by Sue Reid
1 June 1548
Chelsea Place
Now it is our turn to leave. The Queen is soon to be confined and the Admiral is anxious that we are safely installed at Sudeley Castle before her baby is born. Builders have been working there for months and he says it is only now that the castle is fit for her. Fit for a queen. He is very proud of it and has ridden there several times these past few months to make sure that her apartments are ready. He has described the nursery to me. If the castle is fit for a queen the nursery is fit for a prince! He shows such care for the Queen’s comfort and today I caught her smile at him – I swear it is the first time I have seen her smile at the Admiral since the dreadful day “it” happened. (I still do not know what “it” was, and nor do I want to, not now.) I hope that when I marry my husband will show as much care for me. And then I found myself thinking about Edward. I have heard nothing more about my marriage to him and I am secretly relieved. But I will be twelve next year, so it cannot be long before a marriage is arranged for me.
5 July 1548
Sudeley Castle
Sudeley Castle is beautiful! I love it even more than Chelsea. Here we are truly in the countryside. But what makes me happiest is that the Admiral and the Queen are friends again, and the Queen has declared herself delighted with her new apartments. I have a comfortable chamber nearby. Rig runs to and fro, getting under the servants’ feet. He is still not sure why we are here! And the nursery – ’tis indeed fit for a prince – rich hangings of crimson taffeta, and gold chairs, and the most beautiful oaken cradle in the centre of it all.
15 July 1548
Sudeley Castle
My father has written. He wants to see me! I felt my stomach tie into knots.
“He is riding all the way to Gloucestershire to see you,” the Queen told me. “Are you not pleased?”
I could not think how to reply. “He will bring me news of home. I am glad of that,” I said at last.
The Queen smiled. Did I miss my home? she asked. Again I could not think what to say. I could not tell her that I feared he was coming to take me away and that I could not bear it if he did. I will work even harder at my lessons so that Father will see how well I am doing, and leave me here. But I will be pleased to have news of home. I will write to Katherine, too. I feel guilty that I have not written to her more often. My father will be able to take my letter back with him.
3 August 1548
Sudeley Castle
I have just watched Father ride away. All I can see now is a faint cloud of dust in the distance. I am full of confused feelings. Did he truly come to see me, or merely to talk to the Admiral? He spent more time with him than with me.
I showed him what I am studying and we talked together in Latin and Greek. He patted me on the head and said he was proud of me. I take after him, he declared, with my love of books and learning. Katherine has begun to study Greek he told me, but has not got far with it. But she will be a beauty, he added, so perhaps it will not matter. He looked at me critically – and I felt as if my freckles had burst out all over my face. I am no beauty.
The Admiral and he are as good friends as ever. They seemed to have a lot to talk about. They went for a stroll together in the gardens and took a very long time to return. Both of them seemed very pleased when they did. I wondered if they had been talking about my marriage to the King. I cannot think it will be easy for the Admiral to arrange now that we are so far away from Court.
11 August 1548
Sudeley Castle
I have been picking leaves and dirt off my gown. Rig crawled into a rabbit hole this afternoon and I had to crawl into the bushes on my hands and knees to pull him out again. I was a sight! It is as well Nurse did not see me. Rig loves it here. Rabbits to chase and burrows to get stuck in! And now the Queen is so big and heavy she has entrusted his daily walks to me.
And today I nearly lost him when he saw a rabbit and bolted off, the chain dangling from his collar. I gathered my gown in my hand and tore after him, but I could not keep up with him. The Queen’s maids of honour were strolling nearby. How they laughed. I suppose it did look funny – me chasing a small spaniel into the bushes – but I was afraid I would lose him and did not feel like laughing.
One of the maids saw my distress and ran to my side. “What will I do if I cannot find him?” I said plaintively. “The Queen will be so upset.”
“We will find him,” she said stoutly. By the time we had and pulled him free she was almost as dirty as me. But she just laughed when she looked down at herself. Elizabeth Tilney is older than me but not too grown up to talk to me. I like her.
30 August 1548
Sudeley Castle
The midwife has been summoned. The Queen’s pains have begun. I am so excited to think that soon there will be a baby in the new nursery. Elizabeth Tilney and I are wondering what name the baby will be given.
“She is bound to call it Mary, if it is a girl,” said Elizabeth. (The Lady Mary is the baby’s godmother and the godmother chooses the baby’s name.) I feel sure that Elizabeth and I are going to be great friends.
“What will she call the baby, if it is a boy?” I asked. “Thomas, after the Admiral?” (We were speaking in whispers. I am not sure why.)
“She might name it Edward, after the King’s Grace,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully. At the mention of Edward’s name I felt my cheeks grow pink. “Why – you blush, my lady, do you have a secret?” Elizabeth said slyly. I looked down. She smiled. “Maybe you will marry the King’s Grace one day. It would be a good match, both of you so clever.”
“I do not want to marry anyone,” I said.
“But if you marry the King, I could be one of your ladies,” said Elizabeth.
I put on a lordly tone. “It is my command, Mistress Tilney.” Elizabeth laughed. But I was not joking. I meant what I said. I will make Elizabeth one of my ladies if I marry the King. I would want to be surrounded by as many friends as I could.
Late
I do not know how long I have been sitting here, but it is quiet again now so I have taken my hands away from my ears. My knees feel sore from kneeling on the hard floor. I have said prayer after prayer but it has not made me feel any better. I went to the chapel earlier. The Admiral was there. His head was bowed and his shoulders were shaking. I have never seen a grown man cry before and it frightened me.
Nurse brought me to my chamber. She found me curled up asleep with Rig still on my lap in the passage near the Queen’s apartments. Everyone else had forgotten me. I wanted to bring Rig back with me, but he would not leave the Queen’s doorway. I had found him outside her chamber, scratching at the door and whining to be let in, and pulled him on to my lap to cuddle him. The Queen’s cries upset us both. Women rushed in and out of her apartments bearing towels and bowls of hot water. They would not tell me how she did, or even meet my eye. The Admiral marched up and down, eyes anguished, begging the women to give him some task.
Even here in my bedchamber I can hear the Queen’s cries. I cannot bear to listen to them. I cannot bear to hear her suffer. I had not realized childbirth could be so terrible. I pray that I never have a baby. Now I will stop writing so I can put my hands over my ears again. Please, God, keep the Queen safe. I will be good and dutiful and never say or think a bad thing again, if you do.
31 August 1548
Sudeley Castle
The Queen has had a baby girl! The chaplain has been to baptize her. She has been named Mary.
They came to tell me the joyful news but I knew already! I had raced round to the Queen’s apartments as soon as the terrible screams had stopped. The door was agape and I peered in fearfully – I was afraid what I would see; I was afraid that she was dead – but instead to my joy I saw the midwife lift up a tiny baby, slap it with a trembling hand and declare: “Madam, you have a beautiful baby girl!” before laying it gently in the Queen’s arms. The Queen opened her eyes and smiled before clo
sing them again. By her side the Admiral was on his knees, her hand clasped in both of his. I ran back to my chamber, and burst into tears of joy before falling to my knees again to give thanks for the Queen’s safe delivery.
The Admiral is bursting with pride. He tells everyone that he has the prettiest baby girl that ever was with eyes as blue as the sky on a summer’s day. The Queen’s ladies laugh at him. “All newborn babies have blue eyes,” said her sister smiling at a man’s ignorance of such matters. The sky is grey today, but to me it feels as if the sun has burst out over Sudeley. The Admiral has gone now to write letters announcing the joyful news. I should be at my lessons, but I cannot think about them now. I think how soft little Mary felt as I held her. And how the Queen smiled as I laid the baby back in her arms. She looked weary, but so content. The baby has been swaddled to help her limbs grow straight and strong, and laid in the cradle near the Queen. They were both fast asleep when I left. A wet-nurse has been summoned from the village to feed baby Mary when she wakes. The Queen must lie abed for some weeks to come, the midwife says. She says peasant women leap from their bed almost as soon as their child is born. But they are of sturdier stock and do not suffer the same pains of childbirth as do noblewomen.
1 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
I am embroidering a little cap for baby Mary. She is adorable and when I hold her I feel her little legs and arms try to kick inside the swaddling bands. Earlier the Queen asked me to read to her. I was so proud that she chose me! Next to the bed, her ladies sewed and talked quietly. But after only a few pages the Queen closed her eyes and one of her ladies whispered to me to stop. She took me by the hand and led me from the chamber. “The Queen needs rest,” she told me.
2 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
The Queen recovers, but very slowly. She is almost too weary to hold her baby and when I went to see her just now she asked for her to be put back in her cradle almost as soon as she had been laid on the bed. Her voice was very weak and I saw a little puckered frown dent the midwife’s forehead. The ladies glanced at each other and I felt a little prickle of fear run up and down my spine. But I pushed it away and bent over the cradle. Baby Mary stared up at me. She looked happy and healthy. My visits to the nursery are short. The midwife guards her charge like a dragon and soon shoos me away.
3 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
I have just seen the Queen and am trying not to cry. I could barely recognize her. Her head was tossing to and fro on the pillow. A maid was trying to dab her face with a cloth, but she pushed it away. The Admiral was by her side. Tears were running down his face. I am not surprised that he cried. She said such awful things to him. Such awful cruel things. I wish I had not heard them. Her ladies say it is the fever. “Come along, you should not be here!” one chided me, and I felt myself taken by the hand and almost pushed out of the room.
Her physician is with her now. I heard him say the dread words “childbed fever”. Nature, he says, must take its course.
5 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
I am sitting by the window, dry-eyed. I cannot cry. I feel numb – as if I will never feel anything ever again. I do not know what hour it is, whether it is early or late. How quickly life can change from joy to despair. My nurse says it is a lesson we must all strive to learn, but I cannot take comfort in any such thought. The Queen died early this morning. She looked so serene and at peace when I kissed her cheek farewell. It already felt cold. I can scarce believe that only a few days ago I held her baby in my arms and saw the Queen smile at us. The Admiral is distracted by grief. He looks at me as if he does not know who I am. I feel as if I have lost them both. It quite breaks my heart.
And me, what will happen to me now? Will I be sent home, now that the Queen is dead? Nurse says I must go but I could not bear to leave. I have been so happy here. Oh, my dear kind guardian. Let me stay. Do not send me away.
7 September 1548
The Queen’s funeral, Sudeley Castle
The Queen was buried today. The funeral was held at St Mary’s chapel. I – the chief mourner – walked behind the Queen’s coffin in a black gown, my heavy train carried by Elizabeth Tilney. We walked slowly across the grounds, the short walk to the chapel, a sad little procession. My hands clasped the Queen’s little prayer book. It is mine now. I tried not to look at the coffin. It made me want to cry. I longed for it all to be over. I could not bear to see the black cloths with which the chapel was hung, the gaping vault into which the coffin was lowered, the clatter as the household officers threw in their staves of office – broken to show that their service to her is finished. As candles were lit the preacher, Dr Coverdale, reminded us that they were not lit for the Queen’s soul – Protestants do not light candles or pray for the dead – but to honour her. All popish statues had been removed, all icons, all paintings. They are baubles and distract us from getting close to God. The service was held in English, too – it is the first time a Protestant funeral service has been conducted for a queen in England. I am proud to be part of something so important, at least I will be when I feel less miserable. As I write I can hear little Mary wail hungrily from the nursery. She does not understand that she is now motherless, poor little mite.
22 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
I feel like an unwanted package, to be passed to and fro. First I learnt that the Admiral wished me to leave. Then he changed his mind but now my father demands my return. My mother has written to the Admiral too, so he has had to consent to my leaving. He is so burdened by grief I think he hardly knows what he does or says. I feel a bit afraid of him.
It is not merely I who am to be sent away. Little Mary will soon be gone, too. Lady Suffolk promised the Queen before she died that she would take charge of her. That is what I am told, but I think that the Admiral cannot bear to see her. I have not once seen him go into the nursery since the Queen died. Elizabeth tries to comfort me but she is almost as grief-stricken as me. I nearly tripped over little Rig this morning. I picked him up, but he scampered straight back to the Queen’s chamber. I am afraid that he will pine away, so I put out a plate of food for him and tried to make him eat it. He sniffed at it then whimpered looking up at me. I gathered him into my arms and we sat there – I do not know how long. Nurse found me there, still cradling him.
25 September 1548
Sudeley Castle
I am writing quickly while my bags are loaded on to the wagon. I have just bid my guardian farewell. I found him in the nursery when I went to see little Mary. It is the first time I have seen him there since the Queen died. He was bending over Mary’s cradle. A nurse was rocking it gently, crooning a lullaby. I stood by the door, not sure what to do. I was on the point of tiptoeing away when the nurse looked up. “The Lady Jane is here, my lord,” she told him.
“Ah, Jane,” he said turning to me. “You are to go.” I curtsied and nodded. But he had already turned away, as if he had forgotten me. I felt my lips tremble. So, this was to be our parting. I could not bear it. Quite forgetting myself I began to sob. Suddenly I felt his arms come round me and we cried together.
Elizabeth brought Rig to say farewell to me. “We have come to bid you God speed,” she said. I bent my head and Rig licked the tip of my nose.
“Look after him,” I said anxiously. I stroked his soft ears.
She nodded. “I promise.”
“I will miss you,” I told her.
“And I you,” she said.
“Will we always be friends?” I asked her.
“Always,” she said. She put Rig down and hugged me. It is the one happy memory I take away with me.
30 September 1548
Bradgate Park
I am home. But I wish I were not. I wish I were anywhere but here.
I thought they would show me sympathy. I thought they would share my grief. My mother was the Queen’s frien
d and as I curtsied to her I saw plainly the marks of sorrow on her face. I wanted to run to her and cry in her arms. But they did not even mention her.
“She has grown a little,” Mother said to my father – as if I wasn’t there.
“She is very accomplished,” my father said.
“Hmm. She has been treated too softly, it is easy to tell,” Mother replied. I felt angry. Can they not understand how I feel?
I had a warmer greeting from my sister Katherine. Little Mary – it hurts to say that name, it reminds me of the Admiral’s baby – hid behind her nurse when she saw me. It is nearly two years since she last saw me, and she did not recognize me. She was only an infant when I left. She is too ungainly to walk easily, but has the loveliest smile.
Katherine hugged me. “Are you very sad?” she asked. I nodded, feeling tears begin to trickle down my nose. She ran to fetch her pet monkey. She put him on her shoulder and made him do tricks to cheer me. I think we will be friends.
14 October 1548
Bradgate Park
