She saw Anne glance about her and smirk at Lady Worcester. Let her sneer, Jane thought. Her ancestors were in trade! She would not let her mistress’s snobbery mar her pleasure in being back home at her beloved Wulfhall.

  As Sir John left the bedchamber, having ensured that his royal guests had everything they could possibly need, he gave Jane a warm hug. “It is good to see you, daughter,” he said, “and it is good to have my family all together.”

  “It is good.” Jane kissed him, feeling a pang for Margery and Anthony. Still there were yawning empty spaces here.

  The Queen desired to rest, so Jane hurried down to the kitchen to be clasped in her mother’s distracted embrace. Orderly chaos reigned, as servants scurried hither and thither to prepare for tonight’s feast, and the bench was laden with an array of tempting dishes and puddings.

  “Your father has gone to the barn, where we’re accommodating the King’s retinue,” Mother said, mopping her brow. “This visit is a great honor, but I’m fit to drop, and God only knows what it’s all costing. Dorothy, fetch some parsley from the garden.” She turned to the scullion, sweating by the turnspit. “Look sharp, boy—how is that meat doing? Where’s Nan? That girl is useless, too grand to get her hands floury. Jane, will you help me with this pie?” A bowl of peeled apples stood ready, and a dish of custard. Jane fetched an apron and tied it over her traveling gown.

  Soon they were up to their elbows in flour and sugar, making pastries and even a subtlety in the shape of a crown; it was as if the honor of their house rested upon their culinary skill. Mother was determined that the King, in days to come, should have cause to look kindly upon the Seymours, if only because he had eaten so well under their roof.

  Now was not the time for a conversation about Jane’s future—and if things continued in this vein, there would not be time in the three days ahead of them. Again she toyed with the idea of staying behind when the court moved on.

  John came in from the courtyard with Ned in tow. “Grandfather says do you want to serve wine in the garden before the feast?”

  “Tell him yes,” Mother replied.

  “How are you faring, boys?” Jane asked. “I think of you often.”

  “We are in good health, but our tutor works us too hard at our lessons.” John grimaced.

  “They’re doing very well!” Mother said.

  “And your new stepmother?” Jane asked.

  “She doesn’t like us,” John muttered.

  “Of course she does,” Mother put in, rolling out the pastry as if her life depended on it. “It’s just her manner.” But her eyes met Jane’s and she made a face.

  When Mother was satisfied that all was ready, they went upstairs to change for the feast, and Jane put on one of her fine black court gowns, leaving her fair hair loose. Taking advantage of the lull while the royal guests took their ease, and grateful that Margery and Mary Norris were attending the Queen, she made for the chapel.

  Father James was lighting the candles, as dusk was falling. He looked up with pleasure at the sight of her, and she knelt for his blessing, thinking sadly that he had grown old in the years she had been away.

  “And how is life at court?” he asked.

  “Difficult, Father,” she told him. “I do not know how much longer I can endure this conflict of loyalties, or what is being done to those who oppose the King. My heart bleeds for the old Queen.”

  Father James looked nervously about him, as if Master Cromwell might be concealed beneath the wall hanging. He lowered his voice. “Have a care, Jane. It is now treason to refer to her by that title.”

  “There is no one here, and as far as I am concerned, Queen she is, and Queen she will be until she dies. I can never take Anne Boleyn for Queen in my heart.” Months of pent-up resentment were clamoring for a voice.

  The old priest crossed himself. “We who hold to the true ways must keep silence,” he whispered. “I am no Thomas More and you are no Nun of Kent. Like most people, I took the oath, for I do not seek martyrdom. Yet it grieved me to acknowledge the King’s supremacy and his heirs by Queen Anne, who can be no true wife to him while Katherine lives. It stuck like bitter gall in my throat. But today we must not dwell on such matters. It will not do to present a gloomy countenance to the King. I find myself, despite everything, liking him.”

  “I like him too,” Jane admitted, “even as I hate him for the evils he has wrought. It is this Anne who has led him from the true path, with her wiles and her cozening. She has used religion as a weapon in her greediness for advancement, and now we must all believe as she does. It is wrong, so wrong!”

  “Calm yourself, my child.” Father James touched her sleeve. “It will soon be time for the feast. For this evening, let us enjoy ourselves. I am sure God wishes it. He is aware of the moral burden you bear.”

  * * *

  —

  Seated at the center of the high table in the Broad Chamber, the King was very merry.

  “I rejoice to hear there’s good hunting to be had hereabouts!” he beamed, helping himself to another custard tart. “These are excellent, Lady Seymour.” Mother’s cup was quite clearly full. He had lavished praise on every dish that had been placed before him, and from the way he tucked in, it was unfeigned.

  “We’re in for a good season, Sir,” Father said. “We’ll ride out tomorrow and show your Grace some lively sport. But I fear that’s all that’s lively in these parts. This year’s harvest has been ruined due to the bad weather.”

  “So I heard,” the King replied, frowning. “I trust things will improve soon.”

  Father was watching Jane, who was sitting further along the table between Harry and Father James. He turned to the Queen. “Your Grace, I trust that Jane is giving satisfaction.”

  Anne nodded and smiled at Jane. “I have no complaints.” Praise indeed!

  “You have a fine family,” Henry told Mother, looking wistful.

  “Ten I’ve borne, Sir, and buried four, God rest them.” She swallowed. “We count ourselves lucky.”

  “Oh, to be a country gentleman and have a houseful of children and a good table like this!” The King sighed.

  “Your Grace is made for greater things,” Sir John said.

  “Aye, indeed,” Henry replied. “But it’s men like you country gentlemen who are the backbone of this realm. New men, who serve me well, and support my reforms.”

  Anne smiled again. Beside her, Jane sensed Father James stiffening. She was also aware that although the King was a jovial guest and had made them all feel at ease in his presence, beneath the bonhomie he was not a happy man. She had seen his eyes resting on her brothers, and imagined him thinking that, at his time of life, he should have healthy sons like them. Had the good Queen given him such, she would be sitting here at his side today, not languishing in Kimbolton Castle.

  * * *

  —

  After the dishes had been cleared away, hippocras was served, and the King lingered at the high table discussing local politics with Sir John, while the other men sat around playing at dice or cards. Anne thanked Mother and retired to bed. Clearly she had no desire to enjoy a domestic tête-à-tête with her, and anyway, poor Mother was fighting to stay awake. Even the King noticed, and bade her go upstairs, thanking her heartily for the excellent feast she had served.

  “You’re a lucky man, Sir John, having such a good woman to wife,” he said, watching her depart. “Meek, well bred and, above all, fruitful.” He sighed. “You are blessed indeed.”

  “I know, Sir,” Father said, and there was a
world of meaning in his voice. The King looked at him speculatively, but said nothing. After a pause, he spoke of the price of corn.

  Dorothy followed her mother to bed, and Bryan came over to join Jane, as she sat alone near the fire, working on an embroidered pillow cover that was to be a gift to the King. “A splendid evening,” he said, regarding her with his single, sardonic eye. “But his Grace is not happy.”

  “I hope it is nothing we have done?” Jane asked, alarmed.

  “No.” Bryan lowered his voice. “It’s that accursed woman. Did you hear her on the way here, railing at him like a fishwife?”

  Jane glanced nervously at the King, but he was deep in conversation with her father. “And did she have good cause for complaint?”

  “Oh, yes.” Bryan grimaced. “The Emperor wants the Lady Mary restored to the succession. Needless to say, Madam Anne was up in arms about it. I think she fears the King will do it, and he may have to, if she bears him no son. Elizabeth is too young to rule.” He leaned closer, so that their foreheads were almost touching. “But how can she get a son if the King does not go near her?”

  Jane shook her head almost imperceptibly. This was dangerous talk. “You are wrong, Sir Francis. The King has visited her bed several times on this progress, to my knowledge.”

  “Ah,” he replied, and winked. “I wonder what she did to lure him back.”

  Jane shrugged. “What she usually does, I suppose. She still has some kind of hold on him.”

  “She knows well how to rule him!”

  “Yet he does not always heed her. He can be quite brutal sometimes.”

  Jane became aware that people were looking at them, and realized that they might be mistaking sedition for dalliance. She sat up.

  “I must go,” she told Bryan. “We have attracted attention. People may be drawing the wrong conclusions.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I like you well, Jane, but you must know that I am not the marrying sort. I don’t have it in me to stay faithful, and my life is at court. You deserve better.”

  She forced a smile. If some rich heiress loomed into view, he would doubtless find that he was the marrying sort after all. I like you well. It had sounded like a death knell. More and more, she was becoming convinced that she was unlovable; that there was something in her that men found repellent.

  “I will always be your friend,” Bryan assured her.

  She rose. “I must go to bed.”

  “I have offended you,” he said, looking genuinely concerned. He stood too. “Listen, Jane. I am trying to do the honorable thing. I’d bed you now, if I could—but I would not dishonor you by suggesting it.”

  Jane felt her cheeks flush, and hoped that anyone watching might think it was the heat from the fire. “I hope, Sir Francis, that one day, some truly honorable man will refrain from hinting that I’m good for bedding but not for marrying.” She curtseyed to the King and walked away. Bryan caught up with her just outside the door.

  “I did not mean that, Jane! It’s that I’m not good enough to marry you.”

  “Oh, Francis, stop tying yourself in knots!” she cried, exasperated, and left him standing there.

  * * *

  —

  Jane slipped outside. It had been hot and smoky in the Broad Chamber, and she was greatly agitated. She needed some air. It was peaceful in My Old Lady’s Garden, and the scent of late roses hung delicately in the nighttime breeze. The moon was a perfect crescent, and Jane gazed at it for a time, trying to make out a face, as she had done in childhood. She could not leave this beloved place. She would not go with the court when it left Wulfhall. She did not want a marriage arranged for her, and she could not bear the prospect of other men rejecting her. She would plead illness. In a way, that would not be an untruth, for she was sick to her soul of living a lie and of all the petty deceptions she was forced to practice. She could not compromise her conscience anymore. She would stay here and help Mother and be a companion to her parents as they aged, and then, when her time was done, she would lie with her siblings in the church at Bedwyn Magna.

  Her decision made, she felt a calmness descend on her. Forget Bryan, she told herself. You don’t really want him. He’d be no good to you.

  She sat down on her favorite bench, enjoying the peacefulness of the garden. In the woods nearby, an owl hooted. And then, just as she was thinking that she ought to get some sleep, for tomorrow would be another busy day, and they must be up early to prepare a good breakfast before the royal party departed on the hunt, she heard a door click. Someone was approaching, taking their time. She turned around, and there was the King, all alone, emerging from behind the hedge, looking as if he had the cares of the world on his shoulders.

  Instantly she was on her feet, curtseying. “Your Grace!”

  “Mistress Jane!” He looked startled.

  “I was just taking the air, Sir. It was hot indoors. But I will leave you in peace now.”

  “Stay.” Their eyes met, and she could see that he was troubled.

  “You were kind to me once,” he said, sitting down heavily on the bench. “I have not forgotten that. It was a simple gesture, but I knew it was well meant. People do not always treat kings like human beings.” He smiled at her. “Sit with me awhile. Don’t look so afraid. I don’t bite.”

  She sat down, smoothing her silk skirts. It was growing chilly. “What a beautiful garden,” the King observed, looking around him in the moonlight. “So peaceful. There’s a sense of timelessness here. This is the true England; its essence does not lie in courts or cities. Do you understand what I mean, Jane?”

  “I think I do, Sir.” She nodded. It seemed so unreal, sitting alone with the King, whom never she had seen unattended. “I love it here.”

  “You prefer it to the court.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “It is my home, Sir,” she said, wondering what he would say if she told him she was planning to leave the Queen’s service.

  “It is rare to find someone who leans toward a quiet life,” he said. “Sir Thomas More was one such. I envied him his happy home, his family and his leisure to study.”

  Jane was amazed that the King would even mention More to her. Yet you took him away from all that and shut him up in the Tower! she wanted to say.

  He swallowed. “I loved and respected him.”

  Jane remained silent, not sure that she was supposed to express an opinion.

  “The world knows who was the cause of his death!” he blurted out, his eyes steely. She was in no doubt as to whom he was referring, but whatever he said now, he had signed the death warrant. He was responsible.

  She looked up at him. There were tears in his eyes.

  “He defied me,” he said. “He was my friend, but he defied me, and people think the worse of me for it.”

  Jane found her voice. “I am very sorry for your Grace,” she said quietly.

  He drew in his breath, closing his eyes. “So am I, Jane, so am I. All I have done, all that blood spilt, has been for nothing, for still I have no son to carry on my great work of reformation.”

  “Her Grace may yet bear you a son,” Jane ventured.

  “I pray for it daily! The Emperor demands that I restore the Lady Mary to the succession, but he’s a fool. Set a woman upon the throne, and if she marries a subject, there will be jealousies and factions warring at court. Let her marry a foreign prince, and what then of England? This great realm reduced to a dominion of France or Spain! Loyal, true-born Englishmen must shrink from the prospect. I could weep when I think of it.” He looked to be on the brink of it now. “Jane, I need a son!”

  “I pray for it daily too, Sir,” she declared. He nodded. She realized he was too choked to speak.

  They sat there for a while in silence. She wondered if he had regretted his outburst. It seemed extraordinary that he had confided in her; it
was probably a measure of how distressed he was. Maybe he had gone too far with his reforms to turn back, and now repented of it. He seemed to be at war with his conscience over More. He could not see that his problems were all of his own making. He could have married his daughter Mary to some great prince and got a grandson to succeed him. But no: he had put away his devoted wife and taken, in her place, a shrew. In his blind infatuation, he had not seen things clearly. Now he was reaping what he had sown. And others, Anne and Cromwell among them, had made him cruel and ruthless, pushing him ever further along the path to damnation—and no one dared speak out in protest.

  “Your family has lived here a long time,” the King said suddenly, mastering himself.

  “Yes, Sir. Seymours were living in Savernake Forest back in the fourteenth century.”

  Henry nodded. “I like your father and mother. They are genuine people. That is a rare thing.”

  “I know, Sir,” Jane agreed. She shivered. It really was cold now. Autumn was almost upon them.

  “I have kept you out too long,” the King said, rising to his feet. “Forgive me. There is a gentleness in you that induces confidences, Jane.”

  Jane had risen too. “We all need someone to talk to sometimes, Sir.”

  “Would that I could talk to you more often,” Henry said, looking down at her intently. There was something in his gaze that arrested her.

  No man had ever looked at her like that before. She was stunned.

  “I-I am always ready to listen, Sir,” she stammered, and began walking toward the house before realizing that she should have waited for him to precede her. But she had been desperate to get indoors and be alone with her thoughts. At the door, she dropped a quick curtsey, not meeting his eyes, for she did not want to see again what she had seen there earlier.

  “Good night, Jane,” he said, in that high, mellow voice.

  “Good night, Sir,” she murmured, and fled upstairs.