by Jean Plaidy
I said, “You will go to the churchyard and tell Dubois.”
“I must break it gently,” he replied. “If I say bluntly that you are not going after all this preparation, I cannot answer for his reaction. I think it better to hint at a postponement.”
“But he says it is tonight or never.”
“Well, my lady, it is not going to be tonight.”
He went to his tryst with Dubois, and when he returned he came straight to me and said that he had told Dubois that there was no chance of my going this night. The watch on the roads had been doubled and I should certainly be stopped. “The Emperor must understand how dangerous it is,” he had said, “and when he does he will realize the necessity for postponement. The escape could have a better chance of success in the winter.”
Dubois had been deflated. He had said brusquely that he was only acting on orders and it was not for him to make decisions. He could not believe that the Princess, after all her entreaties for help, had, now the moment had come to put the plan into action, decided not to carry it out.
“He is very disappointed in us,” I said.
“He said he had had his instructions from the Emperor, my lady, and he would need letters from you discharging him from his duties.”
“He shall have them,” I promised. “It shall be known that no blame is attached to him.”
“I told him,” said Rochester, “that I would give a great deal to see you safely out of the country, and indeed I had been the first to suggest it. I impressed on him that it was not that you did not wish to go but that you felt this was not the moment, for it is very unsafe to do so and the chances of being caught, due to this watch on the roads, have been multiplied. In the winter it could be considered again. He said that to him it was just a question of to go or to stay. He merely wanted a Yes or No.”
Later Dubois came to see me. By this time I was completely convinced that I must not go.
The man was irritated. He had been sent out to perform a mission, and he would return with it unfulfillled. He needed my written word that it had failed through no fault of his and that it was entirely my decision that at the last moment I would stay.
He left us and was soon on his way to Flanders.
I do not know how the rumors got about. It is always difficult to say. A careless word here and there is taken up and exaggerated. However, rumors were circulating that I had escaped. There was talk of visits to the house at Woodham Water and of grain ships sent by the Emperor to convey me out of the country. People were intrigued by the thought of men disguising themselves as grain merchants and coming to the aid of a princess.
The Council was aware of what had happened and had all ports manned with soldiers; all ships coming in were subjected to special examination.
I was not surprised when messengers came from Court. I was asked in such a way which made it a command either to move inland or to go to Court.
My reply was my usual one. My health was not good enough to allow me to move.
I knew that I was in more acute danger than ever.
SOMERSET HAD FALLEN INTO TROUBLE AGAIN. I WAS SORRY to hear this, for he had, in his way, been good to me. I think it was due to him that I had been allowed to hear Mass unmolested all this time.
He seemed to be gaining support in the country, and Warwick losing popularity. Somerset planned to replace him but Warwick was a wily man, and he wanted more and more power. He had ennobled himself and was now the Duke of Northumberland.
Before long he declared he had uncovered a plot hatched by Somerset to murder him, Northumberland, and seize power. Somerset was commanded to come to the Council and was arrested and put into the Tower, accused of plotting to secure the crown for his heirs.
There was proof that he had planned to replace Northumberland, but that in itself was no crime. However, Northumberland was determined on his destruction and, as he was the most powerful man in the country, Somerset was found guilty and condemned to lose his head.
He met his death with dignity and was buried in St. Peter's Chapel, between Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard.
With unscrupulous Northumberland in command and my brother turning more and more to the Reformed Religion, I was becoming very uneasy indeed.
To my dismay, a letter arrived from the Council and another from the King. I was very distressed when I read them, although I was prepared for some drastic action after it became known that I had contemplated escape.
So far, I had been allowed to worship as I pleased, but that was to be so no longer, it seemed.
My brother demanded that I conform to the new religion, which was that of the country. I had misunderstood if I thought I might do that which was forbidden to others. Was it not scandalous, he wrote, that so high a personage as myself should deny his sovereignty? I saw what he meant. In disobeying the laws laid down by the present regime, I was disobeying him. It was unnatural, he went on, that his own sister should behave so. I must be reminded that further disobedience was unacceptable to him and could incur penalties which were applied to heretics.
What did he mean? Burned at the stake? Hanged, drawn and quartered? Perhaps as I was royal he would be satisfied with my head.
He finished by adding that he would say no more, for if he did, he might be even harsher. But he would tell me this: He would not see his laws disobeyed, and those who broke them must beware.
If ever I heard a threat, I did then, and I was saddened to realize that my once gentle brother was the tool of those men who ruled us, for Northumberland was to all intents King of this realm, and Edward was just a figurehead.
I could not believe that, if I were face to face with my brother, he would speak to me as he had written, for I had no doubt that that letter had been dictated by Northumberland.
Of one thing I was certain: I would not deny the Mass. I was not like my sister Elizabeth, adopting whatever guise she thought would be to her advantage. I must stand firm now. It could be that at any moment the day would come when my mission would be clear before me. I believed that all over the country people were waiting for me… looking to me…I must not betray them.
I decided I would visit my brother and see for myself whether he would be so harsh to my face.
On a cool March day I rode into London. It was a bold thing to do but I thought the occasion warranted it. I took with me a certain number of my household so that I could come in style. My reception along the road amazed me. It was wonderful to see the people coming out of their homes to cry: “Long live the Princess Mary.”
Many of them joined my party, and to my intense joy I saw that a number of them were wearing rosaries. This proclaimed them true Catholics. Clearly they wished me to know that their beliefs were the same as mine.
It was heartwarming. I had been dreading the meeting with my brother but those good people gave me courage. That journey taught me that there were more with me than I had dared hope. I believed then that in truth a large number of people all over the country were waiting for me, praying for the time when I should come and wipe out heresy. I had been right not to escape. My place was here among the people who relied on me.
When I arrived at the gates of the city, though I had set out with a company of fifty, my ranks were swollen to 400, and it was difficult to make our way through the streets, so crowded were they. I wondered what my brother would think of my reception by the people; but he would think what Northumberland told him to.
I felt bold by this time. I had to face the Council but I was deeply shocked by the sight of my brother. He was much more feeble than when I had last seen him, and he was plagued by an irritating cough. I felt great pity for him and with it a return of the love I had felt for him when he was a little boy. He looked so frail—fragile almost—too young to have such a burden thrust upon him. It was pathetic the way he tried to take a kingly stance and cast stern looks in my direction.
He told me that in defying the Council I was disobeying the will of our father.
“Your Majesty,” I said, “a promise was given to the Emperor's ambassador, François van der Delft, that I should not be forced to deny the Mass.”
My brother replied that he had made no promise to van der Delft and added rather naàvely that he had been sharing in affairs for only a year.
I said quickly that he had not then drawn up the ordinances for the new religion and therefore, in not obeying them, I was not disobeying him.
He looked bewildered, and I went on to ask him how he could expect me to forsake what I had been taught from my earliest days?
“Your father's will stated that you must obey the Council. Northumberland told me.”
“Only where my possible marriage was concerned,” I retorted. “I believe the King, our father, ordered Masses for his soul each day, and this has not been done, so it would appear that it is Your Majesty and others who are not obeying the King's wishes.”
So the talk went back and forth for two hours, and we arrived nowhere, for I was determined not to give way; and my reception as I had ridden to London and that of the citizens of the capital had shown these men quite clearly that if they harmed me there would be an outcry from the people.
I turned to my brother and said that all that mattered to me was that my soul was God's. As to my body, they might use it as they pleased. They could take my life if they must… but my soul was God's, and it should remain so.
I could see the exasperation in the men who had hoped to break my spirit. But in truth I seemed now not afraid of death. Others had died for their faith. I thought of brave Anne Askew who had been tortured and burned at the stake. I thought of those noble monks who had suffered the most barbarous and humiliating of all deaths. They had undergone that dire penalty but they would be in Heaven now … glorified… saints who had died for their religion.
No, I can say that I was not afraid any more, and a lack of fear frustrates an enemy who are at heart cowards.
I went on, looking at Edward, “Do not believe those who speak evil of me. I always have been and always will be Your Majesty's obedient and loving sister.”
I remained at Court, wondering what effect this meeting would have. I believed that it had disconcerted Northumberland and bothered my brother.
Scheyfve came to see me a few days later. He told me he had sent a report of the meeting to his master and was waiting to hear the result. He had told the Emperor of my reception by the people and the manner in which I had stood for my religion.
“They must have come to the conclusion that I will not be moved,” I said. “I will remain true to my faith no matter what the consequences.”
Scheyfve nodded approvingly.
“I believe that it would be disastrous for you to change now,” he said.
“The effect on the people would be great. There were so many wearing rosaries, and it is my belief that they are waiting … waiting for the day. They are all true Catholics at heart, and they want to be led back to the true faith. It would not do for the one they look to as leader to show weakness now.”
“I will show no weakness,” I said.
“I know what I have to do.”
It was as when I was on the verge of the flight that I suddenly knew that I must stay. And now I knew what I had to do.
It was a week or so later when Scheyfve called again. He had heard from the Emperor, who had sent a letter to the Council. In it he had threatened war with England if the right to worship as I pleased was denied to me.
I was exultant. I was sure that I was going in the right direction.
IT WAS CHRISTMAS of that year 1552. I was not at Court but a few days after the festival I decided to call on my brother to wish him well. I had felt sorry for him when we had met in the Council for I knew that he was acting as Northumberland bade him and that his harsh words had given him as much pain as they had me.
In any case, the object of the meeting had been to stop my worshipping in the way I always had; and that had failed. Scheyfve said it was due to the Emperor's threat, and this was in some measure true; but I did believe that my reception by the people had some part in it; Northumberland must remember that, in accordance with my father's will, I was next in the line of succession.
I felt sure he would do all in his power to prevent my coming to the throne. I could see nothing short of death, for he knew that as soon as I had the power my first act would be to bring the country back to Rome.
I prayed for guidance. I must be careful now. Northumberland, the most powerful man in the country, dared not let me come to the throne.
When I arrived at Court, it was to learn that my brother was too ill to see anyone. This was not an excuse to avoid me. He had caught a chill and, in addition to his other ailments, this could be dangerous.
I was greeted with some respect by the Court. I saw speculation in the eyes of many. The King was ill. Moreover, he was suffering from several diseases. How could he possibly recover, and then…?
My sister Elizabeth was being very subdued. I guessed she was thinking that certain powerful men would never accept me as Queen. How could they were, all those men who had done everything they could to turn me from my religion, to browbeat me, to force me to deny the Mass. They would take her, she was thinking. They must take her. She was wily; she was clever; but she could not hide the ambition in her eyes.
The King's health did not improve. All through that winter he was hardly ever out of his bed. I heard horrifying reports of his illnesses, and I feared some of them were true. He coughed blood; his body was a mass of ulcers similar to those which had plagued the late King. He was on the point of death. No one was able to see him except his ministers. Parliament came to Whitehall because the King could not go to Westminster. It cannot be long, was being said all over the country, and then… what?
Lady Jane Grey came to see me at Newhall. She must have been about fifteen or sixteen years old at that time. She had a certain quiet charm but she was a clever girl of firm opinions. She was very sad at this time because of Edward's illness.
She talked about him a great deal. They had always been such good friends, and the happiest times of her life, she said, had been when they were together.
“Can it really be that he is dying?” she asked.
I replied that I could not say. Sometimes delicate people surprised everyone. They were often stronger than people thought and everyone was so intent on keeping them alive that they sometimes succeeded.
“We were so much together…”
“I know. He loved you as a sister.”
She nodded sadly.
I thought she was rather pathetic. She had had a sad childhood. Her parents had treated her with the utmost severity, I had heard. I remembered Mrs. Penn's indignantly saying that there were marks of physical punishment on her body. She had an air of frailty, but I guessed she would have a will of her own.
During that brief stay, she told me that her parents were proposing to marry her to Lord Guilford Dudley.
“Northumberland's son!”
She nodded. “He is the Duke's fourth son. It had to be he. The others are already married.”
I was aghast. It was clear that Northumberland wanted Jane in his family because she had royal blood through her mother, who was the daughter of Mary Tudor and Charles Brandon.
Jane was frightened at the idea. She did not want marriage yet, and she was in great awe of her prospective father-in-law. I wondered whether she would speak to my brother and ask him to intervene on her behalf. Of course, he was very much under Northumberland's influence, but on the other hand he was very fond of Jane.
I tried to soothe her by telling her of all the marriages which had been arranged for me, none of which had come to fruition.
She smiled wanly. “I think the Duke of Northumberland is very determined,” she said.
I was full of sympathy for the poor child but felt less so later when Lady Wharton, one of my ladies, told me what had happened in the chapel.
“I was passing throu
gh with Lady Jane,” she said. “There was no service in progress. As I passed the Host, I curtsied, as we always do.”
“Yes?” I asked, as she had paused. “And the lady Jane…? What was it she did?”
“She said to me, ‘Is the lady Mary here, that you curtsy? I did not see her.' I was amazed. I said, ‘But I curtsy to Him that made me.' Oh, my lady, I hesitate to say…”
“Please go on,” I said.
“She replied as though in all innocence, ‘But did not the baker make Him?' My lady, she was referring to the bread and wine…”
“I know to what she was referring. It is what she has been brought up to, Lady Wharton. Perhaps we should not blame her.”
“But such sacrilege, my lady… and in a holy place…”
“She was brought up with my brother,” I said. “It is the way they would have things throughout the country now.”
Lady Wharton looked at me earnestly, “Mayhap it will not always be so.”
“Hush,” I warned her. “You should not say such things…even here… even to me.”
We were silent but I could see she was asking herself the same question that I was asking myself.
What will happen next? We could not know. But we knew something must happen soon.
I HEARD NEWS of Lady Jane. I was sorry for her. She was little more than a child. She had no wish for marriage, and she seemed to be as much in fear of her future father-in-law as she was of her own parents. The girl had some spirit. Perhaps she drew that from her religion, for after that outburst in the chapel I tried to discover more about her convictions and learned they were very strong. She and my brother were alike in that; and misguided though she was in her faith, it might have helped her endure her hard life.
Susan told me she had heard how the girl resisted, declaring she would not marry, and how she had been beaten, starved and locked away until they feared for her health, for she would be no use to their schemes if she were dead.
All the same, the marriage took place in May, and at the same time Jane's sister Catharine—who was younger than she—was married to Lord Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke's son; and Northumberland's daughter, another Catharine, was married to Lord Hastings, son of the Earl of Huntingdon.
