Her Highness, the Traitor

14

Frances Grey

June 1550 to August 1550





Do I have to come?” asked Jane, laying down the wedding invitation we had received. “I am extremely busy with my translation.”

“Of course you have to come,” I said. “It will be the grandest wedding seen in years. The king himself will be there.”

Jane looked at Harry, who nodded. “I’m afraid your mother is right this time, my girl. Duty calls. Besides, you haven’t seen the king in a while.”

“There will be dancing and masques and a tournament,” I said coaxingly.

Jane looked unimpressed, but Kate, coming up in the middle of our conversation, said, “A grand wedding? Whose, Mother?”

“Anne, the eldest daughter of the Protector—”

“Frances,” Harry prodded.

“The Duke of Somerset,” I corrected myself. I had found it hard to break the habit of calling him by his former title. “She is marrying the Earl of Warwick’s eldest son, Lord Lisle.” Somerset had been freed from the Tower in February and, after a brief period of house arrest, had been restored to the king’s council, albeit in a position subordinate to Warwick, who as head of the king’s council was now known as the Lord President. “This marriage is proof of their good will to each other.”

“I can come, can’t I?”

“Of course you can, and Mary, too. The entire family has been invited.”

“Good,” said Kate. “The Earl of Hertford will be there, don’t you think? He’s good-looking.”

“Is that all you think of, Kate?” Jane asked. “At your young age?”

“He is a good-looking boy,” I said of Somerset’s oldest son. “It is no harm to say so.”

“Perhaps as proof of good will between the Duke of Somerset and our family, a match could be made between one of us and the Earl of Hertford,” Kate said. “Preferably me, as Jane is above such things.”

“It is not your place to suggest matches for yourself,” said Jane.

“Jane—” I began.

“Well, why not? That way, Jane is saved for the king, and I can marry an agreeable boy.”

“There is no intention of marrying Jane to the king, or any of you girls to anyone just yet,” Harry said. “Negotiations are afoot to marry the king to a French princess. As for the rest of you, Jane is correct. All of this speculation is unbecoming for maidens.”

Behind her father’s back, Kate stuck her tongue out at Jane, who magnificently ignored her. I should have reproved Kate, I suppose, but I did not.

***

“They can marry off all of Warwick’s boys to all of Somerset’s girls if they like, but does Warwick really think that Somerset’s going to be content with being a humble member of the council?” Katherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk, asked as we waited for the king to appear at Sheen, which he had offered for the wedding. “Like it or not, he’s still a duke, and the king’s only living uncle. He can’t forget it. Neither should Warwick. And where is Warwick, by the way?”

“Perhaps he is ill. Poor man, having to miss his son’s wedding.”

The Duchess of Suffolk was about to snort a reply when a quiet voice said, “My husband is ill, my ladies. He regrets his absence keenly, but his health has been so uncertain these past few months, I begged him to keep to his bed.”

I stared at the Countess of Warwick before I caught myself. Though not unpleasing in her appearance, she could not be called anything but ordinary looking, but today, dressed elegantly in wrought velvet, she looked almost pretty and a couple of inches taller. She almost showed up the Duchess of Somerset herself. Was her transformation a temporary one due to her son’s wedding, or was this a consequence of her husband’s elevation? “I am sorry that your husband was not able to come,” I managed.

“Well, we have Robert’s wedding tomorrow. I hope he will be able to attend that.” The countess smiled as we glanced in the direction of a handsome, tall young man who was strolling arm in arm with a very pretty blonde of whom no one in London appeared to know anything but her name. Harry and the rest of our household (including me, I am ashamed to admit) had amused ourselves on the barge, trying to figure out her possible origins. “A love match,” the countess said simply. “It happens.”

“I daresay your husband will make the best of it,” said the Duchess of Suffolk. Even I recognized the acid in her voice.

Jane Dudley heard it, too, but chose not to let it spoil her good humor. “Yes, as a matter of fact he has. He will establish Robert in Norfolk, though of course I imagine he and Amy will be spending much of their time in London.” She glanced around. “Ah, the Duchess of Somerset. I must speak to her about the musicians.”

“My, that little woman creeps up on one,” muttered the Duchess of Suffolk after the Countess of Warwick had hurried away. “I wonder if the Earl of Warwick is absent because he doesn’t share his wife’s enthusiasm for this match with Somerset’s girl? They say it was chiefly the work of the countess and the Duchess of Somerset. Who, I see, has not lost a single pearl as the result of her husband’s ill fortune.”

“Katherine! I thought you and the Duchess of Somerset were friends.”

“Oh, we are, but there’s no denying that Anne Seymour likes her jewels. And look at her! Six months gone, I’d say. It looks as if that visit she paid to her husband on Christmas Day bore fruit.”

I stole a look at my daughters to see if they had caught any of the Duchess of Suffolk’s cheerfully malicious commentary, but Kate was talking to Katherine’s two sons, who were my younger half brothers. Mary was admiring the brightly dressed courtiers and the foreign dignitaries who had been invited to witness this bonding between the two old friends turned enemies turned friends again. Jane, too, was eying everyone’s clothing, but not in the way I might have hoped. “Peacocks,” she said dourly.

“Peacocks?” I looked around for the exotic birds.

“These ladies, Mother. Look at them! Why, some of them are even painted. The Countess of Warwick certainly was.”

“She could use the help,” said the Duchess of Suffolk with a smirk. “But I would hardly say she looked like the Whore of Babylon, my dear girl. A spot of color to the cheeks or to the lips is a harmless thing, especially for a celebration. You must amend your opinions, child, to accommodate us mere mortals, or you will never get on in the world.”

“That is what I tell her,” I said.

Jane thrust out her lower, unpainted lip in a gesture I alternatingly found endearing and irritating. “John Aylmer says that it is vulgar and ungodly.”

“I really wonder sometimes why we keep that man,” I said. “He finds everything vulgar and ungodly. I marvel how he puts up with us.”

“No doubt through the stipend your husband pays him,” said the Duchess of Suffolk. She winked at me.

“Master Aylmer was not speaking of Your Grace or my lady mother,” Jane said. “Nor was I.”

“Well, good,” said the duchess. “I should hate to displease you, my dear.”

It was a rare thing to have an adult ally in my skirmishes with Jane, especially one as clever as Katherine. I would have been content to go on some more in this vein, but the sound of trumpets announced the approach of the king’s barge.

Edward stepped out, smiling at the assembled company. He was ruddier than he had been the last time I had seen him, for the Earl of Warwick, believing his knightly upbringing had been neglected, had arranged his schedule to give him more time for outdoor pursuits. This put me in mind of King Henry, my late uncle, especially when the young king looked around and frowned. “Where is my lord Warwick?”

The Countess of Warwick stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I am to blame. He removed to Hatfield for the sweet air, and I begged him to remain there, as his health has been so uncertain.”

“We fear the Earl of Warwick has been exerting himself too much on our behalf. It is a pity that he must miss his son’s wedding.”

“I am pledged to tell him all about it.” The countess smiled. “Though it is true, Your Majesty, that he wants none of the details that we women savor, so it will be a quick telling.”

“Do give him our best wishes, my lady.”

“I will, Your Majesty.”

“We miss him,” said the king softly. He turned to the Duke of Somerset, who had been standing near his duchess, just far enough apart from the rest of the council to look a little awkward. Somerset and the king had dined together recently, Harry had told me, but it had been a rather stiff, formal affair. “Your Grace.”

Somerset’s face brightened. “My dear nephew, I am grateful you can honor my daughter’s wedding with your presence.”

The king nodded a little distantly, then turned back abruptly to the Countess of Warwick. “Perhaps we can send the earl our physician?”

Behind the king, the Duchess of Somerset opened her mouth, then shut it again as her husband sent her a glance.

***

“It’s been like that since January, my friends in high places tell me,” the Duchess of Suffolk said later in her chamber at Sheen, where the two of us had gone to freshen up after the ceremony. The Duchess of Somerset and the Countess of Warwick had joined each other in weeping sentimental tears over the marriage of their offspring, though not, as Jane had snidely observed, so many tears that they affected their carefully painted faces. The Duke of Somerset had given a rather long speech alluding to his own happy marriage and, rather irrelevantly, it was thought, to the spiritual growth he had experienced in prison. The young Earl of Hertford had said something to Kate that had sent them both into silent giggles during the finest part of the speech, and Will Somers, the elderly fool who had previously served King Henry, had protested that Somerset had spent more time making the speech than he had in the Tower. “The king would trail after Warwick like a dog after a master, if he were allowed to. To the earl’s credit, he doesn’t exploit it—much, though I dare say he enjoys it. I can’t say I ever thought of Warwick as being a brilliant man, but he appears to be the only person in England who has had the sense to figure out that the king wants to be treated as a king, not like a little boy.”

“I do feel sorry for the Pro—Somerset, I mean. The king hardly spoke to him just now, and I think the Countess of Warwick or the earl’s brother Andrew must have prompted him to do that much.”

“It’ll sort itself out. Mind you, I’m not saying how it will sort itself out, or whether anyone will be the better off for it. But tell me, Frances. You are friendly with the lady Mary. Was she not invited? Or did she choose not to come?”

“She was invited,” I said uneasily. “I suppose she chose not to come.”

The lady Mary had refused the king’s invitation to visit his court the previous Christmas, although the lady Elizabeth had arrived and had had great fun playing hoodman blind with Robert Dudley over New Year’s. I could still hear Harry fuming about her absence, which he and much of the rest of the king’s council had regarded as a personal affront. “She’s got this absurd idea in her head, such that it is, that if she comes to see the king, he will lock her into the Tower for hearing Mass. Doesn’t it occur to her that if that was what he wanted to do, he could simply send men to arrest her?”

The Duchess of Suffolk followed the line of thought Harry had been arguing in my head. “Why she has to be so stubborn is beyond me. The council allows her to hear Mass, which is more than it really should be doing, in my opinion. All they ask is that she not allow half of the countryside to hear Mass with her. It seems quite reasonable.”

“Her religion means a great deal to her. It was what helped her through those days when King Henry was ridding himself of her mother.”

Katherine gave me an odd look. “Sometimes, Frances, I wonder if you don’t have Papist sympathies yourself. Though I suppose Harry Grey would have thrown you out of your house long before if you did.”

“It is not that. It is simply that my mother and the lady Mary’s mother were friends, and we have been, too, of sorts. And she has been kind to my daughters.” I looked out the window to where the servants were putting the finishing touches to the hall, made entirely of boughs, where we ladies were to dine with the king. “I shall go see her after these weddings, I believe. After all, she is my cousin.”

***

“The goose was the idea of Amy’s family,” said the Countess of Warwick ruefully the next day. Suspended between two posts, the poor creature was squawking in terror as a group of young men took turns at trying to decapitate it. The king and most of the men were watching this display with a certain enjoyment, but the countess had her fingers half over her eyes, and the Duchess of Somerset, putting her hands on her belly significantly, had declared herself ill and demanded that the duke take her to their chamber. The countess turned to her fourth son, standing nearby. “Guildford, you are good with your sword. For God’s sake, go there and put that poor thing out of its misery this very instant.”

“It’s not my turn.”

“Make it your turn. Tell them I ordered you to, as the mother of the groom!”

Guildford, a tall young man who was about thirteen, nodded and went to do his mother’s bidding. In one swift stroke, the goose’s head was severed from its body.

“Thank the Lord,” said the Countess of Warwick. “Such folly men engage in.” She turned to my eldest daughter as Guildford ambled back. “They tell me you are remarkably skilled in languages, my lady.”

“I speak several, my lady,” Jane said without a great deal of modesty.

“I speak only French, and little enough of that,” the countess said. “It was not fashionable when I was young for ladies to learn more than that, unless they were very great indeed. But all of our children are learning French and Italian, and our sons know the ancient languages, as well. Or at least some of them do.” The countess looked at Guildford indulgently. “You would put Guildford to shame in Greek, my lady, but he speaks Italian quite well. Don’t you?”

Guildford dutifully said something in that language to Jane, who responded in kind. Though I could not understand a word either was saying, or judge how well they were saying it, I sensed the conversation was a forced one. When another lady claimed the countess’s attention and steered her away, Jane abruptly switched to English. “Is your mother tipsy?”

“Of course not,” Guildford said huffily. He smiled, a gesture that revealed him to be easily the most handsome of the five Dudley sons. “She is naturally retiring, you know, and at affairs like this she becomes ill at ease and starts to babble, especially with my father not here. And the goose did upset her.”

“Such pastimes are foolish and idle,” Jane said. “Like hunting for pleasure.”

“I like hunting for pleasure,” admitted Guildford, who had suddenly acquired the look of a trapped deer himself. “It is good exercise, and it helps with the art of war. Of course, it might not help all that much, as the deer isn’t shooting a crossbow,” he acknowledged. “But I am sorry, my ladies, I must go. My brother is waving to me.”

“He seems a pleasant young man,” I commented after Guildford had left us.

“A ninny,” said Jane. “Deer not shooting a crossbow!”

“He was trying to be amusing, Jane.”

“And his Italian conversation is commonplace. Do you know what he said to me?”

I shook my head.

“He said that my dress was very pretty and that the color suited me. And then he asked me if I would dance with him later today!”

“Really, Jane, the poor young man was only trying to make gallant conversation. It can’t be as easy for men as women think it should be, in English or Italian.”

“He could have saved himself the trouble and not made such conversation at all.”

“I hope you did not refuse to dance with him. That would have been quite rude.”

“No, I agreed. Though I am not looking forward to it.” Jane gazed over to where Guildford was talking with his brothers. “Perhaps I could get sick, like the Earl of Warwick.”

***

When I wrote to Mary, asking to visit her on my way to Bradgate, I received a strangely noncommittal response, to my distress. Had I angered my cousin in some way? I wrote back to that effect and was told I had not offended in any way and to come as soon as I wanted.

“Perhaps she is ill,” I told Harry.

“Perhaps,” said Harry without a great deal of concern. “Don’t let her trap you into attending her Mass this time.” He winked at my guilty look. “Oh, you can’t fool me, my dear. I know she inveigled you into going the last time you visited her. Jane told me.”

***

Mary, it turned out, had moved for the summer to Woodham Walter in Essex, which was not on our way to Bradgate, so I sent the girls on to Leicestershire with a suitable entourage and went to Woodham Walter by myself. Jane, for one, put up no argument about being deprived of a visit to the lady Mary.

Woodham Walter, about two miles from the sea, was an attractive manor, but it was small for a person of Mary’s station—the sort of place one might use for a few days while en route to somewhere else. It seemed odd to be there for over a month, as Mary apparently had been, but as I drew closer to the manor, I found that the air that blew in from the sea felt good across my cheeks. Perhaps that was the appeal for Mary.

I was shown to Mary’s private chamber just moments after I came through the manor gates. To my surprise, she dismissed her ladies and servants as soon as I knelt to her. When they had all cleared the room, she said, “Rise. Why are you here?”

I started. Never had Mary greeted me so rudely. “To visit you, my lady.”

“You have not been sent here by my brother’s council?”

“The council? Why on earth would they send me to your ladyship?”

“Your husband is a member, and a favored one from what I hear.”

“My husband trusts me with the management of the household and the management of my younger daughters. Nothing more. He certainly would not send me on the council’s business. Nor would anyone else on the council.”

“You are truly not here at the council’s bidding?”

“Mary, what is this? Our mothers loved each other. We played together as children. As adults we have been friends—or so I thought until now. I came here only because I heard that you had refused to come to the weddings, and I thought you might be ill or troubled.”

Mary stared into my eyes. But I was as much a Tudor as she, and I met her gaze without flinching. Finally, she lowered her gaze. “Perhaps I am wrong. So you will swear that you have not been sent by the Earl of Warwick and his crew?”

“The Earl of Warwick?”

“You were at his sons’ weddings.”

“So was almost anyone else of any consequence. Mary, I should not have to swear to anything. When have I ever given you reason not to trust me? I came here solely out of friendship. No one sent me. No one so much as gave me a message for you. Except for Harry and our household, I doubt if anyone knows that I am here, or would care if he or she did.” I fiddled with the gloves I held in my hand. “I have overstayed my visit. With your permission, I shall be gone within the hour.”

Mary shook her head. “No, stay. I have wronged you.” She stared past me toward the window. “But I cannot help it. Everything has been poisoned for me. I trust almost no one in England now.”

“Why?”

“How can I? They have tried to deprive me of the one thing that matters most to me, my religion.”

I hesitated, then got up my courage. “Harry says that they have only asked you not to hear the Mass. Forgive me, but couldn’t you conform like so many others do, and make your life so much easier?”

“Conform?” Mary put her hands behind her back and began to pace around the room. “You and I are cousins, Frances, yet so different. You speak of conforming as easily as you might talk of replacing a French hood with an English one. As if these differences between my faith and the new one were mere trivialities.”

I dared not utter the thought I sometimes had, which was that they were. “Still, couldn’t you ease your conscience by saying you acted under duress, as you did when you agreed with King Henry that your mother’s marriage was unlawful?”

A look of pain crossed Mary’s face. “That is the most shameful thing I have done in all of my life. I still regret it.”

“You were young and dependent on your father. What else could you have done? It did bring you happiness, did it not?”

“No. It brought me security and wealth. They are poor substitutes when you know yourself to have once known something better.” Mary gripped the rosary she carried at her side as a man might grip a sword. “I dishonored my mother’s memory that day, and for very little purpose. I will die by my own hand before I do such a thing again.”

“Mary!”

“No, I lie. I would not do such a shameful act. I would do something else.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering me, Mary turned, bidding me with a motion to follow her. Stopping outside of the manor’s small chapel, she went inside, leaving me to stand self-consciously by its door. When she returned after some moments, her face was entirely at peace. “We may return to my chamber.”

I obeyed. When the door had closed upon us once again, Mary spoke. “I do trust you, Cousin, and I will tell you of my plan now that I have prayed for guidance. But you must promise—I will not make you swear an oath, but merely promise me, as my cousin and my friend—that you will tell no one of this.”

My heart thumped. What in the world had I gotten myself into? “I cannot promise if it involves anything that would bring harm to my husband or to anything that concerns him. Harry and I are not as close as some couples,” I admitted, “but he is kind in his own way, and he has the highest claim upon my loyalty.”

“It will not harm your husband. Indeed, he might welcome it. So do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“I believe it is no longer possible to marry out of England, so I plan to flee. The emperor has agreed to help me.”

My mouth fell open. “What on earth are you thinking? England is your home. Your brother and sister are here.”

“Elizabeth? Sometimes I doubt we even have the same father. In any case, she is the darling of the council, now that Thomas Seymour is safely gone, and can be no friend to me. As for the king, he is Warwick’s and the council’s creature now. They are turning him against me. It will only be worse for me as time goes on, I fear. I see no hope but to leave, and in secret.”

“I can’t believe the king or his council means you any harm.”

“You are naïve,” was the short answer.

“What did the king say when you saw him in February?”

“He was very loving, very friendly. Of course, Warwick was sick and not at his side.”

“He is quite often sick. He missed his own sons’ weddings. Perhaps he does not have the absolute hold over the king that you fear, since he is not constantly around him.”

“It does not matter. If he is not there, his creatures are, like his brother Andrew Dudley.” Mary looked at me stonily. “I believe I made a mistake in telling you this. You will go to the council.”

“No,” I snapped. “I promised, and I will not. But I cannot help but think you exaggerate the danger to yourself. If you confine the Mass to yourself and your women, how can that antagonize the council? It has conceded that much, hasn’t it?”

“For now.” Mary lifted her chin. “You think me mad, don’t you? But I tell you, the council means me ill.”

I was silent, for in a way, I did think Mary mad—or partly so. I could not believe the king, or the council for that matter, wished her harm. They might rail against Mary’s sharing Mass with any traveling stroller who happened to be in the neighborhood, as Harry put it, but most of these men had been servants of King Henry. Surely they would not want to see any harm come to his oldest daughter.

Mary read my thoughts. “You think the king will be bound by his love for me as his sister, but remember what happened with Thomas Seymour, and what almost happened to Somerset. Both of them the king’s uncles.”

“Thomas Seymour was courting disaster. It could not have ended otherwise for him. As for the Duke of Somerset, no permanent harm came to him.”

“For now. That could change.”

“And the emperor approves of this plan of yours to escape?”

“Yes. Not wholeheartedly, I think, but his sister has given her support, as well.” The Holy Roman Emperor, Mary’s first cousin, Charles V, had once been engaged to Mary when she was very young. The match had fallen through, as had all prospective matches for Mary, but Charles had continued to take an interest in Mary’s affairs, both for political and personal reasons. His sister, Mary of Hungary, the regent of the Low Countries, was said to be more vigorous than he these days. However misguided I might think Mary’s plan was, it certainly had supporters in the highest places.

But that was not enough to make me feel better about the plan. “You will never be able to come back to England if you accomplish this. You will be an exile, and what kind of life will that be? If you ask me, this is a foolish idea. I would abide here to see what happens.”

“I did not ask you, and I do not want to abide here to suffer more.”

I knew nothing else to say. Catherine of Aragon had been a legend for stubbornness in her time, and it was evident her daughter was no different. I did not even ask for details, half because I feared Mary would take this as evidence I was spying, half because I truly did not want to know.

“I don’t know why I told you this,” Mary mused. “You could hardly be of help even if you supported the idea. Your husband is too prominent for you to escape notice. Perhaps I want to be talked out of it. I don’t know. I was born in England. I love the English people, for they loved my own mother. And if I leave, those who stay behind will be left with no livelihood, no way of upholding the true religion. I will be deserting them. But I have told myself all of these things, and all of the things you told me, and in the end it makes no difference. I want to leave.”

“You have made definite plans, then, I gather?”

“Yes.”

I supposed the convenience to the sea was the reason Mary had chosen this manor as her residence, but I asked no more questions. “I hope that you will think upon this more and not act impulsively. You said just now you have doubts. I think you are wise to have them.”

“There is time yet to think, but I know I shall not change my mind. But we have done with this. Let us have a game of cards with my ladies.”

***

Back at Bradgate, I spent the days in a high state of restlessness—and guilt—waiting to hear news of Mary’s flight. I had not thought of it at the time, naturally, but what if the emperor had a sinister reason for wanting Mary out of England? Was he planning to send her back at the head of an invading army, to depose her young brother and establish herself as a Papist queen? I could not imagine Mary agreeing to such a scheme, but if her trusted cousin proposed it, and framed it as a matter of religious duty…

But I had made Mary a promise, and I kept it.

Then, toward the end of July, Harry came from London to Bradgate, all smiles. “It seems as if you missed some excitement when you visited the lady Mary.”

I managed to keep my voice level. “What do you mean?”

“The fool woman had plans to escape from England! Don’t ask me why—she’s got it into her fool head that she’s being persecuted. Actually, my dear, it’s rather embarrassing. She almost succeeded.”

I put a hand to my throat. “She is a prisoner?”

“No. She’s not in custody at all. From what the council can make out, she laid these plans to leave the country—and then, when men and ships from the emperor arrived to help her, she dithered. Kept coming up with excuses why she couldn’t leave immediately, why she had to pack every trinket she owned, why she couldn’t leave certain ladies behind. The locals were getting suspicious, with these foreign ships lurking about, and the emperor’s men couldn’t stay indefinitely, waiting for her to make up her mind. She kept wailing, ‘What shall I do? What is to become of me?’” Harry chuckled. “The emperor’s men had to keep inventing all sorts of stories to explain their presence—that one was a corn chandler, that another was looking for pirates—but the men of Essex were too intelligent to be duped. They told the council, and we sent Sir John Gates into the area to put a stop to any more of that nonsense. So now, the emperor’s men are heading back to Flanders where they belong, and the lady Mary is no doubt wishing that she’d acted sooner.”

“What will happen to her?”

“Nothing, although she’s a fool if she thinks this has helped her in the matter of her ridiculous Masses. As much as she would like to see herself as a martyr, the council isn’t willing to oblige by imprisoning her. The king would like to have a word with her, that’s all. He’s not happy about his kingdom being painted as a place from which one must flee, as you can imagine, or about the emperor and his sister sticking their noses and their Hapsburg jaws into our affairs, but he prefers to speak to Mary quietly rather than to create a stir over this.”

I could not help but sigh in relief.

Harry looked at me sharply. “You were visiting Mary during the planning, or part of it. Did she confide in you?”

I lied with more ease than I quite liked. “She did tell me of some of her fears for the future and talked rather wildly about getting out of England, but I did not take her seriously.”

“No, how could you?” Harry snorted. “I hope this little episode teaches the lady Mary that she has no head for intrigue. Or a head for governance, lest, God forbid, anything should ever happen to the king.” He raised the glass of ale from which he had been sipping. “Long life to King Edward.”

***

“I must talk to you.”

Since my indiscretion of the autumn, Adrian Stokes and I had been on cordial, if formal, terms. I did not know why I was confiding in him now, except something told me I could trust him, just as Mary had felt she could trust me.

“Perhaps you have heard of the lady Mary’s plan to escape, and its failure.”

“Something of it, my lady.”

“I knew of it and said nothing. I made a promise to her that I would not, and I kept it.”

“That must have been a painful position for you to be in, my lady.”

I relaxed a little under Adrian Stokes’s sympathetic gaze. “Yes, it was. We are friends as well as cousins. I did not ask for her confidence, but when she gave it to me, I felt bound to uphold it, even though I thought her plan was unwise and advised her against it.”

“Does my lord know that she told you?”

“No. I concealed it from him, and when he asked me this very day whether I had had knowledge of it, I lied to him. I am not proud of that, but…” I looked down at my feet, then up again. “But that is my own problem. What I am concerned about is that word did get out about Mary’s escape plan. It distresses me to think that Mary might believe that I betrayed her.”

“And you wish me to tell her?”

“Yes, but I do not wish you to risk going yourself. Harry is not an ill-tempered man, but I don’t know if—”

“I have brothers and friends. I will find a way to get a message to her—a verbal one. It would be foolish to trust something to writing.” Adrian Stokes paused, then added, “I should tell you, my lady, that I have no sympathy with the lady Mary’s religious ideas or, indeed, with her contumaciousness toward the king and his council. I share the views of my lord Dorset. But it distresses me that her folly has troubled your mind.”

I thanked him. A couple of weeks later, Master Stokes came to me. After we had discussed business for a short time, he said, “My brother William made contact with the lady we spoke of. She assured him that she knew you had nothing to do with a certain matter becoming known. I hope that eases your mind, my lady.”

“It does, very much, and I am grateful to you.”

Master Stokes bowed his head, apparently expecting to be given leave to depart. Instead, I asked, “I gather you and your brothers are close, Master Stokes?”

“Yes, my lady. We have each other’s confidence.”

“Harry is fond of his brothers too. I wish my daughter Jane and my daughter Kate were on friendlier terms with each other,” I confessed. “There is nothing like having a sister or brother one can confide in.”

”I believe your ladyship’s sister, the lady Eleanor, died several years ago.”

I nodded. “I still miss her. Have you ever been married, Master Stokes?”

“No, my lady. I had intentions once, but the young lady died.”

“I am very sorry to hear that. Have you ever thought of marrying?”

“No, my lady, until recently I have lived the life of a soldier, and it would not have been meet to take a wife. And in truth, I had no desire to marry. I took my betrothed’s death very hard. I loved her, you see. But forgive me, my lady, that is probably more than you wished to hear.”

“Why? I asked a question, and you answered it. I hope you are happy with us, Master Stokes.”

“I am very happy in this household.”

“Well, good.” I could hardly go on asking Master Stokes personal questions, I realized, though something in me longed to keep on doing exactly that. Reluctantly, I said, “You may go now, Master Stokes.”

***

Despite my worry about being found out, our life at Bradgate went on as normal. Harry’s brothers often visited, and one day in August when the weather had been especially fine, we decided to go hunting.

It seemed too fair a day for any young person to spend indoors, so once I had donned my riding habit, I went to Jane’s chamber. “We are going hunting, Jane. Would you like to join us?”

“No, Mother. You know I think that folly.”

“I didn’t see you turning down the venison the other day,” I said mildly. “It came from our own park, and the deer certainly didn’t walk into the kitchen and offer itself up as a sacrifice. Besides, you needn’t actually hunt. Just riding in the fresh air would benefit you. You have been cooped up with your books too much lately.”

“I am working on Father’s New Year’s present. It is a translation from Latin into Greek of Heinrich Bullinger’s treatise on marriage. I must get on with it.”

“Very well,” I said. I looked at Jane’s handiwork: a page covered with what I could only assume was flawless Greek. “What does Bullinger have to say on marriage?”

“I can hardly summarize it in a sentence, but in short, he believes it a state to be most desired. There is an English version,” Jane suggested. “Perhaps you might want to read it.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “Having been married for many years, I do not think I need instruction on the subject.”

***

I did not last long at the hunt. As the dogs spotted their prey and yapped ecstatically, I felt a familiar pain in my gut: the cramps that presaged my monthly course. Some months I scarcely had pain at all; others, the cramps were so bad that I could not speak through them. I decided to ride back to the house and rest. As I made my way back to my chamber with Bess Cavendish, who had been one of my waiting women before her marriage and often visited me as a friend, one of the servants approached. “My lady, Master Ascham arrived in your absence and is paying a call on the lady Jane.”

I sighed, wondering whether I should postpone my rest and greet Master Ascham. Such men were common guests at Bradgate, for over the past couple of years, Harry had gained a reputation as a friend and patron of scholars, who naturally flocked to our house. My Kate regarded them as a bore, while little Mary generally took their visits as a time to scuttle off onto the grounds of Bradgate if she could manage it. Jane, naturally, delighted in their company, especially as they shamelessly flattered her and Harry. I, of course, was a different matter. Though the scholars appreciated a well-kept chamber and a well-cooked meal as much as did lesser mortals, it never occurred to them I might bear some responsibility for the quality of this hospitality. They confined their exchanges with me to pleasantries, if that much.

Today’s arrival, Roger Ascham, had tutored the lady Elizabeth but had left her household after the uproar about Thomas Seymour. He was not a recipient of Harry’s generosity, but he had been impressed with Jane’s scholarship and had suggested some books for her to read, and he was friendly with her own tutor, John Aylmer. As a result, Jane and Ascham had corresponded now and then. He was on such terms with Jane that I could greet him and then take to my bed without causing offense, leaving Jane to be his hostess, I decided. I made my way to her outer chamber, the door of which had been left slightly ajar.

“So your ladyship decided not to join your family on their hunting trip?” Ascham was saying.

“Yes. Such idle pastimes are not to my liking. Mother urged me, but I was absorbed in my translation for Father, and in this Plato.”

“Your parents must be very proud of your dedication to learning, my lady.”

“Father is, but Mother has no appreciation for such things. She is a woman of limited intellect, you see.”

Bess gasped. I opened my mouth, then shut it as Jane’s voice continued relentlessly.

“She is entirely absorbed in such pastimes as gambling and hunting. She can barely speak French, which is astounding, considering that my grandmother was its queen. All she can do is sew shirts and make comfits and the like, and then she presumes to criticize me when I fall short at these things.” Jane’s voice dripped with scorn. “As if there are not servants to do those tasks, and do them better than she ever could.”

“With respect to your ladyship, I think you judge your mother too harshly,” Ascham said. “She was not educated in the fashion that you have been, and even if she had been, few have been blessed with your gifts, my lady.”

“True, but she is so insufferable! I am glad you have come here today. I have longed to speak to someone about this, and there is no one here who would understand. They are all so commonplace. If Father were here more often, it would not be so bad, but with him gone on business so much now, there is simply no one I can talk to, except about inanities.”

“My dear lady—”

“She has even laid hands upon me in anger,” Jane continued. “Do you see here, Master Ascham? This was where she pinched me the other day, when I did not sew one of her precious shirts to her satisfaction. There seems to be no pleasing her, for no matter whether I am speaking, keeping silent, sitting, standing, sewing, playing, dancing, or anything else, I must do it perfectly, just as God made the world. I cannot count the pinches she has given me, as well as the nips and bobs, over the years. It is sheer hell! And then my mother wonders why I have no interest in being in her company! I would much rather be in the company of John Aylmer. He makes learning so agreeable, it is all I can do to keep from crying when I must leave him and spend time with my mother.”

“Your ladyship hardly needs any inducement to learn, however.”

I had heard enough. I turned away from the door, tears fogging my vision. Bess took my arm and helped me toward my chamber.

How could my daughter think so ill of me? I had pinched her arm the other day, it was true, but not because she had sewn her shirt poorly; it was because I knew she could have done a much better job if she had bothered to take the time. The poor people who were the intended recipients of the shirts would hardly appreciate having them fall apart after a couple of days’ wear. Nips and bobs I had given her, too, usually when her arrogance was too insufferable, or when she had spoken slightingly to her younger sisters or to a servant. I had received plenty such in my own day when I misbehaved, most usually from my nurse, but also from my beautiful mother herself on the occasions when my conduct was so bad as to merit it. It had never occurred to me to complain of such treatment, or even to resent it. I had simply determined to be a better girl so it would not happen again.

When we had reached my chamber, Bess said, “My lady, that is blatantly unfair! You spoil the girl, if anything, if you do not mind my saying so, and you know that I am fond of her. You should confront her.”

“No,” I said. “I would have to tell her that I was listening, and that would only add eavesdropping to my list of sins.” I sank into a chair.

Bess patted my shoulder. “In any case, my lady, you should not take this too much to heart. Girls are like that, my lady, about their mothers. They believe them stupid and hopelessly old-fashioned, until they have children of their own and suddenly realize they weren’t so stupid after all. Lady Jane is just a more extreme example.”

But I had never thought my own mother was stupid. Neither had my sister Eleanor. For us, she had been a fairy queen come to life, a woman who had married both the King of France and the man she loved. How many women could say that? Our favorite activity as girls had been to go into our mother’s wardrobe, not to try on her clothing, for that struck us as a sacrilege, but to finger each garment carefully and to wonder to what glamorous occasion she might have worn it—despite that my mother had lived a relatively retired life since her marriage to my father. When she died, soon after my wedding to Harry, Eleanor and I had been desolate, even though her health had been poor for some time. I even tormented myself with the notion that traveling to attend my wedding had caused the final crisis, although nothing could have kept her away.

“Maybe I could speak to the lady Jane, as we’re not that far apart in age,” suggested Bess, who was in her early twenties. “She likes me well enough. If she knew how she had hurt you…”

“No. I shall let it pass.” I wearily rose and allowed Bess, stepping back into her role as my waiting woman, to help me out of my riding clothes. “At least now I know exactly what she thinks of me.”