The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Her mother-in-law she could not abide; the Duchess of Northumberland seemed to hate and resent her for no apparent reason, but Jane thought she understood her animosity. Guilford was her youngest son and Lady Elizabeth doted on him. Guilford was a spoiled milksop who could always count upon his mother to take his side in any dispute, and to fawn upon and flatter him. No one, not even a girl of royal blood, was good enough for her beloved. Bah! Except for the nighttime hours, which Jane looked forward to with a delicious relish, his mother was welcome to him!

  Suddenly the door to her chamber burst open and there stood Dudley, Lady Elizabeth and Guilford. Her father-in-law had an irritating habit of entering unannounced, and the halberdiers that guarded her door were under the impression that this was acceptable behavior. She would have to disabuse them of that notion forthwith. All visitors, all, would be properly announced henceforth. She would see to it herself.

  Jane regarded the odious trio with raised eyebrows. After a moment of obvious reluctance, all three sank to their knees. Jane waited just that moment too long before signing that they had leave to rise. Still she said nothing; and they could not speak until she gave them permission. What fun!

  “Well?” she finally said.

  All three hesitated to speak; Lady Elizabeth looked at Dudley and Guilford looked at Lady Elizabeth.

  Finally, the silence having become awkward, Jane remembered a question that had occurred to her earlier.

  “My lord of Northumberland,” she said. “How are we to assure my throne? What of the Lady Mary? Should not the princesses be seized and placed in the Tower? What steps are being taken thus?”

  Dudley seemed taken aback for a moment; exactly who did the chit think she was, questioning him about strategy? Why did she persist in this ridiculously imperious manner? But perhaps it was best to humor her.

  He bowed slightly and replied, “Your Grace, my son Robert has been sent to Hunsdon to seize the Princess Mary, who will be brought here to the Tower to ensure her safety. The Princess Elizabeth is being detained at Hatfield House.”

  Jane nodded. “That is as well, then.”

  Dudley hesitated again, then finally he said, “Your Grace, there is a matter of some importance that I would discuss with you.”

  Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, July 1553

  It was late in the afternoon and the sun was low on the horizon when Mary and her party came clattering into Bury St. Edmunds, the seat of the Earl of Bath. Golden light bathed the cathedral and the creamy stone of the great Norman Tower, which served as the gateway to the city.

  The sight that met Mary’s eyes was astounding as she pulled up on her reins. For outside the gateway stood the earl himself, Sir John Bourchier, the abbot of Bury St. Edmunds monastery, and what looked to be every monk in the abbey, as well as the entire population of the town. The site of the ruined abbey and the tattered monks, who had been sheltering amongst the ruins and supported by the townspeople, made the tears start in her eyes. She would soon set all that to rights!

  The people must have prepared such a welcome in haste, and that brought more tears to her eyes; but this time, they were tears of joy. She had harbored a great dread, even as she rode away from Cambridge and towards Suffolk, that it would be the same wherever she went. She greatly feared that her welcome in Bury, and everywhere else along her trajectory in her headlong flight away from London, would be one of angry mobs and burning castles.

  But it was not to be. The people cheered until they were hoarse as she rode through the town. Banners and tapestries hung from every window, and flower garlands had been strung all along her route to the town square. Children threw rose petals in her path from little hand-woven baskets, and some handed up offerings of posies and fruit.

  At the town square a platform had been raised, and it was evident that the people of Bury expected her to speak to them. Mary was of quiet demeanor, and when not called upon to defend herself, was actually quite shy. It was true that she had faced down the Council on many occasions, but this was different; this was hundreds of people, none but a few known to her, and all come to wish her well.

  Mary dismounted her mare and Sir John came forward to hand her up onto the platform. She took his hand gratefully; she was a bit giddy from lack of food, as well as stiff and sore from two days in the saddle with no sleep.

  Amidst the deafening cheers that had not stopped, Mary shouted, “Well met, Sir John!”

  Sir John was a handsome man, in his prime, and distantly related to Mary, being the great-great-grandson of Edward III. He was a good Catholic and loyal to the crown. “And you, Your Grace,” he replied. “Welcome to Bury St. Edmunds, where all are loyal to Your Gracious Majesty. A messenger arrived this afternoon with grave news. He awaits you in my castle. But I must tell you, with deep regret, that the king, your brother, is dead.”

  Although all knew that Edward’s death was just a matter of time, the news still shocked and dismayed her. Tears welled in her eyes. “Is this news reliable, Sir John?”

  “I regret to say, Madam, that I believe it to be so. The messenger is from one close to the king, and his news, I think, must be taken for truth. If that is the case, Your Grace…”

  Mary recognized the hesitation; Sir John wished to advise her, but felt that such might not be appropriate. “Go on,” she said.

  “Your Grace, if the king is truly dead, you must be proclaimed queen right away. No time must be wasted. Bury is ready to declare for Your Grace. But it is for you to say.”

  He looked at her questioningly, and Mary nodded her head.

  Sir John raised his arms and sought to quieten the crowd. Finally, the cries of “Long live the Princess Mary!” and “God save Your Grace!” died down.

  “Good people,” said Sir John, in his booming voice. “The king is dead. Here is your princess, and the rightful heir to the throne of England. Long live Queen Mary!”

  For a long moment there was a stunned silence and Mary felt her fate sway in the balance. And then the cheering began again and went on for some time. People wept for the little king, and threw their caps into the air for joy that their princess had at last, through all her many trials and tribulations, gained the throne. Many there recalled Good Queen Katharine, her mother, with profound respect and genuine affection.

  Finally Mary raised her hand for silence. She blessed Sir John for the wisdom of his introduction, giving her time to collect her scattered thoughts.

  “People of England,” she said. Her voice sounded deep and gruff to her own ears, but it carried well and everyone hung on her next words. And then she realized, on that knife edge of time, that her ears had just heard herself addressed as Queen of England for the very first time. Now, they truly were her people…

  The Tower of London, July 1553

  Dudley noticed that Jane’s eyes did not flash when she was angry; they were as cold as ice. He was used to women’s tears if they were upset or cross; this calm, almost icy demeanor confused him and he was at a loss how to deal with it. What would he have done if she were a man, and a king, challenging his will? Edward had rarely done that, but when he had, Dudley had resorted to logic and reason.

  “But Your Grace…”

  “Never!” said Jane, rounding on him and responding in that hissing whisper that indicated the white heat of her wrath. “Argument is futile. I am the queen, I have spoken, and that, my lord of Northumberland, is that.”

  Best to ignore her and continue. If only he could express a thought without being interrupted! “No one expects, or wants, to be ruled by a female, Your Grace.”

  Jane drew herself up to her full height, which was much more considerable in the stacked shoes that had been made for her, for her coronation. Only days away now! Perhaps Dudley would take her more seriously after she had been anointed and crowned? She sincerely hoped he did not; it would be the perfect excuse to place him in the Tower in a room not to his liking, instead of the royal chambers he and his trying wife now occupied! Perhaps she would thro
w Guilford in with them for good measure! But no, she needed Guilford…at least at night.

  “Your Grace,” he said carefully, “it is not meet for a female to rule on her own. The very idea is absurd. It was never my intention…”

  Jane lifted her chin imperiously. “I know very well what your intentions were and are,” she said. “And I tell you now, they will never come to pass. I will not,” she said, glancing at Guilford, who was near tears and was on his knees with his head in his mother’s lap, “make Guilford king. Is that clear? He will never wear the crown matrimonial. Even if I desired such a thing, and I tell you, I most certainly do not, the Council and the Parliament would never ratify such a step. Guilford is the husband of the queen, no more, and no less. I will make him a duke so that he is more worthy to be the husband of the sovereign, but beyond that I am not willing to go.”

  It was a colossal feat for Dudley to hold his temper. No one had ever vexed him quite so much, not even the Princess Mary. He took an unconscious step backwards, and away from her; if he weren’t careful, he might be tempted to strike her. That would be most inadvisable.

  Try again.

  “Your Grace,” he said, as if he were speaking to a child, “it is because of her unmarried state that the people fear the ascension of the Princess Mary. With Her Grace’s evident affinity for the Hapsburgs, she is almost certain to marry a foreigner, who would be king, just as, whether you crown him or no, Guilford is king. The queen’s husband is the king, whether, you own it or not. Your popularity will rest partly upon the fact that you are already married, and to an Englishman.”

  Jane bit her lip. The fact that she was queen had not yet been announced to the populace; it would be announced on the morrow. Would she be popular? Would she be accepted? Up until this moment she had viewed Guilford as nothing but a liability, except between the sheets. But to crown him king and allow him to rule England! If the idea of a woman ruler was absurd, surely Guilford as king ruling the country was even more ridiculous!

  “I do not expect either of you to actually rule,” said Dudley, with the intent to comfort, and to allay her fears regarding Guilford’s obvious deficiencies.

  Jane narrowed her eyes, but her voice stayed low, calm and steady. “Oh yes, you would like that, wouldn’t you, Father-in-law? But I tell you now, it will never be. I am queen and I intend to rule this country.”

  It was finally too much. “And who has made you queen after all, you little…”

  Again that calmness in the face of his fury, a fury that had made grown men quake and tremble!

  “Edward made me queen, you fool,” she retorted. “Not you! And I am Plantagenet, I am Tudor; what are you but common upstart, without a drop of royal blood in your veins?”

  Dudley simply stared back at her, his mouth a round “O” and his eyes bulging out of their sockets. No one had ever dared to speak to him thus, at least not to his face!

  Lady Dudley stood up, thrust the sniveling Guilford aside, rounded on Jane and said, “I have heard about you! I am aware of your nightly doings, to your shame and dishonor!” She turned to her husband and said, “I know of a way to change her tune! Guilford shall withdraw his husbandly favors!”

  Dudley sputtered in his rage. “Are you, daft woman? The whole point of this debacle is to get us a Dudley heir to the throne! And that cannot happen unless they couple!”

  Jane thrust out a stubborn chin. “There is no dishonor or shame in the marriage bed,” she said. “To say as much dishonors God and the sacrament of marriage.”

  “Yes,” said Dudley through clenched teeth. “Let them couple to their heart’s content, I say! Because then the queen,” he threw the word at Jane as if it were the vilest of epithets, “will soon bear a son who will be king and who shall be of royal blood!”

  “And until that occurs, my lord duke,” said Jane, “I am queen of this realm and you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting your role as duke and councilor! If I decide to let you remain as such!”

  Guilford continued to snivel, Lady Dudley glared at her daughter-in-law through narrowed eyes, and Dudley feared that if the conversation continued much longer he would fall dead where he stood of a fit of apoplexy. For a few moments all was quiet, and then they all became aware of the sound of spurs striking stone, followed by an insistent pounding on the door.

  “Oh, what now?” cried Dudley in exasperation.

  Kenninghall, Norfolk, July 1553

  Mary nibbled the end of her quill as she sat rereading her letter to the Council. Was it worded too strongly? Not strongly enough? All of a sudden she expostulated, “There are no words strong enough!” and threw the missive to the floor. It floated gently down at Sir Robert Rochester’s feet. He picked it up and laid it back on Mary’s writing desk. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I did not see you there, Sir Robert. What news?”

  Tears welled up in his eyes, and he massaged his cap until it was a shapeless lump. “Wonderful news, Your Grace. Incredible, astounding news!” He had served his lady for so long, hoping for a miracle; and now it seemed that miracles for Mary were a daily occurrence! “A messenger has just arrived from Sir Henry…” he choked on the words.

  Mary smiled indulgently; if the news was good, she was willing to wait until Rochester gained control of himself. It had been a week of high emotions for all of them. She laid the quill aside and leaned on her elbows, awaiting events. The scent of gillyflowers wafted in through the window on a warm breeze. The draught stirred the marigolds that dear Jane Dormer had placed into a vase and put on her writing desk. Marigolds were her signature flower; it was a sweet gesture.

  Finally, Sir Robert collected himself and said, “Your Grace, my lord of Northumberland has sent five warships up the Orwell estuary, ostensibly to protect the coastline. We heard of the ships and feared that they had been sent to try to seize Your Grace from the east, since the effort to effect Your Grace’s capture from the west failed. Sir Henry informed the ships’ captains that all of East Anglia has declared for Your Grace, and what do you think happened next?”

  Mary’s eyes danced. “I cannot guess.”

  “They are on their way here, Your Grace, not to seize you as a fugitive and traitor, but to join our ranks! Every manjack of them, Your Grace, two thousand sailors, all armed and provisioned! And they are bringing the ship’s cannons! Fully one hundred of them!”

  Mary’s jaw dropped and she cried, “God’s toenails! Can it be true?”

  Sir Robert dashed a tear from his eye and laughed, all at the same time. “Indeed, it is!”

  Mary looked about her. Kenninghall was a grand palace, but the numbers of people loyal to her cause grew daily, and the castle could no longer accommodate those who were already there. In addition, Kenninghall had been built for luxury, not defense. But thousands more! Thousands! And ordinance! It was too good to be true…but a change of venue was needed with this development.

  “Sir Robert, I am astounded. What news! Is there a map?” Mary arose and began to search the room, which had been the Duke of Norfolk’s study before the castle had been bestowed upon herself.

  “Here,” said Sir Robert. He seized a scroll from the shelf by the door and laid it out on the largest table in the room. It kept curling up, and Mary hurriedly looked for objects with which to weight down its corners.

  “There!” she pointed. “We must move to Framlington Castle. It is large enough to billet the army and can be defended. Now, where is the nearest port…?” She ran her finger along the coastline. “Here!” she said. “How far up the River Alde can the ships navigate? Do you know?”

  Sir Robert nodded his understanding. “I know not, Your Grace, but the ships’captains will. They can enter the mouth of the river at Orford, sail until the river no longer can accommodate them and then…”

  “…and then they can unload the cannon and proceed overland to Framlingham,” concluded Mary. “A much shorter way, and Framlingham is ideal for our purposes.” And what delicious irony that she had been forced
to give up her properties of St. Osyth’s and Great and Little Clopton because the Council wanted to keep her distant from the sea! And now, at this critical moment, she found herself in possession of a defensible stronghold that was, if not right on the water, was certainly not so far inland that the ordinance she now commanded could not easily be brought there over land.

  Sir Robert grabbed his now shapeless hat and bowed. “I will advise the earl of Sussex immediately of your plan, Your Grace, and he will make sure the order is carried out.”

  “Thank you, Sir Robert, and will you also ask Dodd to call a meeting of my Council? Sooner rather than later. We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Immediately, Your Grace,” he said, and then he turned and almost ran from the room.

  Mary sat down in her chair and turned towards the window. The gardens at Kenninghall were very grand; the larkspur glowed sapphire, rivaling the robin’s egg blue of the sky; the chrysanthemums, in a riot of colors, nodded their heavy heads in the breeze. But beyond the privy garden the grounds had been all but destroyed; thousands of people had flocked to her headquarters at Kenninghall, and its grounds were covered with tents and pickets for the horses. Latrine trenches had been dug; the evidence of her nose told her that it was going to be necessary to move soon, even had she not heard that more men were coming. The gillyflowers were strongly scented, but even they could not combat the odor of too many men in one place for too long.

  The strong scent of the flowers reminded her of something…oh yes, she thought, and she bent to retrieve the letter she had written to Edward’s Council in London. But no longer Edward’s Council! For the messenger who had arrived that day in Bury St. Edmunds was none other than Robert Reyns, her own goldsmith. He had been sent by Sir Nicholas Throckmorton to inform her of Edward’s death, and the plan to put her cousin, Jane Grey Dudley, on the throne. She had been shocked speechless for several minutes at that revelation! If she had doubted Dudley’s lust for power before, she did not do so now. His plan was evident; place Jane on the throne, then shunt her and his son, to whom she was married, aside, and rule himself! So the rumors that the duke of Northumberland planned to seize the throne were all too true, but his methods were subtle.