by Lucy Worsley
‘It pains me to tell you this,’ she said urgently, before breaking off.
‘I’m so sorry to tell you, Mary,’ she began again, ‘that Sir John Hussey is dead. He was on the side of the rebels, you know. Who rose up in favour of the Old Religion.’ She paused, and swallowed hard. ‘The religion of your mother.’
Mary clutched a hand to her side. She felt a dull ache there, like the rumble of thunder warning of a storm of feeling to come. Nan tortured … and now Sir John killed? How had this happened? This was terrible news.
But she also knew that this was no place or time to show weakness.
‘Why did my father not speak of this?’
‘He is very sparing with, um, with information,’ Jane admitted. ‘Have you not noticed that? If something displeases him, he acts as if it isn’t really true. I believe he thought that when you were in … captivity. I believe he truly didn’t think that anything was wrong. Master Cromwell kept telling him that you were well, and would soon submit.’
Mary stared at her.
‘Wave, Mary, remember to wave,’ said Jane, turning away. They were now near St Paul’s and yes, here was another display – a choir of friars, dressed in golden cloaks. The sun sparkled on the jewelled crucifixes they raised as the ladies passed.
Mary looked at those crosses. What kind of a God would allow Sir John Hussey to die? A stern God, Mary thought to herself. She knew that it wasn’t her place to question His will, but this was hard to bear.
Jane could sense that Mary was in pain.
‘I tell you this now, Mary,’ she hissed, ‘because I think you have the right to know. But I beg you, tell no one else. Please act at Christmas as if nothing is amiss.’
Mary did not need to ask why.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, in a ragged whisper. ‘I won’t tell.’
They rode on further, passing narrow streets clogged with dung, and women who looked cold, and babies who looked dirty. They were still cheering, cheering, to see the queen, and the king’s eldest daughter, the Lady Mary.
‘I’m not really worried about myself,’ Jane said. ‘I know that sooner or later I must die. But I want you to live, Mary. You are so straight, and strong, like an arrow fired from a bow. I think you will be all right.’
Mary made a quick gesture. ‘But God will surely spare you until you grow very old! Why talk of dying?’
Jane was shushing Mary. Yes, unassertive Jane wanted to speak so badly that she was actually demanding Mary’s attention. Mary thought she had better listen.
‘Oh no, my way is set,’ Jane said grimly, ‘as it is for the wife of any king. I must bear a son, that’s all that matters for me. As soon as I’ve done that no one will care what happens to me. But you know this, don’t you, Mary? You have been locked up for being born royal.’
‘Why did you marry him, then?’ Mary could feel her eyes growing round like saucers. What a surprise it was to hear this neat little doll saying such dark, dreadful things!
Mary saw that Jane’s hands were shaking slightly.
‘Because I fear the king,’ she said, ‘and I fear Master Cromwell.’
‘Master Cromwell! What has he to do with it?’ Mary was aghast. She had no wish to hear more of his power and influence.
‘He controls everyone, everything,’ Jane said, through pale lips. ‘He controls your father. It’s like witchcraft. They accused the old Queen Anne of witchcraft, but it’s Master Cromwell who is the wizard. Whatever he wants, he gets, and he wanted the king married to me. He thought I would be easy to manage. Well, I am easy to manage. I give very little trouble. And I will be happy to give the king a son, if I can.’
Mary took all this in, scarcely hearing the buzz of the people on the streets.
‘Now smile, Mary,’ the queen enjoined her. ‘Remember, you have to be seen to be believed.’
The unwitting echo of her mother caused Mary’s heart to skip a beat. And yes, it was exactly as her mother had warned. It may have been difficult and dangerous when she was exiled, but life could be even more difficult and dangerous here at court.
Chapter 30
January 1537, Greenwich
Christmas at Greenwich passed without any more discussion of the rebellion in the north. Mary knew that dangerous dissension was probably being whispered in corners of the palace, and that Master Cromwell would punish anyone he caught at it. Heeding Jane’s warning, she made sure no one could ever accuse her personally of treason.
She felt that she had underestimated the queen. Jane, quiet Jane, was a courtier too.
At the last great Christmas feast of Twelfth Night, she and her stepmother were seated together at the High Table. Little did her father suspect, Mary thought, what a good understanding had grown up between them.
Jane now gave a tiny nod at Mary, to indicate that the king had called for another great goblet of wine. Even now, one of the servitors was placing it on the table. Jane’s glance said that he’d had enough – more than enough – wine already. Taking her cue, Mary stood up from her seat.
She curtseyed to her father, then gestured to the hall to be quiet.
‘Sir,’ she said boldly. ‘May I take the crown of the Lord of Misrule upon my own head for a moment? And turn the world upside down by asking my father to dance with me?’
Whoops arose from the assembled courtiers, and some of them burst out clapping. Mary was gratified to see surprise replaced by a slow smile on her father’s face. He stood, swaying only the very tiniest bit, and gave her a low bow. Hand in hand, their wrists lifted high in the air, he led her down from the platform and into the body of the room.
The court grew solemn and quiet for the stately dance that by rights was the first of the evening. The musicians had been taken aback a little by Mary’s initiative, and there was a pause of a few seconds while their leader told them which tune to play.
As they stood and waited, the eyes of the court upon them, Mary’s father brought her hand to his lips to give it a smacking kiss. She saw that he was glowing with satisfaction.
‘My daughter!’ he said loudly, to the crowd. ‘A fine lady, is she not?’
There were murmurs of approval and admiration.
Mary bowed her head and tried to hide her pleasure. But he had not finished.
‘What a pity,’ he said, in a lower voice, so that only those nearest to them could hear, ‘that she was not a son. But my wife will soon put that right!’ At that he turned to the dais, and blew a kiss towards Jane.
Then the music started up. Mary wasn’t expecting it, and missed the beat for the first step of the dance. She cursed herself for losing concentration at such an important moment. Her mother would never have made such a mistake.
It was the sting of rejection, Mary realised, which had made her trip.
Why would he never, ever accept her? Why would he never be truly proud of her? It was such a simple thing, but it was all she wanted.
At the end of the dance, her father was breathless and red-faced, and Mary escorted him, rather than he her, back to the top table. She held hard to her composure, telling herself it was no time to feel upset about what he had said.
Mary called out loudly for fruit cordial ‘to refresh His Majesty’, and she saw, with satisfaction, that Jane had caused the goblet of wine mysteriously to disappear.
Jane herself was beaming, and reaching for his hand. As the king took it he did not release Mary’s, so that all three were linked in a human chain. ‘My family,’ he said. Mary saw that there was even what looked like the glint of a maudlin tear in his eye. ‘My beautiful girls,’ he said. ‘Happy together.’
Never, Mary thought, had he got it so wrong. She was not, could not be happy. She would never be good enough for him. If only she had been a boy.
Chapter 31
October 1537, Hampton Court
Mary is twenty-one …
Soon after Christmas, the king’s wish that his wife Jane should give him a prince seemed likely to come to pass. It was anno
unced that a baby boy was on its way. Mary was pleased for Jane, whom she knew to have been terribly anxious to have a baby just as soon as she could.
But Mary made certain mental reservations. How did her father know that it was a boy? That’s what everyone had said last time, and her sister, Elizabeth, had been the result. Either way, Mary had signed that paper agreeing that the new baby would inherit the throne ahead of her. That still stuck in her throat.
She kept her head down and got on with life. That actually meant keeping her head up, smiling at state occasions, dining in front of all the court, dancing with ambassadors. Nothing had been said for a long time of any marriage for Mary. She knew that she had been tainted, in the eyes of foreign princes, by her spell out of favour.
So spring turned into summer, and eventually the day drew near when Jane’s baby would be born. Jane had gone away to Hampton Court Palace to give birth. Mary was at Greenwich when the order came that she was to travel to Hampton Court for the christening.
Her first question was to ask how Jane herself was, but no one could tell her. The bells ringing in the churches of the towns as she travelled through London and out the other side reassured Mary. The news was good, all good. It was indeed a boy – Mary had mixed feelings about that – but she was relieved for Jane.
At Hampton Court, she went at once to the queen’s bedchamber. The door was heavily guarded, as always, but she was nodded through. At the inner door, one of the queen’s ladies lifted the flap of tapestry to let Mary enter. The air was warm. Mary’s nose told her that incense had been burned, but she thought she also detected a slightly horrible smell beneath it.
Mary paused to whisper fiercely, ‘Is she well? Tell me the truth.’
‘She is well, my lady,’ the midwife said, bobbing her curtsey. ‘Your ladyship will find her very pale. She’s always been pale and now she is paler still. White like snow. But we have been bleeding her, and health is returning. How goes the prince?’
Mary realised that the woman thought she had come from the baby prince’s apartments, but she hadn’t even been there yet. ‘He’s well,’ she said, somewhat distantly, moving forward into the room. It was an error not to have gone there first. Hopefully her father wouldn’t hear about her lack of respect to her new baby brother, and future king.
Jane was in bed, sitting up, her hair neatly brushed over her shoulders. She looked wan indeed, but smiled when she saw Mary.
She looks like a little girl, Mary thought.
‘Well done,’ Mary said, and they both laughed.
‘It’s such a relief,’ Jane admitted. ‘It lasted three nights, did they tell you? It’s awful, Mary, awful.’
Mary had not realised that it had taken quite so long. ‘I did hear …’ she said tentatively. ‘One of the stable boys at Greenwich, I heard him saying to his fellow that your life was in danger. That they were thinking of cutting the child out.’
‘Perhaps they were,’ Jane said. ‘That would have killed me.’
‘No, my father wouldn’t have allowed the doctors to do that,’ Mary said, with decision. ‘He really loves you.’
‘Yes, he does love me,’ she said sadly, ‘but he loves his son more. I’m sure that if he could have saved the boy at my expense, he would have done. But that’s all right, Mary. I was meant to be a mother, and now I am.’
She really did look exhausted, even in the glowing, warming light of the fire, but Mary could see how happy she was.
‘Are they looking after you properly?’ Mary asked suspiciously. She wasn’t sure about the noxious scent in the air of the room.
‘Oh yes,’ said Jane vaguely, ‘I have no complaints. Your father has been here, but he has gone away. The baby is to be the star of the christening tonight, you know.’
‘I know he is,’ said Mary. ‘I am to walk in the procession, but he is to take the place of honour.’
‘My boy and my girl,’ said Jane sleepily. ‘Will you be a good sister to my son, Mary? You know that I love you both.’
‘I will indeed,’ Mary said, ‘of course I will.’
***
A couple of hours later, Mary was dressed in stiff golden tissue with heavy fur-lined sleeves. There was a red satin lining to her gown, and the stitching on her fresh new linen was finer than she had ever seen. Yes, there was no doubt that she had taken her place once more among the royal family. To the outward glance at least.
Moving stiffly in her grand and unfamiliar clothes, Mary was conducted into the lineup and shown where she should stand. Behind her, in the position of honour right at the very back of the procession, she could hear the little yelps and mews of her baby brother. He was wrapped up in an enormous golden robe of his own, and all his household staff were fussing over him. Mary looked forward to the time when perhaps he would be brought to his mother’s chambers, and she and Jane could play with him a little. She also looked round for her sister, Elizabeth, who was also to be carried in the procession. Yes, there she was, too, in the arms of a courtier.
These are my brother and sister, she thought to herself, in wonder. I have a family. A funny family, it’s true, but I have a stepmother I think I could love, and a brother and a sister. I’m not just Mary all alone any more.
For a second she dared to think of the future. Christmases together? Hunts together, feasts with Jane presiding, a tableful of people who belonged to her. For so long it had been just her mother and her, and then after that for even longer it had been Mary just on her own.
Strange and horrible things had happened, but Mary seemed to have ended up with something that she’d always wanted. It was just her father who seemed to be missing.
She heard the squeals and gurgles of her brother behind her, and smiled.
It was a dark day, scarcely light at all, and as they came out of the chapel, after the long and enchanting ceremony, the torches born in the procession were lit. A new life was in the world. The joy that Mary herself had felt seemed to have run wild through the whole court. They had drunk a cup of wine, and eaten biscuits in the chapel, and now they were returning through the galleries, cloisters, courtyards and corridors to bring the baby prince back to his mother.
Mary looked forward to seeing Jane again. There had been something not quite right, something not entirely present, about her when they had spoken. Was this the price you paid to have a son?
Chapter 32
October 1537, Hampton Court
But that evening, and the next day, Mary was refused access to the queen’s bedchamber. It was the same the day after that as well.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked the midwife suspiciously. Mary had gone over to the queen’s chamber door herself to find out more. Whenever she had sent a servant with a message to ask when it would be convenient for her to visit, she had got an evasive reply.
It was the same woman to whom Mary had spoken before.
‘She is well, but tired,’ the woman admitted. ‘We are treating her with the very best of care. We are bleeding her.’
Mary was suspicious.
‘If she is well, may I not see her? She is, after all, my stepmother.’
‘His Majesty’s orders,’ the woman mumbled, looking down at her hands.
‘But His Majesty my father is not here!’ Mary cried impatiently. ‘How can he know what the queen’s health will or will not bear? She is my stepmother, I tell you, a close relative. I know that she will want to see me. It will make her feel better.’
The woman looked up, and Mary saw that she had not really been listening to what Mary had been saying. There was something in her eyes. Was it fear?
‘What is going on?’
Mary hissed the words fiercely, not wanting the guards in the corridor to hear, but convinced that something was up.
In answer, the woman silently stood aside, thrusting out the fold of tapestry sealing the door to let Mary pass beyond, into the area of confinement. Inside, the dim firelight made it hard to see.
Jane was lying in bed, althoug
h she had been sitting up when Mary had seen her before the christening. She looked worse, not better. Paler. Even more like a rag doll bleached in the sun.
Mary swore under her breath. She knew what had happened. The queen’s personal staff were terrified that they would be accused of not treating her correctly, so they had tried to keep her sickness a secret. Even while it grew more grave.
Mary strode quickly forward. She picked up one of Jane’s limp hands and cradled it between her own.
‘Mary.’
It was more of a sigh than a voice, but Jane certainly knew who she was, and Mary believed she gave a sliver of a smile in welcome. Despite her cold, greenish pallor, beads of sweat were forming on Jane’s forehead.
‘Mary.’ Jane’s parched lips were moving again, and Mary leaned close in to hear. ‘Look after Edward,’ the queen was saying. ‘Look after Edward, do you hear?’
‘What do you mean?’ Mary asked in wonder. ‘The whole court is looking after Edward. You have nothing to fear, Jane, and when you are well you can look after him yourself.’
Jane smiled and turned her head to one side.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘There is no cure.’
‘What are you saying, Jane?’ Mary asked in consternation. ‘Are you saying that you are really ill?’
‘Yes, I am,’ whispered Jane. ‘I should have spoken sooner, I see that now. I haven’t long.’ Her head lolled to one side, as if she could no longer support it.
Jane’s movement brought forward one of the nurses, with a sponge. She dipped it in water, and dabbed Jane’s dry mouth, bustling forward so Mary was forced back. Other nurses were coming now, getting ready to do something to Jane. Was she to be bled again? She saw that one of them had a small blade in her hand, and another a terracotta bowl.
Mary stood, frozen in thought, while the movement stirred around her.
All of a sudden, she noted a frantic increase in the pace and tension of the medical staff.
‘Call the doctor!’ one of the women was saying. ‘What, bring a man into the queen’s chamber?’ asked another. ‘Yes, indeed,’ came the answer, ‘bring him in at once. Or it will be too late.’