Her Highness, the Traitor

27

Jane Dudley

May 1553 to June 1553





I will admit—the admitting of it can harm no one now—that I did not like my daughter-in-law. It is wrong to say that, I know, for the change in my situation has not kept me from hearing news altogether, and I have heard she is spoken of in hushed, reverent tones as far away as Zurich, by men generations her senior. But I cannot help it. I found her to be self-absorbed and chilly and prideful, and yet I would have overlooked all of these things if she had shown the slightest bit of kindness to my poor Guildford. But she did not. Instead, she looked down her pert little nose at Guildford from the very day she met him. Even at the very end, she—but I grow bitter, and I promised my dear John, on the dreadful day when I took his hand for the very last time, that I would not be so.

And besides, I digress.

Guildford and Jane, Katheryn and Lord Hastings, and Kate Grey and Lord Herbert were married May 25, with almost everyone of consequence in England present, save the lady Mary, who declined the invitation, and the king, who was too ill to come. Lord Herbert himself had been ill, but he seemed happy in the company of his new bride, who fussed over his comfort and health in a touchingly matronly manner, as if they had been married for years instead of minutes. My Katheryn, who by agreement was to continue living with John and me for another year or so before going to join her husband’s very large family, watched the masques that followed the wedding in a state of marital bliss, leaning on her husband’s shoulder and finally dozing off. The French ambassador pronounced the wine good; the Italian ambassador, the music excellent. Only Guildford and Jane appeared unhappy.

But perhaps I was wrong about that, for the lady Frances’s pretty face did not look entirely happy either, although the duchess made small talk as determinedly as I did during the feasting and entertainments that followed the ceremony. “This must be difficult for you,” I ventured toward the end of the evening. “Having not one but two daughters marrying and leaving your home.”

“Yes. It will be strange not to have my girls at home.” Frances hesitated, then faced me straight on. “The lord Guildford. Will he be…kind tonight?”

I refrained from pointing out my true opinion, which was that the lady Jane would probably be telling Guildford what to do. Perhaps she had consulted a book. For Guildford’s part, I had no idea whether he had known women before; my husband was not the sort to encourage him to visit brothels or to have his pleasure with servants, although I would not put it past his older brothers to urge him to get some experience before he faced the daunting prospect of a night with the lady Jane. “My son has never been anything but chivalrous around women,” I said coolly. “I have no doubt that he will treat your daughter with respect.”

“I wish the consummation could have been postponed a year. My daughter is so young in some ways.”

“You and I were brides at her age, and we adjusted. She must do the same.” I looked at the three couples—Kate and Lord Herbert chatting animatedly, Katheryn sound asleep on Lord Hastings’s shoulder, and Guildford and Jane sitting side by side, hardly moving their mouths except to chew their food. In a kinder tone, I said, “They will learn to care for each other, as we and our husbands did. These things take time.”

***

There was no grand bedding ceremony for Guildford and Jane of the sort there had been in my day; the couple simply went to Jane’s chamber, Frances having given her daughter a parting kiss and my sons having given Guildford a series of sympathetic handshakes. (“Look at the lady Kate,” I had heard Guildford inform Robert sadly. “Lucky Lord Herbert. Now, there’s a girl.”) John and I smiled hard, as we had been smiling all evening, aided by more wine than either of us generally consumed.

I needed John to make love to me that night, and he did, with a tenderness I hoped somehow seeped over to the newlyweds in the bridal chamber. But when it was over, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably into John’s chest. “It’s just the wine,” I assured him when I had finally brought myself under control. “Nothing more.”

***

Three days after the wedding, the Countess of Warwick sought me out—never a good sign. “I have a question I need to ask you, Your Grace.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is it true that the Duke of Northumberland intends to put me aside so that my husband can marry the lady Elizabeth?”

I stared. “Where on earth did you hear that?”

“It’s all over town, I suppose, if I heard it here. They say that the king is dying and that the lady Mary will be deprived of the crown. The lady Elizabeth will be made queen, and my husband—of course, he won’t be my husband then—will rule jointly with her. Or they say that the duke himself will marry the lady Elizabeth after he puts Your Grace aside.”

Why did people keep saying such vile things about my John? “There is nothing to those ridiculous rumors. Hasn’t my son made arrangements for you to accompany him to Warwick Castle, where you will be greeted as his countess?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then that should tell you how foolish those rumors are. As for me, it would hardly serve my husband to put me aside and bastardize our children, two of whom he held weddings for just a few days ago. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. You are an intelligent young lady. Use that intelligence when you hear those ridiculous rumors.”

“Yes, Your Grace. But—”

“Yes?”

“Is the king really dying? Is that yet another rumor?”

“He is very ill. But he may yet recover. There is always hope.”

“I see, Your Grace.”

I dismissed my daughter-in-law. Then I went to my chamber and wept for a solid hour.

***

A few days later, Jane and Guildford, who had been getting to know each other at Chelsea, joined us at Sion. I looked for signs that Jane was with child, but of course it was too soon to tell, and I could not think of a tactful way to ascertain whether she and Guildford had been sleeping together regularly, though goodness knows I tried. Instead, I had to content myself with puzzling out whether there had been a thawing between the spouses. They did not chat together easily as newlyweds of a similar age and background might, but at least Guildford paid Jane the proper courtesies, and Jane accepted them politely. Perhaps another few weeks at Chelsea might do them good.

I was pondering this at supper, and determining to talk the matter over with John once the meal was over, when Guildford suddenly turned green and stumbled to his feet, then ran out of the chamber, a hand upon his mouth. Hal, sitting nearby, made it only to a corner before he retched up his meal, while poor Lord Clinton simply stuck his head under the table. His wife, who had been sharing his salad, went white and fell fainting to the floor.

Jane shrieked as I simultaneously tried to attend to the Clintons and to my sons. “Poison!”

“No,” said Robert, who along with Amy had been dining with us. “A cook who has no idea what he is about with a salad.” He picked up a leaf from Lord Clinton’s plate and flourished it in the air. “This has no business in a salad. A proper salad requires a French chef. We in England just don’t understand it.”

Lady Clinton gave a little moan and sat up. “I feel ill,” she announced, and promptly proved her point.

“Salad,” Robert confirmed as Guildford stumbled back into the room and looked at me piteously.

“Get them all to their chambers,” I ordered in relief. What ailed everyone would be unpleasant for a few days, I foresaw, but not dangerous. I turned to Jane, who still looked uneasy. It was her place more than mine to see that her husband was coddled during his illness, but a recuperating Guildford surely deserved more sympathetic company than hers. “Jane, wait a few hours to make sure you are not afflicted. If you are not, perhaps you can visit your mother for a few days while Guildford recovers.”

Jane smiled, for the first time since she had entered our family, in wholehearted approval.

***

Guildford, Hal, and the Clintons were still recovering when John, who had been with the king at Greenwich during this gastric mayhem, summoned me to his chamber and locked the door when I arrived. “It is time to tell you,” he said. “Some days ago, I called the king’s physicians together and asked for their opinion of whether the king would recover.”

I did not need to hear any more; the answer was in John’s face and voice. “And they said he would not?”

“Yes. They said he has three months. At best.”

I felt the tears come to my own eyes. King Henry might have justified his actions with other explanations, and might have even believed them, but anyone who had lived through his reign knew it was the desire for a living son that had caused him to thrust aside Catherine of Aragon so cruelly, then to send Anne Boleyn to the block. Many more had died as the result of the turmoil caused by these queens’ failure to provide the king a male heir. And now this son, this much-loved and much-protected son, for whose birth so much blood had been shed, was dying, with no one but women in line for his throne. You could say one thing for the Lord: he did love his irony. “There is no hope?”

“I told the physicians not to slacken their efforts and not to cease praying for the king’s life, and I have promised them a hundred crowns a month in fees. They have every incentive to hope. I have tried myself. But I do not think there is any.” John’s voice faltered. Then he said, in a voice so low as to be almost unintelligible, “The king wants to see us together tomorrow morning.”

“Why, what could he want with me?”

“He prefers to tell you in person,” John said. He rose. “The king’s condition is a secret, for now, at least in theory. In practice, every ambassador in London is aware of it and is convinced I am poisoning him. In addition, of course, to scheming to marry myself and Jack to either the lady Mary or the lady Elizabeth. One thing I can’t complain of is being accused of idleness.”

“John—”

“I don’t care, in truth. What does it matter what they say of me, with the king dying? He has become almost a son to me.”

“Maybe there is hope, John. You mustn’t lose faith.”

John shook his head. “You won’t say that when you see him.”

***

The king remained at Greenwich, which was both the healthiest place for him to be and the necessary place for him to be, as he was too ill to travel safely. Courtiers had once flirted in its halls and done more than that in some of its secluded places, but no one who stayed here now was idle or cheerful. Everyone went around his business quietly and diligently.

I was no stranger to death in all of its manifestations, having watched five of my children die young of various illnesses, but my first glimpse of the king made me gasp even as I knelt before him. Whatever sins King Henry had committed, they would have been punished tenfold had he been fated to see his son as he looked now. Edward had managed to sit up to receive guests, and the nightcap and night shirt he wore were of rich material, but they could not hide that his face was bloated and pasty or that he needed the help of two of the gentlemen of the privy chamber, Thomas Wroth and my son-in-law Henry Sidney, to stay upright. His feet, which I glimpsed as I knelt, were swollen to twice their normal size. “Rise, my lady.” He glanced at me as I desperately swiped at my cheek. “Don’t cry.”

“I am sorry, Your Majesty. I am trying hard not to. It is just—”

“I have come to terms with my fate,” the king said. With a start, I realized Edward was not using the royal “we,” a clear sign of the affection he bore my husband. “We all must die, and I sooner than later. That is why I have called you here. Some time ago, I drew up a devise for the succession, excluding my sisters. It is my understanding that the Duke of Northumberland told you of it, so there is no need to explain the particulars.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It will not work. There is no time to wait for the lady Jane to bear a child, and even if there was, there is no certainty that she will have a boy. The lady Katherine Grey is probably too young to conceive, as is the lady Mary Grey, and the lady Margaret Clifford is not even married yet. Therefore, I have made a change.”

The king nodded to John, who led me to a table and indicated a parchment lying atop it. I can still see that bit of parchment in my mind today and marvel at how insignificant the change the king had made appeared on paper: the striking out of a letter and the insertion of two words that transformed “the lady Jane’s heirs male” to “the lady Jane and her heirs male.” It was such an unassuming-looking change that it only slowly dawned on me what the king had done. He had made my new daughter-in-law his successor. No Englishwoman had ever ruled in her own right: the one who had tried centuries before, the Empress Matilda, had unleashed years of civil war. And Matilda had been a mature woman: the lady Jane was a girl who had just turned sixteen and who had never been bred to rule.

Openmouthed, I turned to the king. “There is no other way,” he said simply. “I love my sister Mary, but she will take the nation back to the Pope. And she is of questionable legitimacy, as is my sister Elizabeth. Besides, the lady Mary and I have been in dispute about the Mass. It is my fear that if she were to come to the throne, my friends would suffer for it, most particularly the Duke of Northumberland. That I would not have for the world.”

“No, Your Majesty,” I mumbled.

“As your lord husband and I have been discussing, tomorrow I shall call my justices before me and order them to put this in proper form. When that is done, I shall summon Parliament to ratify what has been written. All will be in order, provided that the Lord grants me sufficient time.”

Looking at the king, I could think only that this proviso was far from certain.

There were a dozen questions running through my mind, but this brief conversation had clearly exhausted Edward, and it was apparent I would soon be dismissed. John could give me the answers to most of my questions, but there was one I had to ask the king himself. “I don’t understand. Why did Your Majesty call me here?”

“So that if any man dare question what I have told you today, you will know the truth. Some will say that this devise is of your husband’s procuring, to put Lord Guildford on the throne through the lady Jane. It was not. The idea was mine. I will fight for it with my dying breath.”

He started coughing. A foul smell began to fill the chamber. “Go, please,” Edward managed.

Followed by John, I backed out of the chamber hastily.

***

“Does the lady Jane know of this? Do her parents?”

“Not yet. Once the judges get it ready, it will be more widely known.”

“And the lady Mary? The lady Elizabeth?”

“They will know in due time.”

“There are no plans to—” I could not finish my sentence.

“Harm them? Confine them? No. They shall be married to men we can trust. At least, that is what we are hoping for.”

“What if they do not go along? What if the emperor comes to the lady Mary’s aid and decides to restore her to the succession?”

“When has the emperor ever helped Mary?”

“When she tried to flee the country.”

“Yes, and what did she do? Panicked, and lost her chance. She’ll be happy as long as she has her Mass. If she has a husband and a Mass, all the better.” John saw the skeptical expression on my face. “Mouse,” he said gently, “you worry too much. The king has time. The physicians tell him so. Parliament will meet, and the king’s devise will have the force of law. The lady Mary won’t resist, particularly if a sweetener is thrown in. The same with the lady Elizabeth.”

I shook my head. There seemed to be far too many “ifs” in this plan, conceived by a dying lad of sixteen. Nor did the prospect of the crown passing to my slip of a daughter-in-law, who had never been brought up to such a task, fill me with confidence. “But the lady Jane can’t even properly run a household,” I blurted. “Just in that brief time at Chelsea, Guildford said, she drove the servants mad, telling them one thing one moment and countermanding it an hour later. She’s an intelligent girl, but she hasn’t an ounce of common sense.”

“She will learn it, as all rulers must. She will have councilors, remember.” John took my hand. “The truth is, you don’t like this idea. Neither do I. It goes against King Henry’s wishes—more than that, it goes against the law, until Parliament ratifies it. But if I must choose between obeying a dead king and a living king, I must choose the living one.”

“Even when what the living king wants is folly?”

“Is it folly to keep the lady Mary from turning the clock back? Is it folly to prevent bastards from ascending to the throne?”

“I suppose we shall find out,” I said. I stared out the window toward the direction of Suffolk Place, where our unsuspecting daughter-in-law was no doubt settling down with a passage of Greek for the evening. “In the meantime, I shall redouble my prayers for the king.”