Jane the Confidant

by Leigh Jenkins

  Cromwell bit his lower lip, a habit I had noticed he participated in whenever he was trying to think of a way to change my mind. I gave him a minute to think out his argument, glancing over at Brandon who simply shrugged.

  “Your Majesty, Lutheran allies may prove necessary if France supports the Pilgrims,” Cromwell countered.

  “And yet we have established that they are not,” Brandon argued.

  “There is still the possibility that the pope will order King Francis to attack,” Cromwell snapped, angry enough to forget that the pope was now to be called the Bishop of Rome. “Besides which, this country is leaning Protestant. It would behoove Your Majesty to follow —“

  “I will not follow!” I cried out, bringing my fist down onto the table next to Cromwell. “I will lead this country out of the dark ages, but not into the arms of a heretic. And there will be no Lutherans in this country, and not at my court, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Cromwell squeaked out, backing into his chair. As I pulled my arm away he flinched, obviously expected me to strike a blow. However, my anger had passed as quickly as it had come; I felt no need to strike out at this man.

  “You will write to John the Third and thank him for his words of support but do not accept any funds or offers of help,” I ordered, my voice still tight. Cromwell nodded and waited for me to nod my dismissal at him. It took him only seconds to gather his papers and bow out the door, his heavy shoes pounding against the cobble as he hurried away.

  “You know he attends —“ Brandon began, but I held my hand up to silence him, shaking my head. I knew that Cromwell had been spotted attending secret Lutheran meetings when he first joined the court. I had since made it clear that I would not accept this behavior and had heard no more reports of this in the past year. Though I knew his conscience pushed him one way, it was clear that he would ignore that conscience for his King.

  ******

  “The Lady Mary!”

  I looked up from my reading to see my daughter enter my chambers with a look of embarrassment as my herald scurried out of her way with a bow. The laces of her blue gown were tighter than before; my wife had made sure that Mary had eaten well since joining us.

  “Your Majesty,” she said with a bow, staying on her one knee until I pushed myself from my window seat and went to raise her before me.

  “Mary,” I replied warmly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” I knew she would be seeking something from me; my daughter had yet to visit me without an expressed invitation.

  “I wished to seek Your Majesty’s permission,” she answered meekly, her hands trembling when I took them.

  I tightened my lips and gestured for her to take a seat. Cromwell had mentioned this to me — that one of her requests upon returning to court was that she would wish to marry. She was quite past the age that marriage would have been appropriate; indeed, I had heard talk that she would be too old to find a suitor. But she posed a unique problem — as my daughter, she must marry a man of great status. I could not give her to an English nobleman; it would upset the balance of my court, to have one family with such a powerful member. However, since she had been declared a bastard, she carried no prestige and could not marry a foreign nobleman — no prince would wish to marry someone who used to be a princess.

  “As Your Majesty knows, the court will begin the Christmas festivities at the end of the week,” Mary said once we were seated. “And I wished to call a guest to court.”

  I took a deep breath. So she had found a man to court her. This could be even worse. She had no experience with gentlemen and I doubt any man who had begun to pursue her in the country was interested in more than the wealth she could bring.

  An angry look must have crossed my face as Mary immediately sat forward and took my hands.

  “They can stay in my chambers, I do not mind sharing, I will not take up another set of rooms!” she cried.

  “Mary,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “Who are you speaking of?” I planned to have Cromwell visit this man’s family at once.

  “Why — my sister Elizabeth, of course,” she said with a tone of shock. “I know Your Majesty has not seen her in years, but she is a most precocious child and would benefit from the joviality of the court at Christmastime.”

  I sat back in my chair, shocked. My daughter Elizabeth, the only child from my marriage to Anne, here at court with the Lady Mary and Prince Edward?

  “Why should you desire her company?” I asked once my voice returned. “Her mother was so unlike yours, so different from anything you should hope to be —“ I trailed off as I felt my voice constrict; even now, speaking of Anne was painful.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I agree on the subject of her mother,” Mary said quickly. “However, it is not fair to punish the child for the sins of the mother. And she still has one good parent.” Here Mary paused to smile up at me. “I believe time here at court, under the influence of our goodly mother Queen Jane, would help her most greatly. She and her keeper Kat Ashley can share my chambers. And I know the Princess would be anxious to see her father.”

  I took a deep breath and sat back in my chair. Mary was correct, Elizabeth would benefit from time here at court, especially with Queen Jane. I had forgotten that Mary had spent time with her younger half-sibling; she had been housed in Elizabeth’s establishment when Anne had still been on the throne and Elizabeth had still been a princess. Anne had insisted that being a servant to her sister would teach Mary her place. But it appeared Mary had formed a bond with her younger sister, no matter their mother’s differences.

  Reaching across the table, Mary held out her hand.

  “Please, Papa,” she said in a soft voice, a name she had not called me by in over a decade. Her forgiving nature touched me and I reached out to take her hand.

  “Very well, you may write to Kat Ashley and invite the two of them to court,” I said with a slight smile. “They will need to stay in your rooms; we do not have the accommodations to house them elsewhere in the palace. And you may send ten pounds from my personal coffer for Elizabeth to be properly dressed here at court. You can bring her to be presented to me after the sermon on Sunday in my presence chambers.”

  Mary looked up at me and smiled.

  “Thank you, father,” she said and stood to exit.

  ******

  “Do you consider this truly appropriate?” Jane asked me that evening as she lay in my bed, her golden hair tumbled around the goose-feather pillow she rested on.

  “She is my daughter, the same as the Lady Mary,” I reasoned. “And Mary asked for her presence. If there was anyone at the court who would be offended by the Lady Elizabeth’s time at court, it would be her sister.”

  Jane was quiet for a moment before rolling onto her side towards me. She held out a hand to steady herself as the dip in the bed forced her towards me.

  “I am just not sure if she would feel at home here at court,” Jane explained, glancing to the side.

  “Then it will be your task to see that she does,” I countered, trying to sink into my mattress. Speaking to Jane had begun to feel like speaking with Cromwell, a constant argument and determining of what policy would be best for the kingdom. I could accept this from my master secretary, but not from my wife.

  “She has no place here —“ Jane continued.

  “As my daughter she does,” I argued. “As much as the Lady Mary or — or Bessie Blount’s son.” I choked on the final words, my son’s death still painful to me. I took in a deep breath.

  “Peace, Jane,” I finally said, holding out my hand as she made to speak once again. “It has already been done. The Lady Elizabeth will be here by the end of the week and will share quarters with Mary. I will not hear any more about it.”

  Jane closed her eyes, her mouth in a thin line as she turned away from me. It was not the first time a woman had turned from me in bed, angry at something I had said. But it was the first time Jane had done it.

  Closing my eyes,
I sank down into the soft mattress. In my youth I had chased the woman across the bed, anxious to know what I had done wrong and how it could be fixed. But after Anne, I had vowed to do this no more. Jane could stay there.

  ******

  “The Duke of Norfolk!”

  My herald was in fine form today, it being the final Saturday before the Christmas holidays. I smiled as the old Duke came forward, bowing in front of me.

  “Rise,” I ordered, standing from my dais and walking down the two steps to where he was. “It is good to see you returned to us,” I said as I clasped him on both shoulders, releasing a cloud of dust from his traveling cloak.

  “I am happy to be returned to Your Majesty’s presence,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “And to see the Queen in such high spirits.” He nodded to Jane who had remained seated on her throne behind me, Edward secure in her lap.

  “Though your mission was not successful, you have conducted yourself well,” I continued. “I hope you are not fatigued from your journey.”

  “No, Your Majesty,” he answered with a tough grin. “And I hope to return to field after the festivities have concluded. I believe we are close to whipping these rebels.”

  I smiled at my oldest commander.

  “I agree,” I said with a final nod and turned to rise back on the platform. The Duke took a final bow before backing into the courtiers filling my presence room. Though the day was chilly, the room was stifling; I had never seen so many bodies filling the small presence chamber here at Greenwich.

  My herald entered the room once again and I heard Jane take in a sharp breath to my right.

  “The Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth!”

  A swift silence fell through the crowd and there was a simultaneous bulge forward towards the door. I tried not to let the courtiers’ odd behavior distract me as I watched my daughters approach.

  Mary came through first, smiling, something she had failed to do in front of a crowd since she had rejoined the court. She walked a few steps through the door and gave me a slight curtsey before turning to speak behind her. With so many people muffling the sound I couldn’t hear what she said, but it brought forth a young girl who dodged around the corner.

  At four years old, Elizabeth could walk on her own, but her small chubby hand reached out to hold Mary’s anyway. Looking into her older sister’s face, Elizabeth found a smile and turned to look up at me. Her steps were small but certain as she came towards me, her dark green dress setting off her brilliantly fiery red hair. Of my children, she was the only one who had truly inherited my hair, its slight curls refusing to stay behind her ears.

  Both girls reached the end of the carpet and stopped to curtsey, Mary sweeping down elegantly while Elizabeth tripped slightly before making it down. I heard Jane make a small sound of displeasure at this but Mary just smiled at her sister.

  “My beautiful daughters,” I said, as proudly as I could, rising to take them both in my arms. Mary fell into my side gracefully while Elizabeth seemed alarmed by the gesture. I stepped back and motioned from them to stand on my left at the dais and held out my hands.

  “My family,” I said simply, reminding myself to smile. There was a polite clapping that quickly died off, the courtiers straining to see if anything else was to be said.

  A rare silence fell across the crowd before there was a slight part and Charles Brandon came to stand before us.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with a bow. “And Queen Jane, it is a pleasure to see you looking so well.”

  I glanced to my side and saw at once that this was a courtier’s statement; Jane was pale, with her mouth pulled into a thin line. I saw her take a deep breath and relax her grip on Edward.

  “And I know the kingdom is pleased to have Prince Edward with us,” he said, with a slight bow to my infant son. At only six months he could barely sit up in his mother’s arms but had yet to make a cry during today’s greetings.

  “And the Lady Mary, it is a true pleasure to have you returned to court,” he continued, taking Mary’s hand and bowing low to kiss it. She blushed slightly and pulled her hand away. I would have Jane work with Mary on her level of modesty.

  Turning slightly, Charles knelt down before Elizabeth.

  “And my Lady Elizabeth, it is an honor to see you once again,” Charles whispered.

  “It would be an honor to see you as well,” Elizabeth replied loudly. “If I knew who you were.”

  A nervous laughter ran through the crowd but it seemed to do the trick as courtiers returned to idle chatter, their attention drawn away from Mary and Elizabeth’s entrance.

  I turned to Jane with a smile to show her there was nothing to be worried over when I noticed the Duke of Norfolk carefully make his way up to the girls.

  “Lady Mary,“ I heard him say with a bow. “I am pleased you have returned to court.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said with a slight nod. She turned to smile down at Elizabeth who had suddenly begun to hop slightly.

  “I know,” she said excitedly, then became quieter when Mary shot her a soft look. “I know who you are, you are the Duke of Norfolk and my uncle.” The young girl smiled at herself, proud she had remembered this detail.

  The Duke shot an embarrassed look over his shoulder and then, satisfied none of the courtiers had heard this exchange, turned back to his niece.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “But we do not speak of it.”

  Chapter Seven

  September 1538

  I glanced around the table at the members of my Privy Council, our numbers complete for the first time in months. The Duke of Norfolk had come to court from the lines of battle, and Charles Brandon had returned from his journey to meet with Emperor Charles in an attempt to find financial, if not military, support. Archbishop Cranmer had also been missing recently as well, traveling to the monasteries that remained loyal to us and working to keep their support.

  I took in the well-worn faces of these men, most of whom I had known my whole life. We had all aged in the past year, the rebellion having turned into a full civil war since Christmas. Norfolk had marched back out at the beginning of the campaigning season, the final frost still on the ground. It had taken only a week for the rebels to find him and destroy the ranks he had called up. A larger army had been called, the money that had flowed so freely into my coffers flowing right out again. Since then he had met the rebels half a dozen more times. Though we had sustained heavy losses, we had inflicted them as well. And the rebels did not possess unlimited resources. It would take time, but I was confident we could wear them down.

  Cromwell entered the chamber last, hurrying to his seat with a bow to me. Of all my men, he looked the worst, his round face having sunk into shadows over the past months. Every time I saw him he was rushing, papers strewn about in his arms. Our meetings now seemed to run around his schedule instead of mine — he led all facets of the government that were still in operation, remained in contact with Norfolk and the other minor nobles who were leading their own troops, was in simultaneous correspondence with all ambassadors and leaders on the Continent, and somehow managed to continue the dissolution of the monasteries. His work with those was confined to houses in the southern region of the kingdom, the wealthy south seemingly immune to the feverish fanaticism of the north.

  Cromwell dropped his papers, some of them rolling away from him to land in front of Archbishop Cranmer. The younger man smiled grimly and helped him collect his things while Cromwell called the meeting to order.

  “I am pleased to announce that the rebel’s numbers are dwindling,” Norfolk began but Cromwell raised his hand to silence the old man.

  “It is true that our attacks have struck true in the recent months,” Cromwell said, quick words to appease the Duke. “But I have here from our ambassador in France that King Francis is in contact with Sir Robert Aske and has already provided monetary backing to his cause.”

  A shocked silence took the room as Cromwell dug his thin fingers into a stack of
dispatches. No one spoke as he riffled through his papers, finally seizing upon the one he wanted.

  “In this dispatch dated August 28, Ambassador Sir John Hutton writes that he has heard from Francis himself that he had sent a large sum to Sir Robert Aske, in response to the Pope — I mean, of course, the Archbishop of Rome —“ Cromwell trailed off for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. I had never before seen him make such an error in a Privy Council meeting.

  “In response to the Archbishop of Rome’s request for Christian leaders to help the souls of their Catholic brothers in England,” he continued after a moment. “When pressed, Francis admitted that he does not plan to send troops to aid the rebels. However, both Hutton and Lord Lisle, who is stationed in Calais, believe that he could change his mind and send troops into England at any moment.

  “I do not need to tell the council that this will result in fewer petty skirmishes and change this into a full war. With the might of France, these rebels are powerful.”

  “Indeed you do not need to tell us this!” Norfolk thundered, the smile gone from his face. “We will be backed into a corner, Francis will look to strike when we are weak, and that is exactly what our army is at the moment — weak. Until these rebels are destroyed, or until an agreement is reached, our resources will not be enough.”

  Cromwell nodded and sank down into his seat, hunched over his papers like a beaten man.

  “We must find a new strategy as well as new allies,” he said. I glanced over to Norfolk, but he seemed nonplussed that Cromwell was agreeing with him, a rare feat.

  “We cannot look to Spain. The Holy Roman Emperor has just begun his campaign toward the holy land,” Charles said. “He will have nothing to spare for us.”

  “There must be some help we can gain from smaller duchies perhaps, France and Spain are not the entire world,” Cranmer said, his naïve view of the world shining through.