Lady in Waiting: A Novel

by Susan Meissner

  “Someone else?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  “Who?”

  She said the name slowly as if it tasted sour on her tongue. “Guildford Dudley.”

  John Dudley’s son.

  Twenty-Seven

  I did not see Jane for two days. She stayed in her bedchamber and did not summon me. I was, however, sent to her sister Katherine’s rooms. The fluttering thirteen-year-old had also been betrothed, the same hour as Jane, and the girl was anxious to be about her prewedding wardrobe.

  “Has Jane told you?” she gushed when I arrived at her room the morning after the news had made the rounds of the household.

  I had curtsied. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Isn’t it most exciting?”

  “Indeed, my lady.”

  “Have you met Lord Herbert? He is older than I, you know. He is nineteen. But he is quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  I had never met Henry Herbert, but I knew he was the Earl of Pembroke’s son. And I knew Katherine barely knew him. Talk on the stairs was that Lady Katherine’s marriage was a hastily planned political maneuver.

  As was Jane’s.

  “Yes, my lady,” was all I said in reply.

  “Can you let out these seams, please, Lucy?” She showed me a peach-colored bodice of satin and ermine. “’Tis tight on me now that I am a woman!”

  She pushed out her chest, tiny though it still was, and I told her it would be my pleasure to let out the seams. I asked her if I could take her measurements.

  “Jane is not happy, though,” she said as she lifted her arms so I could measure her bosom and waist. “I suppose you know that. She oughtn’t to be so glum, if you ask me. Guildford is the most handsome man in all of London. He’s had eyes for her for the longest time.”

  I didn’t know what Jane would have me say to Katherine. But I did not wish to keep saying, “Yes, my lady,” to everything she said. Jane deserved to have some sympathy from her family, especially Katherine.

  “She is fond of someone else,” I ventured.

  Katherine had her back to me, but she swung her head around. “You mean Edward Seymour? I’m the one who wanted to marry Edward. She knew that. Did she not tell you? I’ve been pining away for Edward since before his father got into all that trouble. Long before then.”

  Jane had not mentioned Katherine’s infatuation with Edward. It was like her not to. I said nothing.

  “But the Seymours are in such dreadful straits,” Katherine went on. “I daresay they shall never recover. And if I cannot have Edward, then I am lucky to have Lord Herbert. Jane is luckier to have Guildford. His father is counselor to His Majesty. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, my lady. He is indeed a very powerful man.”

  “Oh!” Katherine said suddenly, twirling around again. “Did you hear His Majesty is having our wedding gowns made? Mine and Jane’s? Can you believe it? And we’re to be married the same day. At Durham House.”

  My heart fell when Katherine said this, even though I had no delusions that I would be making Jane’s wedding gown.

  “When are you to be married?” I asked.

  “Whitsunday! In three weeks!” she said gaily.

  At this, my heart truly sank to my feet. Three weeks.

  Katherine chattered on as I set about opening the seams, readjusting them, and closing them again. As soon as I finished, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her, and I prayed there wasn’t.

  To my gratitude, she dismissed me, and I went back to my garret room to await a summons from Jane that did not come that day. While I waited, I penned a note to Nicholas, apprising him of the events of late. I still had no idea what to expect as to the matter of my employment. I also wrote to my parents that I would likely be returning to them at the end of May, a month before my own wedding, if I could find no other post in London.

  I had no desire to be in the employ of the Dudley family. I did not trust John Dudley.

  I knew Jane also did not, and I ached for her that she would soon bear his name and be married to his son.

  But I would not work for him.

  I did not think for a moment he would ask me.

  On the third day, the duchess called me to her room. The Duke of Northumberland and his son Lord Guildford would be calling that day, and I was to see to it that Jane was properly attired to greet them.

  “Absolutely nothing in black.” Her harsh tone was accompanied by rolled eyes and a wave of her hand.

  I curtsied and left to carry out her orders.

  I found Jane in her sitting room, seated at a round table where she sometimes took a meal. But today, the tabletop was covered with letters and bits of sealing wax. She was absently picking at a broken seal as I came in.

  I curtsied. “Good morning, my lady.”

  “I can stomach everyone’s patronizing tone except yours, Lucy.”

  I searched for words to reply and nothing seemed appropriate. After a moment of silence, she bid me to approach the table.

  “These letters,” she said. “They speak of the Jane that no one knows. Not even you. I don’t think even you know this Jane.”

  I looked down at the spread of parchments. I saw the flowing script, the lengthy pages, a couple of signatures. Henry Bullinger. John ab Ulmis. Theologians on the Continent whom Jane had been writing to since she was fourteen. I had never read the letters she wrote, nor the ones laid out before me, but I knew that Jane had come to a place where she saw her faith not as an extension of her position but the essence of her very soul. Faith to Jane was not something to be bargained with or leveraged. It was to be as subtle and unstoppable as the beating of your own heart.

  “I fear this Jane is about to disappear,” she whispered.

  “No, she shall not,” I whispered back.

  “How can I honor God and yet marry this man?”

  “You will find a way.”

  A tear slipped out of her left eye and ran unchecked down her cheek, followed by one from the other eye.

  “And what of Edward?”

  I had no answer for her.

  “He asks too much of me,” she murmured.

  I had missed something. “Your father?”

  She picked at a bit of wax, and the seal broke away in her fingers. “God,” she whispered.

  An hour later, we heard carriages outside in the courtyard. Mrs. Ellen appeared to tell Jane it was time to receive her guests. Jane left the room in a dress she had chosen; a brocaded gown of verdant green.

  Edward Seymour’s favorite color.

  I watched from a distance that afternoon as the duke and duchess entertained their guests, slightly jealous of the serving staff being privy to every conversation at the tables in the garden. I could only watch Guildford speak to Jane from my window. I could not hear his voice; I could see that he was indeed very comely, but he seemed attentive to Jane only at intervals, as if the conversations between his father and Jane’s father were his true interest. His attentions were always drawn to the hushed conversations between the two dukes. Jane barely looked up from her lap. Once I saw her raise her gaze to the windows, my window. I raised my hand and pressed it to the glass. She looked away.

  In the days leading up to Jane’s marriage to Guildford Dudley, I learned my employment with the household of the Duke of Somerset had come to a successful completion, and that I would be given sterling recommendations upon my leave. I was expected to stay through the month of May to see the Lady Jane’s wardrobe safely to her husband’s home at Syon Park on the Thames. After that I was free to pursue my next post.

  My parents were happy to have me home to make preparations for my own wedding and to dote on me for a few more days as their remaining unmarried daughter. The year before, Cecily had married the fowler’s son at the manor house where she was installed as seamstress.

  Nicholas had secured a post as instructor at a boys’ school at Whitechapel, just outside London, though without my income, we’d be living in the
dormitories with the lads. I began to write letters of inquiry, hoping a merchant tailor in Whitechapel needed a seamstress until God would favor us with a nobleman’s household who needed a dressmaker and a tutor.

  Since I was not involved with the construction of Jane’s or Katherine’s wedding clothes, I busied myself with a dress for their little sister, Mary, who would not be attending the wedding, as the duke and duchess were increasingly embarrassed by their younger daughter’s physical ailments. And at night, I stitched my own wedding dress.

  When I was with Jane, I endeavored to take her mind off what lay ahead. But it was always before her, looming ahead like an appointment with a gaoler.

  I had the rare opportunity to meet Lord Guildford once during the days of preparation. Again, I noted that he was strikingly handsome, but I could tell in a moment, he lacked Nicholas’s humility and Edward Seymour’s gentility. He seemed very much like his father. Ambitious. Self-assured. Cunning. And to my shame and disgust, he followed the curves of my body with his eyes as I moved away from him on the stairs.

  I had to gather my composure after turning onto the landing. And rein in my revulsion. I said nothing of this to Jane.

  The day of the wedding, Whitsunday, dawned cloudless and vibrant. I came to Jane’s rooms early with a small token, a lacy undergarment, stitched with silver rosettes, asters, and larkspur since she would not be having the veil of gauze and flowers. Everything else she would be wearing that day had been sewn by His Majesty’s tailors and dressmakers. Her gown was resplendent in gold and majestic white, with diamonds and pearls glistening at every seam. The farthingale hoop, which Jane did not truly expect to escape, was bell shaped and enormous.

  Tears came to her eyes when I gave her the chemise to wear under the great folds of wedding fabric.

  “It is beautiful, Lucy.” She fought to keep the tears at bay and was successful. I marveled at her courage.

  “I am … I am glad he will not see it. Not today.” Jane fingered a silvery rosette.

  Her words confused me. “My lady?”

  “The marriage is not to be consummated today. Nor shall Kate’s.”

  Color rose to my cheeks. “’Tis a mercy, my lady. Yes?” I said, after a moment’s pause.

  “Yes, for today. It will happen soon enough. My parents will see to it. So will his.”

  The heat on my cheeks intensified. I had no words for her.

  “His Majesty cannot come to the wedding,” Jane said, swallowing her raw emotions and moving away from the subject of her marriage bed. “He is too ill.”

  “We must pray for him, my lady.”

  “Yes.”

  A stretch of silence yawned before us.

  “Mama says you are to be released at the end of the month,” Jane said at last, speaking aloud what we both knew, and I hadn’t the valor to address—we were to be parted.

  “Yes.”

  “But she says that you will be in London after your wedding to Mr. Staverton.” She blinked back tears.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Then perhaps I shall see you again, dear Lucy.”

  “You can be sure of it.”

  She sighed. “Perhaps you would consider future employment, you and Mr. Staverton, when … when this arrangement I am beholden to comforts me with children?”

  I could only nod. The young lady needed a dream on that day. I could give her that one.

  She stood and held the chemise to me. “Help me dress, Lucy.”

  Without a word, I obeyed.

  Twenty-Eight

  I married Nicholas on the eighth of June in my village church, surrounded by my family. A brilliant sun chased away fog that had arrived in maiden white in the wee morning hours, and the air was filled with birdsong and the scent of lavender. My father’s health had rallied in the late spring, and color had returned to his cheeks, even if only for a few weeks.

  There were many moments during my wedding when my thoughts turned to Jane, though the only event I could adequately picture was her dressing to become Guildford Dudley’s bride. That was the only event of Jane’s wedding day that I was privy to. I did not see Jane again that day.

  As I put on the gown I had sewn while the Grey household slept, I was keenly aware of the differences, not similarities of the two days.

  I was breathless with happiness as I walked into the church and could scarce contain tears of joy as I vowed to cherish Nicholas to the end of my days. Jane left her chambers resolute and expressionless, the few stray tears on her cheek silent evidences of her mourning the loss of a life with Edward Seymour that was not to be hers.

  I thought of her when Nicholas and I knelt and prayed before God as the vicar blessed our vows. I thought of her when we left the church as husband and wife, and again when Nicholas took me in his arms that night and together we discovered the unspeakable beauty and splendor of the marriage bed.

  I knew that nothing about my wedding day was akin to hers. Love brought me to the marriage altar. Duty brought her.

  We were both married, but for wholly different reasons.

  I had never been more grateful to Almighty God that I was born a commoner than the day I married the man I loved and who loved me.

  It did not matter to me that Nicholas and I returned to London to make our home in the upper rooms of a dormitory, that I spent my days mending little boys’ torn breeches and doublets, tending to scraped knees, assisting Cook in the kitchen, and soothing the fears of young lads who missed their mothers.

  In the evenings, after Nicholas had put away his students’ work, and I put away his students’ torn garments, we walked the walled garden under splashes of moonlight, read poetry, laughed, dreamed, and then returned to our tiny room and our shared bed.

  In my prayers, I interceded for dear Jane; I could only guess what her first few weeks of marriage were like. I didn’t know if her marriage had been consummated yet, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. I could not imagine partaking of the marriage bed with someone I did not love, and there were moments when I cried for her. Nicholas did not know why Jane’s marriage was not consummated the night of her wedding. He guessed that just as there were political reasons for her marriage, there were political reasons for that as well. It was not because of her age; she was fifteen and certainly old enough to be wedded.

  I had asked Nicholas what might be the reason for Jane’s parents’ hasty decision to marry their daughter to John Dudley’s son, a mere three weeks after announcing the betrothal, when they had delayed the announcement of her betrothal to Edward Seymour for more than a year.

  He thought perhaps they were reacting to their disappointment that they’d waited too long to see if Edward Seymour would retain his father’s lands and possessions.

  But why Guildford Dudley? I asked. Jane was a Tudor. Fourth in line to the throne. Guildford was not a royal; he was the son of a duke.

  Not just any duke, Nicholas had said. John Dudley was not just any duke.

  Nicholas and I had been at Whitechapel for three weeks, and it was nigh unto July when I received my first letter from Jane.

  My dear Mrs. Staverton,

  Would you be so good as to call upon me this Friday afternoon at Syon House? I should like to discuss the matter of your services in the construction of a new gown. A carriage shall be dispatched to fetch you at one o’clock.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Lady Jane Dudley

  I brought the letter at once to Nicholas. “I would very much like to go see her,” I said.

  We were alone in his classroom, and he kissed the top of my head. “Seeing her will make you sad, I think.”

  “I am sad already for her.”

  His arms went around me. I ached for Jane that she likely did not know what it was like to be in the embrace of a man who did not like to see you sad.

  “If there is a gown to be made, would you be opposed to my making it?” I asked.

  “Not if you truly wish to do so. But your home is here with m
e, Lucy.”

  “I do not wish to be anywhere else. I shall sew it here or not at all.”

  I was restless the days leading up to my visit to Jane. When Friday finally arrived, I was ready for the carriage a full hour before it came for me. Nicholas assisted me inside, despite there being a footman who had been sent along for that purpose.

  “You cannot change what Providence has willed,” Nicholas reminded me as he kissed my hand. “She is Dudley’s wife, for good or ill. Guard your own happiness, dearest.”

  I laid my other hand against his cheek. “I shall be careful.”

  He closed the carriage door and smiled at me as the driver slapped the reins and the coach rolled away. An hour later, we pulled in front of the Duke of Northumberland’s Syon House residence, a stately hall of honey-gold stone and bordered with sloping lawns and mature oaks.

  When I alighted from the carriage, Mrs. Ellen was waiting for me on the steps. Her face was careworn, and she seemed both pleased and irritated that I was there. I found it strange that it was she who was there to greet me. She was Jane’s nurse and principal attendant, not a housekeeper. But I moved toward her with a smile and warm tone.

  “Mrs. Ellen! How wonderful to see you!”

  “Indeed, Mrs. Staverton.” She nodded to me nervously. “If you will follow me.”

  We had no sooner stepped inside the great hall when a woman in red silk and jewels approached us from just inside a set of double doors leading to a gilded parlor. She looked to be my mother’s age. I curtsied.

  “What is this?” the woman boomed as I rose from my bended knees.

  “My lady, this is Lady Jane’s former dressmaker, Mrs. Lucy Staverton,” Mrs. Ellen replied, licking her lips. “Lady Jane has sent for her now that her illness has passed. She would like a new gown for her entrance back into court as a new bride.”

  Guildford’s mother, the Duchess of Northumberland, narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized me. This was the first I’d heard that Jane had been ill. But I said nothing.