The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Her cousin, the Emperor Charles, had again sued for written assurance that she would not be denied the Mass, but to no avail. It had become obvious to her that there were only two avenues open to her now that a man as devious as Dudley was in charge: marriage or flight. Her cousin had stated unequivocally that he did not want to support her royal state should she escape England; so marriage was the only option open to her.

  And so she had watched, detached, aloof, as negotiation after negotiation had gone the way of all the previous attempts to get her married. The perennial Dom Luis of Portugal had thrown his hat into the ring; the king of France, horrified that the heir to the throne might marry an Imperial cousin and cement an alliance, had offered the Duke of Vendome; even the Duke of Ferrara, an Italian, had sent an envoy to feel out the possibility of a match. All to no avail. Little had changed since Chapuys had tried to solve the riddle of getting her married and settled; she would not be allowed to marry out of the country; she would not be allowed to marry a Catholic. The only thing that had changed was that even had the Council agreed to her marriage, they would have been unable to scrape together her dowry. Somerset’s wars had left the country not only bankrupt but deeply in debt. There would be no marriage for her.

  As far as she knew, Dudley had known only one uncomfortable moment. Apparently no one had thought to inform the king that his uncle was in the Tower, accused of treason and likely to be executed. The first Edward knew of it was when the proud Duchess of Somerset had come before the king to plead for her husband’s life. Edward was livid, and insisted that his uncle be pardoned and restored to the Council. Not as Protector; that could never be again. Dudley had wisely supported Edward’s demands and Somerset had been released and restored to his place on the Council. He was no political threat; the earl of Warwick was seen as decisive and authoritative, which only served to underline Somerset’s lack of ability to govern. But just to make sure, Dudley married his son to Somerset’s daughter, tying the two men together irrevocably and subtly making Dudley a member of the royal family by marriage.

  Mary disliked Dudley intensely, but his machinations warranted close study. He was not royal; but he thought like a ruler, and she would have to be very wary of him. And then he had turned his sights once again on herself and insisted that she be made to conform to the Protestant religion. The time had come to realize that if she were to be able to keep on practicing her religion, escape was the only option left to her now. Indeed, as a corollary, her very life was in danger. If anything should happen to Edward, Dudley, with the backing of the Council, was likely to ensure that she should never live to ascend the throne of England.

  She had, in the past, appealed to her cousin for help, and Charles had always balked. She was beginning to realize that the emperor saw her as a pressure point in English politics, a tool to keep the Council in check. Her departure from the country would neutralize that. He simply did not believe that she was in any danger, and he firmly believed that the Council would stop short of denying her the Mass. She began to understand that to Charles, she was just one of many issues her cousin had to deal with, and perhaps not even the most important one. And then Somerset had been ousted and Dudley had taken power. For the first time, her cousin truly feared for her safety. Van de Delft had asked again for Charles to send ships to take her away, and this time, her cousin had listened.

  # # #

  The dead white light from the moon cast uncertain shadows on the path; Jehan’s hand went to the knife at his belt with every stray sound he heard. He was following Sir Robert’s footsteps closely, because despite the bright moon, it was very dark and one could not see very far ahead. He greatly feared that if they lingered much longer, they would be found out and the consequences of that were unthinkable.

  Van der Delft had at last convinced the emperor that there was no alternative to his cousin’s escape from England; she was in the gravest danger and must be rescued. The whole affair had taken its toll on the Imperial ambassador; he had visited the emperor personally to plead Mary’s case, and had become very ill indeed on his return voyage across the Channel. Jehan was his right hand, and to Jehan had fallen the dual tasks of arranging for van der Delft’s replacement; it was obvious that he was too ill to discharge his duties as ambassador any longer; and for devising the means by which Mary would be whisked away across the water to the court of her cousin, Charles’ sister, Mary of Hungary, who was regent of the Netherlands.

  Van der Delft had suggested that Mary should disguise herself as a servant and accompany the party escorting him back across the water, but the emperor had emphatically refused that plan; if they were caught out in any such ignoble deception, the consequences would be dire for diplomatic relations between the two countries. No; he would not consent to any sordid subterfuge. If his cousin wished to leave England, he would accommodate her, and he would make no show of it; but neither would he deny it. If it must be done, it must be done quietly and without resort to mummery.

  And so van der Delft, so ill by that time that he was neither conscious nor in his right mind for the fever, had been carried back across the Channel to the court of the Regent. There he had lain, raving about plans to spirit away the princess of England, and only God knew who had heard him and gossiped. It was impossible to keep such things secret at a royal court. Worst of all, just before Jehan had set out with the ships that were to carry Mary to safety, van der Delft had died, and it was now his sad duty to inform the princess.

  Jehan had arrived on a cargo ship, ostensibly to sell Dutch corn to the princess’s household. He had been escorted by Imperial warships, and the English navy, who had spy ships of its own, had surely spotted them by now. The warships had not come up the estuary with Jehan’s cargo ship, but it would not take the English long to make the connection between them, and chances were that the Lord President of the Council already knew of the plans to take the princess away. The time was now; if their plan had any chance of success, they must fetch the princess and be gone.

  But instead of Mary’s arrival at the most inconspicuous place on the coastline that could be agreed for her departure, one of her household, Sir Robert Rochester, had arrived instead to inform Jehan that the princess wished to speak with him first.

  “Speak…?” Jehan’s jaw had dropped and he wondered, despite his command of the language, if he had heard aright. “Does Her Grace realize the danger we are in? Our escort could be discovered by the English and fired upon at any moment; they have no safe conduct. Or we could be discovered and undone right here at any moment.”

  “Exactly so,” Sir Robert had patiently replied. “The fact of the matter is, Dubois, I am not at all certain that Her Grace should go at all.”

  Jehan was struck speechless; he stared at Mary’s servant open-mouthed. After all the effort, all the persuasion, to convince the emperor; all the planning, the expense, the danger… “Not go?” he repeated incredulously.

  Sir Robert held up his hand and counted his points off on each finger. “The watch has been doubled, ostensibly because the Council fears another uprising now that the weather is warm; but they could very well be on the lookout for Her Grace. If that is so, it is highly unlikely that Her Grace will reach the shore undetected. I am concerned that not everyone in the household can be trusted; some of them are certainly Dudley’s spies and it is hard to keep such things secret. Also, I am convinced in myself that there is really no danger to Her Grace at the present moment, nor will there be any possibility of such before the Parliament convenes in the autumn. Why take such a risk now if it is not necessary?”

  Jehan had been in the employ of clever diplomats for most of his life; he knew instantly that argument and rebuttal with Rochester was futile. “You are right,” said Jehan. “I must speak with Her Grace. Please,” he said, indicating that Sir Robert should lead the way. He would have to convince Mary himself that they must go, and go now, if she were ever to escape the clutches of Dudley and the Council.

  # # #
>
  Mary did not realize that she had been dozing until she started awake at the sound of a footstep on the path. Or was it? She shook her head to dislodge the cobwebs and stood up, smoothing her skirts and peering futilely into the darkness. The moon was high up in the heavens now and was beginning to lose its brilliance.

  A pebble, dislodged by a wary foot, sounded, to her fraught nerves, as if a cannon had discharged. Secrecy was vital; stay or go, they must not be discovered skulking in the garden in the middle of the night.

  A raspy whisper sounded on the other side of the garden wall. “Your Grace? Are you there?”

  It was Sir Robert. “I am here, Sir Robert,” she replied.

  Before she knew what was happening, Jehan stepped forward, knelt, took her hand, brushed it with his lips and said, “Your Grace, we must speak.” And glancing in the direction of Rochester, he added, “Alone.”

  Mary nodded. It was the best way. “Not here,” she whispered. “Follow me.”

  Mary knew the paths around the manor like the back of her hand; she led Jehan away from the garden to the gate and out into the meadow. When Sir Robert would have followed, she held up her hand. He was her servant; he did not question her decisions. He stayed at the gate, standing vigil against anyone who might have heard their voices and come to investigate.

  When they had descended a grassy slope and Sir Robert was lost from view, Jehan said, “Your Grace, the situation has become desperate. We had expected to be gone ere this. The danger of discovery grows with every passing moment.” To emphasize his point a strong gust of wind thrashed the trees; their wildly swaying branches seemed to beckon her.

  There was a question in his voice, even a slight rebuke in his tone. Mary did not blame him. Good Jehan had had placed on his shoulders a mighty burden; managing a replacement for van der Delft and acting in his behalf was pressure enough; to that had been added the clandestine spirting away of a royal princess, in direct opposition to his duties as interim Imperial ambassador. Her cousin might equivocate about his role in the whole affair, but it was an escape nonetheless and he was abetting her in the effort to get out of England. Once she was gone, it would be a fait accompli; but no one would escape calumny and blame if they were caught in the act.

  Mary reached out her hands to Jehan and he took them in his own. Her grip was deceptively strong and powerful; perhaps her hawking and riding had strengthened them. “Good Jehan,” she said. “Please, I beg you to forgive me, but I cannot go. I cannot leave England.”

  Jehan let out a deep sigh. He could only try. “Your Grace,” he said, “I can no longer guarantee your safety in getting to the ship, but I am willing to die in your service if needs be. And I can guarantee Your Grace that once we win the shore, you will be free of the oppression that awaits you if you stay in England.”

  Free. An interesting choice of word. “Good Jehan,” Mary replied. “It distresses me to know that I have put you to so much trouble, and my cousin; God only knows what he will think of my demure after all the fuss I have made to leave. But this I tell you, and I hope that you will understand. My cousin has already expressed a reluctance to support my royal estate should I seek refuge at his court. It is clear that if I go, I shall be living on sufferance. I have done so before, here in my own country, at the hands of my father. I know what it would be like, and I dread it. In short, dear Jehan, I would be condemning myself to permanent exile. Can you not see this? Think! If my cousin is reluctant to support me in the estate of a royal princess, how much more reluctant would he be should the throne offer itself, to provide the men and arms I would need to force my claim? No. If I am not here, on the spot, should the opportunity arise, I shall forfeit my right to be queen of England. And that I cannot do.”

  She wished that the moon had set so that she did not have to see the hurt and the frustration on Jehan’s face. Suddenly the memory of the geese flying away on the day that Jehan had visited her so many months ago came uppermost in her mind. Like they, she had wished that she could just run away, fly away, flee from all her problems. But she had come to realize that the comfort derived from planning her escape, the anticipation of it, had provided her with far greater comfort than actually doing so. Now, confronted with the need to act, faced with the reality of leaving England and all that such an act might mean, she found that she could not do it. There were many reasons why she felt this way, reasons that she could not articulate in words to poor Jehan. She had said many times that she was willing to die for her faith, and yet she feared the deadly peril that she was in; she was convinced that Dudley meant to see her dead. She was greatly concerned for her household staff; what would become of them if she fled, leaving them behind to face the anger of the king and Council? She had a great deal of popular support amongst the Catholics of England, but would her departure not leave some without the only hope they had of the true religion ever being restored to England?

  Stay or go? All of these thoughts swirled around in her head, until it seemed as if a mightier gale blew between her ears than that which gusted throughout the meadow and lashed at the trees.

  And suddenly another thought struck her. She closed her eyes and in her mind she recalled a day when she had been very ill and her mother had arrived unexpectedly to see her. They had been cruelly forbidden each other’s company; she had not seen her mother in over four years, and it was to be the last time she ever saw her. And she had promised something…what? She had promised her mother that come what may, she would never leave England.

  Jehan knew the value of silence but time was running out. He must speak. “Your Grace,” he said gently, so quietly that his words were almost lost on the wind, “it is now or never. You must decide.” The clouds scudded across the moon, and as they did so, the uncertain light of the moon played across her features. He could see the desperation, the indecision. One moment more.

  She knew that Dudley meant to bring her to her knees, just as her father had done in 1536. But Dudley was no Henry VIII. He was nothing more than a misguided servant of her brother. She would not bow to Dudley.

  Mary raised her eyes to Jehan’s, just as the moon peeked out from behind a racing cloud. “Then it must be never. Jehan, if there is danger in staying and danger in going, then I must stay.”

  Further persuasion was futile, and any more delay could be fatal. The townsmen had become suspicious of a cargo ship that never discharged its cargo; the watch would be on the move, and it would be daylight soon. “I must go back to the ship, Your Grace. But I will wait there as long as possible. But the tide will come, Your Grace, and with it I must go.” Tears glinted in his eyes. “There is one more thing, Your Grace.”

  Mary’s eyes met his and she clutched her hands to her breast, as if bracing herself.

  “Van der Delft is dead.”

  A silent tear escaped her eye, and she dashed it away. She had feared as much. Poor man!

  “His last words were of Your Grace,” said Jehan. God forgive him; it was true, but he did not tell her that these last words were what was endangering them as they stood there in the meadow with the wind blowing wildly about them. “A new ambassador will be appointed shortly, Your Grace. I must sail with the tide, and if you are not with me, it will be my sad duty to explain to the emperor why. But I understand, and so, I believe, will His Grace.”

  Mary reached out and touched his sleeve, the cloth of which billowed in the wind. “Thank my good cousin for me; he is royal, he will realize why, in the end, I must stay. Tell him…tell him that if it is a choice between my life and the salvation of my soul, my salvation, and that of the English people, must come first.” Charles would never support her in any insurrection against her brother and she would never consent to overthrow her brother in any case. He was an anointed king, and she would not defy God in such a matter. But there were rumors at court about those who had cast the king’s horoscope; they all spoke of death. She loved her brother, but if he should die, she must be in England to fulfill her destiny. Her mother had
known this all those years ago, and had extracted that promise from her. At first it had seemed cruel; but now she knew why.

  She would stay, and she would fight, just as her mother had done.

  In the end, there was no more to be said. Jehan knelt before her, kissed her hand, and left without a word.

  Chapter 30

  “You should show more favor to me for my father’s sake, who made the more part of you from almost nothing.”

  – Mary Tudor, to the king’s council

  Hampton Court Palace, December 1550

  Mary stood silently before the throne upon which her brother sat, alone under the rich royal canopy. The gilt, glittering arms of England shone behind him on the wall. She remembered, not without a feeling of regret, the many times she had seen her father perched upon that seat of authority, a scowl or a smile upon his face as the occasion warranted, or his mood dictated. Poor little Edward; the bejeweled crown was obviously too heavy for his slender neck, and it made him seem like a parody of a king. Her father had been such a presence that the mere sight of him had been enough to strike fear into the hearts of all who beheld him. Edward looked like what he was; an uncertain, frightened child.

  It was not her place to speak; the silence was becoming oppressive.

  She saw Edward’s eyes shift, although he was careful not to move his head. He was seeking someone; anyone who could give him the reassurance he needed to say what he had, she did not doubt, been told he must say. Dudley! She was sure of it. But if it were indeed Dudley’s reassuring gaze that her brother sought, he would not find it. The men of the Council were ranged on either side of the great gilt and velvet throne, carefully spaced and placed so as not to fall under the royal canopy. There would be no reassuring nod for Edward.