by Sue Reid
“Why, I bow to the Lord who made us,” the lady answered, gesturing at the altar, where some bread lay in a dish.
“I cannot see him,” I said. “All I see is a plate of bread, and the baker made that.” The lady did not answer, but she looked furious. I do not doubt that she will tell the Lady Mary everything I said.
What would the King say if he knew that his sister defied him? She knows it is forbidden to hear Mass. Mother does not seem to mind, or at least she keeps what she feels to herself. Father would be angry, but Father is away at Court and we await news of the Protector’s fate daily.
Lady Mary has told me she prays daily for my soul. So she must know what I said in chapel. But it is me who should pray for her. She is the heretic – not me. She will burn in hell if she does not turn to the true faith.
Father once told me that Mary held High Mass in her chapel on the day the new prayer book was first read in church. And if he knows that, so must the King. Maybe he allows it. She is his sister after all.
30 November 1549
Hunsdon
Mother has taken me to task for my manner to the Princess. I must be more gracious, she says. I must remember that she is a Princess as well as my cousin. I must not stick out my chin in that obstinate way of mine. One day she may be queen. I muttered that she is a heretic and Mother slapped my cheek. She despairs of me, she said. How can she take me to Court if I will not behave myself? (I do not care.) “You are stubborn and unyielding, always so sure that you are right,” she said. “I fear for you, Jane. Indeed, I do.
“Your cousin has a generous, forgiving nature. Do not test it too greatly,” she told me. I feel I have been given a warning.
Christmas 1549
Tilty
Oh to be home at Bradgate. I am weary of travelling, of packing and unpacking. We are barely settled in one place when it is time to be off again. I have so little time for my studies, or even to write my journal.
Now we are settled back at Tilty for Christmas. We will be a big family party and have much to rejoice us, Mother says. Before we left the Princess’s – and I am glad to write we did not stay there long – we learnt that Father had been made a privy councillor. He must stand high in the Earl’s esteem, my uncle said – as if he envied him. But I still cannot trust the Earl even though Father says he is a staunch Protestant and has stuffed the Council full of men who share our beliefs. I do not believe it. I do not think the Earl has any strong beliefs at all. He will do or say whatever will keep him close to the throne. It is what I suspect Mother wishes we would all do – which is probably why she and I will never see eye to eye. The Protector has not lost his head, but is still in the Tower. I wonder how long they will keep him there?
I would be very afraid, if I were the Lady Mary. She will be hounded out of England, if she continues to say Mass, even in private.
10 February 1550
Dorset Place
To Court, where I saw my cousin Edward again. As I curtsied to him, I expected him to smile. I expected that he would be pleased to see me, but if he was, he hid it well. Has he forgotten our friendship? Nurse says I must remember that he is the King and I his subject, and that he has a lot to occupy him, but I am sad. My parents cannot have noticed his coldness. They are as eager as ever to push me into his presence. This is not hard – for though Edward is even more carefully guarded than before, my father is one of the commanders appointed to protect his person.
There is one person who Edward does seem pleased to see – the Earl of Warwick. He looks on him quite like a father. Warwick must have wormed his way into Edward’s favour, by fine words and false flattery. Everyone stands in awe of the Earl – even Father.
I have one piece of good news. Elizabeth Tilney is at Court. She is as full of life and gossip as ever, and knows the names of all the handsome men. One, Robert Dudley, is soon to marry his sweetheart Amy Robsart. It is a love match, Elizabeth says. Her father is only a Norfolk gentleman but then he is only a fourth or fifth son. Elizabeth thinks Robert’s younger brother, Guildford, is handsome too. He would be, I said, if he did not look so sulky. Anyway, who would wish to marry a son of the Earl, however handsome? Elizabeth pretended to be shocked, and whispered that I should be careful what I say. That is one of the things I hate about Court. I have to watch what I say all the time. I cannot wait to return to Bradgate.
15 March 1550
Dorset Place
Bonfires have been lit across the city to celebrate the end of war with France. We attended a service of thanksgiving where a Te Deum was sung. Looking across the aisle I was taken aback to see the Duke of Somerset! He was nodding his head as if he agreed with every word. The Duke has only recently been released from the Tower and it was hard to recognize the great Protector in the humble man on his knees. Father says he may be allowed to rejoin the Privy Council! Perhaps even the great Earl feels he needs a clever ally – and a man who must owe his life to him will surely do just what he wants.
2 May 1550
Dorset Place
It is a warm day but the servants have shut all the windows. If they had not, I would have. The smell of the smoke drifting down from Smithfield is quite disgusting. Joan of Kent has been burnt for her beliefs. She was condemned last year but the execution was stayed to give her time to recant. I am told that she claims that Christ was not born incarnate of the Virgin Mary. Even so the Duke of Somerset wished to spare her but the King put his seal to the death warrant and sentence has been carried out. Support for her was growing in the south, some claim, which is why she had to die.
3 June 1550
Dorset Place
I danced with the King today! I felt very nervous for everyone was watching as he led me out. I swear they showed far more interest in us than in the Lady Anne whose marriage we were attending. The Earl of Warwick smiled, but only with his lips. My parents looked as if they would burst with pride. I think I did not disgrace myself. Indeed, the Earl of Warwick congratulated me on my nimble feet. Edward said little, confiding that he liked to dance but that it soon tired him. I think we were both relieved when the dance was over. For both of us it was a painful duty. My slippers pinched my toes and at the banquet I could only pick at my food for fear my corset would burst. I glanced at the Lady Anne who was dancing with her husband, the Earl of Warwick’s eldest son, Viscount Lisle. How did she feel? I wondered. Was she – the daughter of the Duke of Somerset – pleased to have married a Dudley? He will be an important man – the eldest son of the great Earl.
After the banquet we sat under a canopy of boughs and watched the men tilt and joust. The trumpets, and shouts and the crash of lances made my head ache. Mother hissed at me: “At least look as if you are enjoying yourself.” So I smiled until my jaw ached. I felt resentful. Had I not done enough for them? I had danced with the King! My friend Elizabeth Tilney says that our dance has renewed all the gossip about our marriage.
It was growing dark as we climbed into the barge that was to take us back to Dorset Place. The river was full of boats and alive with torches and merriment as wedding guests were rowed back to their waterfront mansions. The King had already departed for Westminster. He looked very weary. What a burden it must be to be king.
At home I fell asleep at once – only to be woken by sister Katherine who demanded to hear about the wedding. There was a masque and dancing and tournaments, and chambers of boughs, I said sleepily. She was not satisfied with my reply, so then I told her I had danced with the King. Her eyes grew huge. “Are you going to marry him?” she asked me.
“That is not in my hands,” I said.
10 August 1550
Bradgate Park
Am almost too dejected to write. How can I ever become the paragon of a daughter my parents desire? I dread each moment I spend in their presence. Nothing I do or say ever seems to please them. It is all, Jane, stand up straight, do not slouch, pray do not screw up your eyes when I talk to you. Whether I am merry, silent
, speak, sew, sing, play, dance, study, I must do it so perfectly or else I am so cruelly taunted or threatened that I feel as if I am in hell. Do they wish to make me hate them? Nurse says it is for my sake they chastise me. I want to scream when anyone says that. But I know now it is not what she truly feels for today I heard her say to one of the maids: “My sweeting tries so hard to please. It hurts me to see it. They do not realize what a treasure they have.”
“Aye,” her companion replied. “She is much put upon. I would not like one of mine to be in her place, for all the riches in Christendom.” There! It is not just me who feels that they are too harsh.
12 August 1550
Bradgate Park
What can have come over me? I blush to think of the things I said to Master Ascham when he came to bid us farewell today. (He is going to join the Emperor’s service in Germany.) He found me at my books. “My lord and lady are hunting, sir,” I said. They had been promised a good day’s sport and nearly all the household had accompanied them.
“It is a fine day for hunting,” he said smiling. He asked what I was reading.
“Plato’s Phaedra,” I said and showed him the page I had reached – where Plato finds courage to face his execution.
He seemed astonished. “Would you not rather hunt?” he asked.
“No! I would rather read Plato. He is my favourite writer.” I glanced out of the window. “They do not know what they miss,” I said. “And I would rather read than spend time in their company,” I could not help adding, bitterly. And then to my shame it all poured out. How harsh they were, how it was only at my books I found any happiness. Master Ascham was silent. Oh, why had I not kept my feelings to myself? He told me that my parents were proud of me. If only I could believe him.
I feel sad to think that it may be a long time before we meet again but proud that he still wishes to write to me – in spite of my words. He even said so to my parents when they returned. Ha!
31 December 1550
Bradgate Park
It is late and I am tired, but I had to write that it is finished at last, my translation of Bullinger’s thoughts on marriage. Nurse says I will spoil my eyes, spending so many nights writing by candlelight, but I was determined to finish it by New Year and I have had so little time to work at it. The famous scholar Dr Ulm sent me the work in Latin and I have translated part of it into Greek. Dr Aylmer hardly had to help me at all. I pray that Father will be pleased with it. It is my New Year’s gift to him. Father prizes learning greatly. So I cannot think of a better gift for him.
1 January 1551
Bradgate Park
Presented Father with my New Year’s gift for him. He told me he was delighted with it and says to everyone what a clever daughter he has. The unexpected praise makes me happy and I am proud that I took so much care over it.
15 March 1551
Dorset Place
The Lady Mary has come to town. The procession rode past our house on its way to Westminster. Fifty gentleman clad in black velvet rode in front of her. And behind rode around eighty ladies and gentlemen. All of them carried the rosary! That will make the Council choke on their dinner!
The servants say it is all anyone talks about in the taverns. Such a show of strength must comfort those who cling to the old religion, but it will not comfort the King or Council. (It does not comfort me either.) How dare the Princess defy them so openly? The last time she came I heard she and Edward quarrelled so badly that they both burst into tears. There are rumours that she has even considered leaving the country, but she would lose her place in the succession if she did. It frightens me to think that one day Lady Mary might be queen. I pray that Edward will have ten children to prevent such a dreadful fate ever befalling our country.
25 March 1551
Dorset Place
Sitting by the window, I can feel the spring sunshine warm on my face. In the courtyard below servants are beating the turkey carpets. It is a fine day for the spring cleaning – and for Father’s journey north. He has gone to take up his appointment as Warden of the Northern Marches. It is a great honour, though Mother would prefer him to stay at Court, and attend Privy Council meetings. That is where power lies. But Father is happier in the saddle than on Council business, which he finds very dull. He will need to spend much time in the saddle brokering peace with Scotland and overseeing the fortifications at Berwick. He will have a cavalry of 500 under his command, to help him put down any trouble on the border. There is bound to be some, for the Scots are a wild lot, I am told. I pray he will be safe, but I feel sure he is safer fighting the Scots than at Court. The Earl of Warwick grows daily more powerful, Elizabeth Tilney says. I cannot bear to see how devotedly Edward regards him. He trusts the Earl utterly.
When I knelt to receive Father’s blessing last night Father bid me be dutiful and obey my mother. I will do this best by keeping away from her. I quail to think that I am in her sole charge now.
18 April 1551
Dorset Place
The King and Council’s patience with the Lady Mary must be running out. As we prepare to leave the city for Bradgate news has come that some of her household have been arrested. Sir Anthony Browne is to be sent to the Fleet Prison for hearing Mass, and Lady Mary’s chaplain Dr Mallett is to be put in the Tower! If I were Mary I would be very afraid.
20 May 1551
Bradgate Park
I have come up to the nursery to hide from Mother. She has not laid a finger on me but words can hurt as cruelly as blows. We have learnt that Edward is to wed the King of France’s eldest daughter. She is still a little child so they won’t marry for some years but Mother is furious. It is surely an end to all their hopes for me.
I was reading a letter from the scholar Bullinger when she entered my chamber. I was smiling at what I read and so engrossed that I did not notice Mother standing there. She asked what I had to smile about. Her voice was cold.
“Madam, I have had a letter from the scholar Bullinger,” I began nervously but she would not let me finish.
“Scholar!” she barked. “Scholar!” Her voice rose. “Is that all you think about? Books and old learned men? What about your duty to us?” Bewildered, I said nothing. My silence seemed to make Mother angrier. “Is it any wonder the King would rather wed a princess of France,” she said bitterly. She still storms about the house. Even my sisters have felt the lash of her tongue and have come to shelter with me in the nursery.
“Are you sorry?” Katherine asked when I explained why Mother was angry. I shook my head vehemently.
“No, I am glad. I would hate to be queen.”
Something made me turn round and I looked up, straight into my mother’s eyes. I do not know how long she had been standing there, but she must have heard what I said for she looked as if she could not believe her ears. Since then she has barely said a word to me.
I hate her! I do not think she loves me at all.
21 May 1551
Bradgate Park
Mother is speaking to me again, but her manner is so cold my heart feels as if it is shrivelling inside me.
29 May 1551
Bradgate Park
I have not felt like writing my journal, but I simply had to write it today. This morning the famous scholar, Dr Johannes Ulm, rode up to the house. Mother and my sisters are away, so I received him. I thought I would faint when I was presented to him as a most learned young lady. Father is his patron. When I am grown up I hope I will be patron to many learned men. Dr Aylmer thinks I will.
15 July 1551
Bradgate Park
There are riots in the towns again this summer. People struggle to make ends meet. Cook complains that a pound of flour costs double what it did last year. No one in our household dares go out unless they are armed. And now – to add to people’s sufferings – the sweating sickness has returned to the country and spreads terror amongst us. The first case was reported in London on
9 July, and yesterday we learnt that one of our Leicestershire neighbours, Lord Cromwell, has died. I prayed that it was not the sweat that took him, too, but our physician confirmed it when he came this morning to attend on Mary. Mary woke sick in the night and Mother was terrified she had caught the sweat, but it is merely something she has eaten. My sisters do not know that the sweat has broken out. Mother made me promise to keep it from them, and I have kept my word. But it is hard. When I kiss my sisters goodnight I wonder if they will still be alive in the morning. And then there is the day to get through. This illness can strike so suddenly. You can wake feeling well and be dead by nightfall. It is a bad outbreak too. My friend Elizabeth writes that seventy died in London on 10 July and the very next day the number had swelled to 120! (Mother would not give me her letter until she was sure it was free of infection. Nurse says it proves she loves me. Humph. I think not.)
One of the King’s servants – a groom – has caught it, so the King has gone to Hampton Court. Only a few attendants accompanied him to try and prevent the contagion from travelling with them. I pray daily for my cousin Edward’s safety. It is awful to think how much hangs on the life of one boy. If he were to die… No! I will not let myself even think such a thing.
18 July 1551
Bradgate Park
A letter was brought to us this morning bearing the saddest of tidings. The young Duke of Suffolk and his younger brother Charles are both dead. The sweat took them fast. The Duchess, their mother, was away when they fell sick. She returned home with all speed but the elder boy was dead by the time she reached them, and his brother died soon afterwards. Lady Suffolk, the letter says, is prostrate with grief. She refuses to leave the boys’ chamber and will not eat, sleep or talk. She is certain that their deaths are punishment for her sins, but this is a dreadful punishment indeed. She has no children of her own now to console her. And little Mary Seymour, the Queen’s baby, died last year, before her second birthday.
