A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  But she was not to see Roger Ascham again.

  Chapter 8

  During the next eighteen months, Jane Grey became quite renowned for her learning and cultured men delighted in conversing with her, because they found her both intelligent and sincere. Her charms, which were entirely her own, developed considerably. She wasn't really beautiful, but she had something rarer than beauty. Those who visited her father's home were ready to admit that hers was one of the most interesting faces to be seen. Grace came naturally to her, and she was learning the art of accentuating her attractions. She scorned the elaborate curls and frizzed hair-styles so favoured by the Catholics and, in accordance to the Faith in which she had been raised, dressed her hair in the simple fashions that became her best. She liked to wear black and white, and the effect was very striking. Black called attention to her fairness and slenderness, while white reflected the luminosity of her skin and emphasized her youth. At social gatherings, she would wear brighter colours.

  She lacked the family passion for jewellery, although she was often to be seen with a tiny, velvet-bound book attached to a chain, which hung from her waist, and sometimes she wore a rope of pearls. She was forbidden to paint her face.

  She was sometimes asked to sing to guests in the great hall at Bradgate, and she would fetch her lute willingly enough, and sing one of the songs that Master Aylmer had taught her.

  You and I and Amyas.

  Amyas and you and I

  To the greenwood must we go alas

  You and I, my life and Amyas

  Her favourite song was Henry VIII's Greensleeves, and she felt strangely drawn towards the dead monarch when she sang it. The song expressed all the patient anguish suffered by an ardent lover, which Henry had once been to Anne Boleyn.

  Jane, in the full flush of her youth and boldness, flowering from the buds of childhood's uncertainty, began to think seriously about love and marriage. She knew perfectly well that one day she must marry for the benefit of her family but she had been aware of this since she was very small and had always accepted it without question. But she wanted, very much, to love her husband, and she wanted him to love her.

  'I think,' she confided to Katherine one day, when they were supposed to be taking a nap before a hunting party, 'I would rather be a man's mistress than his wife.'

  'Jane! Surely you don't mean that!' Katherine was shocked.

  'Yes, I do. A wife is part of a man's duty, and nobody loves duty. She is dull and submissive and her relationship with her husband is tediously routine. But a mistress enjoys passion and intrigue and clandestine meetings. Men always think their wives are plain and their mistresses are beautiful.'

  'Yes, and they creep away at dawn after a night of sin,' added Katherine, her imagination inflamed. 'But suppose you had a child?'

  'Now that's enough of such wanton talk,' snapped Mary's nurse, who had been listening intently while pretending to be folding clothes.

  'Anyway, Mother would never allow it,' whispered Katherine, and stole a quick, guilty glance at her younger sister's nurse.

  'I don't think there can be a happy marriage in the kingdom,' announced Jane a few weeks later, bursting into the schoolroom after a quarrel with her parents. 'If so, I am deceived.'

  Master Aylmer glanced up from the Greek essay that he was correcting, and smiled sympathetically at his favourite pupil. 'There are some happy marriages, my Lady. Few are perfect — not many relationships are - but with a little diplomacy and compromise a fairly successful partnership can be managed.

  It's really a question of compatibility.'

  'Yes, I suppose that's true enough.' Jane sighed, a little wistfully, and straightened her head-dress. 'But, Master Aylmer, no matter where I go, I am dragged into conflict against my will. The only place I can find peace is in the schoolroom.' She stared up at his kind face confidingly. 'There is something I must tell you, sir.'

  'I thought there was something troubling you. Tell me and perhaps I can help.'

  Jane sat down at her desk and began to play with her quill. Her heart quivered with affection for him as he stood over her, so gentle and studious. She thought of Edward and his tutor, John Cheke. She thought of Elizabeth and her Roger Ascham. And although Roger Ascham was her good friend, Jane believed herself more fortunate in having kind Master Aylmer.

  'They are going to marry me to Somerset's heir, my Lord of Hertford,' she said, and her eyes were huge with despair.

  'Well, it's the lot of nobility to marry for power rather than love,' Aylmer said, trying to sound cheerful for her sake. 'You could fare worse. Hertford is, by all accounts, a charming young man. He ought to be a tolerable husband and you will be a countess.'

  'I once told a close friend of mine that I never wanted to marry. I've changed my mind now. But I prefer to select my own husband. I want only to live quietly, for I have seen men and women slain by ambition. Tower Green is stained with the blood of two queens. Sir Thomas Seymour was done to death horribly on Tower Hill and he was my friend. I could name plenty more.'

  'I beg of you, do not,' implored Aylmer, shuddering. 'Look, why don't we take a little stroll round the grounds? It will benefit us both and turn our thoughts from death.'

  This idea appealed to her, and she hurried off to fetch her cloak.

  'I feel better already,' she said, after a few moments in the crisp air of the late afternoon.

  'You look better,' her tutor remarked, smiling at the healthy flush in her usually pallid cheeks and her sparkling grey eyes.

  They passed beneath the elegant oak trees and Jane was momentarily sobered, recalling the nightmare that frequently stabbed her sleep. She seized her tutor's hand.

  'I will marry Hertford,' she decided. 'At least it will stop my parents from trying to set me on the throne. After all, I've always known that I would have to be used in marriage one day. And how like my dear father to wed me to the Lord Protector's son!'

  They lingered by the wishing well, where Jane tried to persuade her tutor to make a wish.

  'I thought you too clever to believe in wishing wells,' Aylmer chided her jokingly.

  'It's a gamble in which I have nothing to lose but whatever faith I have in such things,' Jane promptly defended herself. 'Why don't you make a wish?'

  'You make one for me.'

  Jane leaned over the edge of the well and peered into the cool, clean water. She saw her face and hair reflected there as she betrayed her silent wish to the well: 'I wish that we two might marry eventually.'

  It was a thought that had often flashed through her mind so rapidly that she couldn't pursue it. Now, it became clear to her that, if she must marry, she wanted him and no other.

  Lady Dorset hurried along the passages of Bradgate Manor, sweeping the floor with her crimson skirts. Her broad face was purple with excitement and it was with great restraint that she managed not to shout in triumph. She strutted into Jane's bedroom, where the girl was being dressed for the meeting with Hertford. Her gown was of glossy topaz satin, encrusted with jewels and cut away to reveal an underskirt of cream-coloured tissue. The full, hanging sleeves almost touched the floor. Her red-gold hair tumbled in a shimmering mass to her hips, advertising her virginity. It was a pity the girl was so pale, reflected the Marchioness moodily, looking her over with the same impersonal interest as a farmer might review a crop of oats. If only she hadn't been so emphatic about banning face paint, a cunning touch of rouge would have been just the thing.

  'You look very nice,' Lady Dorset said briskly. 'That colour flatters you tremendously. If you remember to smile as you greet him, sweetly but not broadly, and behave modestly, you ought to be a success.'

  'What if I don't like him?'

  'You must like him,' hissed the Marchioness fiercely. 'Now hurry, we have wasted enough time.'

  As Jane obediently followed her stout mother downstairs, she met Aylmer on his way up. He smiled encouragingly at her as he passed. Staring after him, Jane could not help thinking, 'How I wish it were he!
'

  'Stop dawdling, child!' Her mother's strident voice shattered Jane's dream and meekly she followed in the Marchioness's wake.

  Anne, Duchess of Somerset, had accompanied her son to Leicestershire, and she sat in the spacious, oak-panelled parlour, smug and arrogant. Jane noticed that her cheeks were heavily rouged.

  The Earl of Hertford was fifteen, two years older than she, and he had some of the exuberant charm that had characterized his Uncle Thomas. He had the same blue, twinkling eyes, and dashing, jaunty airs.

  'I may perhaps grow to love him,' thought Jane, curtseying gravely before him. But Hertford, dispensing with ceremony, caught her in his arms and kissed her on her lips. She was startled, then amused. It was the sort of thing Tom Seymour would have done.

  'So you are Lady Jane Grey,' he said gaily. 'I remember seeing you about the Court. You haven't been there for quite a while, have you?'

  'I have been very busy with my studies,' Jane replied.

  'Ah yes, I might have guessed. I've heard you are the most learned girl in the land and thus the wonder of the age.'

  'I fear you exaggerate.' There was something so scathing in the voice that Hertford was taken aback, as if a lamb had cursed him.

  'Perhaps you should show my Lord of Hertford the gardens,' Dorset suggested, sensing the unease his daughter had created.

  Jane would have liked to have refused outright, but her curiosity to discover what Hertford was really like got the better of her.

  She managed to be fairly gracious to him as they wandered aimlessly about the grounds, and answered his questions about the rather brief history of her home. Sensing that he also found Bradgate beautiful, she warmed to him, and he slipped his arm about her waist, as if he had known her for years, and told her stories that made her shake with laughter.

  'I will be glad to marry you,' he said, watching her kneel in the grass to pick harebells. 'You are so completely different from the shallow, flirtatious wantons one meets about the Court.'

  'You say so now, but later you'll develop a passion for shallow, flirtatious wantons,' Jane observed, handing him a harebell. 'You will change, as will these charming flowers. Their blue loveliness will fade to white, but they'll be beautiful till they die.'

  'And you consider me unlike yourself?'

  'Yes, and you know it's true. Your father welcomes this marriage between us, not simply because he thinks I'll be a suitable wife for you or because my family is noble, but because he's afraid that I will marry the King.'

  'You are very outspoken.' Hertford's voice was light but nonetheless it held a note of reprimand.

  Jane shrugged. 'Why should I harbour my thoughts? The Protector wishes to marry your sister Jane to the King, and that's why he wants me safely out of the way.'

  'The Crown holds as little appeal to her as it does to you,' Hertford assured her with a laugh.

  Jane stared at him, enraptured. He was so like Tom Seymour when he laughed.

  'Come, Jane, be reasonable,' he wheedled. 'I may not ever love you, but I admire you wholeheartedly. You'll never love me, for you'll never love anyone but your charming self. But you'll come to admire me also. Together, we ought to make a remarkable couple.'

  Jane shook her head. 'You are more suited to my sister, Katherine. You need somebody to protect, and Katherine always awakens protective instincts in people.'

  'Katherine! But she's a mere child.'

  'She is very beautiful, and will become more so,' Jane said defensively. 'She is gentle and fragile, like a breakable doll. She will never be rude and selfish as I am. Oh, I know people love to gush about my wisdom and piety, but none of them sees me as I really am. I'm stubborn and I often say things that hurt people. I hate my parents sinfully, and I suppose I'm very intolerant. But I can't help it. I feel myself being dragged away from common humanity, lured into confusion.'

  'I dare say you speak the truth,' Hertford said softly. 'But nobody could call you self-deceptive. And now, let's return to the house, before they set the hounds loose.'

  All hopes of an alliance between Sir Edward Seymour and Lady Jane Grey were, however, destroyed by the downfall of Seymour's father, the powerful Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector of the Realm.

  The Greys, who only troubled to be friendly with those who were of use to them, rapidly detached themselves from the unfortunate Seymours.

  Somerset's downfall, although it had never been anticipated by the vast majority, could nevertheless trace its origins back at least two years. He had become less popular since he had hacked off the head of his dashing brother, Thomas, and power and ambition had gradually robbed him of his once keen insight and common sense.

  Several changes had been brought about satisfactorily under his rule, such as the simplification of the priest's vestments and of the holy Altar, but many severe problems still loomed uneasily over the land and, because of his lofty position, he was blamed for them.

  There was the perplexing problem of vagabonds. These starving, wretched men and women cluttered the high roads and country lanes, whining for food, often stealing the delicacies that they were refused. It was no longer safe for 'decent' people to go abroad. These pathetic creatures aroused annoyance and guilt in the heart of the government, as they well knew this problem was a delayed result of the dissolution of the monasteries, which had occurred during the previous reign, and the new enclosure laws which provoked homelessness and unemployment, drunkenness and immorality.

  The vagabonds were desperate characters. Before the cruel dissolution of the monasteries began in 1536, it was possible for the homeless and unemployed to find shelter in the monasteries, where the gentle monks walked silently through the narrow corridors at twilight, reading their Bibles and illustrated books, and the only sound to be heard was that of bells ringing, summoning them to meals.

  Somerset had ordered the destruction of images and the reading of the major parts of the Mass, but he issued these commands without threats of punishment. He withdrew the acts against heresy, disposed of the Six Articles and permitted the reading of the English Bible by everyone, regardless of rank or quality.

  This policy of tolerance was not appreciated by the people. They had grown accustomed to harsher treatment under that relentless tyrant, Henry VIII, and so despised Somerset's more humane approach.

  'I know very well,' Somerset said during an interview with the Spanish Ambassador, 'that whatever goes wrong, the blame will be laid on my shoulders.'

  Meanwhile, the Augsburg Interim of the Emperor Charles was creating a sensation throughout Europe. Its aim was to lure people who were attracted by the differing theories of Continental Protestantism half-way back to the Church of Rome. But although it permitted marriage of the clergy, it observed most of the old traditions and was received with little more than contempt by the government.

  Somerset horrified his critics by allowing a pro-Interim bishop to voice himself during a disputation on Cranmer's Book of Common Prayer. Unwittingly, he was providing ample ammunition for his many enemies. In June 1549, Sir Walter Raleigh, who was later to become the father of a great sea adventurer, came upon an old beggar woman as he rode through St Mary's Clyst. She was hobbling along the road, mumbling over her rosary beads when Raleigh drew in his horse beside her.

  'Don't you know, mistress,' he called rudely, 'that these mummeries are forbidden in England?'

  She raised a pair of sunken eyes that bore the terrifying light of fanaticism. Boldly, she answered, 'I'm not ashamed of serving God in the true way, sir. I am no heretic.'

  'If you persist in this obstinacy, you will be punished,' Raleigh told her.

  'I am not afraid,' retorted the old woman vehemently. 'Burn down my home if you will. Burn down all our homes. Rip me from limb to limb and throw me to the dogs. I am what I say I am - a true Christian woman, poor but honest-We villagers aren't weather-vanes like you courtiers.' She spat the contemptuous words at him. 'Our piety doesn't sway, because it's true.'

  Raleigh, whose passions w
ere easily stirred, lost patience. 'You are a foolish, stubborn old hag and you don't know what's good for you. You commoners are all the same — unwashed and uneducated, you think your damned poverty gives you the right to flout the Word of God and to pitch your feeble wits against your betters.'

  He dismounted and followed the old woman into the church. To the great enthralment of the congregation, they planted themselves in the centre of the aisle and continued their dispute. The priest blinked over the pages of the Gospel and coughed timidly. Raleigh was already beginning to regret his impetuous action. He knew that he looked ridiculous in the eyes of these humble, unlearned people and the beggar woman, excited by an audience, proved herself more than a match for him. She grew hysterical. She shook her fist at Raleigh, not in the least awed by his lofty station, and her voice became louder and more impassioned as the argument heated.

  She addressed her friends. 'He has threatened to bum down my home if I continue to use my rosary and Holy water. He has threatened to burn down all our homes. Look how he has dared to violate a Holy place.'

  'But it was you who ...' protested Raleigh in astonishment.

  'It is all gone from us or about to go,' screeched the woman. 'Nothing is sacred in the Tudor Court.'

  A savage humming noise spread rapidly through the church. The mob of dirty, ragged villagers, most of whom were hungry, rose from their benches and thundered out of the church in pursuit of Raleigh, who had wisely fled.

  The angry villagers barricaded the bridge between Samford Courtenay and Exeter, whence they expected the magistrates to appear.

  This incident was the starting point of a general revolt. Ironically enough, the blame was thrust on to the Protector instead of Raleigh. During that summer, chaotic battles raged up and down the country. The revolution passed from Devonshire and Somerset to Cornwall and from Norfolk and Suffolk to the Midlands. As in the time of the Black Death, the cattle roamed over unattended crops, dragging down the fencing and causing havoc.