by Alison Weir
From Canterbury, they rode to Dover, where the King inspected the new pier, after which they made their leisurely way back. The progress ended when they arrived at Hampton Court. Jane admired the remodeled Chapel Royal, with its crystal windows and beautiful fan-vaulted blue-and-gold ceiling, with its drop pendants, piping putti and the King’s motto, “Dieu et mon Droit,” blazoned on the arches. She noticed that a stained-glass window depicting St. Anne, the patron saint of her predecessor, had been removed. As usual, the pew for the King and Queen was in a gallery above the main body of the chapel, looking down on the black-checkered floor; and their arms had been set in stone plaques on either side of the door. It was all quite magnificent; Jane had never seen anything like it.
“And timely too.” Henry smiled. “Our son will be christened here.”
The crowning glory of Hampton Court, however, was the King’s new hall, a huge chamber with an impressive hammer-beam roof, a tiled floor and a fine minstrels’ gallery above an oak screen. The walls were hung with Henry’s pride and joy, a set of exquisite tapestries depicting the story of Abraham, which had cost him a fortune.
The Queen’s lodgings had been remodeled for Anne, but she had never used them, as they had been unfinished at her death. Jane did not like Anne’s taste, so Henry had ordered that these apartments be refurbished in the antique style, with linenfold paneling and gilded and mirrored ceilings. A private gallery connected her bedchamber to the King’s, and a staircase led down to her newly laid-out privy garden, which she regarded with much pleasure. There would be a balcony from which she and her ladies could watch the hunting in the park. However, the workmen were still not finished—in fact, Hampton Court resembled a vast building site, and Jane found herself accommodated in the faded splendor of Queen Katherine’s old second-floor rooms overlooking the Inner Court. Jane’s bedchamber contained a rich bed surmounted by a wooden roundel painted with her arms, and draped with hangings she had embroidered herself through the long winter months, in anticipation of the works here being finished. But she knew now that that would not be before her child was born.
Jane took Nan to see her new lodgings. But Nan, picking her way, skirts lifted, over timbers and buckets of paint, had to spoil it all. Looking around her, she gave Jane a knowing smile. “Very impressive. But don’t you think it’s splendid to the point of vulgarity?” The little green-eyed demon leered out from her eyes.
“I think it’s the most beautiful apartment,” Jane said.
“Well, after Wulfhall, it must seem so,” Nan retorted, still smiling.
“Wulfhall is a lovely old house,” Jane countered, becoming irate. She knew she would brood on Nan’s unkind remarks later.
“Yes, but it’s not exactly a palace, is it?”
“No, it isn’t meant to be, and according to what you’ve just said, you don’t like palaces either. Too vulgar.” She smiled back. Before Nan could answer, she went on, “Now, I should be grateful if you would leave me to rest a while.”
And Nan could not gainsay her, for she was the Queen. Pink-cheeked, she made an exaggerated curtsey and left.
* * *
—
Late in March, Jane received the Master of the Hospital of St. Katherine-by-the-Tower.
“Your Grace,” he said, kneeling. “St. Katherine’s was founded in the twelfth century by Queen Matilda of Boulogne, the wife of King Stephen, and it has served as both church and hospice under the traditional patronage of the queens of England. We ask that you continue this noble tradition.”
“Willingly,”—she smiled, nodding to him to rise—“and I take great pleasure in remitting all annual dues.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lord Cromwell waiting.
“Your Grace!” cried the Master, pink with gratitude. “That is most kind.”
She gave him her hand to kiss, and he withdrew, doffing his bonnet again. Cromwell took his place.
“Madam, I have had a letter from Lady Ughtred in York,” he told her, beaming.
“That is marvelous news! Is she well?”
“She is indeed, Madam. I wrote to her, at the King’s behest, offering to help her if she was ever in need, and she has replied, asking me to persuade his Grace to grant her one of the redundant abbeys.” Was his smile a little smug? How embarrassing, that her own sister was looking to profit from the Dissolution. “Apparently she hopes to turn farmer.”
“She needs to improve her circumstances, my lord.”
Cromwell cleared his throat. The smug smile had vanished. “There is another way she might do that. I have a son, Gregory, a promising young man, if I say so myself, and well set up in property. Your brother, Lord Beauchamp, has indicated that a match between him and Lady Ughtred might find favor with you.”
Was there no end to the man’s ambition? Now he wanted to ally himself by marriage to the King. Yet given how he had plotted to bring down Anne Boleyn, that tie of kinship might be Jane’s best protection should she too fail to give the King a son. And Cromwell was a powerful friend to have. Moreover, it would be wonderful to have Lizzie near at hand, and the nephew and niece she had never seen. Little Margery could be a playmate for her own child…
“Indeed it does, my lord,” she answered, “but the last I heard, my sister was encouraging the advances of Sir Arthur Darcy.”
Cromwell looked pained. “A most unsuitable match, given that his father is in the Tower as a traitor, and can look soon to lose his head. And I am credibly informed that Sir Arthur is a lukewarm suitor at best.”
Was there nowhere the man’s tangled web of spies did not reach?
“I will write to my sister,” Jane promised, “and if she is willing, and the King pleases, the marriage shall have my blessing.”
* * *
—
The next day, Henry took her on a trip along the river to Whitehall to see Holbein’s mural, which was now finished. When they entered the privy chamber, Jane involuntarily took a step back, for the effect of the vast painting was overwhelming. The four regal figures stood in a splendid antique setting with a classical roundel, grotesque pillars and friezes, trompe l’oeil decoration, and shell-shaped niches, but it was Henry’s dominating presence that drew the eye. He looked so majestic and powerful, feet firmly apart, hands on hips, gazing out with steely authority, that she felt overawed. Truly this was a masterpiece, and Henry was delighted, praising Master Holbein and clapping him on the back. The artist took it all with his usual quiet deference.
“That’s how I want to appear to my subjects,” Henry said. “Not just as their King, but as head of the Church.”
“Everyone will want a copy,” Jane said.
“That is to be encouraged. It shows loyalty and approval of my reforms.”
Chapter 33
1537
By the time the April blossom flowered, she had missed three courses, and there was a slight swell to her belly. Her pregnancy seemed well established, and Henry conveyed the happy news to the Privy Council at Whitehall. Then the Lord Chancellor stood in the great hall, as Henry and Jane looked on from the dais, and announced to the assembled court: “We do trust in God that the Queen’s Grace is now pregnant and will bring forth many fair children, to the consolation and comfort of the King’s Majesty, and of his whole realm.” There was thunderous applause, caps were tossed up into the air, and everyone came pressing forward to express their congratulations. Henry was jubilant as he received the good wishes, the epitome of a powerful, virile king, while Jane sat there blushing and nodding her head in acknowledgment.
Heralds were sent speeding forth to all parts of the realm to proclaim the news.
“Everywhere there are celebrations,” Edward exulted, coming to see Jane a few days later.
“The King is a new man,” she told him. “He is so much better, in body and in heart.”
“And all because you are with child, my c
lever sister!”
The good tidings soon crossed the sea. From Calais, Lady Lisle, wife of the Governor, who was cousin to the King, sent two tiny silk nightgowns with caps she had herself embroidered in gold, miniature versions of the nightwear Jane had made fashionable among her ladies, along with the request that one of her two daughters be considered for the Queen’s service. “God send that your Grace be safely delivered of a prince,” she wrote, “to the joy of all faithful subjects.”
Henry fussed around Jane, making sure that she did not exert herself, that she got plenty of fresh air, and that the choicest delicacies were served to her. To please her, he appointed Edward a Privy councillor and granted him extensive lands; and when Thomas returned from his first voyage overseas, he made him a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. Harry was summoned back to court and knighted, and brought with him a long list of instructions from Mother as to what Jane must and must not do while she was carrying her child. He had promised to return to Wulfhall in time for the harvest. God willing, Jane thought, there would be a better harvest not long afterward. She was counting down the months until October, when the babe was due.
She was feeling less tired now, and very well, but she was hungry all the time, and had a craving for quails, which were unfortunately in short supply. Henry went to considerable trouble to have some shipped over from Calais, commanding Lord Lisle that if none were to be found there, a search must be made in Flanders. Whatever the cost, Jane must have her quails! And Lord Lisle did not fail her. In the last week of May, a large crate of the birds arrived, and she and Henry tucked into a dozen at dinner, and a further dozen at supper.
“I don’t think I could look at another quail for a long time,” Henry said, wiping away the meat juices with his napkin.
“I could!” Jane told him. “They were delicious. I do hope that Lord Lisle can send some more.”
“He will,” Henry said. “His wife wants to see her daughter in your household!”
“I might have to agree to it, at this rate!” Jane replied, laughing.
Early in June, thanks to the warm weather, Jane was alarmed to hear that plague had infested London for the second year running, with as deadly consequences as before. Not a moment too soon, Henry immediately ordered the court’s removal to the safety of Windsor.
“Have the horses spurred on, please!” Jane cried from behind her linen mask and the leather curtains of her litter. “I just want to get there. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to this baby.”
Henry, riding beside her, spoke firmly. “Be calm, sweetheart. Panicking will not do you or the child any good. And we cannot go faster. I would not have you jolted about too much.”
But she would not be quieted. She was horribly afraid of the plague, especially when she heard that in London it was killing a hundred victims every week.
Secluded at Windsor, she bargained daily with God, observing every feast day in the Church’s calendar and fasting to absolve herself of the burden of guilt she carried, begging that He should spare her and her child from the pestilence. In the end, Henry and everyone else became very concerned about her, and he grew stern with her and forbade her to be so rigorous in her devotions.
“Certainly you must not fast!” he commanded. “It is bad for the child. Now take comfort, for I have forbidden anyone from the city to approach the court. And I am postponing your coronation once more, not only on account of the plague, but because I think it unwise to put you through the strain of a long ceremony just now. But I promise you, darling, you will be crowned after our son is born.”
* * *
—
Her spirits were lifted by a letter from Lizzie, who was eager to accept Cromwell’s proposal. Arthur Darcy had accepted the situation with unflattering equanimity. “He said he would have been glad to have married me, but was sure that some southern lord would make me forget the north,” Lizzie wrote scathingly. She was winding up her affairs in York, and making preparations for the journey to London.
Jane was sad to read that little Margery was to be left behind. “She is not strong enough to make the journey,” Lizzie had explained, “and although I am loath to part with her, the nuns of Wilberfoss Priory are willing to take her in, with such keep as I can provide from the sale of my goods. It is a small house, with only eleven sisters, yet they are all saints, and she will be well cared for there. And when, God willing, she is stronger, I will send for her to come to me.”
Jane could have wept for her sister, and she worried that Wilberfoss would be closed down, but an opportunity like this marriage did not come every day, and it would ensure that Lizzie, Henry and Margery lived in comfort and security for the rest of their days.
* * *
—
Jane was more than four months pregnant when the child first stirred within her, a little fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. She was sitting with Henry in the great park, watching her maids playing catch with a ball.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, as the fluttering came again. “Henry, feel!” She grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly, across which her kirtle was now stretched tight.
“The child?” he asked, in wonder.
“Yes, wait! There!”
“By God, it is! You have quickened!” He was ecstatic. “We will have it announced at once!”
When the announcement was made, she was in her apartments, where she had her women loosen the laces on her stomacher, exposing the mound of her belly for all the world to see. Thus attired, she processed through the court to dine with the King in his presence chamber, and as she passed, the courtiers made reverence to her, as the mother of the heir. On the table there was a dish of quails, sent this time by the Lady Mary.
On Trinity Sunday, Londoners braved the plague for a special Mass of thanksgiving in St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the Te Deum was sung in churches throughout the realm. This news of her quickening was joyful to the people, who fully appreciated the King’s need for an heir, and were thankful that the bloody specter of a disputed succession had receded. They lit bonfires and celebrated in the streets.
At court there was more cause for rejoicing, for at noon Margery Horsman married Sir Michael Lister, Keeper of the King’s Jewels. The King and Queen attended, but left after the ceremony on Henry’s insistence.
“You must keep taking the greatest care of yourself, darling,” he said, himself escorting Jane to her bedchamber so that she could rest for the afternoon. In fact, on his orders, she spent the summer resting, undertaking no public engagements. She enjoyed her enforced leisure, and the peace of her quiet daily routine. It being improper for a doctor to attend the Queen—or any woman—in childbed, the King’s physicians had given place to a midwife, very clean and highly recommended, who was already installed in the palace. Jane found it comforting to know that, in churches throughout the land, prayers were being offered up for her safe delivery.
Henry was in excellent spirits; she had never seen him merrier. He hunted daily in Windsor Great Park, and the game he killed was served to Jane alongside her favorite quails, with which Lord and Lady Lisle kept her well supplied. One evening, as she was enjoying a second helping of them, Henry laid down his knife and reached across to her.
“I know you think I was wrong to order the closure of the smaller monasteries,” he said, “but I assure you, I do not mean to wipe out the religious houses entirely. And to please you, and show God that I am still a true son of the Church, I am reestablishing Stixwold Priory in Lincolnshire, for the salvation of your soul and mine.”
He never ceased to astonish her. He was a man of so many contradictions. And that he should do this for her moved her profoundly. Maybe this was the turning of the tide, and she would win through in the end.
“I cannot tell you how much that pleases me,” she told him, taking his hand and raising it to her lips. “God will reward you for it, I am sure. And
I venture to ask that you will grant me another favor. I heard that Bisham Priory has just been surrendered to your Grace, and that saddened me, because its church contains many noble tombs. The earls of Salisbury and Warwick lie there. Would you consider restoring that house too, for my sake?”
Henry looked uncomfortable. It was no secret that his father had kept the last earl of Warwick a prisoner in the Tower from childhood, for no reason other than the fact that the boy’s Plantagenet blood made him a threat to the Tudor dynasty; and he only left it for the scaffold, an innocent by all accounts. Queen Katherine had sometimes spoken of him; she had said that her marriage to Prince Arthur had been made in blood, for her father had made it plain that it would not go ahead until Warwick was removed.
“I will do more than that,” Henry said. “I will re-establish Bisham as an abbey.”
“Posterity will thank you,” she told him, “as fervently as I do.”
But that night she dreamed, and in her dream she saw a great abbey in ruins. It was Bisham, she knew, although she had never seen it. She awoke suddenly, troubled. Had it been a portent? Henry lay beside her, snoring evenly, and she would not wake him. She was glad of him in her bed. He had not made love to her since finding out that she was with child, but he came for company, he had told her. It had heartened her to hear, from the Duchess of Norfolk, that he had not slept with Katherine or Anne while they were pregnant—and then Lady Rochford had spoiled it by recalling how he had found solace for his enforced abstinence elsewhere. Yet Jane did not think he had been unfaithful to her. She was sure she would have guessed—and that Lady Rochford would have taken the greatest pleasure in telling her!