The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Dudley! “But what of the Duke of Northumberland?” cried Suffolk. “Surely he…”

  “Will be arrested as soon as ever he can be found,” completed Paget. Both Paget and Arundel observed the duke with eyes as hard as steel.

  Suffolk blanched. If Dudley had fallen, then they were undone indeed. He turned and ran, the men of the Council and the Lord Mayor running after him in an unseemly tangle.

  He had left Jane in the Presence Chamber, pouring over a jumble of documents and scribbling her replies, but she was not there. What was the time? Ah, suppertime. Although Jane seemed not to eat enough to keep a bird alive, she was as punctilious about mealtimes as Frances.

  He hied to the Great Hall, with the Councilmen and the Lord Mayor, Thomas White, in his wake. Sure enough, there she was, nibbling her bread-and-cheese, sipping wine from a golden goblet, and reading a book. Without preamble, Suffolk strode up to the dais and seized one of the supports of the great Canopy of Estate under which Jane sat. The baldaquin fell backwards, which was a good thing, or the heavy cloth would have come down on Jane’s head.

  “You are no longer queen!” cried the duke, as he proceeded with his destruction of the canopy.

  So that was what the ado outside was all about! She had found it strange that the halberdiers outside the door had not challenged the entry into her presence of the Councilmen and the Lord Mayor, nor had her gentlemen usher announced them. Calmly she asked, “Has my father-in-law then lost the great battle with my cousin?”

  Arundel snorted. “There has been no battle,” he replied. “None was needed to tell us that which was plain to see! The people will not accept you, madam, and in light of the overwhelming support of the people for the Princess Mary, Her Grace has been declared queen.”

  “Indeed,” added Paget, “London is the only place in the realm where Her Grace had not been declared! There is nothing left to fight for, and no means by which to fight for it. The army has defected to Queen Mary’s cause and there is none left to fight. It is over.”

  Jane knew a brief moment of disappointment for all that she had meant to accomplish, but all in all, she felt strangely relieved. After all, she had not asked to be queen; the responsibility had been thrust upon her. Against her will. Surely her good cousin would understand.

  Arundel nodded at the halberdiers; the men who had, moments before, been responsible for the queen’s safety now had orders to escort her to a cell in the apartments of the Gentleman Gaoler of the Tower, to await the new queen’s pleasure.

  Suffolk was beside himself; without even looking at Jane, he cried, “I must away to Sheen. I must find my wife. She will know what to do.” And then he hesitated but for an instant, whereupon he removed his cap, and shouting “Long live Queen Mary!” he bolted for the door and was gone.

  Arundel regarded Suffolk’s retreating back blandly. Henry Grey was no threat, and neither was his wife. But Jane and Guilford were another story; they had pretended to the throne and must be detained until the queen’s wishes could be determined. And if Suffolk were guilty of anything more than disloyalty, then so were they all.

  As the guards marched Jane away and Suffolk ran the long length of the Great Hall for the door, Arundel regarded Paget and said, “I think it is high time we attended a Mass. Send a messenger to St. Paul’s. A Te Deum has not been sung there for seven years. Think you not that such would please the queen?”

  London, July 1553

  The carriage rocked and swayed as it made its slow way through the thick crowds of people. The noise was deafening; bells rang without ceasing, their discordant, ill-timed peals a constant irritant to one for whom the celebration meant little. The Tower cannon boomed until it seemed to Renard that the detonations were actually taking place between his own ears. The people shouted and cheered without ceasing. And then suddenly a new noise joined the cacophony; there was a loud clattering on the top of the carriage.

  “What was that?” cried Scheyfve, rolling up the window cover and cautiously looking out. “Judas priest! They are throwing coins from their windows! What ails these people?”

  It was the second day of such unceasing, unrestrained rejoicing by the English. The fountains flowed with wine; public houses gave free food and drink to all comers. The people of London, drunk on wine and ale, sang songs and danced.

  It was late in the afternoon; some of the narrow streets were already in shadow, and the people were beginning to relight the bonfires that had made false day out of night the evening before.

  Ever the cynic, Renard snorted his derision. “It seems that the people believe that they have escaped from all the evils of the world as well as the pains of purgatory and have gone straight to Heaven!”

  They had had to keep the window covers on the carriage rolled down and firmly secured all the way from Chelsea, despite the heat, because every time they rolled them up, people would thrust plates of food or mugs of ale at them in their jubilation. Now a shower of coins made its way into the opening. Scheyfve quickly rolled the leather cover back down and fastened it.

  “Where are we?” asked Renard.

  “Not far to go now, Your Excellency,” Scheyfve replied.

  They were on their way from Chelsea to Westminster, whence they had been summoned by the Council. The summons had been a surprise; the only response they had received to their request for an audience with King Edward had been at first silence, and then after Jane Dudley had been declared queen, an order to depart the country. Dudley had indeed, as Renard had predicted, sought French support for his campaign, and at that moment, had fully expected Henri II of France to respond with French troops and mercenaries.

  Renard had seemed pleased, and eager to get back to Brussels. Negotiations for a trade agreement could just as effectively be conducted from the Imperial court, and the English would soon see the sense of such an arrangement, regardless of their agreement with the French. And a foreign ambassador could not stay in a country where he was not wanted; surely the emperor would understand. If the day were truly lost, and they were being asked to leave, then there was little more that could be done. They had begun their preparations to close the embassy.

  Scheyfve was greatly annoyed that Renard had sent a message to the emperor, ostensibly from both of them, declaring that Queen Jane had prevailed and that the Princess Mary was likely to be a prisoner in the Tower before the week was out. Renard had not changed his opinion that Mary could not prevail without the assistance of Imperial troops; Scheyfve believed otherwise, and said so. He had begged Renard to wait a day, an hour even, before dispatching that message, but he had not. And now see what had happened! Mary was queen by popular demand and Jane Dudley was deposed, a prisoner in the Tower herself. These events had overtaken the duke of Northumberland, and it had soon become evident that the day would be lost long ere the king of France could respond with the promised troops. Just as Scheyfve had predicted!

  And so here they were, after receiving a positively cordial letter from the Council, begging the presence of the Imperial ambassadors at Westminster so that plans for the queen’s coronation could be discussed. Renard had been visibly disappointed; he had apparently hoped for a quick embassy to England to secure the agreement that the emperor had charged him with negotiating, and then he would be back at home in Brussels. But now, to Renard’s displeasure and Scheyfve’s chagrin, it appeared that Renard would not be able to depart quite so soon. Certainly not before the queen was crowned, and coronations took time to plan. And so Renard was stuck in England, and Scheyfve was stuck with Renard!

  Apropos of nothing, Renard said, “We must get a message to Her Grace. I like not this sudden turnabout. What if it is a trap? What if she disbands her army only to find that this is all a ruse to get her to town, and into the Tower?”

  Scheyfve listened to the pandemonium outside their carriage. An elaborate ruse indeed! And what of the people? The joyful crowds were likely to turn into an angry mob if they were informed that after all, Jane was to be their q
ueen, and Mary put away. Scheyfve had never seen such a demonstration of jubilation, and he was convinced in himself that the circumstances were genuine. “I do not think that is so,” he said. But when had Renard ever listened to him? The pompous boor!

  No one had imagined that the princess could possibly win the day; and the English so loved an underdog. Let any crowd of them watch a bear-baiting or other such entertainment, and just let one of the dogs show extraordinary courage in the face of the deadly beast, or be put at an unfair disadvantage, and your typical Englishman was sure to say, “Poor blighter! Leave go, and let him be. We’ve seen enough.” And so it was with Mary. She had been down, but never out; she had showed astonishing courage in the face of certain defeat. And now she had won through, and the people were beside themselves with joy for her. It mattered not that she was a Catholic and cousin to the Holy Roman Emperor; the only thing that mattered right now was that she had been treated unfairly and had triumphed despite fearful odds, and the people loved her all the more for it.

  Renard shifted in his seat and pursed his lips. It was evident that he was not listening either to Scheyfve or to the bedlam that was taking place outside their carriage. “We must never let her know,” he said.

  Scheyfve wished that Renard would cease his habit of making obscure statements out of the blue. At first acquaintance with Renard, he had politely explored such statements until Renard was forthcoming with an explanation. Now he simply ignored them, knowing that the explanation was certain to follow without any prompting from him.

  “We must get a message through to His Grace the emperor as soon as possible,” said Renard. “To inform him of the changed circumstances.”

  Which would not have been necessary had Renard waited to send his first, premature message, as Scheyfve had asked him to do! Scheyfve said nothing for fear that if he spoke now he would let loose with such a stream of vituperative invective that the relationship between the two men, who after all must work together for the foreseeable future, would be permanently damaged. It was not in Scheyfve’s nature to gloat and say “I told you so,” but had he been at liberty to do so, he would certainly have made an exception for Simon Renard!

  “…and may never trust him again.” Renard sighed. “We cannot have that.”

  Oh, dear, thought Scheyfve; he had been lost in own thoughts, reciting his silent diatribe; now he had no idea what it was that they must not do, or whose trust was at stake. He was a diplomat; he was supposed to be listening closely at all times, not just to the words that were spoken, but for the unspoken, the gesture that belied implied or explicit meaning, the expression that indicated otherwise than what was being said. Oh dear, oh dear. Now he would have to draw Renard out after all. A vague question ought to do the trick; a direct one would reveal that he had not been listening.

  “Are you certain of that, Your Excellency?” With that, Scheyfve leaned back and clasped his hands over his belly. He had never met anyone who liked the sound of his own voice more than Renard. Ask him to defend his point and he would go on forever.

  “Indeed,” said Renard. “If the princess…forgive me,” he said with a conciliatory nod, “if the queen ever found out that her cousin had had no intention of helping her to win her crown, and had decided to align his interests with the usurper instead of with Her Grace, she would be much disheartened. Forget not that she is a Tudor; the legendary temper of the Plantagenet sleeps inside that bosom. We must counsel her not to trust those who did not support her cause, and yet now that she has won the day, have cravenly turned their coats to be on the winning side. But Her Grace would be quick to realize that such advice must include anyone who had turned against her thus. Now that she is queen, His Grace will seek to influence her to support Hapsburg interests. So the queen must never know that the emperor was prepared to betray her.”

  Prepared to? thought Scheyfve. Had done! It was all he could do not to snort in derision at such a statement. Had the Duke of Northumberland not haughtily ignored Renard’s request for an audience before setting out to make war on the princess, he would have known that the emperor was willing to betray his cousin in order to support Dudley in return for a trade agreement; such information could not be committed to the written word, and so the duke had set forth in ignorance of the emperor’s intention. Events may well have taken quite a different turn had the duke been less prideful!

  Just at that moment the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Scheyfve rolled up the leather flap once more. “We have arrived,” he said.

  As they made to depart the carriage, Scheyfve thought to himself that it would not be from him that the queen learned of the emperor’s betrayal. But he was surprised to realize that this was not due to his loyalty to the emperor; it was because of his genuine affection for the princess he had served faithfully for the past three years and who was now beyond any doubt the Queen of England.

  Framlington Castle, July 1553

  The sky had been brooding for over an hour and an eerie greenish glow had taken possession of the sky. The clouds were almost black and billowed menacingly, and yet there was no wind, no thunder, no lightning; the air was so still that time itself seemed to have stopped. Mary sat staring out of the window at the deep green of the forest, and at the tips of the purple hills beyond.

  What was happening? Had the battle been joined? Had she lost many men? Had she lost her kingdom? She nibbled a cuticle, became aware that she was doing so, and made fists of both her hands. Before she knew it she was doing it again; a nervous habit, and one that a lady should not indulge in, let alone a queen, even when she was alone. She pressed her lips together and firmly sat on both of her hands.

  Oh, if only a messenger would come! It was the not knowing that was so dreadful, and that had her nerves on the raw. But even if a messenger did come, she had no guarantee it would be one of her own. She had a guard of five hundred men; all that could be spared from the fighting force. But if they came to take her away, all would be lost anyway. There was no sense in more needless bloodshed. She was in God’s hands now, and she did not feel alone. God’s will would be done, and by that she would abide, whatever His plan. With that thought she found herself nibbling her cuticle once again and in exasperation she arose, each hand clasping an elbow, and began to pace the floor.

  Suddenly in the dead stillness that was the calm before the storm, she heard a sound. Or had she? She ran to the window and looked out. All seemed still and quiet. And then she heard it again. Was it thunder? No! Hoof beats! Riders were approaching! She lifted her skirts and ran. Whatever the news, she could not wait. She had to find out what it was.

  Others in the castle had also heard the thunder of hooves and the jingle of harness; everyone was running for the bailey.

  Sir Robert saw her and cried, “Your Grace! Begging your leave, but you should not be here! It might be…”

  Mary eyed him levelly. “Well do I know what it might be! But I must know. Let us find out together.”

  Sir Henry, Sir Edward, her ladies, all were of the same mind; they must know.

  The castle guard had formed a phalanx in front of the great oaken gates that stood between the gatehouse and the wooden drawbridge. The captain of the guard opened the small wooden door that was at eye level and was about a foot square. He exchanged a few words and then announced in a booming voice, “Your Grace, it is Sir Henry, the Earl of Arundel and Lord William Paget!”

  Startled, Mary asked, “On what business?”

  “They say they have come to submit all the Council to Your Grace and that Your Grace has been declared queen in London by order of the Council!”

  God chose that moment to deliver his own message; a great clap of thunder sounded so close that the very ground shook, the wind rose and the sky opened up. Mary’s ladies hustled her back into the castle; if Her Grace was to receive the submission of the Council it was their task to see to it that she was properly attired for the occasion. It would take several minutes to open the great doors; that should g
ive them time to see to Mary and to get her onto the throne in the Great Hall of the castle.

  So her army had won the great battle. But her heart ached for the men who had died, and for their wives, their mothers, their sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, all who had loved them. This is exactly what her mother had suffered so much to avoid! Should she have submitted without a fight? Should she have availed herself of the ships that her good cousin had sent to take her away to safety? Should she have left all those years ago, when good Jehan had tried so hard to help her escape to the Continent? If she had done any one of these things all those men would still be alive. Now they would never see another sunrise.

  Her ladies were rejoicing; their voices sounded like the song of the birds, and they fussed about her like a swarm of colorful butterflies. Which headdress? Which gown? But all Mary could see were dead men.

  # # #

  The men had ridden who knew what distance to bring Mary the news of her accession and whilst she was being made ready to receive them, had been given refreshment and water with which to wash off the at least the surface grime of the dusty roads, and pages to brush off their clothing. Finally all was in readiness and they proceeded to the Great Hall.

  There they found Mary sitting on her throne under a great Canopy of Estate. For a fleeting moment the sight of the elaborate baldaquin reminded Arundel of the scene he had witnessed not so long ago in the Tower wherein the duke of Suffolk had torn down Jane’s canopy and it had narrowly missed falling down on her head. Seeing Mary now, so regal, so dignified, he wondered if perhaps that had been an ill omen for the new queen’s cousin. Only time would tell. For them all! His hand went unconsciously to his neck.

  Arundel and Paget walked the distance to the dais on which the throne sat with their heads bowed. Their swords and bodkins had been taken from them, but were carried just behind them by two of Mary’s pages. Finally they reached the dais and as they did, they both went down on their knees.