Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  Jane took Margery’s hand. “Thank you, dear friend. I will try to ignore them.”

  * * *

  —

  Henry sent for Jane late that night. She came to him in the dimly lit chapel, and found him weeping in his pew, unable to control his distress. She took him in her arms.

  “She lost my boy!” he sobbed against her shoulder, the bristles on his chin rough against her breast. “It is the greatest discomfort to me and all this realm.” He raised a ravaged face to her. “I know I will have no boys by her. I see clearly that God does not wish to give me male children.”

  Jane held her breath. Was Anne’s spell broken? Could he at last see the truth?

  “Oh, Jane, help me!” he begged. “I am in great fear that I have again incurred the wrath of God. Those miscarriages did not occur without good reason: they were manifestations of His displeasure. I think my marriage with the Queen is as displeasing to Him as my unlawful union with Katherine.”

  Jane had never thought to hear him say it. Into her head there came, unbidden, an image of herself seated in a great church, wearing a crown. It was what her family had envisaged, and she had put it down to fond ambition, but with a heady rush of fear and excitement she now saw that they had perhaps been prescient. If Henry set Anne aside, what was there to stop him from marrying her? She was of similar rank and lineage to Anne, and he loved her. That had been sufficient to secure Anne a crown.

  Visions of the future flashed, unformed, through her head, but she knew she needed time to think. For now, she must choose her words with care, for what she said might prove crucial. “Alas, Sir, I wish that I could help you, but I am not learned in these matters, and I fear that you might take amiss any humble opinion I might express.”

  Henry sat up and looked at her with new interest, tears still staining his cheeks. “If you have something to say, you may utter it without fear, sweetheart.”

  Even with this reassurance, Jane dared not suggest that his marriage to Katherine had been a true one, which was why God was angry. Nor was she about to mention Mary Boleyn by name. “Sir, could there have been some impediment to your union with the Queen? Some affinity or consanguinity that was inadvertently overlooked?”

  She knew by his face that he understood what she was talking about.

  He looked embarrassed.

  “What have you heard?” he pressed her.

  “It was just gossip, Sir. Something about your Grace and the Queen’s sister.”

  Henry’s fair skin flushed. “It’s true, but it was a long time ago. I was aware of the impediment it created, so I obtained a dispensation from the Pope, sanctioning my marriage with Anne. But two years ago, Parliament passed an Act that rendered Papal dispensations unlawful if they were contrary to the will of God. Jane, Cranmer confirmed my marriage. He has never expressed any doubts about it. Thus I have always believed that it was not contrary to the will of God. But maybe that impediment was insurmountable. I must talk to Cranmer.”

  Jane wondered if Cranmer would be willing to unmake the marriage he had so sensationally declared to be true and valid. But she had heard him described as the King’s puppet. People whispered that he would find a theological precept for doing Henry’s bidding, whatever it was. If Henry went to Cranmer with good reasons for wanting an annulment, Cranmer might well be amenable.

  She gathered her courage. “Sir, has it occurred to you that putting away the Queen might restore your credit with God? It would leave you free to make another marriage, to a wife who could bear you sons.”

  To her amazement, Henry was nodding. “I am aware of that, darling. It would also ease the way to friendship with the Emperor and silence my opponents. Anne is not popular. She is a constant storm center, which is why I love the peace and quietness I find with you. I will tell you, I made tentative enquiries about an annulment last year, before the Princess Dowager died. My advisers were of the opinion that it would be seen as an admission that I was wrong to put Katherine from me. I would be expected to return to her, and any new marriage would also be controversial, because half Christendom held her to be my lawful wife.”

  This was news indeed, that he had already considered divorcing himself from Anne.

  “I’m no longer young, Jane,” he said. “I can’t afford to wait much longer for God to send me a son. I must talk to Cranmer.” He took her hand. “You give me sound advice. I do so love you, Jane. Look, I have a gift for you.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a roll of velvet, which he placed in her hands. She unraveled it to find an emerald pendant and a matching ring with a great stone. She drew in her breath. That he should offer her such costly gifts!

  “Emeralds stand for purity and faith,” Henry said.

  “I do not know how to thank your Grace. They are gorgeous. You are so good to me. I have not the words to show my appreciation.”

  He bent forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “I would give you the world,” he said. “And when we are alone together like this, Jane, you should not be calling me ‘your Grace’ or ‘Sir.’ I am Henry, your humble servant.”

  Jane wound her arms around his neck. “Yes, Sir—I mean Henry.” They both laughed, but his eyes remained sad.

  “What can I do to make you feel better?” she asked.

  He gazed at her with yearning. “Comfort me,” he said. “Help me to blot out the pain I feel.”

  Her defenses melted. It came to her that she might bind him closer to her by showing him kindness now rather than holding herself aloof. She tightened her arms around him. “How can I do that?”

  For answer, his mouth closed on hers needily. “Come to bed,” he murmured.

  * * *

  —

  Some years back, she had asked her mother what would happen on her wedding night.

  “I mean, I know what happens, but I worry that I won’t know what to do,” she had admitted.

  “You won’t have to do anything,” Mother had told her, looking embarrassed. “Your husband will know what to do, and you will take your lead from him.”

  “Does it hurt?” Jane had asked.

  “A little, at first, but that soon wears off. Don’t worry, child. All will be well.”

  As Henry dismissed his impassive-faced guards and led Jane across the frosty privy garden, through the door at the bottom of a turret and up a secret stair to his bedchamber, she recalled that conversation and smiled. What she had not realized then was that instinct and desire dictated what passed between a man and a woman. She had known, as she sat entwined with Henry in the chapel, that now was the right time to give herself to him, and it was that knowledge that had impelled her here tonight.

  Closing the door, he turned and cupped her face with his hands, kissing her lips hungrily. “Darling, you cannot know what this means to me. I thought myself in the pit of Hell, and that there was no way out—and then you lighted my way. Oh, Jane! Was ever man so blessed?” He pressed her to him.

  Cradled against his chest, she felt safe and loved. Needs she had suppressed for years burgeoned in her. “I fear I am innocent of the ways of lovers,” she whispered.

  He tilted her face up toward his. “There is nothing to fear, Jane. I assure you, it will be a great joy to us both. Come, let me act as your tirewoman.” Deftly he helped her unhook her gown and unlace her kirtle, then he bade her lie on the bed as he drew off her stockings, caressing her legs as he did so. She lay there in only her smock as he divested himself of his own clothes, and she caught a glimpse of him naked, muscular and virile in the candlelight. Then he was in bed with her, holding her tightly, his need overtaking him. As she felt him thrust inside her, there was a stabbing pain, but soon all her fears were swept away on a great tide of pleasure as she finally learned, at the great age of twenty-eight, what rapture it was to surrender herself to the man she desired. And when it was over, he lay in her arms, weeping tears of
mingled grief and joy.

  Chapter 18

  1536

  She awoke before dawn to Henry’s mouth on hers, and his body, demanding, insistent, taking possession of her. He was strong and powerfully built, and she was small and slender; again it amazed her how perfectly they fitted together. She gave herself up to his embrace. Last night he had come to her in his terrible need, and making love had been an intensely emotional experience; but this morning, he was back in command of himself, his grief under control, and his mastery thrilled her.

  Afterward, as he lay sleeping beside her, doubts began to creep into her mind. She had been so certain last night that this was the right thing to do. There had been nothing calculated about it; she had seized the moment. It had not felt like a surrender, but a mutual coming together. But now, she felt nervous about it. Would Henry discard her like he had all those other women? How she would be shamed in the eyes of those whose hopes were invested in her! And what if she were with child? The realization that this was a genuine possibility made her catch her breath. She saw herself going home, dishonored, to Wulfhall and a life of ignominy.

  She was beginning to regret giving way to her loving impulse when Henry stirred and reached for her hand. “Thank you, Jane,” he said. “You have made me feel whole again.” He raised himself on one elbow, bent down and kissed her tenderly. “You know, it’s like buying a suit of clothing in the most glorious color, then seeing the same suit in another shade, one that would not have been your first choice, and discovering that you like the second one best because you never realized that it would suit you better. I’ve known you for years, darling, and yet I never really saw you until that day when you did not think twice about comforting me after Anne lost her child. And last year, at Wulfhall—I knew.”

  “Knew?” she murmured, feeling greatly reassured.

  “I knew that I could love you, and that this love would be pure and wholesome, not tainted and volatile. I knew that with you I could find peace—as I have this night, darling, which has been the greatest comfort to me. Oh, Jane, never leave me!”

  She gazed up at him. “As if I could, Henry,” she said. Whatever he had done, whatever he was capable of, she knew that her feelings for him were true. Being loved, being made to feel cherished and safe meant everything to her.

  * * *

  —

  Anne lay in her chamber, looking ill, as her ladies seated themselves around her with their sewing. The loss of her son had aged her, and her mien showed little trace of the temptress who had enchanted the King. But she put on a brave face.

  “It was all for the best,” she told them, “because I will be the sooner with child again, and the son I will bear will not be doubtful like this one, which was conceived during the life of the Princess Dowager.”

  So she knows her marriage is a pretense, Jane thought, sitting in a corner, as far as she dared from her mistress, trying to look invisible and treasuring the memory of the night. Anne had studiedly ignored her, but her bravado did not last. Soon she was in tears again. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “I should not have reproached the King.” She gripped Mary Richmond’s arm. “He might think I am as barren of sons as Katherine, and find a pretext to have our marriage annulled and Elizabeth declared a bastard.” She was beside herself, and with good reason, Jane now knew. She felt no guilt, but she could not but feel sorry for Anne.

  “Who will be my champion?” Anne cried. “When Katherine fell from favor she had the might of the Empire behind her. But who will speak for me?”

  “Archbishop Cranmer for one, Madam,” Lady Zouche reassured her.

  Jane wondered if Henry had spoken to Cranmer yet.

  “And your bishops,” added Lady Rutland.

  “Your father and your brother support you staunchly,” Madge said.

  Anne dabbed at her eyes. “But if I lose the King’s favor, they might all abandon me, and I shall have no one!” She was becoming overwrought again. “There are those who seek my downfall, and without the King’s protection, my enemies will destroy me.”

  “Madam, calm yourself,” Lady Worcester exhorted her. “The remedy for your fears lies in your own hands. Concentrate now on getting well, then allure the King as you used to. Dress to please him. Dance, sing and display the talents he admires. Be witty company, and do not dwell on your woes. Be the woman he fell in love with. The rest will follow.”

  “I can’t…” Anne’s voice was plaintive.

  “You can!” Mary Richmond insisted. “Woo him back. Remind him why he married you.”

  Anne looked at them doubtfully. The fight had gone out of her. She was too beaten down with misery. Again Jane was moved to sympathy. Could her conscience permit her to add to Anne’s sorrows? Even if Anne was in the wrong, true happiness was not attained through another’s suffering.

  * * *

  —

  Edward and Bryan waylaid Jane in the gallery.

  “The whole court is talking about you, Jane,” Bryan told her, a gleam in his one eye. “Rumor has it that the King will seek a divorce from the Lady and remarry.”

  Edward looked at her intently. “No longer do people see you as just another of his Grace’s passing fancies. They say he means to marry you. You have done well.”

  Bryan leaned closer to her. “He has certainly considered an annulment. Master Secretary told me. And who else would he marry?”

  “A princess with a rich dowry, I imagine.”

  “But it’s you he loves.” Bryan smiled. “Why would he look elsewhere?”

  “I told you at the outset that you could be Queen,” Edward reminded her.

  “That is wishful thinking!” she countered.

  “But you would like to be, would you not?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then you have thought about it?” Bryan persisted. “And the King has given you cause to do so.”

  “Listen. He loves me. He told me so.”

  Their faces lit up. “It looks hopeful,” Edward said.

  “Brother, you are jumping to conclusions!” she reproved him. She told them what Henry had said. “I do not know if the King has spoken with the Archbishop. Besides, I am not sure that I want to be Queen.”

  “It’s not about what you want,” Bryan said. “It’s about what is best for you, for your family and friends, and for England at large. The Lady is vulnerable. Now is our chance to topple her. Say you will do all you can to help.”

  She was saved from answering at once, for two grooms in livery came hurrying along the gallery. She waited until they had gone, trying to collect her thoughts, and then suddenly she saw her duty clearly. Bryan’s words had brought it home to her. He was right. Anne must be removed, if only for Henry’s peace of mind. She was the source of all the ills that had befallen the kingdom, the rightful Queen and the Princess. Because of her, good men had died barbarously, innocent blood had been shed and good order overturned. The English Church was in disarray and heresy was flourishing. Was it presumptuous to wonder if God had appointed her, Jane, to put an end to these ills? He had chosen a simple maiden as the mother of His Son; why should He not choose another, pure in heart, to save England and its King from damnation? It was a daunting prospect, but the King loved her. She had stout friends, and might through Chapuys’s influence win the support of the Emperor. By her means, true religion might be reestablished, and the rights of the Princess Mary recognized. And supplanting a mistress who had no right to be queen was no sin. Pray God Henry would tell her soon what Cranmer had said.

  Edward and Bryan were watching her, impatient for her reply. “I will do my very best,” she told them.

  “Well said!” Bryan grinned.

  “You will not regret it,” Edward chimed in. “Great good may come of this.”

  “I do not seek a crown, but if one comes to me, I will thank God for it,” she declared.r />
  “I think it will,” Edward said, “but you have to play your cards cleverly. There must be no more secret meetings with the King. Insist that he sees you only in the presence of your family.”

  Not to see Henry alone again. Not to lie in his arms and experience the sweet delights they had shared last night. She did not know how she would bear it, her life being otherwise so miserable. She wondered what Edward would say if she told him the truth.

  She stalled. “That won’t be difficult, for he departs for London tomorrow for Shrovetide, and you are going with him, are you not? I will not see him for some time, or at least until the Lady is fully recovered. We are to stay behind and attend on her. She would send me away if she could, I know, but she probably fears to provoke the King.”

  “Well, when you do come to court, heed what I say.” Edward was stern. “It’s one thing to act virtuously, and another to be seen to be virtuous. He’s given you very valuable presents, hasn’t he?”

  Jane thought of the emeralds, locked away in the bottom of her traveling chest.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Our friend Cromwell is Master of the Jewel Tower. He knew that the King was going to give them to you.”

  Was nothing secret? “But I have hidden them. I cannot wear them; they are too grand for a knight’s daughter. Everyone would know who gave them to me, and the Lady would have my hide.”

  Edward was severe. “Jane, you should never have accepted them in the first place. A virtuous woman does not receive gifts from a man unless they are betrothed or wed. You should know that. Promise me that, in future, you will return any presents the King offers you.”

  The rebuke stung. “But I did not know that! How could I? The occasion never arose. And the King did not think any the worse of me for it. He did not demand favors in return.”