Her Highness, the Traitor

by Susan Higginbotham

  “William, don’t torture me like this! Of course I want to hear it.”

  “They say the queen’s expecting.”

  Expecting what? I almost asked. Then I realized what he meant. “You mean she is with child?”

  “So they say. No disrespect, but she looks a little old to breed to me. Roger over there thinks so, too.” He nodded at one of his compatriots a ways off.

  I could not help but share the boatmen’s expert opinion. “Nonetheless, I hope it is true, and I will pray that she bears a healthy babe,” I said. “My own daughter will soon be having a child,” I added proudly.

  “Aye, that’s good, Your Grace.” He handed me out of the boat with a flourish. “Don’t let me hear that you let that George take you home as you did last week. Young fool almost overturned you, didn’t he?”

  “It was pouring,” I said apologetically. “I should have waited for you to come along, though.”

  The Duchess of Alba greeted me in a torrent of Spanish before anyone could come to assist us. By now, I could pick out a phrase here or there, and I distinctly heard the name “Penshurst,” or Maria’s version of it. “Penshurst? That is where my daughter lives.” I stared at the approaching interpreter. “Is there something wrong with my daughter that you have heard?”

  “No, no! The queen has agreed to set free three of your sons. The Earl of Warwick, Lord Robert, and Lord Henry. They are to go to Penshurst, pending further orders.”

  “God be thanked,” I whispered.

  The duchess took me into her arms.

  “But there is one thing you need to know,” she said softly, her tone echoed by the interpreter. “The Earl of Warwick is very ill.”

  ***

  By the time I arrived home, a royal messenger had come to confirm the news of my sons’ release. I would have taken horse and ridden for Penshurst as quickly as I could, but my servants flatly ignored my orders and got my litter and mules ready for me instead. They had been coddling me lately, and fussed each time I went to the court or to the Duchess of Alba’s, but they could hardly complain about this journey.

  Even in the mule cart we made good time, though—better, I heard the driver say to my groom, than we would have made if I had slid off my horse in a faint—and we arrived at Penshurst before my sons were expected to arrive.

  Mary took my arm when I got out of the cart. “You’re the one who needs an arm,” I protested. “You’re huge.”

  “I feel fine, Mother. Why don’t you lie down until Henry gets here with the boys?”

  “No. I want to be here when they come through the gate. Not sound asleep.”

  Mary gave Katheryn, who had come with me, a look.

  At a little past three, I heard the sounds of approaching horses. Before I could disentangle myself from the baby clothes I was stitching, Robert and Hal stood before me.

  I have no words to describe how it was seeing my sons for the first time in months with no guards beside them. We clung to each other and wept for what seemed to be hours. Finally, I managed, “Jack?”

  “They’re bringing him upstairs, Mother,” Mary said. She had been talking in a low tone with her husband. “Let him get settled first. Then you can see him.”

  “No! If he is ill, I need to nurse him.”

  “Mother—”

  Henry moved closer to Mary. “Let her, Moll,” he said softly. “It can’t make her any worse.”

  ***

  Jack was not merely ill; he was dying. I knew that as soon as I stepped through the door. He had the same wasted look King Edward had worn in his last days, except the desperate remedies tried on the king had not been tried on him, so he would be dying in peace, at least.

  “I didn’t get to finish my carving,” he said as we all sat in his chamber.

  “Carving?”

  “Jack carved our bear and ragged staff into the wall of the Beauchamp Tower,” Robert said, patting his brother’s shoulder. “It’s beautifully done. Not that I ever want to go back and see it again.”

  “And a border with roses for Ambrose, gillyflowers for Guildford, oak leaves for Robert, and honeysuckle for Hal,” said Jack. “There’s a verse, too.”

  “‘You that these beasts do well behold and see / may deem with ease wherefore here made they be,’” recited Hal. “‘With borders eke wherein are to be found / four brothers’ names who list to search the ground.’”

  “And poor Guildford carved ‘Jane’ into one wall,” said Robert. He glared at the wall of the chamber. “And then the little wench wouldn’t even see him.”

  “She said it would have caused too much grief for them both,” Hal said.

  “Still, she could have at least waved to him from the window.”

  “Boys!” I said.

  “It’s all right, Mother,” Jack said. “They’ve been arguing about this since Guildford died. I like hearing them.” He closed his eyes, then opened them. “Anne…my wife. Is she coming?”

  “We sent for her,” I said. All of my sons’ wives were here now, or on the way.

  “Good.”

  I walked out of the chamber with Henry and my younger sons as Jack dozed. “I have not had a chance to thank you, Henry, for helping to get my sons released. You and the Duchess of Alba have done so much.”

  “I believe your petitions did as much as the rest of us combined. The queen respects tenacity.”

  I turned to Robert and Hal. “How long has Jack been ill?”

  “Not that long, or even the queen would have probably released him earlier than this. He’d been looking peaked for a while, now that I think of it, but the way you see him now, it came upon him quickly,” said Robert.

  “And Ambrose?”

  “He’s being kept in the Tower as sort of a hostage for the good behavior of the rest of us,” Hal said. “There’s been no talk of releasing Uncle Andrew.”

  “Then we must keep trying.”

  Robert cleared his throat. “You’re not looking well, Mother,” he said bluntly.

  “Naturally, your father’s and Guildford’s deaths have aged me.”

  “Katheryn said that you fainted a few days ago. Fell off your chair while you were sewing.”

  “The room was too warm. I told her that at the time.”

  “Henry and Mary would like their physician to see you. So would the rest of us.”

  “So I can get poked and prodded and dosed? I believe that physicians only make one sicker. You know that.” I met Robert’s eyes defiantly. “When Ambrose is free and when my grandchild is born, I will let a physician see me. I promise, if it will make you and the rest happy.”

  “It will.”

  “Then that is settled. Now, tell me. Did you see your father before he died?”

  “No,” Hal said. “He sent us a letter begging us to forgive him for bringing us to this. He converted for our sake, you know. Jack, at least, would have been executed with him otherwise.”

  “I know.”

  “He was gone by the time we got the letter. We couldn’t reply. But we were allowed to pay our respects at his grave before we left the Tower. We spent a long time there. What did we have to forgive him for, anyway? Being loyal to the king?”

  I wiped my eyes with my handkerchief, one of my husband’s. “Now tell me about Guildford.”

  Robert said, “He wouldn’t say a thing against Father when the lieutenant told him that his sentence was being carried out. Nothing against the fool Duke of Suffolk, either, who deserved it. He even insisted on sending him a farewell message. He said that Suffolk was about the only person in the Grey family who didn’t treat him like something the cat spat out.” My son snorted. “I think he was half in love with Jane by the time he died, judging by that carving of his, but of course he didn’t actually have to spend any time with
her. That helped, in my opinion. As I said back there, he begged to meet her one last time, but she decided it would be a distraction.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Poor Guildford. It wouldn’t have been easy, married to a Protestant saint. Anyway, he sent his love to you, of course—I should have said that from the start—and made us promise that we remaining brothers would always be loyal to one another, that we would always speak of Father kindly, and that we would take care of you.” Robert patted my hand as I at last began to give way to my emotions. “He didn’t need to make us promise those things, Mother. We would have done them anyway.”

  ***

  Aged seven and twenty, Jack died in my arms on October 21, 1554. His wife had come just in time to spend a few minutes with him alone. What the two of them said I never asked, but Jack seemed at peace as he said his dying prayers, surrounded by his wife and family.

  We buried him at Penshurst—Warwick Castle, where we might have otherwise taken his body, was forfeit to the Crown. I was not present at the funeral, for his death did send me to my bed, from which I found myself too weak to arise for nearly a month. By the end of November, however, I was able to be present while my daughter Mary labored to bring her first child into the world.

  It was a long labor, but my daughter remained strong through it all. On November 30, she brought forth my grandson.

  King Philip agreed to be one of his godfathers; the Duke of Bedford, who had led the embassy to Spain a few months ago, the other. They served by proxy. I, the godmother, was there in person as we gathered in the chapel of Penshurst in December to christen him.

  I bore my grandson to the altar and carefully placed him in the arms of Philip’s proxy—my son Robert. “What name do you give this child?” the priest asked.

  “Philip,” Robert said, staring proudly down at his baby nephew. “Philip Sidney.”

  46

  Frances Grey

  October 1554

  With Kate settled among the maids at court and thriving, Adrian and I traveled to Beaumanor in Leicestershire. Although it had belonged to Harry and me, we had seldom stayed here, and I was pleased to find the house more attractive than I remembered. It did not have Bradgate’s mellow beauty, but it was a place where I could be at peace. “It does need some repairs, though,” I told Adrian that afternoon. “And it could be made more comfortable, also. It is rather old-fashioned. I think we can afford some work to it, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “If you think we cannot afford it, tell me so.”

  “If you think we can, we can. You’re careful with money.”

  I smiled modestly, for I always had been meticulous with our household accounts. “Harry once said that I took after my grandfather,” I said, referring to the seventh King Henry. “Mind you, I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”

  Adrian did not smile. “I was joking,” I said lightly.

  “Yes, I know. There is something else we need to talk about.”

  “Adrian?”

  “I am considering leaving England, just as so many have.”

  “Leaving? With me?” Adrian shook his head no. “But we are married!”

  “Are we?”

  “You know we are! We had a priest, we exchanged our vows, and you gave me a wedding ring.”

  “Which is nowhere on your hand.”

  “Of course not. We agreed to keep our marriage a secret.” I looked up at Adrian, puzzled. “Didn’t we?”

  “Yes, of course we did.”

  “Then why are you speaking of leaving? Why are you acting so peculiar?”

  “Why do you think I married you?”

  “Why, because I begged you to.”

  “No. Because I’ve wanted you in my bed since I first laid eyes upon you.”

  I drew back, shocked.

  “When you and your stepmother made that very businesslike proposal to me, I did want to oblige you. Who could resist two duchesses? But I never would have agreed if I thought that I would never get to take you to bed at some point. Why, our marriage could easily be held invalid, being that we’ve never consummated it. Has that ever occurred to you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But —”

  “I didn’t expect you to lie with me when we first married, not so soon after your husband’s and your daughter’s deaths. I’ve been patient, knowing that you needed time to grieve. But as each day goes by and we’re as businesslike as we’ve ever been, I’ve been asking myself, is this really worth it, this being not quite a servant and not quite a husband? Is it ever going to change? Would I be better off just going abroad and forgetting we ever exchanged vows?”

  “Harry… Jane…”

  “The Duke of Suffolk himself urged me to take care of you; you heard him. The lady Jane? She’s happy in paradise. Why would she begrudge you a little happiness on earth?”

  “But—”

  “Our marriage was your idea. Or was it? Was your stepmother merely putting words in your mouth?”

  “She did give me the idea. But I wanted to marry you. I thought it was a good idea. I do want to be your wife—a true wife. I just—” I gestured hopelessly, feeling tears come to my eyes. “Perhaps this was a mistake, marrying you so hastily. I have only caused you pain, and I never meant to. I—I like you. Better than any man I’ve ever known.”

  Adrian’s voice softened. “Did you bring your wedding ring here?” When I nodded, he asked, “Can you find it?”

  I went to my chamber and retrieved the coffer where I kept my ring, wrapped inside a handkerchief. It had sat there undisturbed since our wedding day. When I returned, I held it out to Adrian.

  “Did you ever look inside it?”

  “No. It never occurred to me to look.”

  “Well, look now.”

  I obeyed. Inside the wedding band, engraved in a fine italic, were the words “A to F: Amor Vincit Omnia.”

  “‘Love conquers—’”

  “I know what it means. I always did like Chaucer’s Prioress.” I looked up from the engraving at which I’d been gazing. “Are you saying—?”

  “I love you, Frances. I’ve loved you for a very long time. I can remember the very day I fell in love with you, as a matter of fact. It wasn’t long after I came to your household. I’d been looking for horses for your new litter, and I found two fine ones. Matched greys, I told you, and you said, ‘How appropriate.’ When I chuckled, you gave me the sweetest smile, as if you were so pleased, and so surprised, to have someone laugh at your joke. From then on, all I wanted was to have you smile like that at me again.” He shook his head. “I never even dreamed of the possibility of you marrying me. All I could ever hope for was that I’d always be able to serve you faithfully, as the lady of my heart. Then out of nowhere you asked me to be your husband, and that’s when you gave me that sweet little smile of yours again, when I accepted.”

  My eyes were filling with tears again, but they were not tears of sadness. I stepped forward and raised my lips to Adrian’s. He accepted my invitation, and we kissed. It was not like our previous polite efforts. This time, we kissed as passionately as though our lips had been made for no one else’s. “Adrian?” I said when we pulled back at last.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you take me to bed with you?”

  My husband took my hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  ***

  “Tomorrow we shall start living as man and wife,” I told Adrian much later. For hours after consummating our marriage, we had lay entwined, talking not of business but of ourselves, of those we had lost and what we had gained in each other. “I am sorry I have waited this long. Will you forgive me?”

  “Only if you will forgive me.”

  “For what?”

  “I hadn’t the slightest intention of leaving you, Frances. I c
ould never do that. It was a lie I told you back there.”

  “I am very glad you told it.” I snuggled closer to Adrian. “The whole household shall know me as your wife when I rise from this bed. But I am so comfortable, I don’t want to rise.”

  “Will you tell the queen of our marriage?”

  I hesitated. Even with Adrian’s arms around me, the prospect of facing my cousin was a daunting one. “I should like to wait a little longer, to find a good time.”

  “Very well.” Adrian held me closer. “As long as you are truly mine now, the queen can wait.”

  I leaned over Adrian and shook my hair over my shoulders and breasts so it tickled his belly. Earlier in the evening, when we had first disrobed, he had stared at my hair in awe as I let it fall to my waist, and for the first time in my life, I had felt beautiful. “What if I asked you to make love to me again tonight?”

  Adrian smiled up at me and tapped my nose. “I’m not one and twenty any longer, sweetheart, but I think I can manage that.”

  47

  Jane Dudley

  December 1554 to January 22, 1555

  In December, my one son remaining imprisoned, Ambrose, is freed from the Tower. It is then, and only then, I keep my promise to Robert and let a physician examine me once the Christmas and New Year’s festivities have passed. What he tells me, I have figured out for myself long ago, without having to pay a fee.

  When he leaves, I go to my desk and begin writing my will.

  ***

  It is not hard to write my will once I get into the flow of it. Money to the poor, money to the prisoners in London’s various jails. Gowns to my dear John’s sisters, to my daughters, and to my daughters-in-law—all but Jack’s widow, who has proven only too eager to cut the last tie between my family and hers, except for the title of “countess” and her jointure lands. Those things will probably make her happier than anything I could give her, I tell myself, and write on.

  John’s clock, ticking peacefully as I write this, will go to our daughter Mary. A tawny velvet jewel coffer to Susan Clarencius, a gown to Lady Paget, and a black enameled ring to Lord Paget: all were kind to me and helped me intercede for my boys, though none could save my John. I leave my lands to my children but remember, just in time, that all are under attainder and cannot inherit: I must leave my lands to my executors.