by Alison Weir
“I am glad to be serving you, Mistress Jane,” Margaret declared, in her lilting Scots accent.
“I hope you will be my friend,” Jane said. God knew, she had need of them!
“Your other ladies-in-waiting are Lady Monteagle, Lady Rutland and Lady Sussex,” Henry said, as the three ladies came forward. “I intend to appoint three others.” Jane would rather have not had Lady Rutland, who had been hostile to her when they both served Queen Anne, but that lady was now smiling as she rose from her obeisance. How the wind did change!
“I thought perhaps you might like your sister-in-law, Lady Seymour, as one of your ladies,” Henry murmured, with a wry grimace.
“I would rather not,” she whispered, shrinking from the exhausting prospect of the domineering Nan Stanhope shadowing her waking hours, with her dogmatic opinions, her critical eye and her jealousy. “May I call on her as an extra lady-in-waiting when I need one?”
Henry grinned. “Very sensible! The woman terrifies me.”
The chief officers of the Queen’s household had come forward. Most of them, Henry explained, had transferred from the service of the late Queen. “But if you wish to replace any with those who are more congenial to you, I would not object,” he told her.
Now the maids-of-honor, the chamberers, the ushers and the grooms were presented. Jane was a little dismayed to see pretty Joan Ashley, who had been Henry’s mistress not two years ago, though that, she knew, was well and truly over. There was Bess Holland, Norfolk’s mistress, and the cause of his estrangement from his Duchess. Bess was a cheery soul, and both Jane and Henry liked her.
It felt strange to have Margery Horsman, Mary Norris, Anne Parr and Mary Zouche curtseying before her. It brought home to Jane the distance that must now be between them. She knew—and regretted—that it was not fitting for a queen to make confidantes of her maids. Anne had done it, but Katherine only when her household had dwindled to the point where there was no one else; and Jane was resolved to emulate Katherine and distance herself from Anne’s style of queenship. So, painful as it would be, she must now set herself apart from her maids and make friends with the great ladies who were to attend her. She could not see Lady Rutland being a congenial companion, but she had high hopes of Lady Monteagle, who had been born Mary Brandon and was the daughter of the King’s great friend the Duke of Suffolk.
Mary was twenty-six and very beautiful; she had hated Anne Boleyn, so was likely to be sympathetic to Jane. Henry was deeply fond of her.
Henry addressed her household. “Serve your mistress well, and be loyal to her, and discreet in all your doings. Do not speak of her marriage until it is proclaimed. Now, be about your tasks, and make all ready for her.” As the household dispersed, leaving Jane and her parents alone with Henry, he turned to her. “I will leave you to settle yourself, darling, and we shall dine together later.”
He kissed her hand and left by the door to the secret gallery. As Mother shooed the maids toward the bedchamber, Father sank down gratefully on a bench.
“Well, daughter, you have done us proud!” he said. “To think that tomorrow you will be our queen!”
“I can’t quite believe it,” Jane replied. “It seems like a dream.” And a nightmare at times, for still she could not get the horror of Anne’s end out of her mind, or the guilt she felt, rightly or wrongly. And now there would be reminders of Anne at every turn.
Leaving him to rest, she joined Mother, who was instructing the maids to take the greatest care when lifting Jane’s wedding gown out of its chest.
“And it must be ironed and laid out on a flat surface ready for tomorrow,” she commanded. “Young lady, those fingernails are not fit to touch it. Go and clean them!” Anne Parr hastened away, shamefaced. Margery threw a secret smile at Jane. Jane pretended she had not seen it.
“Margery, could you unpack my chaplet of flowers and put it in water?” she asked.
“Of course, Madam.” Margery bobbed and did as she was bid.
“Oh, what gorgeous shoes!” Anne Parr exclaimed as she returned, seeing the crimson velvet slippers embroidered in gold that Jane would wear on the morrow. “May I try them on?” It was the kind of thing Jane would have agreed to in her former life, when they had all taken and interest in each other’s attire, but she knew she must nip such familiarity in the bud.
“They are the Queen’s shoes, Anne,” she said, “and it would not be fitting for her maid to try them on.”
They all stared at her, and she wished the ground would swallow her up. It had sounded so stiff and mean, and not at all as she had intended, but she bit off the urge to apologize. As their mistress, she owed them no explanation. Yet she could leaven her severity. “You may all carry my train tomorrow,” she told the maids, and smiled. They looked at her uncertainly.
“But Madam, I think that is my privilege, and the other ladies’,” Eleanor Rutland said.
Jane stood her ground. She must establish her authority. She did not like the implication that she was unaware of court etiquette. “My Lady Rutland, it is traditional for maids to attend a bride. When I am crowned, you ladies may carry my train.”
Eleanor bristled. “The Lady Margaret is unmarried.”
“Yes, but she is royal, and I intend that she shall be at the head of those who bear my train.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed, but Margaret came to Jane’s rescue. “It will be my pleasure!” she declared.
Jane walked away and went into the privy chamber to sit with her father. She was uneasy, and worried that already she had alienated most of those who would be living in close proximity to her. It was not a good start.
Chapter 26
1536
The white satin gown fell in stiff folds to the floor. The long train was heavy, and the bodice tight, but Jane knew she had never looked better, with her long hair cascading down her back and her head crowned by the beautiful chaplet of flowers. Around her neck she wore Henry’s cross. Mother had wept when she saw her dressed for her wedding, and even Father had looked as if he might shed a tear.
They were all there, crammed into the Queen’s closet—her three brothers, proud as peacocks in their bright silks, Dorothy looking very pretty in her new crimson gown, Nan resplendent in green damask, Bryan and Carew both wearing an air of jubilation, and her ladies and maids decked out in their finery. Jane was aware of them all looking on as she and Henry knelt before Archbishop Cranmer and the wedding ceremony began; but when the time came to make her vows, she had eyes only for Henry, who held her gaze as he spoke the words that would make her his. Then the Archbishop pronounced them man and wife—and she was Jane, by the grace of God, Queen of England!
Henry, looking magnificent in white cloth of silver, with an enormous ruby glinting on his chest, turned to her. “My lady and Queen!” he exulted, and kissed her heartily on the lips. When they turned around, everyone knelt in reverence. It came as a shock to see her parents with their heads bent to her, and she hastened to raise them. Then everyone was crowding around, congratulating them, and Mother was weeping tears of joy, and Father looked ready to burst with pride.
In a joyous mood, Henry led Jane to his presence chamber, and there she was enthroned next to him in the Queen’s seat under the canopy of estate, as their guests and favored courtiers came to pay their respects.
She felt quite dizzy at being the focus of such attention and honor, and prayed that she was playing her part well. She knew that the eye of every great lady would be upon her, and could imagine them thinking, There she goes, the little upstart!
The King stood up. “Be it known by one and all that I have today dowered Queen Jane with a hundred manors in four counties, with forests and hunting chases, and the palaces of Baynard’s Castle and Havering-atte-Bower.” As everyone clapped, a page stepped forward and gave the King an elaborate inlaid box. Henry sat down and turned to Jane. “This is yours, Madam.
It contains the documents relating to your dower. The income from these properties will amply support your estate as queen. There is no need to trouble yourself: your officers will administer your lands and income.”
“In all matters, I will do as your Grace directs,” she said.
“You do not need to ask me for money for your little pleasures,” he told her, looking at her tenderly. “The keeper of your privy purse will supply any money you need.”
“Thank you,” she answered. She knew he would deny her nothing. Her estate must reflect his own magnificence. She also knew him to have a generous heart when it came to giving.
After dinner, which was served in his privy chamber, Henry disappeared briefly and came back with something wrapped in cloth of gold. “I have a wedding gift for you,” he said. She gasped when she saw an exquisite gold cup engraved with the initials H and the Latin I for Jane entwined in true lovers’ knots, four antique medallion heads, and the Queen’s arms supported by dolphins and cherubs and surmounted by a crown. Her new motto was delicately graven around the stem.
“Henry, it’s beautiful!” she breathed.
“I thought you would like it, darling,” he said, kissing her. “Holbein designed it.”
They supped alone together that evening. Jane ate well, aware of Henry gazing at her intently across the table. Afterward, he escorted her back along the connecting gallery to her apartments, so that she could be made ready for bed. Taking her hand, he kissed her gently on the lips and left her to the ministrations of her women. They were respectfully subdued as they undressed her. She suspected that they must have guessed by now that she was with child, but they gave no sign of it as they put on her nightgown and cap, which were edged with gold and silver embroidery, and brushed her hair until it shone.
“Is there anything else your Grace needs?” Margery asked.
Jane smiled at her. “No thank you. I will get into bed now. Pray tell the King I am ready.”
They left her alone as she climbed into the elegant French bed and sank into the feather mattress, thankful that Henry had rejected the idea of a public bedding ceremony out of hand. “I’ve never had one, and I don’t intend to start now!” he had declared, looking prim. “What happens between us in our bed is private, and will stay so!”
The door opened, and he appeared, clad in a red-and-gold brocaded night robe and a matching nightcap.
“Darling!” he said, and put down his candle. Climbing in beside her, he held her close, and she could feel his need for her. How she wanted him!
“We must think of the babe,” he said. She did not gainsay him, for much hung upon this pregnancy, but it was disappointing to be spending her wedding night being chaste. She was grateful when he guided her hand down to his member and began caressing her breasts. At least they could share some intimacies while they waited for the child to be born.
* * *
—
Jane sat up and pulled on her night rail. She must be decent before she summoned her ladies.
Henry watched her appreciatively as she returned from the privy in the corner.
“This morning is your uprising as a new wife,” he said.
She smiled at him. “I know. From today, I must bind up my hair and cover it with a hood. It must be for your eyes only.”
“Indeed!” he grinned. “But as queen, you are allowed the privilege of leaving your hair loose on ceremonial occasions when you wear your crown.”
“Where is my crown?” she asked, kneeling beside him on the bed.
“In the Jewel House at the Tower,” he told her. “I will have it sent for, if you wish to see it.” She wondered if it had been made for Anne. She would have preferred to wear Katherine’s crown, but did not like to ask.
“When shall I be crowned?” she asked.
“As soon as I can arrange it, darling,” Henry said, his eyes gleaming. “But first, let me kiss you again.”
* * *
—
Henry had planned a hunting expedition for the afternoon. That morning, the ladies dressed Jane in a new scarlet riding habit. She sensed that they were a little wary of her, but they responded readily enough to her conversation.
“I do rejoice to see your Grace as queen,” Margaret Douglas told her warmly.
“I rejoice to have your ladyship as my chief lady-of-honor.” Jane smiled. She was aware of Margery Horsman looking a touch downcast. She felt badly about having ended their close friendship, and about the clumsy way she had gone about it—but what else could she have done? She was the Queen now, and for better or worse, things had to change.
* * *
—
In the morning, Jane rested on her bed, but found that she could not sleep. Rising, she went into her closet to fetch a book from the chest containing her personal belongings, and heard Lady Rutland’s voice in the room beyond.
“It does seem strange that within one and the same month that saw Queen Anne flourishing, accused, condemned and executed, another has been assumed into her place.”
Jane froze.
“I don’t think it strange.” That was Lady Monteagle. “The King needs an heir; that is why he has remarried so soon. And Queen Anne made a cuckold of him. The crimes she was found guilty of have no parallel in Christendom.”
“Yes, but did she commit them?”
“Of course she did. Her fate was the judgment of the Almighty.”
“I do wonder! And now we have this proud and haughty upstart in her place.”
Jane could listen no more. “Lady Rutland, have you duties to attend to?” she asked, stepping through the door. She smiled at Lady Monteagle. Eleanor Rutland reddened, muttered an apology and hastened away.
“I fear I have made an enemy, Mary,” Jane said.
“Your Grace heard what she said?”
“Yes. I know she was a friend of Queen Anne.”
“Yes, and she fears your Grace dislikes her on account of that.” This came as a surprise.
“I would be her friend, if she were not hostile to me.”
“Then, Madam, I pray you show her some sign of favor, and I think all will be well.”
“I am grateful for such kind advice,” Jane told her, liking Mary Brandon more by the minute. “Tell me, do people really think me proud and haughty? Are the maids-of-honor upset at my not being familiar with them as I used to?”
Mary flushed. “A little, Madam.”
“Will you tell them, please, that you think I am sorry for it, but that I have said I am minded to be a queen as Katherine was. I think they will understand.”
“I will do that,” Mary promised.
After dinner, on her way to the courtyard where Henry was assembling his hunting party, Jane could have kicked herself. She was not half the woman Katherine had been, so how could she aspire to take her place? Instead, she should be endeavoring not to appear proud and haughty. Lady Rutland’s words had stung.
* * *
—
Henry stared at Jane. “You are not riding in your condition?” he muttered, taking care that none of the company should hear him.
She had not thought of that. “I have seen many pregnant ladies ride, and none took any hurt. And I am feeling so well. Please let me ride with you. People will talk if they see me in a litter.”
He did not look happy. “Very well. But I’ll have my groom bring you the gentlest palfrey, and you must not go faster than a trot.”
They rode out as far as Tottenham, eight miles north of London, where they looked around the ancient parish church and dined at the nearby Lordship House, which had reputedly been owned by Robert the Bruce, King of Scots. Now it belonged to their hosts, the Compton family. Henry’s close friend Sir William Compton had died of the sweating sickness eight years before, and he still held the family in affection.
Inevitably, t
he talk at table touched on Anne’s fall. Sir Peter Compton observed, “In destroying her, God revealed His will. The news of her judgment was music to my ears.”
Henry nodded. He did not seem at all averse to discussing his late wife on the day after his wedding. “She has earned the greatest infamy,” he observed. Jane saw that he appreciated others’ expressions of sympathy and solidarity.
“In charity, I pray that God will have mercy on her soul and pardon all her offenses,” Jane said.
Sir John Russell, a man high in the King’s counsels, looked impressed. “Your Grace has found as gentle a lady as ever I knew, and as fair a queen as any in Christendom.”
Henry took Jane’s hand. “I do assure you, my lord, I have come out of Hell into Heaven for the gentleness in her, and the cursedness and unhappiness in the other.”
“We all rejoice that your Grace is so well matched with so gracious a woman.” Sir Peter smiled. Jane’s cheeks were burning, but it was heartening to be the object of such approval.
“Did your Grace hear back from Peterborough?” Sir John enquired. Henry frowned. “I did. Apparently, the report spoke truth.”
“What report, Sir?” Jane asked.
“On the day before Queen Anne was beheaded, the tapers that stood about the Lady Katherine’s tomb kindled of themselves, and after Matins, they quenched of themselves. I sent thirty men to Peterborough to find out the truth, and they could discover no trickery. Mary had witnessed it. No one could explain it. And the ignorant folk who saw it are now saying it is a sign that God approves of my punishing the woman who supplanted my true wife. They have been warned not to spread such sedition. Katherine was never my true wife, and nor was Anne. You, Jane, are my only true Queen.” He raised her hand and kissed it.
She did wonder about the candles. She preferred to think of their rekindling as a sign that Katherine smiled upon her marriage.