Lady Jane Grey

by Plowden, Alison

  On the following day, Monday 10 July, the new queen was taken in full state down-river from Syon to Westminster. The royal party probably dined at Durham House and then entered their barges again to complete their journey to the Tower, the great fortress-palace where, according to ancient custom, all new sovereigns came to take possession at the beginning of their reigns. Jane and her entourage arrived about three o’clock in the afternoon and a Genoese merchant, Baptista Spinola, who was standing among a group of spectators waiting to see the procession disembark, took the trouble to describe her appearance in considerable detail. ‘This Jane’, he wrote, ‘is very short and thin [all the Grey sisters were tiny – Mary, the youngest, to the point of deformity], but prettily shaped and graceful. She has small features and a well-made nose, the mouth flexible and the lips red. The eyebrows are arched and darker than her hair, which is nearly red. Her eyes are sparkling and rosso [hazel] in colour.’ Spinola was standing so close to Jane that he noticed her complexion was good but freckled and her teeth, when she smiled, white and sharp. She had been put into chopines – shoes with a specially raised cork sole – to make her look taller and more visible and was wearing a gown of green velvet stamped with gold; while Guildford Dudley, ‘a very tall strong boy with light hair’, resplendent in a suit of white and silver, preened himself at her side and ‘paid her much attention’.20

  According to the Italians, some of the beholders were shocked at the sight of the duchess of Suffolk acting as her daughter’s train-bearer on this occasion, and some foreigners were surprised that the duchess had not been named as her nephew’s heir. This must certainly have seemed more logical to outsiders, unaware of the detailed provisions of Henry VIII’s will. According to the French ambassador, the duchess herself was seriously aggrieved at having been passed over and de Noailles also states that he ‘knew’ the duke of Suffolk bitterly resented his wife’s exclusion from her rightful place in the succession. But it had never been any part of Northumberland’s plan to elevate Jane’s parents to regal status and, whatever had gone on behind the scenes, in public they gave no sign of having expected it – rather it seems they were content to bask in their daughter’s reflected glory. Guildford Dudley, however, was expecting a great deal of regal status.

  Guildford was enjoying himself. He made no pretence of loving his wife – probably he regarded her as a tiresome little prig – but he was quite prepared to be polite to her in public in return for the golden stream of social and material benefits which would flow from her. Unfortunately these happy expectations were about to receive a severe setback. No sooner was Jane installed in the now-vanished royal apartments than she was visited by the Lord Treasurer, the old marquess of Winchester, bringing a selection of royal jewels for her inspection. He also brought the crown itself, although, as Jane was later to stress, ‘it had never been demanded from him by me, or by anyone in my name’. In what was most likely an attempt to force her into committing herself beyond any possibility of retreat, Winchester urged her to try it on, to see if it became her. Jane recoiled in horror. In her eyes the crown represented the ultimate symbol of sanctified earthly power; to treat it as a plaything for boys and girls, a sort of extra-special headdress, would be tantamount to violating a sacred mystery. But Winchester failed to recognise the storm signals. She could take it without fear, he told her, adding casually that another would be made to crown her husband withal.

  That was the final straw. It was perhaps only then that Jane realised ‘with infinite grief and displeasure of heart’ the full extent of the cynical trick which had been played on her. In spite of all their pious speeches, no one cared a snap of their fingers about fulfilling the dead king’s wishes, about maintaining the gospel and the true Protestant religion, or even whether the crown was rightfully hers. The plot was simply to use her and her royal blood to raise a plebeian Dudley to a throne to which he had no shadow of right, so that his father could continue to rule. Jane possessed her full share of Tudor family pride and now that pride was outraged. Small, stubborn, terrified and furious, she laid back her ears and dug in her heels. She would make her husband a duke but never, never would she agree to make him king. In any case, she pointed out coldly, nothing could be done without the consent of parliament.

  This precipitated another full-scale family row. Guildford rushed away to fetch his mother and together they launched an all-out assault on their victim – he whining that he didn’t want to be a duke, he wanted to be king; she scolding like a fishwife. At last, finding Jane immovable, they stormed out of her presence, the duchess of Northumberland swearing that her precious son should not stay another moment with his unnatural and ungrateful wife but would return immediately to Syon. Jane watched them go and then summoned the earls of Arundel and Pembroke. Little though she cared for Guildford’s company, she had no intention of allowing him to put such a public slight on her, and she instructed Arundel and Pembroke to prevent him from leaving. Their positions were now, somewhat ironically, reversed. Whether Guildford shared her bed or not, his place was at her side and there he must stay. Guildford sulked but did as he was told, ‘and thus’ Jane was to write, ‘I was compelled to act as a woman who is obliged to live on good terms with her husband; nevertheless I was not only deluded by the duke and the council, but maltreated by my husband and his mother’.21

  While these domestic battles were raging inside the Tower, the sheriff of London, with three heralds, a trumpeter and an escort of the guard, had made his way to the Cross in Cheapside to proclaim Jane, the duke of Suffolk’s daughter, as the new queen of England. But, noted the Greyfriars Chronicle ominously, ‘few or none said God save her’. Gilbert Pot, or Potter, tapster at the St John’s Head tavern within Ludgate, went so far as to declare that ‘the Lady Mary had the better title’ and was promptly arrested and set in the pillory for his pains.22

  On paper John Dudley’s position looked to be unassailable. The reign of his daughter-in-law and puppet queen had begun; he controlled the capital, the Tower with its armoury, the treasury and the navy, while the lords of the Council, all apparently hypnotised by his powerful personality, waited meekly to do his bidding. It seemed, too, that he could rely on the enthusiastic support of the French: Antoine de Noailles was already referring to Guildford Dudley as ‘the new king’. His only adversary was a frail, sickly woman of thirty-seven, without money, influence, professional advice or organised support of any kind. No informed observer of the political scene believed that Mary Tudor stood a chance of enforcing her claim against a man like Northumberland – least of all, it appeared, her only friend and ally the Holy Roman Emperor.

  News of French intervention in the developing crisis in England had finally prodded Charles into action and on 23 June three special envoys had been dispatched from Brussels. Their instructions made it clear that their prime objective was to take such steps as they considered necessary ‘to defeat the machinations of the French and keep them out of England’. Of course they were to do what they could to assist and protect Mary, but it was plain that their only weapons would be diplomacy and persuasion, and that, in the last resort, an English alliance was more important to the Emperor than his cousin’s right to her throne.23

  The Imperial ambassadors arrived in London on 6 July and although the king’s death was being kept a close secret – or as close as it was possible to keep any secret in a royal household – they quickly picked up the news from an informant in the palace. On the following day they sent off their first report, taking a thoroughly gloomy view of the situation. All the forces of the country, they wrote, were in the hands of the duke, ‘and my Lady [Mary] has no hope of raising enough men to face him, nor of assisting those who may espouse her cause. … The hope that my Lady builds upon English supporters of her claim is vain, because of religion; and to proclaim herself without hope of (immediate) success would only jeopardise those chances that remain to her of coming to the throne.’ The ambassadors were of the opinion that ‘the actual possession of po
wer was a matter of great importance, especially among barbarians like the English’ – even as they wrote they received information that one of Northumberland’s sons had already set out with 300 horse and they believed that his orders were to seize the Lady Mary.24

  And yet, even as they wrote, control was beginning to slip out of Northumberland’s hands. In spite of appearances, the duke knew well enough how narrow his power base actually was. Certainly he harboured no illusions about the loyalty of his confederates if the going were to get rough. Survival now would depend on swift, bloodless success and that in turn depended on the swift and inconspicuous elimination of all opposition. On or about 4 July Mary and Elizabeth were both sent letters summoning them to see the king. Elizabeth made no move, prudently taking to her bed with a convenient illness. Mary, who had been waiting out the past few months in ‘sore perplexity’ and increasing fear for the future, was then at the old nursery palace at Hunsdon in Hertfordshire and set out, albeit hesitantly, on the journey to Greenwich. She had not gone far, no further than Hoddesdon on the London road, before a warning reached her that the summons was a trap. (Nicholas Throckmorton later claimed the credit for having dispatched the princess’s goldsmith on this vital errand.) Reacting with uncharacteristic decisiveness, she at once turned round and, accompanied by no more than half a dozen trusted household servants, made for Kenninghall, the Howard family stronghold in Norfolk. She had some good friends in East Anglia and there, if the worst came to the worst, she would be within reach of the coast and escape to the Spanish Netherlands.

  Meanwhile in London, the new regime was doing all the expectable things. The ports had been closed and the Lord Treasurer Winchester, the earl of Shrewsbury, the marquess of Northampton, and the Lord Admiral Lord Clinton came to ‘inspect’ the Tower, key fortress of the realm. Clinton was installed as Constable and the garrison could be seen hauling out the heavy guns and mounting them ready for use. On Saturday 8 July the Lord Mayor and a delegation of aldermen and other leaders of the mercantile community were called to the court to be told of the king’s death and his provisions for the succession, ‘to the which they were sworn and charged to keep it secret’.25

  Northumberland would naturally have preferred to go on keeping it secret until such time as he had got his hands on either or both of the rival claimants, but when it became apparent that Mary had, temporarily at least, slipped through his fingers, he could wait no longer and on Sunday the 9th the bishop of London, preaching at Paul’s Cross, referred to both princesses explicitly as bastards, but fulminated especially against Mary as a stiff papist who, if she became queen, would overturn the true religion and betray the country to a foreign power.26 By the following day Jane’s proclamation had been printed in black letter by Richard Grafton, ready to be posted up in the city of London and in church porches and market crosses up and down the land. A letter had also been drafted in the duke’s own hand to be distributed to the Lords Lieutenant of the counties under Jane’s signature, announcing her entry into her Tower of London ‘as rightful queen of this realm’ and requiring her ‘right trusty and well beloved’ councillors to endeavour to the utmost of their power ‘not only to defend our just title, but also to assist us … to disturb, repel and resist the feigned and untrue claim of the Lady Mary, bastard daughter to our great uncle Henry th’ Eight, of famous memory’.27

  But on that same eventful Monday a letter had been delivered to the lords of the Council from the Lady Mary herself, now in temporary sanctuary at Kenninghall, expressing dignified surprise that they had failed to inform her of ‘so weighty a matter’ as her brother’s death and commanding them upon their allegiance forthwith to cause her right and title to the crown and government of the realm to be proclaimed in her city of London.28 Their lordships, it seems, were ‘greatly astonished and troubled’ by the unwelcome news that Mary was still at large and showing fight and, so they heard at the Imperial embassy, the duchesses of Suffolk and Northumberland both shed tears of mortification. At the Imperial embassy, though, they were still confidently expecting the worst. They had not ventured to make direct contact with Mary, nor to answer her anguished appeals for help, and could only deplore her stubborn refusal to accept the inevitability of defeat, expecting at any moment to hear that she had been seized and ‘subjected to evil treatment, if the news that are coming in from all quarters are true’.29

  Inside the Tower an air of carefully studied calm prevailed. The Council wrote sternly back to Mary, reminding her of the sundry Acts of Parliament by which she was ‘justly made illegitimate and uninheritable to the Crown Imperial of this realm’ and requiring her to cease by any pretence to vex and molest the loyal subjects of ‘our Sovereign Lady Queen Jane’. If she showed herself quiet and obedient as she ought, then the lords would be glad to do her any service ‘that we with duty may’; if not, they indicated, she would be sorry.30 The Council also dispatched a messenger to Brussels with a letter authorising him to inform the Emperor of King Edward’s death and another letter, over the sign manual of ‘Jane the Quene’, instructing Sir Philip Hoby to continue in his post of resident ambassador at the Imperial court, while young Guildford Dudley amused himself by drafting a document giving Sir Philip full powers to deal in his affairs. There was talk of a coronation in two weeks’ time and a requisition had been sent to the Master of the Wardrobe for twenty yards of velvet, twenty-five ells of fine Holland, or linen cloth, and thirty-three ells of coarser material to make lining for robes. More boxes of jewels had now been delivered to the Tower, but unfortunately they seem mostly to have contained a miscellany of odds and ends such as every household accumulates, including, among other things, a toothpick in the shape of a fish, an assortment of buttons, semi-precious stones and trinkets, a number of ‘purse-hangers of silver and gilt’, two billaments (the jewelled borders worn on ladies’ hoods), and a clock of damascened work made in the shape of a book. There was a prayer book, a leather purse, some coins, even a pair of silver ‘twitchers’ or tweezers.31

  So far the determination to present a confident face to the outside world was holding. Antoine de Noailles, who had seen the Council on 7 July and generously offered his master’s help should need arise, remained optimistic; in contrast, the Imperial ambassadors were still so nervous that for several days they scarcely dared to leave de Scheyfve’s house and then only went out for a brief airing in the company of a few Spanish merchants – ‘To help themselves to show a little spirit,’ wrote de Noailles unkindly.32 All the same, it was the Imperialists who detected the first signs of a crack in the façade when, on Wednesday 12 July, they received a visit from Lord Cobham and Sir John Mason on behalf of Northumberland.

  Of the three special envoys sent by Charles, it was Simon Renard, a native of the Franche Comté and a brilliant, hardworking, subtle career diplomat, who had taken the lead. When Cobham and Mason began in a hectoring manner, telling them that their credentials were no longer valid now that Edward was dead, forbidding them to attempt to communicate with Mary and threatening them with England’s ‘barbarous laws’ if they gave any cause for suspicion, it was Renard who replied, tactfully assuring the councillors of the Emperor’s goodwill and urging them rather to welcome the advances of old friends than seek new alliances with those who had always been their enemies. The French, he pointed out, had a vested interest in stirring up trouble, their object being ‘to seek to gain a foothold in England for their own ends and to the advantage of the Queen of Scotland and that of her affianced spouse, the Dauphin of France’. When the Emperor heard that his cousin had been declared a bastard and of ‘the violence that was publicly said to be intended against her person’, he would naturally conclude that French intrigues had prevailed and that the rights long recognised by the international community as belonging to Mary had been snatched away to gain the crown for the queen of Scots, under colour of conferring it upon the duke of Suffolk’s daughter. Renard ended by saying that if the Council really regarded their commission as having expired, th
en he and his colleagues must ask to be supplied with an escort so that they might return to Brussels, and did this mean that de Scheyfve, the resident ambassador, was no longer welcome either?

  Renard and the others had the satisfaction of seeing Cobham and Mason reduced to embarrassed silence. Nor did they miss the shifty exchange of glances between the two men as they began to back-pedal, murmuring that of course it had been a mistake to say the ambassadors’ commission had expired and hoping their excellencies would not feel obliged to ask for their passports until the Council had been able to consider the position further. ‘So,’ wrote Renard, ‘they left us in suspense, waiting to see what they would say or do.’33

  Although the anxiously waiting envoys had heard unconfirmed reports that Northumberland’s son Robert had been defeated by Mary’s followers and also believed that there were ‘many people in the realm who love the Lady Mary and hate the duke and his children, and would gladly help her if they could’, they were still in daily expectation of hearing that she had fallen into the hands of her enemies. But on that same Wednesday, 12 July, some very disquieting news had reached the Council of the support now rallying to her. The earl of Bath, the earl of Sussex and his son, Sir Thomas Wharton, Sir John Mordaunt, Sir William Drury and Sir John Shelton, together with substantial families like the Bedingfields, Bacons, Jerninghams and Cornwallises were already with her, or on their way. Any hope of being able to present a grumbling but acquiescent nation with a fait accompli had now vanished. Instead a full-scale expedition would have to be mounted to ‘fetch in the Lady Mary’ and the issue would have to be decided on the field of battle.