Her Highness, the Traitor

17

Jane Dudley

October 1551





Since three of our sons—Jack, Ambrose, and Robert—and our daughter Mary were now married, and some of our sons were attending the king, we had begun setting aside one day a week to dine together, just John, our children, and their spouses. It was a time for each of us to tell the others our news, if we had any. With so many children married, I deeply hoped one or more of the couples would soon have news of a coming child. Having reached the end of my own child-bearing years, it appeared, I looked forward to spoiling a line of Dudley grandchildren.

But the news that night belonged to John. “The king is to make several knights next week,” he informed us. He nodded at Henry Sidney, who after his initial misstep in secretly marrying our daughter had become a favorite of John’s. “Henry is to be one of them.”

Mary squealed. “This calls for a kiss,” she announced and turned her attention, and her mouth, to Henry. Since Henry Sidney had joined our family, I had discovered there was very little in life Mary did not deem worthy of a kiss from her husband.

Robert, Jack, and Ambrose obligingly followed suit with their own wives, while Katheryn sighed romantically. Hal, my youngest son, rolled his eyes. “Why did you seat them together, Mother?”

“When do I get to be knighted?” Guildford asked.

“All in good time,” said John. “You are but young yet. But there are more honors to be given out that day, some of which you may find of interest. If I may have your attention—”

“Yes,” muttered Hal. “Save this for the bedchamber.”

My married children obediently turned flushed faces to their father. “William Paulet is to be made the Marquis of Winchester.” This was the William Paulet who had informed John of Thomas Wriothesley’s scheme. John had previously made him the Earl of Wiltshire. “William Herbert is to be made the Earl of Pembroke. The Marquis of Dorset is to be made the Duke of Suffolk.” John coughed. “And I am to get a new title myself—the Duke of Northumberland.”

I dropped my napkin. Even Mary was too stunned to kiss Henry Sidney.

“Well, it was likely to happen sooner or later, given my position,” John said.

“Will you have a coronet, Father?”

“Yes, Katheryn.”

“With jewels?”

“No doubt. And your mother shall have one, too.”

Katheryn sighed rapturously.

“Did the king give this to you of his own, my lord, or did you demand it of him?”

We turned as one to Anne, Jack’s wife, who as Somerset’s daughter had come to fill the role of a skeleton at our family meals. I tried to be kind to her—it could not be easy, I knew, being Somerset’s daughter at a Dudley table now that relations had turned so cool between John and her father—but there was a whole string of topics that could not be discussed around her, and even seemingly innocuous remarks could be taken the wrong way. It did not help to ease the tension around the table that Anne was not only her mother’s namesake, but also her virtual double, minus some years and her mother’s mature figure.

John said calmly, “I demanded nothing of the king, Anne. He is a young man with a mind entirely his own. He chose to honor me for my service to England, as well as others who have served him, and I am grateful.”

“With John a duke, Jack shall be the Earl of Warwick,” I added. “You shall be a countess, Anne.”

“I can only hope to fill the role as well as you have, my lady,” Anne said. She turned back to John. “Will my father be at the ceremony?”

“Certainly.”

“No doubt that will delight him.”

“Anne—”

“What? Today there is one duke in England—well, two if you count the Duke of Norfolk in the Tower—and soon there will be two more. Why wouldn’t my father be delighted of the extra company?”

Amy, who had a certain talent for rescuing conversations, said, “Will we ladies be allowed to attend?”

“Yes,” John said gratefully. “The king is allowing the ladies to witness the ceremony, though it will be crowded, I daresay. And there will be a banquet afterward.”

“Delightful,” said Anne. “I must plan what to wear.”

***

“The Duke of Northumberland,” John commented when he came to my bed that night. “What would my poor father have thought?”

“He would be proud beyond measure, as I am.” I looked through the opening in the bed curtains, where I could see the parrot in his covered cage. “I shall have to teach him how to say, ‘Duke.’”

“‘Northumberland’ might be a bit much for the poor creature,” John agreed. He kissed my cheek. “‘Duchess’ he will be able to manage, I’m sure.”

“The sooner the better, for there will be a new countess in the household.” I bristled. “I was furious, I must say, that Anne was so rude to you at supper. I know that it is hard, with her father—”

“Don’t speak of him,” John said. He took me into his arms and began fondling me in a way he had not done in some time. “Let me remind you of how an earl makes love. Then you will have a fresh basis for comparison when I become a duke.”

***

On October 11, my children and I joined the press of courtiers in the king’s presence chamber at Hampton Court. John’s younger brother Andrew was not present, as he was serving as captain of Guines, but Jerome was there, dressed in his finest clothes and agog at the sight of the king sitting under his canopy of state, surrounded by noblemen. Next to our family stood Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset, and her three daughters, the youngest so tiny at age six that a servant had been deputed to hold her upon his shoulders.

With a flourish of trumpets and a burst of color, the king’s officers of arms processed into the great chamber, followed by the Garter herald, who bore the patent creating Harry Grey the Duke of Suffolk. Lord Cobham, bearing a golden verge, the Earl of Rutland, bearing a cap of estate and coronet, and the Earl of Bedford, bearing a sword, followed. Behind them walked Harry Grey himself, wearing the crimson velvet, ermine-trimmed robes of estate of a duke. He was flanked by the Duke of Somerset and the Marquis of Northampton.

Harry Grey knelt before the king. Impulsively, I squeezed Frances Grey’s hand as the king vested the new Duke of Suffolk with his sword, coronet, and rod. She turned to smile at me.

Crimson robes trailing behind him, Suffolk moved to stand on the right side of the king as Frances wiped a tear from her eye and her daughters gazed at their father. Even Jane Grey, who had struck me as a girl who could not easily be moved, appeared to be impressed by the ceremony.

Then the officers of state and the attendant lords left the chamber. With another flourish of trumpets, they returned, this time with John walking between an expressionless Somerset and a smiling Northampton. John’s face was solemn, as befitted the occasion, but his eyes glowed with pleasure.

Robert put his hand on my shoulder as John knelt before the king, his head bowed low. Already, tears of joy were streaming down my face, and the king hadn’t even placed John’s coronet on his head yet. “Happy, Mother?”

I turned my tear-stained face to Robert and smiled. “Beyond words.”

***

Five days later, the Duke of Somerset was arrested and imprisoned once again in the Tower.

“Four dukes in England,” said Jerome, who had become somewhat obsessed with the topic since his brother had been raised to his new status. “Two in the Tower. Two out.”