A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  The King she was unsure of. He was big and red-faced, like her mother, and he rumbled with laughter when something pleased him. But those piercing blue eyes could narrow into murderous rage as quickly and terribly as a man's head might be lopped from his shoulders.

  The King's children were introduced to Jane later that day, in the Royal nursery.

  The Princess Mary, a plain and bitter woman who looked older than her twenty-four years, smiled stiffly at her baby cousin. She was short and rather stumpy, with sandy hair, suspicious eyes and a thin, tight mouth that seemed to suggest a cruel nature. She was the only daughter of Katherine of Aragon, Henry's first wife.

  Elizabeth, almost seven years old, seemed rather an interesting child - clever and tawny-haired, she bore an astonishing resemblance to her dread sire, although she had her mother's narrow bones and white skin.

  When Elizabeth was two years old, her mother, the spirited Anne Boleyn, had been accused of Adultery and High Treason against the King's person. She had been taken to the Tower and executed there. Ever since, Elizabeth had suffered long periods of exile from the Court, for she was a painful reminder of the Boleyn woman, whom the King had once loved to distraction.

  Elizabeth's glowing appearance made Mary's wan, sickly looks seem elderly and pallid by comparison. Her turquoise eyes, alert and gleaming beneath tawny lashes, were the eyes of someone who had stood face to face with danger for so long that they scorned safety. Elizabeth would never be a pious woman: she had inherited that keen vivacity which had proclaimed her mother a witch.

  Thirdly, there was Edward — three years old, very small, pale and delicate. He had the red hair of the Tudors, but none of their boisterous humour or their vitality. Like his mother, Jane Seymour, he was quiet and reserved, and felt neither love nor compassion very easily. Jane thought him colourless, but when Elizabeth began to tease him, she felt strongly protective towards him, and this formed a bond between them.

  'Well, now that we all know each other, I suggest we play "Blind Man's Buff',' said Elizabeth brightly. 'I'll call Kat, to make a fifth.'

  'You would be wiser to learn your Latin Grammar,' the Lady Mary promptly snubbed her.

  Elizabeth flushed hotly and turned away.

  Mary glanced at Edward. 'Wouldn't you like to learn some Latin, Edward?'

  'Yes, of course I would,' answered the little boy hurriedly, anxious to please everybody.

  'Make way for His Majesty.'

  The conversation ended rather abruptly as the trumpets heralded the King's approach. Henry didn't believe in doing things by halves, so even a journey from one room to another was an illustrious ceremony.

  The little company fell to their knees as the King appeared in the doorway, ruddy and dazzling with jewels, leaning heavily on a long ivory cane. His attendants hovered about him, anxious that nothing should irritate the Royal temper. The young Queen was at his side.

  'Enough!' Henry waved his cane impatiently at his gentlemen. 'Stand aside, fools. I'll not have you crowd when I visit my children.'

  Elizabeth, cautiously glancing up from beneath her lowered white lids, caught the sparkling eyes of one of the King's gentlemen upon her. It was Sir Thomas Seymour, His Majesty's brother-in-law. She had heard tales of his brave adventuring at sea and the entire Court constantly discussed his amorous exploits. In an age of promiscuity, Seymour's behaviour evoked scandal, and he enjoyed his reputation as the Court's most notorious rake.

  'Rise!' boomed Henry, laying a weighty hand on Edward's shoulder. 'Well, my son, and how are your studies progressing?'

  'His Highness is making excellent progress, Sire,' Master Cheke ventured timidly, from his corner by the hangings.

  'Silence!' roared the King. 'You were not called upon to voice your opinion, Sir Tutor. England will be in a sorry state when low-born knaves pass judgement on the heir to the throne.'

  He focused his attention on Mary's morose countenance and felt a painful twinge of conscience. 'I was too benevolent to keep her at my Court,' he reflected, noting with displeasure the bitter mouth and wistful, short-sighted brown eyes of his eldest daughter. 'Her mother deceived me sinfully. She was my brother's widow, yet she declared herself a virgin when she came to me. She owes us her gratitude, but she is sullen. We'll not force the girl, however, for she is one of the few honest people at Court, and we admire honesty when it does not barricade our way.'

  'Rise, my sweet daughter.' His tone was surprisingly gentle when he addressed the Lady Mary. Everyone was clearly astonished, since he had treated her shamefully. Henry, however, was for once unaware of the sensation he had aroused, as he was watching the girl who remained kneeling on the floor. With her red hair and radiant complexion, she was an astounding replica of himself in his youth.

  'She's mine without a doubt,' he told himself, with a little chuckle which he hastily dismissed as a cough. 'By God, there are times when I can almost forget who her mother was. She has none of my Nan's dark witchery. She's a true Tudor.'

  But she was like her mother, disturbingly like her, and he could never look upon this shrewd child who was born of so much love and lustful intrigue, without thinking of the woman who had conceived her.

  Four years had passed since Anne had died, and even now Henry's blood began to surge as he pictured her in the arms of Norris, Weston, Brereton, Wyatt, Smeaton and her own brother. The stories concerning her had been vile and puzzling. But she had died like a lioness, declaring her innocence to the end. Henry now tried to hurl his mind away from the troublesome past. Anne was dead. Along with many others. He was responsible for his fair realm and those guilty of Treason must die a traitor's death. He no longer panicked when people blocked his way. Instead he had them killed.

  He glanced at Catherine, his wife, who was so young and childlike as she stood by his side. He loved her, but there were times when he wondered whether his love was not an old man's selfish infatuation for a young girl. Who could help loving Catherine? She was prettier than any woman he had ever known, and she seemed so silly and innocent that he wanted to protect her. Catherine reminded him of Anne, though they were totally different in appearance and Anne had possessed more elegance and character. Catherine had some of the glamour that was peculiar in Howard women, and Anne had been partly a Howard.

  'Well, Daughter Elizabeth, I see I find you in good health as usual.' He laughed heartily and turned to his gentlemen. 'I've always envied the Lady Elizabeth her vitality. It reminds me of my own youth.'

  'Nobody excelled Your Majesty at jousting,' crooned Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford.

  'Your skill at hunting will be the wonder of generations to come,' Wriothesley added, not to be outdone. Gardiner grimaced; he had planned to say something of the sort.

  'So shall it be,' growled the King. 'But I'm no longer as supple in my bones as my sweet lady.' He bent forward to kiss Catherine on the lips.

  'You are still a young man, Henry, but you eat too much,' retorted Catherine, tossing her head like a wilful pony.

  Little Jane Grey caught her breath, certain that the King would be furious. But he only laughed, and Catherine laughed with him. Wriothesley and Gardiner exchanged slight frowns.

  'Come,' said Henry. 'The hour travels onward. Rise, my daughter, you shall show me your books.'

  An attendant looked about him for a chair and Henry trudged across the floor, summoning Edward, Elizabeth and Jane to his side. Mary joined them, feeling ill at ease. She felt bitter towards her father who had so shamefully rejected and humiliated her saintly mother and neglected her, Mary. Yet she found, struggling in her breast, a strange affection for this profligate man, which no amount of suffering at his hands could destroy. She remembered how, when she was a child, he would stride into her nursery and swing her up into his strong arms, guffawing lustily. Then he would kiss her and lower her gently to the ground, saying that she would break men's hearts when she was older. She hadn't fulfilled that prophecy, of course; melancholy and resentment had become imprinted on her face
, robbing it of her childhood beauty, so that few men found her attractive.

  'And how is our little friend. Lady Jane Grey?' demanded Henry, glancing about him. 'She and Edward will learn together. Isn't that a good idea?'

  'A perfect notion. Your Majesty,' enthused Edward Seymour.

  'And you, Poppet.' Henry turned to his little wife, who looked thoroughly bored. 'You would do well to read a little more, my darling.'

  'You know books don't interest me,' pouted Catherine crossly. Then she smiled brilliantly at him, so that he should know she wasn't angry with him. Henry beamed jovially at the rest of the company and this was the signal for them to laugh uproariously. The King was in a fickle mood that afternoon. At length, Henry rose from his chair and, beckoning to his attendants, bade the three children a farewell. Silence, like a cool breeze, fell over the schoolroom.

  Jane ate a splendid supper of kid, partridge and crawfish, followed by quince pie and a cup of Hippocras. Then Mistress Ellen put her to bed.

  It had been a strange day for Jane. There had been so much brilliance and bustle, so many new faces. She thought almost fearfully of the big red King, who was her Great-Uncle. And the young Queen, who had laughed and romped like a little girl, and yet looked so sad.

  It was all very mysterious, but Jane was too tired to think very hard. She closed her eyes against the moonlight that filtered in through her bedroom window, and was soon asleep.

  Chapter 2

  'Come, Jane, you shall play hide-and-go-seek with us,' cried Catherine, running across the garden, her hair flying. Behind her came Elizabeth, dragging Edward with her. The little boy was breathless but wouldn't admit it. Jane, standing by her bedroom window, nodded and waved, and soon joined the little party in the garden.

  It was Elizabeth's turn to find their hiding places. She cupped her face in her hands and began to count aloud and Jane raced off in the direction of the rosemary beds. As she arrived there, panting, she heard voices from the other side of the hedge.

  'Catherine, it has been three weeks since I've seen you alone,' came the urgent voice of a man. 'It's killing me, sweetheart. I have to see you.'

  'Please, Tom.' It was the Queen speaking. 'Please, it isn't easy for me. I've invented headaches for so long, I'm sure he's suspicious. Yesterday, he suggested that I speak to one of his physicians.'

  Unaware that they were being overheard, Thomas Culpeper put his arms around Catherine's trembling body and kissed her. 'You loved me before he ever set eyes on you. You promised to be faithful to me, and that we'd forget all those others. How can you forget so easily?'

  'I haven't forgotten, Tom. I still love you. Perhaps tonight ...'

  Catherine had begun to cry softly, her face buried in his doublet.

  Bemused, Jane turned away and as she stumbled out of her hiding place, she came face to face with Elizabeth.

  'I've found you and Edward,' announced the little Princess.'

  'Now there's only the Queen left.'

  'She isn't here,' said Jane hurriedly, 'else I would have seen her.'

  Elizabeth's eyes were gleaming and curious, but she did not pursue the matter.

  Later Catherine joined them. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her face was composed and she kissed them all impetuously.

  'I'm sure I looked everywhere for you, Madam,' said Elizabeth.

  'You can't have looked everywhere,' Catherine replied, but her face was suddenly troubled. 'Let's go into dinner now. It's getting late.'

  Jane celebrated her fourth birthday quietly at Court that October. Catherine presented her with a pair of scarlet cloth stockings. Jane was speechless with pleasure, for she hadn't expected any presents. Edward's birthday was so close to her own that most people were inclined to overlook hers.

  From Leicestershire there came a leather-bound copy of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde, accompanied by a brief note from her father. Jane, pleased that he had remembered her, went to her apartments and wrote him a letter of thanks.

  'You ought to write it in French,' observed Elizabeth, who was sitting on the bed. 'It looks far more sophisticated.'

  'My French isn't good enough yet,' replied Jane.

  Elizabeth looked amused.

  People frequently asked Jane whether she was homesick for Bradgate, and she would hesitate before answering. Bradgate was certainly very beautiful and stately and she missed riding her pony in the broad avenue. She also missed looking out across the gardens from her window on light evenings, before she went to bed. She missed her baby sister Katherine, who reminded her of a doll. But she was relieved to be away from her father's sharp rebukes and impatient cuffs, and her mother's thunderous rages. Here at Court, nobody ever struck her or scolded her.

  'No, I'm not homesick,' she replied firmly, and meant it.

  It was the Lady Mary who told them of the Queen's arrest. 'She has been confined to her apartments until the King gives further orders,' she reported crisply.

  Jane and Edward exchanged horrified glances. Only Elizabeth looked unsurprised.

  'What has she done?' Jane asked, her mouth trembling slightly.

  'It would be quite improper for you to know,' said Mary, primly.

  Jane stared at her. She thought that Mary looked rather pleased by this unhappy news. For all that Catherine was a Catholic, she had never approved of her young stepmother, whom she considered frivolous and insincere.

  'I don't believe that she is wicked,' argued Jane, her voice strained. 'She was always kind and generous. She would never hurt anybody.'

  'You are only a child,' Mary said. 'What do you know? What do you know?'

  She ran from the room, her head throbbing — a sure sign that one of her migraine attacks was approaching.

  The three children stared after her, dismayed. Elizabeth was the first to speak. 'Perhaps she will be taken to the Tower and executed, like my mother.'

  'But she hasn't done anything,' protested Jane, almost in tears.

  'She isn't very clever,' remarked Edward, with astonishing detachment. 'Stupid people deserve to die.'

  Jane knew she mustn't cry before Edward and Elizabeth. Royal ladies could only weep in private. She must go away where they couldn't see her. Perhaps Mistress Ellen would have heard something by now. But Jane didn't see Mistress Ellen until after supper, because the lady was at Chapel, praying for the Queen. When at last she came, she said quietly, 'You should be in bed, my Lady.'

  'I had to see you, Ellen.' Jane ran to her, throwing her arms about the stout waist. 'Is it true about the Queen?'

  Ellen patted Jane's fair hair. 'Yes, my love, it's true. She has been indiscreet - loved others before the King, they say. His Majesty is beside himself with rage and grief. They also think she's been unfaithful since her marriage. Hertford's working day and night to prove it.'

  'What do they hope to gain?' Jane sobbed, clinging to her nurse.

  'A Protestant Queen to support their cause — and Catherine's death. The Howards will never live this down.'

  Jane went to bed but she couldn't sleep. Her head was aching, her throat felt sore from trying not to scream in helpless distress. She knew that people were sometimes taken to the Tower and few left it.

  She remembered that morning at Greenwich, when the Queen had cried and Thomas Culpeper had taken her in his arms. Had she been unfaithful with Culpeper? They were anxious days that followed. Edward Seymour went about looking smug and self-righteous. The great Duke of Norfolk, Catherine's uncle, was uneasy. He had helped bring Catherine to the King's notice, had assured Henry that she was as pure as a baby.

  'Oh, that we should both have been so deceived by her. Your Majesty,' he grieved. 'I blame myself utterly.'

  Henry sat morosely in his chair, steeped in anger and self-pity. 'You do well to blame yourself, Norfolk. Your niece is a whore — just like the Boleyn, who was another twig from your branch. You should have realized it and spared me.'

  Norfolk pressed a hand to his thudding heart. How could he explain that he had suspected C
atherine's virtue from the first, but knew that Henry would have been enraged had anyone dared to criticize his 'Rose without a Thorn'?

  'Sire,' he gulped, 'how could I know? She seemed so sweet and radiant and untouched. I was as ignorant as you were.'

  The King leaned forward, uttering a strangled cry. His massive shoulders began to heave with sobs. Norfolk stared at him, appalled: in thirty two years, he had never seen Henry weep.

  'Get out!' Henry roared suddenly. 'Get out, Norfolk, you cur! Your niece may well be a harlot, but I don't blame her. It was people like you who corrupted her and made her what she was. Hard, ambitious men used her for their pleasure. Hard, ambitious men moulded her to further their aims, and she was too stupid and shallow to realize what was happening to her. But I don't blame her.'

  Jane had been sick. She lay on the floor, her cheek ground into the rushes. She could not move and the tears were still wet on her face. It was over. Catherine, the giddy, spirited little Queen was dead, and all her vivid charm had died with her. No more would the gracious walls of Hampton Court ripple with her laughter as she ran through the galleries, pursued by some unseen force that drove her to her own destruction. Catherine was dead and somewhere, perhaps, she was being reunited with Francis Dereham and Thomas Culpeper.

  She did not hear the door open as the Lady Elizabeth came in.

  'I've brought you some milk,' came Elizabeth's clear voice. 'My governess, Kat Ashley, said you were sick.'

  Jane croaked her thanks and somehow struggled to a sitting position.

  'The Queen died at about eight o'clock this morning,' Elizabeth went on, drinking milk with Jane. 'It's so vast and empty without her.'

  Jane stared in surprise. She had never seen her cousin so shaken.