Lady Jane Grey

by Sue Reid

  My gaoler, Master Partridge, led our little procession, the axe in his hand. Its silver blade flashed in the sunlight. Behind him walked Archbishop Cranmer, who was to be tried with us, then Guildford. I could not speak to Guildford, we were closely surrounded by guards. But we exchanged glances. He looked frightened but he kept his head held high. I had tied my precious English prayer book to my girdle, though my nurse had begged me not to. “It will be said you defy Her Majesty,” she said. I took no heed of her advice. Will she never understand me?

  I had been dreading the long walk back to the Tower. The blade of the axe, which had been turned away from us, was now turned towards us. Everyone in that crowd now knew our fate. Death. I steeled myself for insults and catcalls. But not a single insult was hurled at me. I saw nothing but pity in people’s eyes. I even heard the sound of weeping. “That poor child,” I heard a woman say as I passed her. “That poor child.”

  20 November 1553

  The Tower of London

  My ladies cannot understand me. How is it, they say, I exercise more energy over one who has abandoned his faith than I do over my own fate? But locked away, it is one thing I can still do – show the world how to live and how to die. One day I hope the words I write will be widely read so that others who think of abandoning their faith will pause and reflect. Oh, that wicked imp, that spawn of the devil. I feel heartsick to think how he – Thomas Harding – who was once a chaplain to my family – could betray his faith and become a Catholic. What crime could be more wicked? The beliefs he taught me he now abandons. He has betrayed me. He has betrayed us all. How can I not be angry? How can I not express my disgust? I have written what I feel in a letter and pray that it will find a way to reach him.

  18 December 1553

  The Tower of London

  Have felt too weak to write these past days. The want of air has taxed me greatly. Nurse says that I made myself worse, by dwelling on Master Harding’s betrayal. But the physician, who was sent for, agreed with me, and this morning the Lieutenant of the Tower brought me welcome news. I am allowed to walk in the Queen’s Garden!

  So this afternoon, wrapped up warmly and escorted by guards, I stepped outside into the fresh air for the first time since my trial. It was bitterly cold but it was wonderful to walk in a garden again and I inhaled the fresh air in delight. The plants are dead and the ground hard with frost, but by spring all will be in flower again. I felt my spirits begin to lift. Was this a first step towards freedom? And then, as I strolled back and forth, I saw a young man enter the garden, like me under guard. He looked thinner and pale, like me, but I knew him at once. “Guildford!” I exclaimed. We stopped and looked at each other. He cried my name. “Jane!” We walked hesitantly, nervously towards each other and as we drew closer Guildford turned to his guards and I heard him beg them to allow him to speak to me. They nodded their heads and then most kindly they turned their backs on us and moved a little away so that we could talk in private.

  I told him I had seen him walk past my house a few times on his way to exercise in the Tower grounds. He was astonished and I explained where I was kept. He has promised to look up at my window whenever he passes by. He told me he had seen the new prayer book at my girdle on the day of our trial and how my wearing it so openly had given him courage. “Not that I expected less of so brave a wife,” he said. The word “wife” on his lips made me start. I had almost forgotten that we are married. We have spent so little time together. We chose our words carefully, neither of us wishing to cause the other pain. We did not speak of our parents, who had brought us to this sorry pass. I felt for the first time as if a bond could grow between us. Our misfortunes have made Guildford more thoughtful. He begged my pardon for his folly and I begged his for my unkindness to him. But by now the guards were looking restless and we bade each other a hasty farewell. As I was escorted back to the gaoler’s house I found myself hoping I would see and speak to him again. Guildford told me he was hopeful about the future – the privileges we have been granted are a sure sign that the Queen will be merciful towards us, he believes. I feel curiously heartened to know that he is here and thinking of me – a companion in my misfortune.

  5 January 1554

  The Tower of London

  Elizabeth smiled when I returned from my walk today. “There is colour in your cheeks, my lady,” she teased. I blushed at how I had stumbled in the garden and Guildford had caught me. I had not minded his touch. We had drawn apart quickly, but our guards had their backs to us, and anyway have grown used to seeing us together. While we walked, Guildford confided that he spends much time reading the Bible. “I feel as if I never knew before what true comfort it gives,” he said earnestly. I said it was a comfort I had learnt early. As the guards returned to escort us back, Guildford whispered hastily, “Jane, do you always carry your prayer book?”

  “Always,” I said.

  “Then, bring it on your next walk,” he said. I asked him to explain, but by then the guards were too close for us to speak privately. I long to know what he means, but I will find out tomorrow, and tomorrow is nearly upon us now. I can hear Mistress Jacob humming as she sets the table in the next chamber. Her humming is quite tuneless. Her husband was a court musician and I wonder he could bear it.

  6 January 1554

  The Tower of London

  I have in my hands Guildford’s prayer book. And he has mine. This afternoon, while the guards’ backs were turned, Guildford thrust the little book into my hands. “It is my New Year’s gift to you,” he said.

  Oh, Guildford, I thought, feeling a lump in my throat. “I will treasure it,” I said simply and put mine into his hands. Tonight I will sleep with his book under my pillow.

  2 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  Early this morning my nurse woke me. The Lieutenant of the Tower was outside she said and wished to speak to me. I was terrified. What could the Lieutenant want, at this hour? But I got up at once pulling my robe around my shoulders.

  “Madam, I am afraid your visits to the Queen’s Garden must cease,” Sir John told me. “And for your safety, your guard is to be increased.” I felt my heart thump heavily. “Be not alarmed,” Sir John said gently, seeing the fear in my eyes – he has always treated me kindly – but how can I not be? Is this truly for my safety, or is there some other reason? Sir John’s eyes were troubled and strained.

  I hear the sound of marching boots and barked orders. Earlier Mark was sent out to find the cause. He took a long time to return, and when he did, his eyes were wide and excited. “There is an uprising against the Queen’s marriage to the King of Spain, my lady,” he said breathlessly as if he had run all the way. “It is led by a gentleman called Sir Thomas Wyatt. His men are even now approaching the city and—” I seized him by the shoulders and shook them urgently. “Did anyone mention my name?” I demanded.

  He shook his head. “No, my lady.”

  “And the Lord be thanked for that,” said my nurse tartly who had clearly been listening at the door. I gave her a look and she was silent. “But,” Mark went on, “the Lady Elizabeth’s name is being much bandied about.” I confess I am mightily relieved, though if it is true I feel nothing but pity for my cousin Elizabeth. If the rebellion fails she will surely join me in the Tower.

  I feel both frightened and exhilarated. Mark says that Wyatt commands a mighty force – though I have wrung out of him that he only spoke to a beggar and a midwife hurrying to attend a birth.

  I pray that Wyatt truly does not intend to put me back on the throne or I am doomed. The city streets are hushed and quiet, Mistress Jacob reported when she returned with my clean laundry, the shops all shut up, only those with no home to go to, or who have urgent business now dare step outside.

  3 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  I feel as if I am holding my breath, my nerves are strung to breaking point and my head has begun to throb. Outside,
yeoman warders run to and fro, and Nurse says that the great Tower guns have been trained on Southwark. Wyatt is attempting to fight his way into the city across London Bridge. A few hours ago I saw Mistress Partridge rush back into the house and heard her lock and bolt the door. I swear she has not stepped outside since.

  I can hear shouts and gunfire. The smell of smoke from across the river seeps into the house. Rebels have burnt Bishop Gardiner’s palace in Southwark. It is perilously close to our house, Suffolk Place, but I can only rejoice. If only he had gone up with it. The Bishop hates all Protestants and I feel sure will do his utmost to persuade the Queen to carry out the sentence that still hangs over my head.

  6 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  The rebels draw ever closer. Even within these thick walls, I hear the noise of battle. I feel a desperate hope rise within me. Rumour had it that Wyatt had retreated but it was only to wheel his men round to enter the city from the west. I spend much time on my knees in prayer.

  7 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  I am to die. Oh God, why am I to be punished for others’ wrongdoing! Wyatt’s rebellion has failed, and I am to die. But what did the rebellion have to do with me? Wyatt did not write to me, he did not proclaim me queen.

  In the chamber next to mine, I can hear stifled weeping. But I cannot shed a single tear. An hour ago Sir John brought me the news. Seeing the distress on his face I immediately feared the worst. But I steeled myself. I would face whatever he said, calmly.

  “Madam,” he said, “it is my sad duty to inform you that the Queen’s Majesty has ordered your execution. You must prepare to die.”

  “When?” I asked, amazed that my voice was so steady.

  “Friday,” he replied. I heard my women burst out wailing behind me. The Queen has been merciful, I heard him say. I am to be beheaded, within the Tower walls, on Tower Green. My husband is to share my fate. He will be executed on Tower Hill, earlier the same morning. His voice sounded in my ears as if he was a long way away.

  After he had gone, I went into my chamber and sat down at the table, Guildford’s prayer book open in front of me. For a long time I stared at it unseeing. God has never ceased to test me and now he has set me the greatest test of all. To face death courageously. Can I do that? I feel as if I have always known that this would be my fate and am thankful I have had time to prepare myself. How many have that blessing? May God grant my poor husband that same comfort.

  Soon I will be at peace and leave life’s harsh struggles to others. Oh Mother, you tried to break my spirit, but you never succeeded. And I am glad, for if you had, how could I face my fate so calmly?

  Wyatt and many of his followers are being marched into the Tower. As the prisoners passed by my window, I saw the warders shove and push them with their pikes. The prisoners looked tired and frightened – as well they might. “Traitors,” muttered my nurse when I told her. “Traitors all.” She put her apron to her eyes and began to weep. She blames them for my fate.

  My father will soon join them here. Is that why I am to die? Because my father, so recently pardoned by the Queen, joined the rebels? Oh Father, Father, what made you join such a hopeless cause? Did the news that the Queen is to marry Catholic Philip of Spain push him to this one last desperate act? I was told that he was captured a few days ago, sniffed out by a dog from the hollow tree trunk where he lay hidden, disguised as a servant. It is shaming, if true.

  Sir John has brought me a gift and message from Guildford. As he put the gift into my hands I saw that it was the little prayer book I had given Guildford in the garden. “He wishes to return to you something that belongs to you,” Sir John said gently. I tried not to cry as I put the book Guildford had given me into the Lieutenant’s hands.

  “Then give this to my husband,” I said. “It belongs to him and will bring him some comfort, I hope.” The Lieutenant gave me his word. Guildford wished to see me, he told me then and to embrace me one last time. What a pang his words gave me, but I wrenched it away and told Sir John as steadily as I could that I could not meet him.

  “If we see each other now,” I said, “it will only increase our pain and make it harder for us to let go of this life. Soon we will be together for all time. But I will look for him at the window on the morning. Tell him that,” I said anxiously. “Tell him that I will watch for him and be with him in spirit to the very end.” I heard a break in Sir John’s voice as he gave me his solemn promise to convey my message to Guildford, word for word as I had given it to him.

  8 February, 1554

  The Tower of London

  I am sitting by the window. It is growing dark but I have read the words in front of me so many times now that I do not need to see them. I did not find it at first, the message Guildford wrote in my prayer book, but today it fell open at a page that I have not looked at since the Lieutenant brought it to me. I stared at the words astonished – there in the margin was a most humble and dutiful message of greeting to my father. I try not to see despair in the untidily scrawled words. Instead I dwell on what he writes. He wishes Father long life, he says, such as he wished to himself. What hope can he have of that now? The Queen will not spare Father a second time. I will add my own message to his, but not now. Tears blur my eyes so that I can hardly see. I must wipe them away and put my journal down. Nurse is at the door. I have a visitor. From the expression on her face I am not sure it is a welcome one.

  My visitor has just left. Even now I can hardly believe who I have been talking to. At first, when Nurse told me who my visitor was, I felt angry. The Queen had sent her confessor to me! She hopes that I will recant and save my soul. How could she think I would give up my faith now! Dr Feckenham, though, is a kindly man and I kept my temper when he greeted me and explained the reason for his visit. No one could look less like a monk than this round-faced jolly-looking fellow and I believed him when he said he was sorry for my situation. I answered that he should not grieve for me. I long for this life to be over, I said, and all these long months in prison have given me ample time to prepare for it. I have no fears for my soul. He told me that he had come to free me from the superstitions in which I had been brought up. I told him he will never have enough time for that but that I would welcome another day to prepare myself.

  9 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  The Queen has graciously granted me three more days of life. I never asked for that, I said to Dr Feckenham when he returned. If the Queen still hopes that I will recant, her hope is a vain one! I was angry but Dr Feckenham explained gently that he was merely carrying out the Queen’s wishes. He looked tired and I was sorry and I told my women to leave us alone. We sat down together and talked long into the night. The poor man looked haggard and weary when he got up to go at last. He had not managed to change my mind. Nor will he, but he says he will return.

  11 February 1554

  The Tower of London

  Three times now Dr Feckenham has visited me. But each time he has found me as firm in my faith as ever. When he got up to go this evening he sighed. “I cannot turn aside such a strongly held faith. I fear that we will never meet again.”

  “No,” I said, “unless God opens your heart to the true faith.” At my words he shook his head sorrowfully but then, as he was leaving, he hesitated and asked if he could accompany me to the scaffold. To my surprise I heard myself say that I would be pleased if he did. We may be far apart in our views, but I have grown to like and respect this man.

  I am weary. Soon I will lay down my pen for the last time. But first I have some letters to write – one to my sister Katherine, which I will write in my Greek testament and a farewell message to my father, which will join Guildford’s greeting to him in my prayer book. Sir John has promised to show my father our messages, and then the prayer book is Sir John’s to keep. He asked me if I would write a message in it for him too and I have promised to do s
o. Now it grows late and I must begin my letter to Katherine. My poor sister has had to give up her young husband and I grieve for her. I am afraid for her, too. My testament, I will tell her, will help show her how to live and I hope teach her how to die. For none of us knows how or when death will come for us, and I would she was as prepared as I am.

  It grows late. Elizabeth has brought me another candle to write by. As she put it down on the table I could see that her eyes were heavy, as if she could barely keep them open. “What is the time?” I asked her.

  “It is past midnight,” she said reluctantly. I bade her seek some rest. “I will rest if you will,” she told me.

  I shook my head. “Elizabeth, I have no need of it. I will soon have all the rest I need.” She began to weep and I told her to dry her eyes. “Do not weep for me,” I said, comforting her. “I will soon be at peace.”

  “If only there was something I could do for you,” she burst out.

  “You have been my loyal friend,” I told her. “If I ask anyone for help, it will be you.” She and my nurse have promised to accompany me in the morning. I asked her if she would deliver my Greek testament to my sister. “There is a message in it for her,” I said. She promised and we were silent for a while. And then I remembered my journal. I was afraid that it would be found and read. So I told her about it.

  She was astonished. “You have kept it secret all this time!”

  I nodded, remembering the day I had begun it – so many years ago. I was a child of nine then. But I am trying not to think of the past so I said quickly, “I give it to you. Will you take it away for me and keep it safe?”