by David Field
‘As you wish. Wait here a moment, while I bring Grace and Allan to your side.’
‘You will no doubt find them together,’ Richard said.
Five minutes later, Grace was on the point of persuading her father, in the much-practised manner that he could no more resist on this occasion than on the previous ones, when Richard turned to Allan with a hard stare.
‘One would need to be blind not to notice that you have captured Grace’s heart. Once, when a small girl, she innocently announced, to my horror, that if anyone offended her, she would get her husband to “run him through”. Rest assured, Master Bestwick, that should you wrong my daughter in any way — and, I emphasise, in any way — then I shall lose not a moment in running you through. Are we understood?’
‘Perfectly, sir, and my love for Grace is such that your sword arm will never be troubled on my account.’
‘Then I place my dearest daughter in your sole care, Master Bestwick, and ask only that you do not wed her anywhere but in the presence of myself and the woman she has always regarded as her mother.’
‘We have not yet spoken of marriage, Father,’ Grace told him with a slightly red face.
‘Then the sooner you begin that conversation, the better,’ Richard replied, before pulling Grace towards him and wishing her every good fortune with a voice cracking with emotion.
It was obvious at the very first Council meeting following King Edward’s return to Greenwich that matters would be conducted very differently under the Duke of Northumberland. The most immediately obvious change was the fact that King Edward not only attended in person but took an active part in the discussions on every issue, ranging from England’s ongoing relationship with France to the preservation of law and order throughout the nation.
There was an urgent need to reduce military expenditure in all previous arenas and one of Dudley’s more controversial successes was to persuade Council of the need to sign a peace treaty with France that permitted the withdrawal of English forces from Boulogne. At about the same time, Dudley began sending out envoys into mainland Europe to seek a politically appropriate bride for Edward, settling eventually on the six-year-old Elizabeth of Valois, daughter of King Henry II of France, and close friend of Mary of Scotland.
But although the new regime appeared on its surface to be less dictatorial than the old system under Somerset, in reality Dudley had more control over the affairs of the nation than even his predecessor. He made sure that the Council members who were appointed — notionally by the young King — were all sympathetic to him and grateful for their elevation. Men such as Sir John Gates and Lord Thomas Darcy were content to follow Dudley’s lead and he even contrived to place his son-in-law Sir Henry Sidney and his brother Sir Andrew Dudley close to the King in a newly constituted ‘Counsel for the Estate’, which effectively ran the royal household.
But Dudley did not get everything his own way. In a fit of magnanimity that blew up in his face, Dudley persuaded King Edward to release his uncle from the Tower and restore him to the Council. This was a short-lived initiative, since Seymour was discovered to be plotting his old rival’s downfall and was executed.
There was also some nervous murmuring against the extent of the religious reforms that were being pushed through at King Edward’s insistence. He had taken wholeheartedly to the Reformist initiative inside the realm and even Archbishop Cranmer was heard to express his unease at the speed with which reforms such as the rejection of the doctrine of transubstantiation, the proclamation of ‘justification by faith’ and the denial of the existence of Purgatory were pushed through Council at the insistence of the young King.
This did nothing for his relationship with his older sister, Mary, who sullenly refused to acknowledge any of it and had all but converted her country residence at Hunsdon into a Roman Catholic shrine at which all those of what she perceived to be the ‘true faith’ might come and worship. When she was ordered by Edward, through the hand of Dudley, to moderate her stance, she blankly refused and noisily threatened to flee the country for Spain, even instructing the Imperial Ambassador de Scheyfye to declare war on England.
Nothing came of the threat of war, after the Ambassador was bluntly advised by Dudley that the Lady Mary was courting her own doom by issuing such challenges to the realities at Court. In the midst of all this, Elizabeth sat quietly at home in Hatfield, watching the verbal missiles flying over her head but saying nothing.
XXII
The first indication of the forthcoming storm in the Tudor dynastic ocean was the message brought to Dudley, ahead of the scheduled weekly meeting of Council, that King Edward would not be in attendance because he had a heavy cold. Since it was mid-January there was felt to be no cause for concern and given that there was nothing particularly contentious on the Council agenda for that day, Dudley was able to steer the Council into decisions that he and Edward had already discussed in advance.
Two weeks — and two more missed Council meetings later — the heavy cold had become a fever and a persistent cough, and Dudley sought more detailed advice from one of the royal physicians, who shook his head in a gesture of uncertainty and did his best to explain in terms that an ordinary listener would understand.
‘In truth, his constitution has been weak these two years past, following those recurrent bouts of sweating sickness that assailed him as a mere child. He has a weakness of the chest that is provoked whenever he catches even a common cold, and in previous days he has complained of a difficulty in drawing breath, due, so far as can be divined, from a constriction of the internal organs on his right side.’
‘And your prognosis?’
‘I am a physician, my Lord, not a soothsayer. His constitution is weak, as I already said and even if he survives this latest challenge to his health, there will be others. It is as well that the nation is so well governed by Council when the King is thus indisposed.’
Edward’s condition seemed to improve with the advent of spring, and in early April he made a point of walking through the royal gardens at Westminster Palace arm in arm with Jane, with various members of his household in attendance, in order to dispel rumours that were circulating through the city that his days were numbered and that the Lady Mary was busy organising a move south from her country hermitage in Hertfordshire to impose ‘the old ways’ back upon the Church.
Dudley had read the warning signs, however, and lost no time on calling in at Lambeth Palace, the official residence of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer when in London, and only a short wherry trip across the river from the Palace of Westminster.
‘Forgive my intrusion into your personal life, Thomas,’ Dudley began, by way of a veiled reference to Cranmer’s wife, the German-born Margarete and their two children, all hidden away in Kent, but silently tolerated for as long as Cranmer was of use to the Reform movement. ‘I wish you to advise me further on a matter to which you made reference when King Edward lay on what he believed to be his deathbed some time ago now.’
‘The matter of the succession?’ Cranmer asked with a nod. ‘I have been giving great thought to it myself in recent weeks, but, God be praised, it seems that the King is back to his own again.’
‘Has he changed his will since that time?’ Dudley asked eagerly.
Cranmer shook his head. ‘Not in my presence, anyway.’
‘And he still confides in you?’
‘Indeed.’
‘So if Edward were to die, the direct succession would go to Jane Grey?’
‘As I understand it. The document still lies in Chancery, should you wish to read it for yourself.’
‘No, your word is sufficient, as indeed is your memory. It was once our belief — well, mine anyway — that Edward would make Jane his bride, but it would seem that now he is to be betrothed to Valois, his only remaining way of declaiming to the world the affection he bears toward Jane is to leave her England.’
‘You forget his piety and good grace,’ Cranmer reminded him. ‘He is tortured by the thoug
ht that all that he has striven for in the retreat from Rome will be lost should the crown go to Mary.’
‘I suspect that we shall all be lost should Mary become Queen, Thomas. And so I bid you good day.’
Back home, Dudley called for Guildford to attend upon him, poured them both two generous mugs of wine and wasted no further time in idle chit-chat.
‘Dudley, what think you of the Lady Jane?’
There was an embarrassed silence, broken eventually by a red-faced Guildford. ‘Has Mistress Calthorpe been telling tales?’
‘What tales would they be?’ Dudley asked.
‘That Mistress Jane and I walk in the garden most days, as companions to Mistress Grace and Allan, mainly to ensure that they don’t go to it under the cherry blossom when Mistress Calthorpe falls asleep.’
‘And yourself and Jane? You are not minded to go to it?’
‘Father!’ Guildford protested, red-faced, but Dudley merely tutted.
‘I shall clearly have to speak more directly. Were I to order you to wed the Lady Jane, you would have no objection?’
Guildford’s eyes widened and his mouth broke into a joyful smile. ‘I would regard it as a happy privilege. But I do not know if she would have me, were I to put the question to her.’
‘You will not be doing that — I will, once I have persuaded her father,’ Dudley told him.
‘Is that not my part?’ Guildford asked.
Dudley shook his head. ‘Not on this occasion. Do you simply prepare yourself to go along with what your loving and supportive father has in mind.’
Two evenings later, the Greys were invited to supper with the Dudleys, on the pretext of discussing some matters of State that were due for debate in Council that week. Because of their confidential nature the young people of the household had taken supper earlier and were now to be heard in an upper chamber, laughing and affectionately disputing over a game of shuffleboard.
Dudley sat back in his chair, wine goblet in hand, with his wife Jane by his side and smiled at Henry and Frances Grey. ‘Our son and your daughter seem to be well matched, do they not?’
‘Indeed,’ Henry Grey confirmed with a smile of his own, ‘we are gratified that she has such fitting companions here in London, which we know from our own experience can be a lonely and hazardous place. Thank you also for accommodating her lifelong friend Grace Ashton, without whom she would perhaps feel a little lost.’
Dudley smiled even more widely. ‘Mistress Grace needs little encouragement to remain here on her own account, since she is greatly enamoured of my own squire, Allan Bestwick. The four of them make a happy sight here at Durham House, forever in each other’s company. For an old man like me, it is a reminder of my more romantic days.’
‘Are you saying that our daughter Jane and your son Guildford may be becoming romantically inclined towards each other?’ Frances Grey asked.
Dudley nodded. ‘Indeed they are, which is one of the matters I wished to discuss with you this evening. Guildford has confessed to me his growing affection for your daughter and I thought it only appropriate to advise you of this, since should it not meet with your approval I could arrange to nip it in the bud — perhaps by sending Guildford abroad to fight in our next war across the Channel.’
‘You would expose your son to the prospect of death in order to protect our daughter from unwanted advances?’ Henry Grey asked admiringly.
His wife was more guarded. ‘His Lordship did not say that such advances were unwanted, Henry.’ She smiled at Dudley before continuing. ‘Have you by any chance enquired of Jane whether or not she would accept Guildford’s suit?’
‘Not as yet, no,’ Dudley conceded. ‘But I watch them when they are together and it seems to me that there is much more affection between them than can be observed in many arranged marriages these days.’
‘You are proposing such a match between our offspring?’ Henry Grey asked.
‘Assuming that there is love between them, would you object to such? I am well aware that Jane is barely fifteen years old, but she presents, in both mind and body, as much older than that.’
Henry and Frances Grey exchanged excited looks and nodded to each other. It was left to Henry to express their consent.
‘You would be correct to believe that Jane is very special to us, as our first-born, and she promises much more than our second daughter, Catherine, and our youngest, Mary, who to some tastes would even be regarded as plain. But Jane has proved to be engaging enough even for the young man who is now King; indeed there was a time when we were led to believe that he might think of her as a bride for himself. But now that he is spoken for to a princess of France, what could be more fitting that Jane should marry into the highest ennobled family in the land, short of the Tudor household itself? So yes, you honour us with the suggestion that our families should be joined in this way.’
Dudley raised his wine goblet in the air, in the gesture of a toast. ‘And we would of course rejoice to see our son happily joined in matrimony with so gracious a young lady. With your agreement, we would wish the happy event to be organised with little delay. And perhaps we could make it a joint occasion.’
‘In what way?’ Frances asked.
‘You mentioned a second daughter — “Catherine”, I believe you said her name was. A girl of twelve, according to what Jane tells us?’
‘That’s correct,’ Henry Grey confirmed, ‘but what of her?’
‘Forgive my presumption,’ Dudley oozed, ‘but only some days ago I was speaking with my fellow Councillor, the Earl of Pembroke, brother-in-law of the late Queen Catherine, through his marriage to her sister Anne. He is seeking a bride for his heir, Henry, who will in due course inherit the Pembroke title and I undertook to enquire as to suitable young ladies of appropriate lineage to grace such a title, one of the most respected in the realm.’
‘Twelve is a little young,’ Frances observed reluctantly, until her husband reached for her hand and kissed it.
‘So is fifteen and yet we have just consented to Jane’s betrothal and early marriage. And I remember a shy sixteen-year-old who once stood by my side at your father’s house at Suffolk Place and pledged her life to me in a gesture I have always regarded as the greatest gift that God ever bestowed on me.’
Frances blushed and looked back at Dudley. ‘So, a double wedding, perhaps?’
‘Make that triple,’ Dudley replied. ‘We have a daughter, Katherine, who is the same age as your Jane and she has been asked for in marriage to Henry Hastings, the heir to the Earldom of Huntingdon. We have yet to give consent, but given the happy miasma of young love that has wreathed itself around us this evening, I speak also for my wife when I say that we would be overjoyed for this house to be the scene of six young people entering into a lifelong adventure which for Jane and I has been a voyage of joy. Let us raise our hands in a toast ahead of advising the happy couples.’
XXIII
‘You’d have expected Allan to propose to me, in the spirit of all the other weddings that are being planned,’ Grace complained as she dressed Jane’s hair for the final time, an hour before the ceremony.
Although it was a happy day for Jane, she felt deep sympathy for her lifelong friend. ‘Has he said nothing?’ she asked.
Grace shook her head. ‘Only the usual nonsense about waiting until he has his knighthood and his estate, neither of which is likely to be happening soon, I suspect. Will your new father-in-law be granting you an estate?’
‘Perhaps,’ Jane replied absent-mindedly as she gazed carefully into the hand mirror held up for her by Grace, scrutinising both her face and the red hair peeking out from under the French hood. ‘Should I be showing that much hair?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Grace replied sourly, ‘since I have no experience of Courtly fashion — unlike some girls who once rolled in the Leicestershire mud.’
Jane was able to put Grace’s surly discontent out of her mind during the splendid triple wedding ceremony in the Great Ha
ll of Durham House, conducted by Archbishop Cranmer as a special favour to the President of Council John Dudley, who had always acted in his best interests and therefore the best interests of the Protestant faith in England.
Once all the couples had been put to bed in the Tudor style in the specially provisioned bedchambers on the upper floors, John Dudley wandered out into the balmy air of the late spring night. He spotted movement further down the lawn and strolled down to join the Archbishop.
‘My grateful thanks once again, Thomas, for your service today.’
‘As a personal thanks to you, it was the least I could offer,’ Cranmer replied. ‘I just hope that Guildford and Jane enjoy a long and happy life together.’
‘Why might they not?’ Dudley asked.
Cranmer looked sideways at him with a cynical smile. ‘Your son did not marry simply a daughter of the Greys, or even a daughter of Suffolk, as of course you were aware, thanks to me. If Edward dies without revoking his will, Jane will be Queen of England. No doubt this match was of your making in that knowledge. I’m not sure of the protocols, but do you see Guildford as King?’
‘That will clearly be a matter for Council,’ Dudley replied. ‘But what ground have you for believing that King Edward will soon be a memory?’
‘From what his physicians advise me daily,’ Cranmer replied, ‘His Majesty staggers from one ailment to another. He was well enough to display himself to the people a few weeks since and has since made great show of appearing on occasions at his chamber window to watch the ships on the river. But then he fell back into a lengthy coughing fit in which he is said to have spewed up blood. And when was he last present at Council?’
‘He trusts me to make known his wishes when we meet,’ Dudley replied evasively.
Cranmer shook his head sadly. ‘Which makes you no better than Somerset was, at the height of his power. Take care that you do not over-reach yourself, my Lord, because those of us who are bringing the true faith back to the people rely upon you for our protection. Should Edward die and should we proclaim Jane as Queen in order to preserve that true faith, what would be the likely response of the Lady Mary?’
