Tudor Women Queens & Commoners

by Alison Plowden

  Convinced that Anne could have given them a long list of highly-placed secret sympathizers, and infuriated perhaps by her air of stubborn righteousness, Wriothesley ordered her to be stretched on the rack. This was not only illegal without a proper authorization from the Privy Council, it was unheard of to apply torture to a woman, let alone a gentlewoman like Anne Askew with friends in the outside world, and the Lieutenant of the Tower hastily dissociated himself from the whole proceeding. As a result, there followed a quite unprecedented scene, with the Lord Chancellor of England stripping off his gown and personally turning the handle of the rack. It was a foolish thing to do. Anne told him nothing more, if indeed there was anything to tell, and, since the story of her constancy soon got about, he'd only succeeded in turning her into a popular heroine.

  The plot against the Queen fizzled out, largely due to the King's intervention.. He took care that Katherine should receive advance warning of what was being planned for her and gave her the opportunity to explain that of course she had never for one moment intended to lay down the law to him, her lord and master, her only anchor, supreme head and governor here on earth. It was preposterous - against the ordinance of nature - for any woman to presume to teach her husband; it was she who must be taught by him. As for herself, if she had ever seemed bold enough to argue, it had not been to maintain her own opinions but to encourage discussion so that he might 'pass away the weariness of his present infirmity' and she might profit by hearing his learned discourse! Satisfied, the King embraced his wife, and an affecting reconciliation took place.

  If any real evidence of treasonable heresy had been uncovered in the Queen's household - if Henry had seriously suspected that Katherine was connected with any group which planned to challenge his own mandate from Heaven - then this story might have ended differently. As it was, he'd apparently been sufficiently irritated to feel that it would do her no harm to be taught a lesson, to be given a fright and a sharp warning not to meddle in matters which were no concern of outsiders, however privileged. Katherine, with her usual good sense, took the warning to heart, and there's no mention of any further theological disputations, even amicable ones, between husband and wife.

  The Queen was unable to save Anne Askew, but her martyrdom on 16 July 1546 marked the end of the conservative resurgence, and by the time of the old King's death in the following January the progressive party was once more taking the lead.

  The Court of a motherless child-King - Edward was nine years old when he succeeded - offered little scope for feminine influence, but the feminine element could not be disregarded since there were now no fewer than ten Tudor women standing in direct line of succession. Apart from Henry's two daughters, three nieces had survived him - Margaret Douglas, daughter of his elder sister's second marriage, and Frances and Eleanor Brandon, children of his younger sister and her second husband, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Frances had married Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, and produced three daughters, Jane, Katherine and Mary, now aged respectively nine, seven and two; while Eleanor had been matched with Henry Clifford, heir to the Earl of Cumberland. Eleanor had lost two sons in infancy, but a daughter, Margaret, survived.

  There was one other great-niece, born in 1542, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, grand-daughter of Margaret Tudor and only living descendant of the Tudor-Stuart alliance forged by Henry VII nearly half a century before. That alliance had since been through numerous vicissitudes, but in the 1540s Anglo-Scottish relations were at an especially low ebb. After his overwhelming victory over his neighbours at the battle of Solway Moss, Henry VIII had attempted to repeat his father's diplomacy by arranging a marriage between the infant Queen of Scots and his own son, but negotiations had foundered on the rocks of English insensitivity and Scottish suspicion, and now Scotland had once again turned back to her ancient ally across the Channel. In the spring of 1548, the five-year-old Queen was spirited away to France to be betrothed to the Dauphin, while Scotland was ruled in her name by her mother, that tough, capable Frenchwoman Mary of Guise. Mary Stuart was destined to cast a long shadow over the English political scene, but in 1548 her defection represented no more than a tiresome setback for the new government's plans for solving the Scottish problem - Fotheringay, after all, was still nearly forty years away.

  The fact that the English royal House now consisted almost exclusively of a gaggle of women and little girls, was politically and dynastically unfortunate, but everyone naturally hoped that the new King would be luckier than his father when it came to getting sons. Everyone hoped that young Edward would grow uneventfully to manhood and quickly replenish the stock of Tudor boys; but equally no one could deny that so far Tudor boys had shown a very poor survival record and that England's chances of having a woman ruler before the end of the century must be reckoned high.

  By an Act of Parliament passed in 1544, Henry VIII had reinstated both his daughters to their places in the succession. In the event of his son dying without heirs, and failing any children by his own sixth marriage, the crown would pass first to Mary and then to Elizabeth. Neither of the princesses had been re-legitimized by the 1544 Act - the awkward question of their legitimacy had simply been ignored. After his own children, the King, using the powers granted him by Parliament in 1536 to dispose of the Crown by Will, had arbitrarily passed over the senior, Scottish branch of the family represented by Mary Stuart and Margaret Douglas, in favour of the so-called Suffolk line - that is to the descendants of his sister Mary Brandon. This was to prove a deadly legacy for the Suffolk girls and confused the whole vital issue of the succession for a generation.

  Katherine Parr had been left no say in the regency and no further share in the upbringing of her stepson. Until Edward married, however, she remained the first lady in the land (much to the annoyance of the new Lord Protector's wife) and was generously provided for financially. In his Will Henry had paid tribute to her great love, obedience, chastity of life and wisdom and had bequeathed her three thousand pounds in plate, jewels, household goods and apparel, and a thousand pounds in money, in addition to the jointure already granted by Parliament. Katherine was now in the happy position of being free to arrange her life as she chose, and shortly after Henry's death she moved to her dower manor at Chelsea, taking with her the thirteen-year-old Elizabeth who, it had been agreed, should remain with the Queen until she had completed her education. The establishment at Chelsea was presently joined by young Jane Grey, eldest of King Henry's English great-nieces, thus maintaining the time-honoured custom of using a great lady's household as a finishing-school for girls.

  If the Queen was disappointed at being excluded from the councils of state, she at least had the satisfaction of knowing that power had passed into the hands of those who thought as she did on matters of religion. The King's uncle, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, now raised to the dignity of Duke of Somerset and officially styled Lord Protector, could be relied upon to push through the programme of reform long desired by Katherine and her friends. She might no longer be at the centre of affairs, but the King was known to be very fond of his stepmother, and she still exerted a good deal of influence. In any case, she scarcely had time to feel dull and out of things, for an exciting development in her private life soon began to occupy most of her attention.

  Bereavement being a commonplace affliction for both sexes, the writers of conduct-books devoted a lot of space to the subject. All were agreed that a widow, and especially a young widow, could not be too careful. She was bound to become a target for gossip, since the unchastity of widows was proverbial, and would be considered fair game by a certain type of man. A wealthy widow must also bear in mind the danger of falling a prey to fortune-hunters. She should therefore live as quietly as possible, scrupulously avoiding all mixed gatherings, and take some older woman of unassailable virtue to be her constant companion; better still, she should return to her parents or make a home with her husband's kin.

  On the desirability of re-marriage, opinion was divided, some st
ricter moralists holding that the widow should devote the rest of her life to bringing up her children, to good works and piously revering her late husband's memory. Others, following the teachings of St. Paul, believed that, after a decent interval of mourning, a nubile widow should re-marry, as this would be her best protection against temptation to a life of sin and consequent damnation, and urged her to place herself in her family's hands regarding the choice of a second husband. In spite of the fact that most pundits advised their readers against marrying a widow, for 'she will always be either praising or praying for her first husband', the vast majority did re-marry, often within months of the funeral. Whatever her private inclinations, it took an exceedingly strong-minded lady to face the difficulties of life on her own, especially if she had young children to think of, or to withstand family pressures and the deeply-ingrained prejudices of society against the independent single woman.

  A rich widow, of course, never lacked for suitors, and the richest, most desirable widow in the realm was no exception to this rule. Within a very few weeks of King Henry's death, the Queen Dowager was being courted by Thomas Seymour, younger brother of the Lord Protector, and three months later they were married. This was not quite so precipitate as it looked, for the couple were old acquaintances and had, in fact, been planning to marry at the time of Katherine's second widowhood, in the brief period before Henry declared his interest. As the Queen wrote to her fiancé:

  I would not have you think that this mine honest good will toward you to proceed from any sudden motion of passion; for, as truly as God is God, my mind was fully bent, the other time I was at liberty, to marry you before any man I know. Howbeit, God withstood my will therein most vehemently for a time, and ... made that possible which seemed to me most impossible; that was, made me renounce utterly mine own will and to follow His will most willingly.... I can say nothing but as my lady of Suffolk saith, 'God is a marvellous man.'

  Now that she was at last free to please herself, it was natural enough that Katherine should have been impatient to snatch a chance of personal happiness. Unlike so many of her contemporaries she had not been prematurely aged by constant child-bearing, but at thirty-four there was no time to lose and, unwisely as it turned out, the pious, high-minded Queen allowed herself to be swept off her feet.

  Thomas Seymour, now created Baron Seymour of Sudeley and given the office of Lord Admiral, was a fine figure of a man, with plenty of breezy surface charm - 'fierce in courage, courtly in fashion; in personage stately, in voice magnificent, but somewhat empty of matter'. He was also a vain, greedy, selfish man, consumed with ambition but lacking any political judgement and obsessively jealous of his elder brother. Unknown to Katherine, his whirlwind courtship of the Queen Dowager had been the first step in a calculated campaign of self-advancement, and their marriage, which took place secretly, was not popular in certain quarters. However, the little King was graciously pleased to give it his blessing, and by midsummer the Admiral had moved in with his wife at Chelsea, where his boisterous, loud-voiced presence rapidly dispelled any resemblance to a girls' boarding-school. His habit of bursting in on the Princess Elizabeth and her maids in the early morning, still in his nightshirt and slippers, to tickle her and smack her familiarly on the behind, would certainly not have been tolerated in such an establishment and was regarded with strong disapproval by the Princess's governess. Katherine, who sometimes joined in these merry romps herself, made light of Mrs. Ashley's complaints; but Mrs. Ashley, whose sharp ears had already picked up the whispers that if my lord 'might have had his own will' he would have married the Lady Elizabeth before he married the Queen, continued to worry rather ineffectually about the situation and to dread that her princess would be 'evilly spoken of.'

  Thomas Seymour never indulged his taste for horse-play with the other young girl living under his wife's roof, but he was taking a close interest in her future. The provisions of her great-uncle's Will had dramatically increased the political importance of Lady Jane Grey, and the Admiral, with his usual optimism, saw no reason why this should not be turned to his own advantage. He therefore opened negotiations with the Marquess of Dorset, and, as that gentleman later admitted, 'certain covenants' were entered into. Put rather more bluntly, Dorset agreed to sell his daughter's wardship and marriage for the sum of two thousand pounds. The Admiral, he was told, would arrange to marry the Lady Jane to the King, and on this understanding the bargain was struck and several hundred pounds handed over on account.

  No one, naturally, thought it necessary to consult the Lady Jane about these interesting plans, nor would she have expected it. At nine years old, Jane Grey was absorbed in her lessons and, encouraged by the Queen, who had become very fond of her, was already beginning to develop into a notable scholar and paragon of Protestant piety. Had her opinion been asked, Jane would undoubtedly have chosen to remain with the Queen and the Lord Admiral. She didn't get on with her parents and was bullied at home, but.at Chelsea she was petted and praised, her diligence and 'towardness' were openly discussed and admired and her brilliant prospects whispered over by the ladies of the household. But for Jane, as for Katherine Parr, this happy time was destined to be tragically brief.

  In the early spring of 1548, after three barren marriages, Katherine knew herself to be pregnant, and perhaps for that reason she was no longer quite so complaisant about her husband's playful attentions to her stepdaughter. Matters came to a head one day when she came upon the two of them locked in an embrace which was not in the least playful, and as a result Elizabeth was sent with her servants to pay a protracted visit to Sir Anthony and Lady Denny at their house at Cheshunt. Whatever her private feelings of hurt and betrayal, Katherine was very careful to avoid any appearance of an open breach. She knew that gossip, once started, would be unstoppable and would cause irreparable damage to them all, but especially to Elizabeth. So the Queen and the Princess parted affectionately, and a penitent Elizabeth showed that she appreciated the tact and generosity of the woman to whom she already owed so much. 'Although I could not be plentiful in giving thanks for the manifold kindness received at your Highness' hands,' she wrote from Cheshunt, 'yet I am something to be borne withal, for truly I was replete with sorrow to depart from your Highness, especially leaving you undoubtful of health.' Luckily everyone knew that the Queen, now in the sixth month of an uncomfortable pregnancy, and the Admiral were planning to spend the summer on their Gloucestershire estates, and in the general business of packing up it had been possible to contrive Elizabeth's move without arousing curiosity.

  Any unpleasantness between husband and wife was quickly smoothed over. Katherine knew that, like any other wife, she must expect a man's fancy to stray from time to time, and probably she was a good deal more worried by her husband's ill-advised political activities. She supported him loyally in his personal quarrels with the Protector, but she was far too intelligent and politically experienced herself not to see the danger of his wild, whirling schemes for bringing down his brother's government and seizing control of the King. Very likely she was pinning her hopes on the coming child. If Thomas Seymour had a son to consider, it might steady him and help him to settle down and forget his various grievances. The baby had quickened now, and Katherine wrote from Hanworth in Middlesex, another of her dower houses, to her 'sweetheart and loving husband' who had been delayed in London on business: T have given your little knave your blessing, who like an honest man stirred apace after and before; for Mary Odell being abed with me had laid her hand upon my belly to feel it stir. It hath stirred these three days every morning and evening, so that I trust when you come, it will make you some pastime.'

  Katherine's baby, a girl christened Mary, was born at Sudeley Castle on 30 August, and the long-suffering Lord Protector sent his brother a kind note of congratulation. 'We are right glad to understand by your letters', he wrote, 'that the Queen, your bedfellow, hath had a happy hour; and, escaping all danger, hath made you the father of so pretty a daughter.' But even as this le
tter was being written, Katherine had developed the dreaded symptoms of childbed fever, and within a week she was dead. She was buried in the chapel at Sudeley with all the pomp due to a Queen Dowager of England, with Jane Grey, a diminutive, lonely figure clad in deepest black, acting as chief mourner for the only person ever to show her disinterested kindness.

  In the domestic confusion which followed Katherine's death, Jane was summoned home by her parents. She could scarcely remain in a bachelor household with no lady of rank to chaperone her, and the Dorsets were, in any case, growing restive. More than a year had gone by with no sign of any of Thomas Seymour's 'fair promises' being fulfilled, and the Marquess now showed every indication of trying to wriggle out of his undertaking. Jane, he wrote, was too young to rule herself without a guide and, for want of a bridle, might take too much head and forget all the good behaviour she had learned from the late Queen. He and his wife both felt strongly that she should remain under her mother's eye to be 'framed and ruled towards virtue' and her mind addressed to humility, soberness and obedience.

  This sudden access of concern for their daughter's welfare imperfectly concealed a ruthless determination to sell her to the highest bidder, and the Dorsets were beginning to wonder if, after all, it might not be wiser to settle for a match with the Lord Protector's son which had already been tentatively discussed. But Thomas Seymour had no intention of giving up his claim to the Lady Jane. He told Dorset that he intended to retain the services of all the late Queen's ladies, 'the maids that waited at large and other women being about her Grace in her lifetime'. As well as this, his own mother was coming to take charge of the household and would be 'as dear unto her [Jane] as though she were her own daughter'. He repeated his promises that if he could once get the King at liberty, he would ensure that his Majesty married no other than Jane, and he agreed to pay over another five hundred of the agreed two thousand pounds purchase money. Lord Dorset was not proof against this form of persuasion, and sometime in October, round about her eleventh birthday, Jane was returned to the custody of the Lord Admiral.