Most likely born in 1535, Guildford Dudley was one of thirteen children—the fifth surviving son of Northumberland and Jane Guildford. He was the closest in age to Jane Grey, as well as the Dudleys’ only unmarried son in 1553. Described by the contemporary chronicler Richard Grafton, who actually knew the youth, as a “comely, virtuous and goodly gentleman,” Guildford, too, had enjoyed the benefits of a humanist education, although he was hardly the studious and scholarly teen that his fiancée was.
Although Jane might not have objected to Guildford’s physical appearance, she strenuously resisted the idea of marrying him, primarily because she regarded her parents’ prior plans to bind her with the Earl of Hertford as a precontract of marriage, and therefore indissoluble. During this era, such a precontract was legally regarded as tantamount to the nuptials themselves. Jane had been fond of Hertford, the younger Edward Seymour. The Protector’s son was handsome and serious, and she believed that she and the earl were well suited, embracing the idea of their match.
Beyond Jane’s objections to a marriage with Guildford Dudley on technical grounds, she didn’t like him personally, deeming him a mama’s boy. He was indeed the duchess’s favorite child, spoiled and cosseted. Jane also seems to have mistrusted his father, but the Duke of Northumberland was at the time the most powerful man in the kingdom, running the government for His (dying teenage) Majesty. And as far as the Greys were concerned, it was unthinkable that their chit of a daughter should flout their wishes, especially by holding fast to the terms of a mooted arrangement with the Earl of Hertford.
Jane’s consent to the union with Guildford Dudley was literally coerced “by the urgency of her mother and the violence of her father,” who tag-teamed her into submission with a torrent of verbal and physical abuse. Those nips and pinches the Greys gave her for refusing to play in the park were nothing compared to the blows she received at her father’s hands for rejecting a match with the son of the de facto king.
The source for this crap-kicking episode is considered fairly reliable; however, it comes from the nineteenth-century authors Agnes and Elizabeth Strickland, who were translating a pirated edition of Raviglio Rosso’s History of Events in England. Rosso was visiting England on a diplomatic mission for the Duke of Ferrara. His account, as well as that of the Venetian ambassador to the Spanish imperial court in Brussels, is based on hearsay, and the Italian travelers were notorious gossips. However, the beatings would be credible for the personalities of Frances and Henry Grey as Jane presents them, and for angry and exasperated parents in an era where corporal punishment of children was the norm—parents who were livid that their arrogant adolescent had dared to question their judgment and authority, especially in a situation when the stakes could not have been higher.
For such a special event as Jane’s union with Guildford, it’s surprising that it was transformed into a triple wedding. The Northumberlands hosted the nuptials on May 21, 1553, at their London residence, Durham House, an enormous mansion along the Thames riverside. Twelve-year-old Katherine, the middle Grey sister, was wed to Lord Herbert, the fifteen-year-old heir to the Earl of Pembroke, and Guildford’s sister Katherine, also in her early teens, was united in wedlock with the eighteen-year-old Lord Hastings, heir to the Earl of Huntingdon. It was a rushed affair, planned in less time than usual, because both sets of parents were so keen to unite their families, and particularly to secure Guildford’s connection with the heir presumptive to the throne. Nevertheless, the Northumberlands spared no expense. The nuptials were celebrated in splendor, not merely with a ceremony but with a festival featuring three days of jousting, masques, and games. Two theatrical companies, one male, one female, had been booked to perform. Northumberland had authorized the Master of the Wardrobe to release the finest textiles and gems from the royal stores so that the mothers of the respective brides and grooms could bedeck themselves with “certain parcels of cloth of gold and silver.”
Among the distinguished wedding guests was the Venetian ambassador Giovanni Francesco Commendone (historians disagree as to whether the French envoy was also there), as well as “large numbers of the common people . . . and of the most principal of the realm,” according to Commendone. Unfortunately for the egocentric Greys and Dudleys, none of the royals were in attendance. The king’s half sisters were personae non grata, and Edward himself was too ill to put in an appearance.
Although Jane, freckled and small for her age, looked charming, her strawberry-blond hair braided with pearls, she hardly appeared in love with her bridegroom. It was no secret to anyone present that theirs was a purely dynastic alliance.
On June 21, 1553, the patent naming Jane as Edward’s successor was signed. By the end of the month, it was endorsed, albeit reluctantly, by some troubled consciences—not only Sir Edward Montagu, but the king’s godfather, Archbishop Cranmer; twenty-two peers of the realm; the Lord Mayor of London; the aldermen and sheriffs of Middlesex, Surrey, and Kent; the officers of the royal household; the privy counselors; and the secretaries of state.
Immediately after her wedding ceremony, instead of cohabiting with her new bridegroom, Jane returned to Suffolk Place, her parents’ home at Westminster. Soon afterward, she went to their new country home, a renovated Carthusian monastery on the south bank of the Thames at Sheen. Now called Jane Dudley, although she’d had only limited contact with her new in-laws, she knew them enough to despise them. They must truly have been heinous if Jane preferred the company of her mother, as Frances Grey had never been particularly maternal, or even kind to her. The two mothers-in-law mightily disliked each other. The Duchess of Northumberland had made it quite clear to the Duchess of Suffolk that she found it not only ludicrous, but unacceptable for the newlyweds to live apart.
Jane, who never minced words, seems to have had no qualms about speaking disrespectfully to her mother-in-law. She told Lady Dudley just what she thought of her, sparking a ferocious row between the two duchesses. Guildford’s mother accused Frances Grey of deliberately endeavoring to keep the young couple apart.
Toward the end of June, as Edward’s condition steadily worsened, the Duchess of Northumberland advised Jane to prepare herself for an imminent summons to London, because the king had named her his heir. Evidently this was the first Jane had heard of both her royal cousin’s illness and the change in succession, and frankly, she didn’t believe it. She thought the old cow was “boasting,” massaging her vanity in order to separate her from her mother.
Failing to gain any traction with an argument that should have filled Jane with excitement, the duchess changed tack. A woman’s place was beside her husband, insisted Lady Dudley, so she practically force-marched Jane to Durham House to join Guildford. It is possible that the newlyweds finally consummated their marriage there—they certainly did, if the Dudleys had anything to do with it: They were all but pushing the teenagers’ hips.
Jane remained only a few days at Durham House before falling ill, convinced, with her all-or-nothing adolescent temperament, that her in-laws were trying to kill her. As she was now heir to the throne, did they believe her demise would mean that Guildford would become king, with his father acting as regent? In Jane’s view, that would be a wild misinterpretation of the new act.
In reality, the Dudleys needed Jane to remain healthy, to bear heirs with Guildford and perpetuate the Tudor dynasty, benefiting all of them. They sent her to convalesce at Chelsea, Catherine Parr’s former home. There, on Sunday afternoon, July 9, Jane received a surprise visit from Guildford’s oldest sister, Mary Sidney, requesting her immediate departure for Syon House.
The bewildered Jane complied, and was greeted at the Dudleys’ residence by her father-in-law, acting in his capacity as president of the Privy Council, as well as her mother-in-law, her parents, and the earls of Arundel, Pembroke, Huntington, and the Marquess of Northampton. According to Jane, these distinguished personages welcomed her with “unwonted caresses and pleasantness”; and then,
to her astonishment and embarrassment, knelt before her.
Northumberland informed her of Edward VI’s death—the fifteen-year-old king had in fact died three days earlier, on July 6. He then told her about the Devise for the Succession, explaining how Edward had arrived at the determination that she should be his heir.
Jane collapsed in tears at the news of her beloved cousin’s death. When she finally regained her composure, she protested, “The crown is not my right and pleases me not. The Lady Mary is the rightful heir,” referring to Edward’s oldest half sister, Mary Tudor, who had been stripped of her title as princess by their father upon the annulment of his marriage to Katherine of Aragon.
Many scholars find it hard to believe that the remarkably intelligent Jane was genuinely shocked by the news of her accession—that she had absolutely no inkling of the Machiavellian machinations that had been taking place behind the scenes, particularly where the unscrupulous Dudleys, especially the duke, were concerned. Why else had she been hastily married to Guildford while the king was dying?
Declaring herself insufficient for so great a responsibility, the sixteen-year-old Jane did not cheerfully embrace her new destiny. Rather, she had to be entreated to accept it by her parents, in-laws, the assembled nobles, and her husband, who attempted to convince her with “prayers and caresses.” Finally, steeling her resolve, Jane then murmured her thanks to God, adding that if it was indeed her duty and her right to succeed her cousin on the throne, she prayed the Almighty would aid her in governing the realm to His glory. At this point, her father-in-law was surely thinking she would seek more terrestrial guidance.
Now that Jane had accepted the grave responsibilities of sovereignty, she was determined to perform them to the fullest.
The following day, Monday, July 10, 1553, wearing a green velvet gown stamped in gold with long flowing sleeves, a bejeweled close-fitting white headdress, and chopines—platform shoes—to make her appear taller, the new queen of England, Lady Jane Grey (although she was now Jane Dudley), was transported in state aboard a royal barge from Syon to Westminster. She likely stopped to dine at Durham House before the barge brought her to the Tower of London, where, by ancient custom, all English monarchs took possession of the realm and began their reigns.
A great and curious crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of their new sovereign, purportedly among them a Genoese merchant, Baptista Spinola, who was close enough to Jane to describe her appearance. “This Jane is very short and thin, 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 reddish brown in colour.” Spinola was so close to the “gracious and animated figure” of Jane that he could spy her freckles, as well as her teeth when she smiled, which he noted were “white and sharp.” Wherever she walked, a ceremonial canopy of state was held over her head. Beside her stood Guildford Dudley in a magnificent white-and-silver suit, “a very tall strong boy with light hair,” who “paid her much attention.”
This description of Jane and her husband has been handed down through the decades, presented as fact from one biography to another. However, it has been unmasked as historical fiction by Leanda de Lisle, a recent biographer of the three Grey sisters. She attributes it to a New York City journalist, Richard Davey, who penned the paragraph in 1909. Sixteenth-century eyewitnesses remarked only that Jane’s mother carried her train, a striking reversal of the traditional familial roles, and that Guildford strode beside her, his cap in his hand as a sign of humility.
It was true, however, that Guildford was playing the devoted husband to the hilt that day, and it behooved him to maintain a pretense of affection for Jane where little, if any, existed. Married for less than two months, during which time Jane had returned to reside with her parents or been sick in bed, the teens scarcely had time to get to know each other, let alone overcome their initial, and mutual, dislike.
Comfortably ensconced in the royal apartments at the Tower, Jane was presented with an array of jewels by the Lord Treasurer, who instructed her to choose what pleased her. He also brought her the crown and insisted that she try it on. Although she had already started signing documents as Jane the Quene, Jane tried to refuse.
Altering the rules of succession and coups d’état is all fun and games until the crown actually hits the hairline. Then somebody’s gonna get hurt. The crown itself, that symbol of majesty and power, wasn’t some piece of costume jewelry, and all these old men weren’t indulging Jane in a game of dress-up. The Lord Treasurer, the rather ancient Marquess of Winchester, mistook Jane’s reluctance and distress. He thought she was declining to wear the crown because there was only one, so he hastily assured the poor girl that she needn’t fear accepting it, because another one would be made for Guildford!
At this, everything suddenly became crystal clear, as Jane realized “with infinite grief and displeasure of heart” the extent of the Dudleys’ manipulation of her—that the entire scheme to redraw the line of succession so that it pointed toward her had been designed to place Northumberland’s son, a youth without a shred of royal blood in him, on the throne of England.
Adopting her most regal manner, Jane reminded the Lord Treasurer that nothing could be done without the consent of Parliament. Jane’s Tudor ire was now up. She adamantly refused to make Guildford king, purportedly avowing that “the crown was not a plaything for boys and girls.” At this, the Dudleys became infuriated. But after Jane had a conversation with Guildford, he “assented that if he were to be made king, he would be so by me, by act of parliament,” acquiescing, at least, to her authority in the matter. Painfully aware that merely because he was her husband, by law he would have dominion over her, even if she were queen, Jane had no intention of awarding the undeserving Guildford the crown matrimonial.
To assuage him, Jane offered to make Guildford Duke of Clarence, but he petulantly refused the title, flatly stating, at his mother’s prompting, that he wanted to be king, not a duke.
This declaration precipitated a huge contretemps between the young spouses. Guildford ran off to fetch his mommy, and then the pair of them laced into Jane, with the duchess screaming at her like a lunatic. After realizing that the new queen wasn’t about to back down, the mother-in-law from hell announced that from now on, she was forbidding her son from sleeping with his ungrateful and unnatural wife. The pair stormed out in high dudgeon, but Jane had them detained by the earls of Pembroke and Arundel, mistrusting what the Dudleys might do outside her presence. She ordered Guildford to return to her side and remain there.
Jane won that round, but the prize was her twit of a husband. Guildford pouted about it, but obeyed. She lamented, “[A]nd thus, 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.”
Meanwhile, throughout the streets Jane was proclaimed queen by London’s sheriff, accompanied by a trio of heralds, but the announcement met with little excitement. The Greyfriars Chronicle observed, “few or none said God save her.” And there were none of the usual celebrations—bonfires and bell ringing—to accompany the news.
Upon Jane’s accession, the Duke of Northumberland had begun to shore up his power base, but he had been unsuccessful in ensnaring the Lady Mary, whom he’d tried to trick into traveling from Hunsdon to London. Mary had started on the journey, but a funny feeling in her gut compelled her to turn back. She was, understandably, peeved that the duke hadn’t seen fit to inform her of “so weighty a matter” as her brother’s death. Reminding Mary of all the acts of Parliament that had declared her illegitimacy, in case she had designs on the throne, Northumberland condescendingly warned her not to vex the loyal subjects of “our Sovereign Lady Queen Jane.”
Yet Mary, who had her own network of spies, must have learned abou
t the gravity of Edward’s condition long before Jane was told of his demise, because she communicated with Jane’s council on July 9, the same day Jane herself learned of her accession. Mary demanded that the council renounce her cousin and recognize her as their sovereign instead, in accordance with her father’s will. Mary also made it abundantly clear that she was aware of the plot against her “. . . to undo the provisions made for our preferment . . .” exhorting the men of the Privy Council to display their loyalty to her. The reply she received the same day was insultingly addressed to “my Lady Mary,” referring to her claim as “your supposed title which you judge yourself to have.”
The council reiterated its support for Jane as the rightful queen, her authority enforced by the letters patent signed by the late Edward VI, and they began issuing commands over Jane’s signature. Guildford was dispatching correspondence of his own to the English ambassador at the imperial court, instructing him to act on his behalf, and the French ambassador was describing Guildford as “the new king.” Jane’s husband was even insisting that he be addressed as Your Majesty by anyone entering his presence.
Yet Mary’s supporters were amassing in East Anglia, prepared to contest the new regime. The Dudley and Grey families hurriedly conferred, recognizing the importance of sending a force to suppress them, but Jane “with weeping tears, made request to the whole council that her father might tarry at home in her company.” However, Robert Wingfield of Grantham, author of the Vita Mariae Angliae Regina, maintained that it was Jane’s mother who became hysterical over the thought of Suffolk’s deployment.
In any event, Northumberland was deputized, and, with an army of three thousand behind him, sometime between July 12 and July 14 he rode out to confront Mary. But as the days wore on, popular sentiment for Edward’s half sister increased, and many of the duke’s soldiers deserted him. Town after town began to declare its support for Mary; yet her rebellion might have failed had the ships Northumberland dispatched to blockade her not defected to her side.
Inglorious Royal Marriages Page 10
