A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  'Oh, Harry, my proud, witty, but so foolish son,' moaned Norfolk and he, hard-bitten soldier that he was, lowered his head into his hands and wept. Had his son been humble, morbid or reproachful, it could not have struck so heavy a blow at his heart.

  He thought back to the trial. What a mockery that had been! There were many old enemies, all scrambling to testify against the proud Norfolks and he wasn't surprised to see them, but he almost collapsed when his daughter Mary swept importantly into the hall and proceeded to blacken further her brother's name.

  Her countenance remained sweetly serene as she told the peers how he had contrived to make her King Henry's mistress, taking pains to accentuate her own modesty.

  For the first time, he saw the girl for what she was - her mother's daughter. Vain, he had always known her to be, but he never guessed that she could be so spiteful and deceitful, so vindictive.

  His marriage had been made wretched by his wife's shrewishness. He had suffered intense humiliation when the woman wailed about his coarse, blowsy mistress, Bess Holland, and told such obviously exaggerated stories to anyone who would listen, of his brutality, and of the viciousness and disrespect of her servants. She maintained that her husband, clad in full armour, had rolled on her naked form until she fainted.

  And the girl Mary was just like her. Outraged because her brother had prevented her marriage with Sir Thomas Seymour, Mary now sought revenge. Norfolk had been sentenced to die at 8 a.m on January 28th, but the King had been considerate enough to die first, without having signed the death warrant, and so his life had been spared.

  Till when?' he could not help asking himself, a cynical smirk twitching at his lips.

  The rattling of keys in the lock distracted him from his forlorn sentiments. The warden, an amiable chap, had brought him some food.

  He viewed the tray with distaste. Stringy red meat, a loaf, jellies, and a jug of ale which was probably sour — not quite what he had been accustomed to. But the warden was an agreeable fellow who occasionally brought news of the outside world, and invariably treated the Duke with a deference that was balm to his sore pride.

  'How do matters stand at Court?' he enquired, picking halfheartedly at the meat.

  'Not so well, my Lord. They say the Lords are pushing for power and my Lord of Somerset rules supreme.'

  'Ha,' said Norfolk to himself. 'I should be there, reigning over the land instead of moping around in this damned cell, while Seymour and his she-wolf wear the Crown for young Edward.'

  The warder left him to finish his dinner in private. As he gulped down two or three mouthfuls of ale, he realized how foolish were his hopes of being released. The Seymours hated him. He was a threat to their destiny. If Edward died in default of heirs, he would be succeeded by Mary and, even though he was a Catholic, she would spare no pity for him. He had treated her callously when she was a friendless girl of seventeen, torn apart from the mother she loved and surrounded by those who rejoiced in taunting her. He remembered the cruel butchery of the old Countess of Salisbury. He remembered Catherine Howard's unearthly sobbing as he stood before her and told her of the charges against her.

  'Let me see the King, dear Uncle,' she had cried, the craving for mercy all too apparent in her voice.

  'His Majesty has made it clear that he doesn't wish to see you,' Norfolk had answered grimly, thinking: 'She has earned death, the shameless little whore.'

  He buried his head in his hands. The memory was too vivid, too disturbing. By a fortunate twist of fate, he had escaped the axe once before. Who knew? One day he might escape from this prison and its ghosts.

  'By God!' thundered the Lord Protector. *He has gone too far this time.'

  Lady Somerset, diligently occupied with her correspondence, glanced up in agitation. Her husband always chose to storm about and mystify her when she was busy and she knew that, unless she gave him her full attention, he would probably ramble on till sunset.

  'Who has, my pancake?' she crooned, wearily patient.

  'My accursed brother. First he asks the Council for the Lady Elizabeth and when we refuse him, he takes the Dowager Queen.'

  'But this is outrageous!' the Duchess said, now genuinely interested.

  'Aye, and she so recently King Harry's widow.' Somerset strode across to a nearby window and went on: 'Young Elizabeth had the wit to refuse him. I would to God all women had her sense.'

  There was a silence, during which Lady Somerset struggled with her indignation and the Duke thoughtfully studied the portrait of his dead sister, Jane, which had pride of place above the fireplace.

  How cool and sedate she was in that respectable brown dress, with her straight fair hair scraped back methodically under a neat hood and her pale, mild eyes gazing primly out of the canvas. Her mouth, small and priggish, spoiled an expression which might otherwise have enjoyed the slightly kinder description, 'serene'.

  'I tell you, Nan,' he said at length, 'this is a very delicate situation. Quite apart from the impropriety, the woman might be pregnant. And there will be no definite proof that the child isn't the late King's. It's exceedingly dangerous. I'm not surprised at Tom's foolhardiness, he would rather break his neck than be sensible. But her. I always judged her to be a woman of sense and discretion. Good God, she's well into her thirties.'

  'You are no judge of character, Sir,' Nan flung back churlishly.

  Hertford did not answer that.

  'I tell you. Nan,' he said at length, 'that man is unscrupulous.'

  'It is too late to preach my own words to me,' Nan snapped.

  'Your words!'

  'That is correct.' Nan lifted her quill and continued writing. He watched the swift, angry strokes of her quill with tired fascination. 'You remember how he behaved when we decided that Catherine Parr should not have the Royal jewels.'

  Somerset said nothing. He remembered with discomfort that King Henry had left the jewels to Catherine and Nan had stepped in and confiscated them. But he dared not tell his wife that she had been wrong, for nobody ever contradicted Nan. Besides, he was afraid of her.

  'I personally shall not rest until he mounts the scaffold and I can't help but believe he is well on his way there.'

  'He has done nothing worthy of death,' retorted Edward Seymour, tightening his lips.

  'So say you,' Nan gibed. 'Good King Henry would not have agreed, were he here.'

  'But if he were here, Tom would never have married the woman.'

  'Sometimes, my Lord Protector, you are deliberately stupid. Can it be that you've not heard the latest scandal about him, his own matrimonial affairs aside?' Nan hurled her writing equipment aside and rose to her feet. The colour flamed in her face.

  'No, I haven't, but please tell.'

  'He plans to marry Lady Jane Grey to His Majesty. Oh, only rumour at present I'll grant you, but it's a scheme worthy of his vulgar intelligence. And you know, Edward, how I have my heart set on our daughter being Queen.'

  'Which indeed she shall be, my love.' Somerset pulled his wife into his arms and she, in a rare mood of submission, rested her head on his shoulder thinking that, in spite of his frailties, he was a husband to be proud of. She was the arrogant one, he the subtle one. With her brazen energy and his careful scheming, they might rise to dazzling heights.

  The sound of scratching at the door sent them scurrying apart. 'Enter,' called the Duke imperiously.

  A servant came into the room and announced the arrival of the Marquis of Dorset.

  'Father of our future Regina,' murmured Somerset. 'Send him in.'

  Dorset was oddly humble in the presence of the Duke and his imperious Duchess though he had to admit they were gracious enough to him.

  'It seems that people no longer bother with decency,' remarked Somerset, when polite exchanges had been made and they all sat down to ale and gossip. 'You have heard of this latest breach of etiquette, my Lord of Dorset?'

  'Indeed, indeed.' Dorset sighed wearily, with a tragic shake of his head. 'It is most distressing.'


  'We thought you'd agree with us,' Nan chimed in. 'My Lord husband is ashamed to acknowledge Sudley as his brother.'

  Her Lord husband started at this, but Nan continued with a ring of determination in her voice. 'Of course, if nobody supports him in his wild plots they'll be nipped in the bud and he will deteriorate. Tell me, my Lord, what brings you to Court? It's a rare honour to see you these days.'

  'I received an invitation only last week,' explained Dorset. 'And there was a little matter of land which had to be dealt with here. Doubtless I'll be returning to Leicestershire after a spell, and I'll bring my daughters with me.'

  'A sad loss to the Court,' Nan said politely. 'Jane is a charming child and I've never seen a prettier little girl than Katherine. You must let them visit my family one day.'

  Dorset essayed a gracious bow, 'I should be more than honoured. Your Grace. And if I dare to suggest that your daughter, the Lady Jane Seymour, comes to Bradgate, my lady wife and I will give her a hearty welcome.'

  'What a pity that everyone isn't so preoccupied with domestic affairs,' remarked Somerset. 'I declare it would keep all these high-spirited men out of mischief.'

  'And who has a higher spirit than Thomas Seymour?' The Duchess wanted to know. 'I remember a time, not so very long ago, when a prostitute set in the stocks said it was Sir Thomas Seymour who had led her into sin. I shudder to think of the penniless women he has gotten with child. Now, don't misunderstand me, my Lords. I certainly don't condone immorality and neither do I spare any pity for these wicked, depraved, miserable wantons who abuse themselves so. But I do think it a positive disgrace that a man can let a woman pay the penalty for a crime in which he has partaken and for which he shares equal guilt, and shrug aside responsibility. It is always thus, and I think it is time women had the sense to stand aloof, knowing that though they bear half the pleasure, they bear all the pain. And what about innocent young girls who know nothing of such vice? What about girls like your daughter Jane? She won't always be nine years old.'

  'Oh, Jane can take care of herself.' Dorset laughed with lazy tolerance. 'She's as sharp as a needle, for all her gentle ways.'

  'Sharp she may be, but innocent, my Lord, innocent,' contradicted Nan, her jewelled hood bobbing earnestly. 'She should be taught to be wary of the Lord Admiral, to distrust his lightest proposal. Believe me, my advice is meant kindly. I love your little girl as my own daughter. I couldn't bear her to come to harm.'

  Embarrassed by the woman's hypocrisy, though he wasn't particularly sincere himself, the Marquis of Dorset thanked her for her solicitude and rose to go.

  'More wine, my Lord?'

  'No, thank you, your Grace. My wife is expecting me to join her for supper. Good day.'

  After a round of nervous bows, Dorset hurried away to his apartments, his brow puckered with confusion.

  The music from the lute had a classic, forlorn beauty, like that of a dying swan, or so Jane thought, as her fingers lightly caressed the instrument. She was so moved that tears blinded her eyes before she could force them back. John Aylmer, seated opposite, watched her almost pensively, noting the grace with which her slim fingers moved. Her whole being seemed to express itself in her eyes, and it was her eyes that caught and held his attention. They were the large clear eyes of one who knew of the bitterness and cruel hostility that the world had to offer, and whose courage and faith in herself could never be shattered.

  'It's very beautiful,' she said, putting her lute aside. 'I'm glad you taught it to me, for whenever I feel lonely or depressed I shall play it.'

  'There's no need for you to feel depressed,' Aylmer said fiercely.

  'But we all do at times. The Dowager Queen wept often. Did Plato ever feel unhappy?'

  'All philosophers feel unhappy, sweetheart, because they unveil their illusions ruthlessly. But we should take joy in living. Come, don't you take tremendous pride in doing your lessons well? That is a form of joy.' He smiled at the pale, earnest little face that was turned upward so confidingly. 'Now, do you think you've mastered it, because there's a new song I wanted to teach you. Sit down at the virginals and we'll begin.'

  She sang well, but for once his thoughts wandered. He gazed at her small figure, seated gracefully at the virginals in the corner, her long hair falling in a shimmering mass down her back, and wondered if she would retain her childish sweetness. Would she retain that air of worldly wisdom that was so touching because it was entwined with so much innocence? He doubted it. When she reached the disconcerting stage of adolescence, she would be used, perhaps even sacrificed, for the advancement of her family. Surely she would harden, or become embittered. If not, she would crumple and sink.

  John Aylmer had visited the universities of Europe, read the works of many philosophers, and he was almost drowned in his passion for the Classics. For so young a man, he had achieved much and intended to achieve more. Yet he still found time for outdoor pursuits. He kept a vivacious mistress whom he visited discreetly. The Dorsets took him to their hard-won hearts because he excelled at bowls, and it was not unusual to see him taking part in a family game, thundering down the green at an alarming rate, crying 'Rub, rub, rub' — quite unlike the dignified young schoolmaster the Grey sisters knew. In the event of failure at bowls, he would impatiently exclaim, 'The devil take it!' He was also fervently patriotic and his most famous saying was that 'God is an Englishman!'

  The schoolroom door opened and Katherine entered the room, beaming. She was small; too small for her age, which was seven. Mary, the youngest of the Grey girls, was also of diminutive stature. It was a problem which perplexed their ambitious mother and did little to increase her affection for +hem. In Katherine's case there was hope, for she was dainty and very pretty with her red-gold hair, fine features and delicate colouring, but Mary was hump-backed and ugly, and showed no sign of wit or precocity.

  'Sir Tom Seymour is here,' she announced timidly, and blushed in confusion. 'He and our father are discussing something very important, so I was sent upstairs.'

  'They're probably arranging a marriage for you,' teased Aylmer. He hated himself immediately after he said it, for Katherine's blush deepened painfully. The welfare of his pupils was a matter close to his heart. Jane, he believed, would never do anything rash, unless those parents of hers bullied her into doing so. She had the wisdom and maturity of a much older girl, but weak little Katherine, vain, transient and frivolous, had nothing but her beauty. She could never concentrate on her studies and counted the minutes till lessons were over. She was a foolish child who would almost certainly come to a messy end, but she was so pliant and lovable that people usually overlooked her shortcomings.

  'I wonder why he has come,' said Jane. 'He and father aren't usually on such friendly terms.'

  She found out soon enough, when she was summoned to her parents' apartments later that day. Her father was florid with excitement and she guessed at once that Tom Seymour's visit had concerned her.

  'Ah, sweetheart, we were just talking about you,' Dorset said. He strode towards her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

  Jane recoiled, finding his unfamiliar affection distasteful. Her suspicions grew. 'Why have you sent for me?' she demanded.

  Lady Dorset scowled and prepared to thrash the child, but her husband waved a warning hand.

  'Sit down, child,' he said mildly. 'And listen carefully. Your tenth birthday isn't far away. Your mother and I have decided that plans must be made for your future. Girls of your age often go away, to spend a few years at a stately home, where they prepare for a gracious life. Now, you've been to Court often and I don't think you'll be homesick, will you?'

  'Oh no, Father,' answered Jane, a little too brightly.

  'And you have already proved gifted in many ways. Your mother and I, who have your welfare at heart, believe that you should receive the opportunity to make the most of your talents.'

  'Am I to return to Court then?' Jane raised her head hopefully.

  'Not yet. We have something
better in mind.' Frances decided that it was time she entered the conversation. 'But naturally you'll meet the King from time to time, and study with him, as you have always done — another reason why you should not neglect your studies.'

  Jane waited politely, wishing they would tell her what their furtive plans were.

  'His Majesty is very fond of you, Jane,' her mother was saying.

  'He is equally fond of Lady Jane Dormer and his sister, the Lady Elizabeth.'

  'But he calls you "my Jane",' persisted the Marchioness of Dorset.

  'He needs a wife,' added Dorset. 'And she must be cultured and attractive and well-bred. Why shouldn't you be a queen, my darling?'

  'They want him to marry Jane Seymour,' answered Jane. 'And the Protector has more power than you have, Father.'

  'Nevertheless, Lord Sudley feels that, by making you his ward, he can prepare you for the marriage. The Protector may indeed be a high power in the land but Lord Sudley has the King's affection.' He smiled indulgently into his daughter's wide incredulous eyes. 'You're a clever girl and your mother and I know we can trust you with this knowledge.'

  'I will not live on the Admiral's charity,' declared Jane stoutly.

  'Watch your tongue, girl,' shrieked Lady Dorset. 'And don't ever speak to me of charity. We have paid Lord Sudley a generous sum of money on the understanding that he marries you to the King. You will enter his household and try to be a credit to your family.'

  A week later, in a small, oak-panelled room that was isolated from the rest of the house, Jane submitted to the fitting and packing of her clothes. Although she had a splendid wardrobe, her mother wasn't satisfied that it reflected the glorious standing of the Grey family. Into the emblazoned chests were crammed bright coats of satin, damask and velvet, French jewelled hoods, bell-shaped skirts of gold and silver tissue, scarlet and purple cloth stockings.