Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  Blind terror gripped her and she woke up. She had known this house to be evil! Her first instinct was to run, but where should she go? Down into the darkness of the cavernous, empty hall? She could not face that, so she burrowed into her bed and pulled the covers over her head. She realized she was whimpering.

  “Are you all right, mistress?” came a sleepy voice from the pallet bed.

  “No, Meg, I am not,” Jane confessed, peering out at her. “I had a nightmare. I dreamed that I saw a face at the window of the church tower—a face with a black beard.”

  “They do say that church is haunted, mistress,” Meg said, a touch avidly, “though I’ve never seen anything myself. I reckon you dreamed of Old Scrat. My granddam used to say he showed himself roundabouts whenever something big were going to happen. It’s a portent.”

  “Old Scrat? But that’s the Devil!”

  “Aye, and when he appears, there’s Devil’s work to be done, so my granddam told me.”

  Jane shivered. There could be no better way of describing this business with Anne. Devil’s work. In the dread hours of darkness, the dream did indeed seem like a portent.

  * * *

  —

  It was three days before she had a letter from Henry—three long, tedious, anxious days. He had gone to Hampton Court, where he was making preparations for their wedding. That cheered her, but she wanted to be there with him, involved in the planning. Had she been marrying anyone else, Mother would have been making the arrangements, and busying herself with baking meats and pies for the wedding feast. Alas, poor Mother would be deprived of that pleasure.

  The rest of Henry’s letter was written in more serious vein. The Queen was to be tried by a jury of her peers at the Tower on May 15, nine days hence. Jane did not think she could endure the suspense. But she had no choice.

  She wrote back with good news; she could not contain herself until she saw him. She was with child; there could be no doubting it now.

  She had been enduring Beddington for a week when she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves in the forecourt. Hurrying to the window, she looked out to see Edward and Thomas dismounting, and behind them her parents, alighting from a litter. She flew to the door and opened it, crying, “Mother! Father!”

  They hastened toward her and embraced her. It had been far too long—nine months—since she had seen them. Mother was the same as ever, plump and emotional, and Jane was so relieved to see her; but Father—she could barely hide her dismay. He looked shrunken and old, a shade of the man he had been, and there was gray in his thick brown hair. What had happened to him? A wave of guilt washed over her. She should have gone home and visited them long ere this.

  “Edward says you have some news for us,” Father said, after they had exchanged greetings and gone into the hall. Mother was looking up at the ceiling in awe.

  “Yes,” Jane said, seeing that her brothers were bursting to break the news themselves. She looked to see that the servants were out of earshot. “The King has asked me to marry him and I have accepted.”

  Mother screamed in delight and flung her arms around Jane. Father’s eyes filled with tears of pride. “To think I should live to see my daughter a queen,” he said. “Who would ever have dreamed such a thing could come to pass?”

  “I do not know when I am to be wed, but the King assures me it will be soon,” she told them. “I take it you know about this business of the Queen?”

  “Mother and Father know that the Lady is to be tried for treason, and that her guilt is not in doubt,” Edward supplied.

  “If it had been, the King would never have asked me to wed him,” Jane assured them, “and I would not have accepted. But he told me that the proofs are solid, and I have good reason to believe that is true.” Seeing them all looking at her in astonishment, she added, “Do not press me on that. I just know.”

  Edward nodded. Mother regarded her with concern. “I wish you could be marrying him in other circumstances.”

  “So do I,” Jane said fervently.

  “And you cannot say where the wedding is to be?”

  “At Hampton Court. The King is there now, making ready for it, so it cannot be long.” Her voice faltered. “The Lady and her brother are to be tried on Monday.”

  “And her other accomplices tomorrow, in Westminster Hall,” Edward informed her.

  “Tomorrow?” Thomas echoed. “Shouldn’t they be tried with her?”

  “She is the Queen and they are commoners. She and Rochford have the right to be tried by her peers; the others will go before an ordinary jury.”

  “But any judgment given tomorrow could prejudice the verdict at her trial,” Sir John observed.

  “It will make no difference, given the proofs, so I am told,” Edward said. Father looked dubious.

  “Let us not talk of it,” Jane said quickly. “Father, Mother, you must be tired after your long journey. Come and rest in the parlor, and I will send for refreshments.”

  “And we must talk about a wedding gown for you,” Mother said. “We ought to get one made up soon, and it will have to be something costly.” She looked hopefully at Sir John.

  “I think we should wait until the Queen’s fate is known,” he said.

  “You can’t make a wedding gown overnight!” she told him.

  “I know you mean well, Mother, but it would not be right,” Jane said firmly.

  Mother subsided, vexed. “Well, I hope the King gives us enough notice,” she muttered. “I wonder if he needs any help in planning the wedding feast.”

  * * *

  —

  Edward and Thomas rode back to court later that day. They were on tenterhooks to learn of the fate of the Queen’s lovers on the morrow, and had promised to get word to Beddington as soon as possible.

  Jane waited anxiously, unable to settle to anything. She was worried about her father too.

  “Is he ill?” she asked Mother, catching her alone in the screens passage.

  For a moment the mask slipped. “I don’t know. He had a fever in the winter, and he’s never quite recovered his appetite. He gets tired easily. This journey was a challenge for him, but he insisted on coming, and he claims there is nothing wrong.”

  “Have you asked him to see a physician?”

  “Yes, and got my head snapped off for it. Father James tried too. You know your father: he hates to admit to any weakness.”

  “Shall I speak to him?”

  “No, child,” Mother said firmly. “You have enough to contend with. I’m sure he will improve soon, now that the good weather is back with us.”

  * * *

  —

  On the Friday evening, Edward’s messenger arrived, lathered in sweat. As her family gathered around her, Jane read the message he carried and shuddered. Guilty of treason, all of them. They would suffer the grim fate of traitors. She could imagine all too vividly the rope strangling, the knife ripping, the butchery, the intolerable agony, the blood…She ran to the privy and was sick.

  Back in the parlor, she could see in everyone’s faces that they too were thinking of the terrible verdicts.

  “There is no hope for her now,” she whispered.

  * * *

  —

  A letter from the King arrived the next day. He was back at York Place and missing her; he wanted her near at hand, especially at this difficult time. Beddington was inaccessible by river and he did not wish to be seen riding abroad in public and visiting her at this time. The indefatigable Sir Nicholas Carew had found her a new lodging where Henry could travel by barge to see her. Her parents and Harry could stay there with her, and act as chaperones.

  She rejoiced to hear it. She could bear this house no longer, with all its unpleasant associations.

  Chapter 24

  1536

  Carew arrived the next morning to find Jane and he
r family packed and waiting for him. He said it would be best if she traveled in the litter with her mother. “The King fears you will be recognized, and wishes to prevent a scandal. With the trial looming tomorrow, public feeling against the Lady is running high, but people are fickle, and if you are seen, they might turn against you.”

  “How would I be recognized?” Jane wanted to know. “They don’t know me.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t ask me. I fear his Grace is overanxious, but we must take no chances.”

  Jane did not look back as they rode away. She never wanted to see Beddington Park again. They traveled west to Carshalton, then north through Mitcham, Tooting and Clapham to the horse ferry at Lambeth, which took them across the Thames. After that it was a short hop to Chelsea.

  The lodging chosen by the King was a grand one. Nestling amid gardens and orchards, it looked out on parkland stretching down to the river, and had stone medallions on its brick walls, not unlike the terra-cotta ones at Hampton Court, except that these had reliefs of Greek philosophers in profile. Harry enjoyed guessing who they were supposed to be.

  At the imposing entrance, Sir William Paulet, Comptroller of the Royal Household, was waiting to receive Jane, with a large company of servants, cooks and some of the King’s own officers, all wearing rich liveries and making their reverences. It brought home to Jane the reality of her situation, and the fact that soon she would be a queen and command such deference from everyone. Mother appeared ecstatic, and Father very proud; they were carrying themselves like royalty.

  “Good afternoon, Sir William.” Jane smiled. “This is a fine house indeed!”

  “I hope you will be very comfortable here, Madam,” he said, escorting her into the great hall, where sunshine streamed through the tall windows. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, and gold and silver vessels gleamed from the great buffet. A long table set with gilt candelabra ran the length of the room.

  “His Grace ordered that the furnishings be brought out of storage,” the Comptroller informed her.

  “Out of storage?”

  “Yes, the house has stood empty this past year. Did Sir Nicholas not tell you?”

  Carew was pulling his riding gloves on, preparing to return to York Place. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Tell me what?” Jane asked.

  “This was Sir Thomas More’s house,” Paulet told her. “It belongs to the Crown now.”

  Jane looked around her at the beautiful hall built by the executed More. She had left one unhappy house for a worse one. She could see why people said he had hated to leave this place for the court, and why he had retired from public office when his position became untenable, but that had not saved him. More had chosen not to compromise his conscience rather than stay with his family, and he had died for it. She wondered what had become of his beloved wife and children, the clever daughters whom he had famously educated as if they were boys. She imagined them all sitting at this table at their lessons, or making merry at mealtimes. All that happiness, wiped out for the sake of their father refusing to utter a few words to please the King.

  Harry was watching her sadly, Mother too. They must know she was wishing she could have stayed anywhere else. But the King had commanded, and she must obey. That was how it would be from now on.

  Mother came with her to explore the house, trying to make the best of things for her, exclaiming at the sumptuousness of the bedchambers that had been prepared for them, and admiring the fine paneling in the parlor. Then she hugged Jane and bustled off to inspect the kitchens, while Jane wandered into the chapel where the devout Sir Thomas would have prayed daily. Trying to quieten the turmoil in her soul, she knelt at the altar rail, making her mind focus on spiritual things, and her eyes on the painting of the Virgin and Child on the reredos. She prayed for those men who had been condemned to a dreadful death; for Anne, who had to face her judges on the morrow; for Henry, that he might find peace of mind after all this was over, and for herself, that she would be a good queen—and a fruitful one—and that she would be given the strength and wisdom to right the wrongs done to the Princess Mary and the Church.

  There was little time to brood. The King had sent several ladies and maids to wait temporarily on Jane, most of them new to her, and they opened the chests in her bedchamber and showed her the rich fabrics that the King had bought for her, the bolts of silk and velvet in crimson and black and purple, and piles of fine linen—all fit for a queen.

  “The tailors come tomorrow, Madam,” she was told. From the piles of velvets and damasks that had been supplied by London mercers for inspection, it was clear that she was to be very richly adorned, as became Henry’s consort.

  Jane stood in her smock as her maids took her measurements. She was feeling self-conscious about her swelling breasts and slightly rounded belly, which she prayed were concealed by the folds of fine lawn. Mother was looking on, interested in the whole business of dressing a queen. Having borne ten children, she might well recognize the signs. Yet she was smiling with the others, fingering the gorgeous stuffs, and clearly appreciative of the maids’ deferential attitude toward her.

  But Jane found it hard to take pleasure in the magnificence that would soon be hers. She was all too aware of what was to happen on the morrow, and consumed by dread.

  Afterward, Mother sat her down and sent everyone else away. “There is nothing you can do,” she said, her eyes large with sympathy. “Even if you refused to wed the King, Anne would still die. And I do not think you have any choice but to marry him now. I’m not blind, child.”

  Jane wept on her shoulder. It was such a comfort to be in her mother’s arms. “I was going to tell you, but I did not want you to think ill of me, so I was going to wait until after the wedding.”

  Mother kissed her brow. “Jane, I could never think ill of my good, sweet girl. I too was with child when we wed. A lot of women are. Once you are properly betrothed, there is nothing to stop you consummating your love.”

  “We were not betrothed.”

  “Hush! It matters not now. And the child you carry may be our future King. You are blessed indeed. We all are. Now, go and wash your face. Tomorrow will soon be over, and soon that unhappy woman will be at peace.”

  Jane hardly slept that night, and in the morning, when the tailors came to take her instructions, she was trembling so much that she had to lie down for a space, and they had to wait for her. But her parents and Harry seemed unmoved at the prospect of Anne’s fate. They were eagerly awaiting the outcome of the trial, and were all of the opinion that the Queen deserved to die. Edward, who turned up to see Jane just before dinner time, was adamant about that too.

  “Your friends at court are all demanding the death penalty,” he said. “Chapuys still believes that Anne poisoned the late Queen and attempted to do the same to the Princess, and that for that alone she deserves to suffer. Left alive, she will remain a threat to you, Jane, and to any children you bear the King. I heard that her own father is to be among her judges. He was on the jury that condemned her lovers.”

  Sir John grimaced. “That he should be called upon to condemn his own daughter—and his son! How can he live with himself?”

  “I think he does it to save his own neck.”

  “Do you think the trial will have begun?” Jane asked, increasingly agitated about the outcome.

  “Probably,” Edward said. “The Lady will be tried first, then her brother. I heard that people were queuing all night outside the Tower to get in.”

  “Ghouls, the lot of them!” Harry growled.

  “When do you think we will know the verdict?” Jane asked.

  Edward shook his head. “Who can say?”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of a royal messenger with a note for Jane from the King. “I will send Bryan to you at three o’clock to inform you of the verdict,” he had written. That was all.

 
She could not eat the beautifully prepared dinner that was put before her. She kept dropping stitches when she tried to sew. She picked up a book, but the words meant nothing to her. By two o’clock, she was pacing up and down, wringing her hands, heedless of her family’s pleas that she should calm herself.

  Three o’clock came and went, with no sign of Bryan. She began to wonder if Anne was putting up a defense that might just turn the tide and secure an acquittal. When she mentioned this to Edward, he frowned.

  “It’s very rare for people accused of treason to be acquitted,” he said. “Lord Dacre got off a couple of years back, and the King was furious. I doubt it will happen this time.”

  Dusk was falling when at last, at long last, Jane, peering anxiously through her bedchamber window, saw Sir Francis Bryan riding at speed toward the house. She flew downstairs, nearly tripping in her haste, and was with her family in the hall when he burst through the door, his face triumphant.

  “Burned or beheaded, at the King’s pleasure!” he cried.

  “Burned? No, he promised!” Jane wailed. “He promised!”

  “Calm yourself,” Edward soothed, grabbing her by the shoulders. “It is the penalty for women found guilty of treason.”

  “And too good for her,” Bryan added, his expression grim.

  “But the King promised me she should not be burned,” Jane cried wildly. “I asked for that promise before I consented to marry him.”

  “Then I have no doubt that he will honor his word and commute the sentence to beheading,” Edward said.

  She was persuaded to sit down with them at the table, and Mother sent for refreshments for Bryan.

  “She was found guilty on all counts,” Bryan said. “They made a persuasive case against her, although some were saying afterward that the King had merely made an occasion to get rid of her.”