by Jean Plaidy
Before that she had been a presence of power, and my governess Lady Bryan, who was a kinswoman of hers, was overwhelmingly anxious to please her as was Mr Shelton who was also a family connection. My mother looked after her own when she had the power to do so. But there came that bewildering sadness… the end of her visits… the days when I asked for her, and Lady Bryan turned away to hide her emotion.
My father was a more tangible presence. I thought he was the most powerful man in the world. He certainly was in England. I was fourteen when he died so I could say I knew him fairly well. He was one who inspired fear and yet affection with it, and despite all his cruelty and all his ruthlessness he never lost the love of his people. That was one way in which I intended to emulate him. I learned from my studies of our history that it is a foolish monarch who loses the esteem of the common people.
Lady Bryan told me that my father had once been very proud of me and used to stroll in the gardens at Hampton Court or Windsor—wherever the Court happened to be—holding me in his arms. I liked that picture—myself magnificently attired swinging high in the arms of a splendid king as his courtiers walked with him exclaiming at my perfections.
That ended with an executioner's sword which severed my mother's beautiful head from her willowy body.
What I do remember clearly is catching Lady Bryan by the skirts and demanding: “Where is my mother? Why does she never come now?”
And when she tried to run away to weep in silence, I refused to relinquish her and insisted she tell me. She took me onto her knee and said: “My Lady Princess, you have no mother now.”
“Everybody has a mother,” I said, for I was logical as soon as I was old enough to reason.
“Your mother has gone to Heaven,” she said.
“When will she come back?”
“People do not come back from Heaven.”
“She will come to see me.”
Lady Bryan held me to her and wept so bitterly that she bewildered me.
Then I began to realize that something terrible had happened but it was a long time before I gave up hope of seeing my mother again.
I talked of her with Lady Bryan and made her tell me about my birth.
“It was in Greenwich Palace,” she said, “a beautiful palace and one of the favorites of the King and Queen. You first saw the light of day in the Chamber of Virgins. It was given that name afterward, but before you arrived it was just a chamber the walls of which were lined with tapestry and this tapestry depicted the lives of the holy virgins.”
“Did my mother want a boy?” I must have heard some whisper of a servant to put that into my head. It was important, I knew, for Lady Bryan turned pale, and for a moment or so did not answer.
Then she said: “She wanted a boy. The King wanted a boy. But as soon as you were born they knew that you were just what they wanted.”
I was soon to discover how false that was, but I loved Lady Bryan for telling the lie. My mother's life had depended on her giving birth to a boy. If I had been a son, they would not have sent to France for that sword which cut off her head. She would have been an honored queen instead of a corpse lying in her grave in the Church of St Peter ad Vincula.
“The Queen said,” went on Lady Bryan, “people will now with reason call this room the Chamber of Virgins, for a virgin is now born in it on the vigil of this auspicious day on which the Church commemorates the nativity of the Holy Virgin.”
“Was that what she said?” I asked wonderingly.
“It was. You were born on the eve of the Virgin Mary's birth. Just think of that.”
My dear governess did so much to comfort me, but even she could not keep the truth from me. I could not but know that I who had been the important Lady Princess was now of no consequence and few cared what became of me. My mother was dead, executed for treason against the King because she was accused of taking five lovers—one her own brother, my uncle George Boleyn. Her marriage to the King had been proved by Thomas Cromwell—the King's influential minister—to have been no marriage at all, and because of this I was branded illegitimate. And naturally bastards of the King were not of the same importance as his legitimate offspring.
I began to notice the change when my gowns and kirtles grew thin and threadbare and Lady Bryan spent long hours trying to patch them.
“I don't like this old dress,” I grumbled. “Why cannot I have a new one?” At which the good Lady Bryan turned away to hide her anger against somebody—certainly not me, for she took me in her arms and said I was her Lady Princess and always would be.
She was very angry with Mr Shelton, who had a high place in my household, because he insisted that I should sit at table in some ceremony and would give me wine and help me to highly seasoned dishes. I heard Lady Bryan quarreling with him. “It is unsuitable to let the child eat such foods,” she said.
Mr Shelton replied: “This is no ordinary child. Remember she is the King's daughter.”
“Oh, he still acknowledges her as that, does he?” Lady Bryan spoke angrily. “I am glad of that! Do you know, Mr Shelton, it is months since that child had new garments. I cannot go on patching forever.”
“I repeat she is the King's daughter and we should never forget that. Who knows…”
“Just what is your implication, Mr Shelton?”
He did not reply. I kept my eyes and ears open and because I knew strange matters were being decided outside my nursery I began to realize that for some reason Mr Shelton was trying hard to win my good graces and wean my affection from Lady Bryan. He never denied me anything that he could and he was always most obsequious.
At first I thought what a nice man he was and then when I discovered that Lady Bryan restricted me and meted out her little punishments because she felt it was her duty to do so, I did not like Mr Shelton so much; and whatever disagreement there was between us I always turned back to Lady Bryan when I was in need of comfort.
Mr Shelton, like Lady Bryan, was related to my mother, and that was the reason why they were at Hunsdon in my household. Those two were in constant conflict. Once I heard Lady Bryan declare to him: “You want to keep my Lady in royal state as long as you can, do you not, Master Shelton? But I tell you this: it will avail you little. There has been a new Queen now ever since the death of Queen Anne, and she is with child, and if that child should prove to be a boy… what of our lady then?”
“But what if it is not a boy eh?” demanded Mr Shelton. “What if Queen Jane goes the way of Queen Anne.”
“Hush,” said Lady Bryan. “Such words are treason and should never be spoken. All I ask of you is not to indulge the child. Do you not understand that these highly seasoned foods are bad for her digestion? I believe you give her sweetmeats outside meals, and if you do not desist from such I shall be forced to make complaints where they could come to the ears of the King.”
Mr Shelton was unimpressed and I learned later that she did write to Thomas Cromwell himself, telling him that I had neither gown nor kirtle, nor any manner of linen, and begging him to send something for me to wear. She also complained of Mr Shelton's insistence that I sit at table where spiced foods were served and suggested that I have plain wholesome food served in a way suitable for a child of my age.
I did get some new clothes but I think that may have been due to the intervention of my sister Mary. She was twenty years of age at that time, which seemed very old to me. She was pleasant-looking and very serious, spending a great deal of time on her knees. An example to me, said Lady Bryan, for I was far less dedicated to my religious studies than Mary had been as a child. Lady Bryan had been her governess, too, so she could speak with conviction I was interested in so many things and asked too many questions, I was told. “There are matters which must be accepted without question,” said Lady Bryan. “One's faith for one, loyalty to the King for another.” Even at that stage I was beginning to have doubts of sustaining either.
Lady Mary's mother, Katharine of Aragon, had died a few months before my own, a
nd my sister was stricken with grief because they had been especially devoted to each other. Before her mother's death Mary had not liked me at all. On the rare occasions when we had met, young as I was, I had sensed that my presence angered her. Now it was different. We had both lost our mothers; both had died outside the King's favor; we were both branded bastards. It was because of her uncertain position that Mary was not married, and it was strange for a King's daughter to reach the age of twenty without having a husband found for her. But now she was quite tender toward me and since I tried to please her we were becoming friends. When one has no mother and one's father is a king whom one rarely sees, it is very pleasant to have a sister. I hoped Mary felt this too.
I was very sad when Mary left Hunsdon but she was delighted to go, for Queen Jane had asked for her to go to Court. Much of this I learned later. Because of my extreme youth I must have been very much in the dark at this time. It was when Katharine Champernowne came to be my governess that I made my discoveries through her. Katharine—I was soon calling her Kat— was the most indiscreet and delightful person I had ever known and I grew to love her dearly.
It appeared that the King could deny his new wife nothing; fair where my mother was dark, docile where she was vivacious, Queen Jane was the greatest possible contrast to Queen Anne for whom out of the white heat of his passion had grown a burning hatred. Moreover Jane was almost immediately pregnant after her marriage, which took place, most shamefully, ten days after my mother's death by the sword.
Queen Jane, it seemed, asked the King if Mary could come to Court and be with her during her pregnancy.
“She shall come to thee, darling,” Kat told me he said; and so gladly Mary went.
I missed her, but like everyone else I wanted to hear of the birth of the child.
When Lady Bryan took me to her own private chamber, I knew I was going to learn something important. She put her arms round me and drew me close to her.
“The Queen has given birth to a son,” she said.
“The King and the whole country are very happy.”
I felt my face go hard as it did when I was angry. Lady Bryan had told me of it many times.
“A bad habit,” she said, “and one which can bring you no good.” I tried to curb it but on this occasion it was difficult, for how could I prevent the resentment which rose in me when I heard another than my mother called the Queen? Moreover this new Jane had given birth to a boy—the son which I should have been.
“The bells are ringing all over the country,” said Lady Bryan. “The King is so happy. This little boy will one day be King though, God willing, not for a very long time. His Grace the King has sent word to Mr Shelton and to me that you are to have the very special honor of carrying the chrisom at the christening. There! What do you think of that?”
I thought very well of it. At last I was going to Court.
How happy I was on that October day when I sailed along the river to Hampton Court, most sumptuously attired as befitted one who was to take part in such an important ceremony.
There lay the palace, majestically beautiful seen from the river. Small wonder that my father had said when it had belonged to Cardinal Wolsey that it was too fine a residence for a subject and had taken it for his own. I was enchanted by its enormous gatehouse, its privy gardens, its tennis courts and its fireplaces, each of them large enough to roast an ox. It was in settings such as this that I belonged.
I was delighted by the respect shown to me and I deluded myself into thinking that this might be the beginning of a change for me, and I wondered whether the pallid Queen who had replaced my mother was responsible for it.
Looking back it is not easy to say whether I remember the details of that ceremony or whether they were related to me afterward. I was only four years old but I do remember how happy I was—contented rather—to be among those powerful and important people. The King was not present in the chapel. He had remained with the Queen in her bedchamber for it was reported that she was very weak indeed. But several important people were there. The Duke of Suffolk, the Marquis of Exeter, the Earl of Arundel and Lord William Howard held the canopy over the baby who was carried by the Marchioness of Exeter. I heard that among the nobles was my grandfather Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire, with a wax taper in his hand and a towel about his neck, playing his part in the ceremony. I did not see him and I was glad I did not, for it occurred to me later that it was somewhat contemptible of him to take part in such a ceremony since his own daughter had been murdered by the King in order that the mother of this child might replace her. At the time I was completely happy. I was part of all this splendor, and the gloriously appareled infant who was the reason for the ceremony was my brother.
Because of my youth and the length of the proceedings I was carried in the arms of Edward Seymour, brother of Queen Jane. This was my first encounter with the family who later on were to play an important part in my life. Their elevation through the King's marriage to their sister had been swift. A few days after the christening Edward Seymour was created Earl of Hertford.
My sister Mary, who was godmother to the little Prince, gave me an encouraging smile when Edward Seymour set me down at the font. I returned it gratefully and eagerly watched while the little boy was wrapped in the christening robe and his state proclaimed.
“God, in His almighty and infinite grace, grant long life to the right high, right excellent and noble Prince, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, most dear and entirely beloved son of our most dread and gracious lord, Henry VIII.”
In spite of all the excitement I was feeling a little sleepy as the ceremony had lasted three hours and it was nearly midnight. My sister Mary must have seen this; as Lady Herbert picked up the train of my magnificent gown, Mary took my hand so that I did not stumble. I noticed how happy she looked. It was because she was at least back at Court and had the high honor of being godmother to this important Prince, our brother. I loved him already. He was the reason for my being here. His coming had so pleased my father that he was even ready to smile on my sister Mary and me who had committed the unpardonable error of being born girls.
Queen Jane lay in her bed, propped up by cushions, in a beautiful bedgown, but her pallor and sunken eyes proclaimed how exhausted she was.
As we entered the bedchamber the trumpets sounded so loudly that I who must have been half asleep started with terror, which made Mary smile.
Our father was there. He looked splendid, glittering with jewels, and he seemed a head taller than other men. How genial he looked, a great beneficent god—very different from the man I had seen in the courtyard! My father, I thought, is the greatest man in the world. His eyes were very small and so was his mouth, but perhaps they seemed so because his face was so large; and as I looked at him I could not help thinking of my mother, and fascinated as I was, admiring him as I did, I was afraid of him.
The Prince was placed in his mother's arms and she gave him her blessing.
The ceremony was over and we went back to Hunsdon.
Copyright © 1988 by Jean Plaidy
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Published by Three Rivers Press, New York, New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Plaidy, Jean. 1906–1993.
In the shadow of the crown / Jean Plaidy. Includes bibliography.
1. Mary I, Queen of England, 1516–1558—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History—Mary I, 1553–1558—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6015.1314 1989
823'.914—dc19
88-31924
eISBN: 978-0-307-49614-0
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Chapter 1 - The Betrothal
Chapter 2 - Reginald Pole
Chapter 3 - Enter Elizabeth
Chapter 4 - The Betrayal
Chapter 5 - The Arrival of Edward
Chapter 6 - Two Wives
Chapter 7 - The Queen in Danger
Chapter 8 - The Planned Escape
Chapter 9 - At Last - The Queen
Chapter 10 - Rebellion
Chapter 11 - The Spanish Marriage
Chapter 12 - Waiting for the Child
Chapter 13 - The Queen is Dead: Long Live the Queen
Bibliography
About the Author
Copyright
