Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  “She cannot hurt you now,” Jane said firmly. “You are safe.”

  “I know, Jane,” he said, looking up at her with a maudlin smile. “I will always be safe with you.”

  He left then, and she tiptoed through the sleeping house and sank into bed. Henry had lain here last night, she reflected. His head had rested on these same pillows. Soon she would be sharing a bed with him again. What a joy and comfort that would be.

  She lay awake worrying in case anyone had seen her and the King enjoying themselves on the river. If word got around, it would sound ill in the ears of the people. But she understood why Henry had arranged their little trip. Having been publicly branded a cuckold, he was embarrassed and ashamed, and doing his utmost to bolster his pride. Making merry with a bevy of ladies made him feel virile and appreciated. Despite his belief in Anne’s guilt, he must feel some qualms about destroying the woman whom he had once ardently loved, and who was the mother of his child. In seeking refuge in pleasure jaunts, he could distract himself.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning there was a royal messenger waiting for Jane when she came downstairs. He presented her with a letter bearing the royal seal and a small velvet purse. Inside was a jeweled crucifix in the shape of the letter T, which Jane instantly recognized as one that had been owned by Queen Katherine. The old Queen had prized it, for this Tau Cross, as she called it, was in the true shape of the cross on which Christ had died.

  It would be perfectly proper to accept such a special gift, especially now that they were to be married. Jane kissed it and fastened it around her neck at once. Then she opened the letter and read:

  My dear friend and mistress,

  The bearer of these few lines from your entirely devoted servant will deliver into your fair hands a token of my true affection for you, hoping you will keep it forever in your sincere love for me. There is a ballad made lately of great derision against us. If you see it, I pray you pay no regard to it. I am not at present informed who is the originator of this malignant writing, but if he is found out, he shall be strictly punished for it.

  Thus, hoping shortly to receive you into these arms, I end, for the present, your own loving servant and sovereign,

  H.R.

  Feeling greatly cheered, she folded the letter and put it in her pocket. Soon it would go to join the others Henry had sent her in the small pewter casket in which she kept treasured things. And she would take it out and reread it when she was alone.

  * * *

  —

  Henry did not come that day, and she spent it trying to divert herself from the dreadful awareness of what was happening on Tower Hill, and what was to happen the next morning. She thought of the men who were dying for sinning with Anne, mostly young men in the prime of life, their glorious futures snatched away from them. How foolish they had been to think they could get away with their wickedness!

  She was horribly conscious that the last hours of Anne’s life were ebbing away. Her parents and Harry understood. They suggested walks in the park, games of cards, or putting the finishing touches to a frontlet she was making for a new hood. In the end, she let Harry teach her chess, but made a poor showing, for her mind was elsewhere.

  In the afternoon, she received a message from Bryan. The men had died bravely. Only Smeaton had admitted his offenses, but Rochford had hinted of deserving death for even worse crimes than those for which he was being punished. Jane immediately thought of the late Queen and Bishop Fisher. Had it been Rochford who had tried to poison the Bishop, and perhaps the Queen? She could believe it of him. He had been a nasty man and the world was well rid of him. But Norris she could grieve for. She had liked him. Even now, she found it hard to credit that he would have betrayed the King.

  It would not be long now before Anne joined them in death. At supper that evening, Jane was so agitated that the thought of food made her feel nauseous, so she pleaded a headache and retired to the chapel, where she knelt until darkness had fallen, praying fervently for Anne’s soul, and that God would give her courage on the morrow, and eternal peace thereafter.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, she was in such a state of agitation that Mother was worried. “There’s nothing you can do,” she told Jane, squeezing her hand. “You must try not to dwell on it. Keep telling yourself that justice is being done. Had she been left to carry on with her evil works, you might this day be mourning the death of the Princess, or even the King! Remember that—and think of the child you carry!”

  “I will,” Jane said, fighting back tears.

  Dinner had just been served when Edward arrived.

  “I come from the King,” he said, as Mother served him with cold meats. “The execution is postponed until tomorrow.”

  “Why?” They were all agog, and Jane began to wonder if Henry would relent at the last minute and grant a reprieve.

  “His Grace told me himself. Justice must be seen to be done, and in the face of the people. Everything has happened so quickly, and more time is needed to ensure that sufficient witnesses are present.”

  Mother frowned. “You’d think he would want it all over and done with.”

  “He may be concerned about how this looks in the eyes of the world,” Father said. “I can’t remember having heard of any queen of England who was put to death before.”

  “It must be terrible for her,” Jane said. “It is bad enough for me, sitting here and building up to her execution. What must it be like for her, knowing she has to endure another day of dreading it?”

  “I think the King is dreading it too,” Edward said. “He seems much preoccupied. He said to tell you he will be coming to dine with you tonight. He bade me inform you that Archbishop Cranmer declared his marriage to the Lady null and void yesterday, and that he is now free to wed you.”

  He was free. “That is such a relief,” Jane whispered. Could he not simply banish Anne to a convent, now that they were divorced?

  “Nothing can prevent your marriage now,” Edward said. “You will soon be queen. Are your new gowns ready?”

  “Two of them,” she told him. “The rest are to be delivered tomorrow.”

  “Then wear one tonight. Dress like a queen.”

  Henry arrived after dark, cloaked and hooded. Down by the jetty, his barge displayed no lights.

  “I do not want to be seen arriving here tonight,” he explained, as the front door closed behind him. “The crowd at your gate is growing in size. They are calling out for you. They seem friendly, but if they see me here, their mood could easily turn.” Despite his evident tension, he was looking at her appreciatively. “Jane, you look wonderful. That gown so becomes you.”

  She had donned the purple velvet, which had been trimmed with a border of pearls and pink roses. She was wearing the cross he had sent her, and a silver filet over her loose hair, which Mother herself had brushed a hundred times. Mother had also overseen the preparation of the supper by the King’s cooks, who were by this hour no doubt wishing themselves back at the palace. Yet the spread awaiting Jane and Henry was impressive. She counted twelve dishes and then gave up. They sat down in the candlelit parlor, with the diamond-paned window open to let in the balmy evening air, and waited as the sergeant of the napery arranged their napkins over their shoulders. Then the wine was poured and the servitors left them alone.

  Henry raised his goblet. “To us,” he said, regarding her intently with those piercing blue eyes.

  “To us,” she echoed.

  “It is marvelous to be a free man,” he said, “and to know that very soon you will be mine. I wanted to be with you tonight. Your brother told me you have been fretting about Anne. We must not waste any tears on her. She would have killed me had she had the chance.”

  “I know, Henry. I cannot bear to think of it. But out of pity and common humanity, I cannot but
shrink at the thought of what she must suffer tomorrow.”

  He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. “But she is prepared, I hear. The Constable of the Tower told Master Cromwell that no person ever showed greater willingness to die. And it will be quick. There will be no pain.”

  Jane was grateful to hear it. “I will pray for her,” she said. “What will you be doing tomorrow?

  “Keeping to my privy chamber until it is over,” he told her. “They will fire a gun from the Tower. When you hear it, you will know that she is no more. Then I will come to you as soon as I may. We will be betrothed first thing on Saturday.”

  “On Saturday?” She was shocked.

  “I know it is only the day after the execution,” Henry said, downing his wine, “but darling, I cannot afford to wait. The Privy Council has petitioned me to marry again, pleading the utmost urgency because of the uncertainty surrounding the succession. We must be wed as soon as possible.”

  Jane felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. God send that the child she carried was a son.

  “Does Elizabeth know what is to happen to her mother?” she asked.

  “No.” Henry looked distressed. “Thankfully she is too young to understand the change in her status, and I intend to ensure that she will not suffer on account of what Anne has done. She must be shielded from any scandal.”

  “And the Queen agreed to the annulment without protest?” She could not imagine Anne, who had been so fierce to uphold her daughter’s rights, willingly agreeing to Elizabeth being bastardized and disinherited. Had two weeks in the Tower broken her spirit?

  There was a fraction of a pause. “She did. She knew there was no point in contesting it. Her proctor made no protest.”

  As the hours ticked past, Jane was filled with increasing dread at the prospect of what was to happen in the morning. She was torn between feeling desperately sad for the innocent Elizabeth, who was to lose her mother to a horrible death, and relief that Henry was free of Anne at last, and would come to their marriage unencumbered by the complications caused by his first two marriages. Her internal conflict must have been obvious, for when Henry left her, he cupped her face in his hands. “Be strong,” he said. “I will be here in the morning.”

  * * *

  —

  Sunshine streamed through the windows as Jane knelt in the chapel, unable to endure the tense and hushed atmosphere in the house. It was too beautiful a morning for a bloody execution.

  She prayed harder than she had ever done—for Anne, first and foremost, but also for Henry and for herself, that God would not turn His face from them both in wrath at this day’s act.

  It was at nine o’clock that she heard the thunderous sound of a distant cannon, followed by a dreadful silence interrupted only by the merry sound of birdsong. Feeling faint and dizzy, she gripped the altar rail for support. It was done. Now she must live with the guilt. She doubted it would ever leave her.

  Chapter 25

  1536

  Mother was suddenly behind her, genuflecting. She hastened to Jane and put her arms around her. “She is at rest now,” she soothed. “You must put this behind you. Cease your prayers. There is much to be done.”

  Jane crossed herself, rose and curtseyed to the crucifix on the altar. With a heavy heart and a spinning head, she followed her mother out of the chapel and upstairs to her bedchamber, where the tailor and his assistants were laying out the new gowns on her bed for inspection. They were gorgeous, spread out in all their glory, in an array of colors—a beautiful sage green, a glistening gold, a rich black, a figured crimson damask, a plush scarlet velvet and a gleaming white satin. But Jane could only think of the body that had been butchered and the blood that had been spilt that morning, blood that must still be warm. It felt so wrong to be admiring clothes only minutes after Anne had died.

  “You must choose one for your wedding dress,” Mother said briskly. “Any of these will be perfect, but I think white, for purity? Unless you think gold would be more appropriate for a queen?”

  Jane swallowed. “I will wear the white,” she said. “And the green for my betrothal.”

  At ten o’clock, Henry arrived. He was wearing black, and looked pale, as if he had not slept. “The Queen died boldly,” he said, as they all hastened to greet him and make reverence. “Jesu take her to His mercy.” He crossed himself.

  “Was it quick?” Jane asked.

  “Cromwell said it was over before you could say a Paternoster,” he told her. “She would have known nothing about it.”

  “Thanks be to God!”

  She was utterly relieved to see him. It was a comfort to be close to him.

  “Cromwell and most of my Privy Council were there,” he related. “They said she spoke well of me from the scaffold, and commanded her maids to be always faithful to me—and to her whom, with happier fortune, they looked to have as their queen and mistress.”

  So Anne had guessed that he would marry her, Jane. And she had been gracious about it at the last, and about the husband she had betrayed.

  “I left many in my Privy Chamber exulting,” Henry went on, sitting down in the tall chair by the empty hearth. “Francis Bryan told me that in the streets of London, the people were making great demonstrations of joy after the gun was fired. And soon they will have more cause to celebrate. This morning I informed the Privy Council that we are to wed. You may imagine how happy they were to hear it. There is now no obstacle to an alliance with the Emperor, and that will be a boost to England’s trade.”

  “Your Grace’s subjects have much cause to rejoice,” Sir John observed.

  Henry smiled at him. “Even though your daughter is little known, Cromwell tells me that her friends have been assiduous in proclaiming her virtue and her kindness.” Jane felt herself blushing. She hoped that the people had also been told of her love for the popular Princess Mary, whom many believed had been much wronged. That must surely stand in her favor. And a queen who cleaved to the old faith would be welcomed not only by Spain, but also by France and the rest of Christendom.

  Henry remained at Chelsea all that day. He did not mention Anne again, and Jane was glad of that. Anne’s shadow was looming over them darkly enough as it was.

  That evening, as they supped together, he spoke of their wedding. “Everything will be ready in a week or so. Cranmer will officiate. Your family will, of course, be present. Then we will have a few quiet days to ourselves before you are proclaimed queen, which I mean to have done at Whitsuntide.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I cannot wait to hold you again,” he said. “But first, we must be betrothed. I am going directly to Hampton Court tonight. I will send a barge for you early tomorrow morning. Be ready to depart at six, before too many people are about. I want to keep our betrothal a secret for now.”

  On parting, he kissed her lovingly. “Good night, sweetheart. I shall think the time long before I see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  —

  The morning was cool and misty as Jane and her family boarded the unmarked barge. Edward, Nan, Thomas, Dorothy and Dorothy’s new husband, Clement Smith, had arrived late the night before, elated and unperturbed about the fate of the Queen, and today they were all wearing their best attire. Jane was dressed in the green gown, with her hair loose, as became a maiden. Everyone was barely awake, and there was little conversation in the cabin as the boat was rowed upriver to Hampton Court. The events of yesterday seemed unreal today, the horror mercifully a little distant.

  After this morning, she would be bound to Henry eternally. It was what she had long desired, and yet she could not help feeling apprehensive and on edge. Mother was watching her. She smiled nervously. Father, sitting next to Jane, patted her hand. “All will be well,” he murmured. He looked gray and drawn.

  Soon the mighty red-brick palace came into view, and the barge pulled in by the
landing stage. From here, a covered gallery led to the King’s privy lodgings. Yeomen of the Guard stood on watch, and an usher was waiting to escort them to Henry’s presence. They passed along the gallery where he and Jane had often met during their courtship, and Jane noticed that Anne’s portrait had been taken down.

  Henry received them in a closet hung with blue damask. Archbishop Cranmer was waiting with him, looking a little strained. Of course, he had been the creature of the Boleyns, and, like them, hot for Church reform. How must he feel, joining the King to one who loved the old faith, and who was now in a position of great influence? Yet he gave no hint of hostility; a smile of welcome lit up his lugubrious features.

  Jane took her place next to Henry, and his hand folded over hers. The ceremony lasted only a few minutes, the contract was signed, and then Henry was sealing their betrothal with a kiss. Her family crowded around congratulating her. That seemed strange, as it was usually the custom to congratulate the lucky gentleman. But it seemed there was no doubt as to whom was the luckier on this occasion. The King was doing her an honor in taking her as his wife.

  Mother blushed furiously as Henry kissed her, while Father and Harry looked on proudly. Edward and Thomas were slapping each other on the back, for once. They were now set on their course for advancement, and both aiming to scale dizzying heights.

  It had been arranged that Jane and her family would return to Chelsea immediately after the betrothal, and that Henry would remain at Hampton Court. He looked wistful at the prospect of parting from her, and walked with them all the way to the landing stage. When they arrived, he waved the others on to the barge so that he could have a few private words with her.