Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen
Page 31
* * *
—
March was almost out when Edward came back to their lodgings in a state of what was for him great excitement.
“I’ve just seen Chapuys,” he said, surprising Jane, who was arranging spring flowers in a bowl. “He’d come from Cromwell, who told him that he believes his Grace, who has always been one for the ladies, will henceforth live more chastely, and not change again.”
Jane’s scissors clanged as she dropped them on the table. “Then he means to stay with the Lady.” Her heart plummeted.
Edward snorted and grabbed her by the shoulders. “No, Jane. Cromwell was grinning when he said it. He meant that the King will not change again now that he has chosen you. That’s how Chapuys took it.”
She exhaled in relief.
“We have the impression that Cromwell will now do anything to get rid of the Lady. She openly rebuked him for giving up his rooms to us. She’s accused him of corruption, and threatened to inform the King that, under the guise of the Gospel and religion, he is advancing his own interests.”
“Do you think it’s true?” Jane asked, secretly rejoicing that Anne’s conduct had further stirred up Cromwell against her.
“It doesn’t matter. She is convinced of it. Cromwell told Chapuys that she would like to see his head off his shoulders.”
“She would not go so far?” Cromwell was invincible, surely?
“I doubt her wishes carry that much weight with the King.”
“But she is clever, Edward. Master Cromwell should be wary.”
“I am sure that he, of all people, knows how to take care of himself.”
When Edward had gone, Jane sat thinking. Unless Cromwell knew something they did not, they were all careering headlong on their course lacking one vital advantage. Since the winter, Henry had not given any sign of wanting to rid himself of Anne.
* * *
—
He visited Jane that evening. These days, she waited to see if he would give her any clue as to how he saw the future unfolding, but tonight he seemed preoccupied. And when Edward knocked on the door and enquired if they would like more wine, he gratefully accepted it and gulped it down.
“They brought me the Valor Ecclesiasticus today, Jane,” he said. “It is the survey of the religious houses that Master Cromwell had drawn up. As you know, his commissioners have visited all the smaller houses.”
Jane’s heart filled with dread.
“Many are redundant in terms of numbers and income,” Henry said, “and in several, morality is lax.” He sighed. “I intend to have Parliament pass a bill for their dissolution.”
Jane thought of all the poor monks and nuns who would be dispossessed. Most of these small abbeys and priories had stood for centuries, bastions of faith and the succor of their local communities. Now they were to be closed down, and England would be the poorer for it. It was incomprehensible that Henry could take such a step.
“I feel sorry for those who will be turned out,” she dared to say.
Henry poured more wine. “They have a choice. They will be offered pensions if they want to return to the world, or they can enter some larger monastery.” That, at least, was encouraging. He could not, after all, be intending to close all the religious houses. Maybe he was right, and these small houses were licentious or incapable of supporting themselves. Yet they could not all be corrupt or penurious! She wanted to protest that he was wrong, wrong, to be doing this, but the deferential habit of years was too deeply engrained.
“Don’t look so woebegone, sweetheart,” Henry chided. “The monasteries have been in decline for a long time. Do you know there were only two new foundations in England in the last century?” His eyes narrowed. “Some are still loyal to the Bishop of Rome, and I will not have that.”
“I am sorry, Henry,” Jane said. “It is just that I have always held our local abbeys in great reverence. The monks and nuns were not worldly or ill-behaved. In my poor understanding, I had thought they were all shining examples of faith.” Even as she said it, she thought of the Prioress of Amesbury again, and knew that she was not speaking the whole truth.
Henry looked at her affectionately and took her hand. “You are naive, darling. My commissioners uncovered things I would blush to relate to you. I would purge the Church in my realm, purge it of all corruption and bad practices. You would not want to see things like that flourish, would you?”
“No,” she agreed, “of course not. But when these houses are dissolved, who will look after the sick and beggars, or teach the children, or shelter travelers?”
Henry frowned, letting go of her hand. “I doubt these lax places are doing very much of that anyway. You are too soft at heart, Jane, although that is one reason why I love you. Let us talk of other matters.”
She smiled and heeded his warning. “Of course. I was shooting at the butts today. I was going to tell you—I won!”
He bent forward and kissed her. “Clever girl!” he said.
Chapter 20
1536
On the first day of April, Jane was in the apartment with Nan, sewing a dropped hem and enjoying the warmth of the sun shining through the latticed window. Outside, the trees were in blossom, and the world looked new and inviting. Inside, it was not so inviting. Nan was the problem. She was not relaxing company. Jane thought she was jealous, for all her superior attitude. She never complimented Jane on her attire, although Jane often praised hers. She was a mistress of the art of the veiled snub, and she made a dispute of everything. If Jane said she liked a thing, Nan would disagree, purely on principle, it seemed, and she would argue the point until she won. Always she had to be right. Jane was fed up with her opinions being belittled, however subtly.
A lot of the time, Nan could be good company, for she had a wicked sense of humor. But today she was in an aggressive mood, and they had been wrangling on and off all morning. Jane decided to go out as soon as she had completed her task, and take some bread and cheese into the park, with a small flagon of ale. Then she would find some quiet place to sit by herself and work on her embroidery, away from Nan’s barbed tongue, and those others who bothered her, the inquisitive and the petitioners.
How lovely it would be if she could be with her sisters instead. They wrote from time to time, and Jane was glad to hear how happy Dorothy was with Clement, although it worried her to read that Lizzie was struggling financially in Yorkshire. She wished she could do something to help. Maybe soon she would be in a position to do so. At least the children were thriving.
It was not just her sisters she missed, but her friends in Anne’s household, especially Margery Horsman. Not wishing to come face to face with her rival, or go anywhere near the Queen’s apartments, it was almost impossible for her to see them; and given that Anne hated her, it was probably difficult for them to make contact with her. Someone might see and report back.
Feeling sadly isolated, she laid away the gown in her chest, packed her basket and let herself out of the apartment, praying that Nan would not suggest coming with her. But Nan was expecting Edward back soon, and made no secret of her desire to spend some time alone with him.
As Jane walked through the orchards toward the park, she heard an imperious voice calling her, and turned to see Sir Nicholas Carew and Lady Exeter hastening towards her. “We have been hoping to see you, Mistress Jane. Might we have a word?” The Marchioness made it sound like a command.
“Of course, my lady,” Jane said, bobbing a curtsey. “Do walk with me, and you, Sir Nicholas.” Carew bowed courteously, and soon they were striding across open grass.
“It is no secret to you that we would see a certain person brought down,” Lady Exeter said, having looked around to see that no one was within earshot. “We and your other friends are working to that end, in the hope of seeing you raised to that place where you ought to be, to the comfort of all.”
Lady Exeter smiled bountifully. She was a big-boned woman in her mid-thirties, with large black eyes and a determined chin. Her gable hood was encrusted with precious stones, great ropes of pearls adorned her black velvet bodice, and a long court train trailed behind her. Her fingers glittered with rings. There was no mistaking that she was of the highest ranks of the nobility.
“My husband the Marquess and I hosted a supper last night for Messire Chapuys. Lord Montagu was there, and others who share our views, including Sir Nicholas here. Chapuys told us in confidence of a report he had just received from France, that King Henry is soliciting in marriage the daughter of King François.”
All Jane’s pleasure in the day vanished. That was what Cromwell had meant when he said that the King would not change again. These good people were building castles in the air. Jane found herself trembling. It explained Henry’s silence. Of course, it made sense that he would want to marry a princess—but Anne had not been a princess, and he had married her. And he loved her, Jane; she could not doubt it.
“It’s probably mere gossip,” Carew chimed in, looking at her with concern, “but we need your help.”
Jane swallowed. “What would you like me to do?”
“We need you to bring the King to a decision about his marriage,” Lady Exeter said.
Jane shook her head. “Alas, my lady, that is a delicate subject. He never mentions it, and I do not wish to be seen to be fishing for my own ends. And if this French match is being negotiated, it’s no business of mine.” She heard herself sounding bitter.
“It’s everyone’s business,” Lady Exeter said stridently, “and you are best placed to help. It may profit you immeasurably, but even if it leads only to a marriage with France, you will have done this realm a great service.”
Jane was adamant. “I do not wish to discuss marriage with the King. It would be immodest and forward.”
“Tactics, Jane, tactics!” Carew smiled. There was an almost feline grace about this tall, personable man who was closer to Henry than most, and an air of worldliness that gave Jane confidence. “You need to take a lateral approach. Tell his Grace how strongly his marriage is detested by the people, and that none consider it lawful.”
“What, boldly, just like that?” She could not see herself doing it.
“Say you have been out, to market or wherever, and you heard things that concerned you. Say you fear that the people of England will never accept Anne as their true Queen. Tell him they deplore her heretical leanings. Above all, make sure you say these things in the presence of us, your supporters, and we will all promptly swear, on our allegiance to the King, that you speak the truth. Lady Exeter is giving a supper for his Grace next Saturday. I will be there, and Francis Bryan, and your brothers, so you will have moral support.”
They were asking her actively to plot against Anne. She did not hesitate. A crown, a kingdom and the true religion were at stake. And it would mean everything to her to know exactly where she stood with Henry, and what his intentions were. “I will do it,” she said. She wished no real harm to Anne, only that she was removed from her unmerited glory before she could do further evil.
“Excellent!” Lady Exeter beamed. “My dear, you are doing so well. Hold on to your resolve. His Grace respects you for your virtue, but he is the King, and many have succumbed to his persuasions. Be warned: most were quickly discarded.”
“I am aware of that,” Jane said. “Never fear, my honor is my most prized possession.” She could feel herself flushing.
“If you continue in this vein, you may yet win a crown.” Lady Exeter smiled.
“If it is God’s will,” Jane said, still feeling as if the ground were shifting beneath her feet. But maybe the French marriage was only gossip, as Carew had said. She must not place too much credence on that report. Foreign gossip was often wrong.
Lady Exeter’s words about the King’s fickleness had brought to mind Mary Boleyn, and she confided to her companions her belief that Henry’s affair with Mary had rendered forever forbidden his marriage to Anne.
“Chapuys is aware of this,” Carew said. “But you are telling us that the King is too, and that still he continues in his marriage?”
“He was going to discuss it with Archbishop Cranmer, but I don’t think he did. He spoke of getting more sons with the Lady, and said he had no time to waste.”
“By God!” Carew exploded. “So much for the famous conscience! Well, Jane, you have another matter to raise with the King, but this one had perhaps better be discussed in private.”
“I think I will ask Messire Chapuys to my supper, so that he can endorse what Jane says,” Lady Exeter put in. “I will send him a note at once.”
* * *
—
When they had gone, Jane sank down under a great oak tree and tried to eat the food she had brought, but it was tasteless in her mouth. Lady Exeter’s words about Henry’s fickleness with women had disturbed her.
Had she been foolish to imagine that he might condescend to marry her? She went cold with shame when she envisaged him discarding her as he had the others. She loved him, and in her mind, he was hers. If he stopped loving her, she would be desolate.
After a time, she made herself take out her embroidery. She would not sit here and mope. She told herself firmly that Henry’s love for her could not be doubted.
At about five o’clock, she was finishing a satin-stitch border on a coif when she looked up and saw Lady Exeter riding across the park toward her. She drew up and dismounted, then tied her horse to a nearby tree and sank down heavily beside Jane.
“I’m glad I saw you here,” she said. “I have good news. Messire Chapuys is coming to my supper on Saturday. I saw him just now. He had not long arrived back from the Spanish embassy, where he had dinner with Lord Montagu. There is much to tell, but first and foremost, he assured me that he will support you whenever possible. Spain and France being enemies, he would do everything in his power to oppose a French marriage. He favors you because he knows that you can help the Princess, whereas no French princess would be prepared to stand up for her rights.”
“This is good news,” Jane said, “but was anything more said of the French marriage?”
“Much! Be patient, my dear, and do not worry! Lord Montagu said at dinner that he had heard talk of a new marriage for the King. He told Chapuys that we are all worried about the bad state of affairs in this country, and said that the Lady and Master Secretary Cromwell are on bad terms. Before I saw him, Chapuys had been with Master Cromwell, who told him that the Lady hates him—Cromwell, I mean—and would see him executed. Then—and this is important, my dear—he asked Chapuys how the Emperor would feel if the King remarried. Chapuys insisted that the world would never recognize Anne Boleyn as his Grace’s true wife, but that it might accept another lady.”
“But who?”
“No name was mentioned, but Cromwell is no fool. He knows that Chapuys would never endorse a French marriage. If the King wants the friendship of the Emperor, he had best not marry a French princess! I am certain that you can rest assured on that score.”
Jane laid down her embroidery. She saw Lady Exeter looking at it admiringly. “So Chapuys was hinting to Cromwell that the Lady should be replaced.”
“Oh, yes! He said he took care to point out that if it was true that the King was treating for a new marriage, it would be the way to avoid much evil, and the best way of preserving Cromwell from the Lady’s malice. He said a third marriage could only be of much advantage to the King, who knows quite well that this marriage to the Lady will never be held as lawful. Chapuys also said that he himself would welcome the birth of a son to succeed the King, even though it would affect the Lady Mary’s prospects. Now you must know, Jane, that what is said to Cromwel
l gets back to the King, so some groundwork has been laid for you.”
“What did Cromwell say?” Jane asked, hope surging anew.
“He was all smoke and mirrors, as usual. He said that if Fate fell upon him as upon Cardinal Wolsey, he would arm himself with patience and leave the rest to God. Then he said—and Chapuys was sure he was being ironic—that the King would henceforth live honestly and chastely, continuing in his marriage. But in the next breath he added that the French might be assured of one thing, that if the King were to take another wife, he would not seek her among them.”
Jane felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Naturally,” Lady Exeter went on, “Chapuys was relieved to hear that, as I am sure you must be too, my dear. And Cromwell hinted that there are moves afoot to remove the Lady, and also that he would not support her if that happened.”
“I wonder what those moves are,” Jane speculated.
“Who knows? Our job is to give the King a little push!” Lady Exeter rose to her feet and pulled on her riding gloves. “Now I must leave you, my dear, for I should keep our friends up to date. If you would tell your brothers, I would be most obliged.”
“I’m going to tell them now,” Jane said, springing up and grabbing her basket. “They will be delighted.”
* * *
—
“I think the cat’s in the bag,” Bryan said, when Jane told him, her brothers and Carew what Lady Exeter had said. “Your parents should be informed that soon they shall see you well bestowed in marriage. I myself will write to them.”
“Aren’t you being a little premature?” Jane asked, trying to imagine the effect such news would have on Mother. She did not want to raise their hopes. “The King has said nothing to me.”
“He will, never doubt it!” Carew insisted. “And if the King gets a divorce, it will effectively be an acknowledgment that his marriage to Queen Katherine was valid. The way will be clear for the Princess to be restored to the succession.”