by Alison Weir
“Nevertheless, you will be more circumspect in future and be guided by me. If Father were here, he would say the same.”
“Edward is right,” Bryan said.
“I would not dream of accepting any more of the King’s gifts after what you have said,” Jane bridled.
* * *
—
Henry sent for her that evening, requesting that she come to the holyday closet.
She went, in defiance of Edward. She would not deny them this last opportunity for loving each other before they were parted. Her only concern was the risk of pregnancy, but desire overrode that. This time it was even more blissful than before. She had not known that such pleasure was possible. When she stole away in the middle of the night, so that none should suspect what she was about, she hurried through the sleeping palace as if on wings.
She saw Henry the next morning, coming out of the chapel after Mass, wearing his riding clothes.
“Good morning, Mistress Jane,” he said, his eyes searching hers with a secret, knowing look.
“Good morning, your Grace,” she replied, curtseying, aware of the gaze of his gentlemen upon her.
“I have something for the Queen,” Henry said. “Come, I will give it to you to take to her.” He took Jane’s hand and led her to his lodgings, not caring who saw. It saddened her to see his privy chamber empty, stripped of its tapestries and furnishings, which had been sent ahead to York Place. She felt sick at the thought of his leaving. He led her to a door in the corner and up the spiral stair that led to the Queen’s lodgings. Halfway, he turned to her, bent down and took her in his arms, holding her tightly as if he would never let go. “Jane! Jane! I do not know how I will bear being parted from you.” His breath was hot in her ear.
“I will miss you too, Henry.”
“I love to hear you call me by my name!” He looked down at her joyously. “I will write to you, and I beg you will write in return.”
“Of course I will,” she promised. “But I must go. I will be missed. Pray give me the thing you have for the Queen.”
“I have nothing for the Queen,” he admitted. “I just wanted to say goodbye to you properly. Oh, my love, how the time will drag until we meet again.” He bent his lips to hers and kissed her longingly.
* * *
—
The great palace of Greenwich was echoing and deserted. Apart from the steward and a few necessary servants, only the Queen’s household remained in residence. Jane wandered through the empty galleries and magnificent chambers, glad to get away for a space, because Anne was sunk in wretchedness. The Queen hated being confined to her chamber, she was hurt that the King had gone to London without her, and she was fearful about the future. Her temper was volatile, and she was prone to lashing out for the slightest reason. Jane had been slapped today, ostensibly for tugging too hard on Anne’s hair, but she knew well that Anne gained great satisfaction in chastising her. The galling thing was that she had no redress. It was the privilege of any mistress to punish a servant who gave offense.
When she returned to the bedchamber, Anne was lying in bed, propped up on her pillows, and her female fool, a plump woman with a merry wit, was doing her best to rouse her from her misery. “Which are the most profitable saints of the Church?” she asked. The ladies shook their heads.
“Those painted on the glass windows, of course! They keep the wind from wasting the candles.”
That raised a faint smile from Anne. The fool waved her stick, jangling the bells attached to it. “Which are the cleanliest leaves among all other leaves?” No one knew. “I’ll tell you, then, it is holly leaves, for nobody dares wipe his arse with them!”
The ladies snickered.
“Have done,” Anne said peevishly, and began weeping. “He could have celebrated Shrove Tuesday here at Greenwich, but no, he could not wait to get away from me,” she lamented. “Once he could not be without me for an hour.” She was working herself up into another frenzy. Raising herself on one elbow, she pointed a finger malevolently at Jane. “My only consolation is that he has been unable to take that bitch Seymour with him. He has had to leave her here for propriety’s sake. No doubt, Madam Jane, you think he will abandon me and marry you, you whey-faced cow! Well, he will not, I promise you!”
Jane stood there, profoundly embarrassed, aware that everyone was looking at her.
“I suggest you leave,” the Duchess of Richmond said coldly.
“With pleasure, Madam,” Jane replied, and walked out, holding her head high.
* * *
—
“The King will surely send for me now that I am well,” Anne assured her attendants. Jane, standing at the back of the group of women, as far out of sight as possible, rather doubted it. But daily Anne was eagerly awaiting a summons to York Place. When the hours passed and no word came, she was plunged once more into despair, and then the next day she would be hopeful again, and so it went on, made worse by the fact that riders in royal livery regularly brought messages from the King for Jane, to Anne’s overt disgust.
Jane hid them in her sleeve, and read them in private. He loved her; he was missing her; soon they would be together. In the meantime, he was busy with the business of Parliament, but as soon as he was free of it, he would send for the Queen, and then he and Jane would be reunited.
She kissed his letters, and kept them in her bodice, next to her heart. She was missing him more than she could have imagined. She wished he was there to protect her from Anne’s venom, and that he would tell her what had passed between him and Archbishop Cranmer—but maybe he would do so when he saw her. It might not be the kind of thing he would write in a letter.
Anne was becoming violently jealous. She watched Jane continually, her eyes dark with anger and suspicion, and picked fault with everything she did, slapping or pinching her for the slightest misdemeanor. Once she deliberately pinched Jane’s hand with her fingernails, drawing blood.
There came the day when Jane had had enough. Always she wore the locket with Henry’s picture, which made her feel close to him. It was usually concealed by the partlet she donned over her low-necked stomacher. But as she bent forward to retrieve a brooch Anne had dropped on the floor, the locket swung loose.
“Is that a new locket?” Anne asked sharply.
“Yes, your Grace.” Jane prayed she would not ask her to open it.
“It’s a costly piece. Let me see it.”
“Why?” Jane asked.
“Because I command it!” Anne rose and faced her. Jane’s hand flew to the jewel.
“Open it!” Anne shrilled.
“No.” Jane would not be bullied.
Anne lost her temper. She ripped the locket from Jane’s neck so violently that her hand was dripping blood, and fumbled with the clasp. Her eyes flashed with anger when she saw the portrait inside, and she thrust the locket back into Jane’s hands. “Take it—and him! You are welcome to him!” But then, just as Jane was bracing herself for the blow that would surely follow, Anne’s face crumpled and she sank to the floor, weeping. “If I could dismiss you from my service, I would do so with pleasure,” she sobbed.
Margaret Douglas and Mary Zouche came running when they heard the cries. Jane deemed it best to leave her to their ministrations, and fled to the maidens’ dorter.
She did her best to keep out of Anne’s way after that, but it was not easy, for Anne made a point of singling her out. Fortunately, Anne’s spirits had soared when she learned that Parliament had granted her two manors.
“It must have been done with the King’s approval,” she declared. “He still loves me above all others. Mistress Seymour, you are no more than another passing fancy. I doubt he will send for you again.”
Jane was growing used to these barbs. It was best to ignore them and avoid engaging in an unseemly quarrel, so she had made it her policy just to stand
there, eyes lowered, saying nothing.
* * *
—
Edward came secretly to see her, riding downriver in a hired boat and sending word of his coming ahead. She waited for him, shielded by a clump of trees in the park.
He embraced her hurriedly. “I dared not write,” he explained, “but I have wished that you could be at court. The talk there is of nothing but the estrangement between the King and Queen. Many are of the opinion that the Lady is unable to conceive a child, and some even say that the Princess Elizabeth is a changeling, and that the miscarriage the other day was a pretense. I have heard it said that the King would marry you if he could. Messire Chapuys is contriving to befriend those who want the Lady removed. He is hoping that her enemies at court will unite to overthrow her. The King may send for her soon, and I will look to see you at court. Remember the advice I gave you, dear sister. We are all counting on you.”
He left Jane in a turmoil, hurrying away as soon as he could, so that no one should see him. The King would marry you if he could. The words went round and round in her head.
* * *
—
In the third week of February, another royal messenger arrived at Greenwich, asking for Jane. Ignoring Anne’s glowering gaze, she went into the antechamber, the women staring after her, and stood there cringing as he placed in her hands a letter bearing the King’s seal and a heavy velvet purse. When she opened it, she saw it was full of gold sovereigns.
She must not accept either. Edward would be furious, and there was all the more reason now for her to be seen to be virtuous. Anne’s ladies were watching, hostile, and this young man in livery would tell the King how she had received his gift. He would talk to his friends, and gossip would spread, and all would know how the King’s sweetheart conducted herself.
She did not open the letter. She kissed it, as reverently as a subject would kiss the monarch’s hand, and returned it, unopened, with the purse to the messenger. Then she fell to her knees. “I pray you, Sir, entreat the King in my name to consider that I am a well-born gentlewoman, the daughter of good and honorable parents, and without blame or reproach of any kind. Tell him there is no treasure in this world that I value as much as my honor, and on no account would I lose it, even if I were to die a thousand deaths. If the King wishes to make me a present of money, I ask him to reserve it for the time when God will be pleased to send me an honorable marriage.”
The messenger looked at her curiously, but he thanked her and departed. She wondered how Henry would take her message. Would he understand why she had spoken thus? Pray God he would not be offended! She began to worry that she had done the right thing. But what else could she have done?
There was little time to wonder, for soon afterward the Queen was summoned to London and they were all plunged into a flurry of packing and preparing for the journey. A triumphant Anne was proclaiming to everyone that she had known the King would send for her as soon as she was well, and that he wanted her with him so that they could celebrate the feast of St. Matthias together.
“How appropriate,” Margery muttered to Jane, folding towels. “He’s the patron saint of hope!”
Chapter 19
1536
Jane wondered if Henry would seek her out when they arrived at York Place, but he did not. Her spirits, which had risen in anticipation of their reunion, fell. Maybe Anne was right, and his love for her had not survived the test of absence—or he was feeling rebuffed. She attended the Queen to chapel for the Mass in honor of St. Matthias, and Henry walked right past her when he went to make his offering at the altar, but did not acknowledge her. How she stopped herself from weeping she never knew. How would she face her brothers, or Bryan, or Carew, or Chapuys, if he forsook her? She did not think she could bear it. And what if she were with child?
At the feast in the hall that evening, she was seated with the other maids-of-honor at a table at right angles to the one on the dais. She watched Henry chatting with Anne and giving every appearance of being an attentive husband. Not once did he look in Jane’s direction. And when the dancing began, he led Anne out and partnered no one else all evening. Jane went to bed disconsolate and fighting tears.
There was no word from him the following day. Anne was going about with a satisfied smile on her face. She sent for her mercer and her tailor and ordered satin for caps, and other pretty things, for her daughter. She laughed loudly with her brother when he came to visit her, and it was with a sinking heart that Jane heard them exulting that the Boleyns were still supreme at court.
By evening, when the summons came, Jane was ready to climb the walls in desperation. Whatever Edward said—and now that she was back at court, she must take care to be circumspect—all she knew was that she longed to see Henry alone, for one last time. After that, he must keep an honorable distance.
As soon as Anne was safely in bed, Jane sped as if on wings out of the palace and past the guards into the privy garden, where the moonlight cast long, mysterious shadows. Henry was sitting in an arbor, waiting for her. When he saw her, he sprang to his feet, enfolded her in his arms and whirled her around. “Jane!” he whispered. “Jane! How I have missed you!”
“Oh, I have missed you too, Henry!” Her unwonted boldness surprised her, and him too, evidently, for he kissed her more passionately than ever before. How could she have thought he had forsaken her?
“I had wanted to welcome you back long ere this,” he told her.
“I thought you no longer loved me,” she admitted, as he drew her down on the bench beside him.
“I feared that,” he told her, gazing at her as if she were the Blessed Virgin herself. “But I have a duty to the Queen. This affair between us has distressed her, I know, and I promised I would not seek your company on the feast day.”
She felt as if she had been slapped. He had a duty to the Queen? The last he had told Jane was that he was contemplating putting Anne away, and had been going to seek the advice of Archbishop Cranmer about it. Had he spoken to Cranmer at all?
“I was wrong to come here,” she said, drawing away.
“Why?” Henry was astonished.
“I would not distress the Queen further.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears.
“Jane,” he said, “my duty is not only to the Queen, but to this realm. I need an heir, and a woman who is torn by jealousy is not like to conceive.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was telling her. The realization hit her like a blow. He had not only had a stupendous change of heart, but he had returned to Anne. He had slept with her! It explained Anne’s being so pleased with herself. She burst into tears.
“Darling, please!” Henry drew her into his arms. “I need an heir. It does not change how I feel about you. I love you.”
She shuddered and disentangled herself, feeling as if she were dying inside. “I have no right to your love, Sir. It is wrong, what we are doing.”
“Jane!” he protested, a look of anguish on his face. “Do not leave me! I have taken you for my only mistress. I was much moved by the message you sent when you returned my letter. You behaved most virtuously. It is rare to find that in my court. I only loved and desired you the more for it. I beg of you, stay tonight! I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”
“If only you knew how it grieves me too,” she murmured. “And it breaks my heart to know that I must share you with her.”
“It is my duty,” he declared. “Think of it as a matter of state.”
She took his hand, realizing that she loved him, come what may. But if Anne became pregnant again, her own position would become more untenable than it already was. No one must know that she and Henry were lovers.
She stiffened. “I should not have come here. The very walls in this court have ears. There is too much gossip already, and if we were seen together like this, people would suspect the truth, and my reputa
tion would be ruined.”
Henry squeezed her hand. “Darling! I will ensure that never happens. To show the world that I love you honorably, I will not henceforth visit or speak with you except in the presence of one of your relatives. Will that satisfy you?”
“You know it will not. But it is the only way.”
She feared it might lead to her losing him, but his eyes were filled with yearning. “Then it must suffice,” he said. “We must hope that your family are not too vigilant.”
She thought of Edward. He would be vigilant.
“One last kiss, I beg of you, before you go,” Henry murmured, rising to his feet and taking her in his arms. When she broke away and ran along the graveled paths toward the Queen’s lodgings, she wondered in despair where this love of theirs could lead. Nowhere, it seemed.
* * *
—
March came in. The daffodils were dancing in the wind and lifting their yellow heads to the sun as the court prepared to return to Greenwich. Edward found Jane in the Queen’s garden and told her that Master Cromwell had most generously vacated his rooms in the palace so that he and Nan could occupy them.
She stared at him. “I had not realized you were become so important!” she exclaimed.
“If I am, it is because of you,” Edward beamed. “These rooms are connected by a private gallery to the King’s privy lodgings. Nan and I are being installed there as chaperones, so that the King can visit you in secret and preserve the proprieties. The fact that Master Cromwell willingly gave them up to us gives me cause to think that he takes the King’s interest in you seriously.”
“It is the King who has contrived a way for us to be together,” Jane told him, exaltation in her heart.
Edward would not be gainsaid. “But Cromwell’s assistance is significant, don’t you see? He is actively supporting the King’s courtship. And he hates the Boleyns.”
