by Alison Weir
The bleeding got heavier, and the horribly familiar cramping pains began. By afternoon, Jane was lying on her bed, reconciling herself to the fact that her hopes had once again been dashed, and to having to break the news to Henry, which she had insisted on doing herself. Already he had been sent for.
“Darling, I am sorry to hear that you are unwell,” he said, hurrying through the door. Then he saw her face, which must be blotched from crying. “No!” he groaned, and for a moment she thought he would weep too.
“It is God’s will,” she said gently, tears welling again. “I am so deeply sorry.”
“What do I have to do to placate God?” Henry cried, balling his fists. “This marriage is pure, without any impediments! Why does He withhold sons from me?”
If a mere human could presume to know why God was angry with Henry, Jane thought she did. And if He was displeased with her too, it was not hard to see why. What more could she do to expiate her guilt? She had tried to save the monasteries; she had played a mother’s part to Mary and Elizabeth; she was devout at her prayers. She did no one ill. Did not all this count against her part in bringing Anne down?
“We must pray, and we must try again,” she said, with more conviction than she felt.
“How many times have I heard that?” He sighed.
“I am so sorry, Henry. I took the greatest care.”
“I know.” He patted her hand, sighing. “Often it seems to me there is no reason for these things.”
* * *
—
She was up and about the next day, suffering only the dullest of aches and a trickle of bleeding. To take her mind off her loss, she kept herself busy. Hearing that an aging gardener who had kept the Queen’s garden at Greenwich beautiful had fallen on hard times, she sent to Cromwell, asking him to provide financial assistance. “You could not do a better deed for the increase of your eternal reward in the world to come,” she wrote. She commanded her park keeper at Hampton Court to send a gift of venison to the gentlemen of the King’s Chapel Royal, who had pleased her with their singing. She ordered a survey to be made of her lands and property, and was happy when her officers reported that they found all her tenants and farmers as glad of her as hearts could be, and that they were speaking of the year that had seen her marriage to the King as a year of peace in England.
They were flattering her. For two months now, the rebellion had flourished, the pilgrims having been joined by more and more supporters from the northern parts. Thankfully, most lords had rallied to the Crown, and the south was not infected by the treachery of the rebels.
“You know what this betokens!” Henry said cheerfully, looking out of a gallery window at the frosted gardens below. “My reforms and the Dissolution find favor with the majority of my subjects. But it’s December now, and the time for fighting is past. My councillors have urged me to deal gently with these rebels, so I intend to play for time. A little dissembling is called for.” He gave Jane a knowing smile.
“What do you mean?” she enquired.
“I’ve sent a comfortable message to Master Aske, telling him I will meet his demands, and promising that Norfolk will ratify the agreement. I’ve said that I will ride north later. I’ve promised a royal pardon to all the rebels, and I’ve told them that you will be crowned in York Minster, and that a Parliament will be held at York.”
Jane was staggered. “And what of the monasteries and your reforms?”
“I’ve given them what they want.”
“Henry, do you mean you will stop the Dissolution?”
“Jane!” He looked down on her, almost with pity. “You are a sweet innocent! No, darling, I do not mean any of it. The law is the law. But there are more ways than one to catch a snake. I’ve invited Master Aske to spend Christmas at court, on condition that he disbands his army.”
Jane trembled for Aske, who by all accounts was a sincere man standing up for principles she shared. Did he suspect that he might be walking into a trap? But Henry was beaming munificently.
“We’ll show him some royal hospitality, eh? Win him round!”
* * *
—
When they left Windsor for York Place, now renamed Whitehall and designated by law the principal residence of the King and the official seat of government, Mary went home to Hunsdon, where, at her invitation, Elizabeth was soon to visit her.
At Whitehall, they found Master Holbein hard at work on a huge mural that Henry had commissioned for his privy chamber. It was to depict the Tudor dynasty, and the sketches showed the founders, Henry’s parents, King Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth, in the background, with Henry and Jane in front. For her sitting, Jane had worn a gown of figured cloth of gold with a long court train, six rows of pearls slung across her bodice, and the Tau Cross. Noble had been there, and had settled down to sleep on her train, whereupon the normally taciturn Master Holbein, with a grin, had insisted on including him in the picture.
His portrait of her was finished now, and it was very fine, but she thought it made her look prim and wary, and was dismayed when people said it was a good likeness. Henry liked it, though; it was hanging in the closet he used as a study.
* * *
—
Jane was conferring with Master Hayes, the King’s goldsmith, about a New Year’s gift for Henry when Nan Stanhope—or Lady Beauchamp, as everyone, even her intimates, must now call her—came to her chamber looking most put out. Master Hayes quickly concluded his business and bowed himself out. As soon as he had gone, Nan erupted. “The Earl of Surrey has gone too far this time! Just because his father is back in favor, he thinks he can do as he pleases. And because the King likes him, he gets away with it.”
“What has he done?” Jane asked.
“Got rather forward and passionate—even though he knows his advances are unwelcome to me. He’s doing it to rile Edward. He’d never deign to notice me otherwise, as he hates the Seymours. He thinks we’re lowborn upstarts. Edward is furious.”
“Do you want me to speak to Surrey?” Jane asked.
“Would you? Edward warned him off, but he took no notice. He keeps waylaying me and making indecent suggestions.”
“We can’t have that! It’s outrageous. Go back to Edward. I’ll summon Surrey now.”
She called one of her ushers. “Please inform the Earl of Surrey that the Queen wants to see him at once.”
Surrey arrived, a tall nineteen-year-old youth, exuding arrogance and volatility. He was well traveled, learned, famed for his poetry, and French in his tastes and manners, like his cousin Anne Boleyn. Yet neither this, nor his wild pranks and profligacy, had cost him the King’s esteem. Jane suspected that in some ways, Henry saw Surrey almost as a son, for the Earl had been much beloved by the late Duke of Richmond, and there was no doubt that he had a talent for jousting and more than his fair share of erudite talent. Indeed, Surrey carried himself as if he were a prince of the blood!
He executed a most flamboyant bow, but she kept him standing. Just as she was about to open her mouth to reprimand him, Henry was announced.
“Why, my lord of Surrey, what brings you here?” he asked, clapping the young man on the back.
“That is what I am waiting to find out, your Grace,” Surrey said, smirking at Jane. “The Queen summoned me. It sounded most urgent.”
“As indeed it is,” Jane said. “Sir, the Earl has been forcing his attentions on Lady Beauchamp, despite both she and Lord Beauchamp making it clear that they are unwelcome. My brother is very angry, and Lady Beauchamp has complained to me.”
Henry regarded Surrey ruefully. “Alas, foolish proud boy, what were you thinking of? If the lady says no, she means no.”
“Sir, in my experience, no often means yes, or maybe,” Surrey protested. “I did not think she would disdain to have an earl at her service.”
“By God, man, her husband will be
up in arms!” Henry exploded. “You will not approach her again.”
“No, your Grace,” Surrey muttered, glaring at Jane.
When he had gone, Henry shook his head. “That boy has a talent for making enemies! One day he’ll go too far.”
Nan was gratified to hear that the King himself had warned off Surrey, but soon afterward she was waxing indignant again, for her rejected swain had renounced her, in the most unflattering terms, in a poem that he had taken care to circulate at court, and now everyone was laughing at her.
Henry was annoyed, but it was too late. The damage had been done. “One day I will repay Surrey for this,” Edward swore through gritted teeth. “I will have my revenge!”
* * *
—
Margaret Douglas and Lord Thomas Howard still languished in the Tower. Jane had repeatedly begged Henry to release them, but he remained adamant that they had not yet suffered sufficient punishment for their offense. The world must be warned that usurping the King’s privilege was a serious crime.
“But how long will you keep them in prison?” she asked, as they sat late after supper, drinking wine in the firelight.
“At my pleasure!” Henry retorted, and she knew by that not to press further.
“Of course. But I am still short of a lady-in-waiting.”
“I know,” he replied, refilling his goblet, “and I have given it some thought. You might consider Lady Rochford. She was in serious financial difficulties after Lord Rochford’s execution, and appealed to Lord Cromwell for help. When I heard, I made Lord Wiltshire increase her allowance. He wasn’t best pleased, for he hates her, and he told me he did it for my pleasure alone.”
“But he is her father-in-law.”
“Yes, and she testified to his son’s incest with his daughter.” Henry’s mouth set in a grim line.
“She never liked Queen Anne.”
“She had good reason! And she loves the Lady Mary. She understands the ways of courts, and I feel that she deserves some recognition for the part she played in uncovering those vile treasons.”
“Then I am happy to welcome her into my household.”
Lady Rochford arrived from Kent a week before Christmas, wrapped in furs against the bitter weather. She showed herself grateful for her appointment and set about making herself useful, displaying a proper deference to the Queen. But there was something about her catlike face, with its pointed chin, pouting mouth and discontented expression, that Jane found repellent. When her women were sitting together, exchanging the latest gossip and telling each other risqué tales, Lady Rochford took a gleeful interest in the lewd details, which Jane found unbecoming. Of course, Lady Rochford deserved sympathy for what she had suffered, but Jane could not help thinking that Lord Rochford, bad man though he had been, had had reason to stray. If she could have found cause, she would have dismissed Lady Rochford without hesitation; but for now she had to live with her prickly, unsettling presence.
* * *
—
Mary joined them at Whitehall, with Elizabeth; she had specially asked for her half-sister to be invited. The plan was that they would travel with Henry and Jane to Greenwich, where they were to keep Christmas. But the winter was severe and the roads were iced up and treacherous. In London, the Thames had frozen over. Three days before the festival, they wrapped themselves warmly in furs and mounted their horses, with Elizabeth in her father’s arms, and rode along the river from Westminster to the City, the child shrieking in delight. Jane was nervous lest her palfrey slip on the ice, but it was exhilarating being out in that vast expanse between the two shores, with the cold wind whipping at her cheeks and crowds lining the banks to see them pass.
“Merry Christmas!” Henry called again and again from his saddle, with Elizabeth lisping the words in imitation and waving to the people. The City of London was gaily decorated in their honor with tapestries and cloth of gold hanging from the windows, and holly wreaths on many doors. At every street corner, priests in rich copes stood waiting to bless the royal party, and hundreds had braved the bitter chill to watch the procession, cheering loudly. Jane was touched to hear so many people calling her name and Mary’s, as they rode side by side to St. Paul’s Cathedral for the service that would mark the beginning of the Yuletide celebrations.
When it was over, they emerged to a thunderous ovation, remounted and spurred their horses back across the frozen river, cantering toward the Surrey shore, with Mary and the rest of their retinue following, much to the delight of the crowds. Soon they were approaching Greenwich Palace, where Jane was to preside for the first time over the twelve days of Christmas festivities. But she was relaxing into her role as queen now, gaining confidence daily and no longer so nervous about what people thought of her. She had learned to remember that she was the Queen, and that everyone owed her reverence, whatever they thought of her.
* * *
—
Master Aske was waiting for them at Greenwich. Henry granted him an audience that first evening, with Jane present.
“Be you welcome, my good Aske,” he said, as the man fell to his knees, clearly overawed to be in the presence of his sovereign. Aske bowed most courteously to Jane, and when she extended her hand to be kissed, he smiled up at her. “I believe we are third cousins, your Grace, through the Cliffords.” He spoke with a broad Yorkshire accent, and was plainly dressed, but in good black cloth, as became a lawyer and a godly man.
“Then welcome, cousin,” she smiled.
Henry inclined his head graciously. “It is my wish that here, before my Council, you ask what you desire and I will grant it.”
Aske looked troubled. “Sir, your Majesty allows yourself to be governed by a tyrant named Cromwell. Everyone knows that, if it had not been for him, the seven thousand poor monks and priests I have in my company would not be ruined wanderers as they are now.”
Henry nodded. “Lord Cromwell has a lot to answer for.” Jane was amazed to hear him say so. Was Cromwell to be sacrificed to appease the rebels?
“Tell me, what do you wish for?” Henry asked. “I fear that I have not been made properly aware of what is happening in my kingdom.”
Aske clearly had his answer ready. “Sir, we ask for the monasteries to be restored. We want to see heretical bishops and evil advisers punished, certain commissioners prosecuted, and the repeal of all laws that are against God’s word. We also ask that Parliament sit in York to debate these matters.”
Jane listened to all this with mounting perturbation. Any moment now, Henry would explode in fury. Those who dared to question his laws were on very dangerous ground indeed, as she had bitter cause to know. She held her breath.
“All these requests I will grant,” Henry said. “There will be redress for those who have been wronged, and you shall have safe passage home after Christmas. For now, in token of my good faith, I should like to give you a present to mark the season.” What good faith? Jane wondered. This was another of those occasions when she found herself disliking her husband.
Aske’s eyes widened as Henry presented him with a jacket of crimson silk. “I cannot thank your Majesty enough,” he said. “I know you are a good man, and sincere. I will send the order for my people to disband, and tell them that we have the King himself on our side.”
“I will be true to my word,” Henry said.
Jane forced herself to keep smiling, but she watched Aske depart with a sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing that this honest man, this devout man, would soon find that he had been betrayed.
* * *
—
On St. Stephen’s Day, an usher bade her attend the King in his closet. Soft-slippered in her velvet finery, ready for the day’s feasting, she made her way there at once, and found him standing at the window overlooking the Thames, which was framed with wall paintings depicting the life of St. John the Baptist.
His
face was grave, his voice tender. “Darling, sit down. I have bad news. Your father is departed to God. He died at Wulfhall five days ago.”
Dead. Her father, dear to her despite all the scandal he had caused. But that was long in the past now, and all she could think of was that he was gone from her forever. She wept helplessly against Henry’s jeweled doublet, as the first awful spasms of grief shook her. And then, when she thought of Mother, and how bereft she must feel, she cried anew.
Henry called for her brothers. She could tell from their faces that they already knew. They begged leave to depart, Edward because he must take possession of the estates that had come to him as heir, and arrange the funeral; Thomas in hope of wresting anything from Edward that he could; and Harry to comfort and succor their mother. Henry granted it willingly.
“I ought to go too,” Jane said. “I would be with my mother.”
“No,” Edward said. “You are the Queen now. Mother has enough to cope with without having to stand on ceremony.”
“But I would come as a private person,” she protested.
“Wait until the new year and the better weather,” Henry counseled. “After the funeral, your mother will be in need of comfort. And you are needed here at court.”
“Of course,” Jane said, pulling herself together. “Where is the funeral to be?”
“At Bedwyn Magna church,” Edward told her. “He wanted to be laid to rest in Easton Priory, but that has been dissolved because it was ruinous. Thanks to his Grace’s kindness, I have just bought the land and the buildings.” Jane could not speak. Her tears were welling afresh at the knowledge that, thanks to this wretched Dissolution, her father could not be buried in the place he had chosen.
She dabbed her eyes. “If you will forgive me, Sir, I will not join you for the festivities today. I would pray for my father’s soul. And you, my brothers, may God speed you on your journey. Give my dearest love and sympathy to Mother.”