A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  People were looking at Guildford, obviously wondering where his wife was. Hurt and bewildered by her behaviour, he stalked off in pursuit of her and found her lying on the broad terrace, staring desolately up at the sky.

  As soon as the actual wedding ceremonies were over, the Duke of Northumberland returned to Greenwich Palace, where the King lay dying.

  Edward's health, never robust, had been waning for several months, and it was generally accepted that he would not live. The Tudor scene was charged with threatening clouds. One question lay silent on many tongues — the succession.

  The Dukes of Northumberland and Suffolk had both agreed that Lady Jane Grey should mount the throne and that they should rule the country through her.

  Suffolk confided in his lady wife who, whatever her faults of pride and cruelty, knew how to be silent when silence was necessary. Nobody else was trusted with the secret. Northumberland was astute enough to realize that pitfalls yawned at the feet of his outrageous scheme. But if it occurred to any of the three ambitious people who were involved in the conspiracy that the Lady Jane's life would be placed in jeopardy, they did not attach much importance to the possibility. Northumberland desired Jane's accession fiercely, and with sufficient backing he knew he might well succeed. Mary was a tearful old maid. She wasn't likely to put up a fight for her inheritance. He wasn't so sure of Elizabeth. She was cunning. It would not be easy to outwit her, so perhaps a little brute force would have to be used.

  Yet he couldn't be entirely confident in the future, or in Mary's obedience. He had known the woman to be stubborn on occasions. So, although he was plotting to eliminate Mary from the succession, he also took pains to establish himself in her favour by restoring to her the Royal Arms which had been confiscated at the time of her mother's downfall.

  But when the Duke suggested to the King that Jane should be named heir to the throne, Edward was horrified.

  'It would mean invalidating my father's will,' he objected.

  Northumberland was deeply affronted, never having expected opposition from this delicate child.

  'Your Majesty,' he began, a rough edge to his voice, 'Your Royal father merely included your two half-sisters at the end to soothe his ever-sensitive conscience. He never really intended that they should actually succeed. He expected you to marry a worthy lady who would supply you with heirs of your own.'

  'I wanted to marry Jane but they wouldn't let me.'

  'Then you must vanquish all dispute by naming her your successor. The Lady Mary is quite famous for her papist sympathies. Are we to lose our Protestant cause through her?'

  'But the Lady Elizabeth ...' protested Edward weakly.

  'The Lady Elizabeth is the daughter of a base-born harlot whom King Henry married because he couldn't get her into bed any other way. The two princesses were long ago declared illegitimate by Parliament. Besides, even if she were to succeed Your Majesty, the Catholic party might persuade her to marry a prince of France or Spain. No, Sire, this country can be safely left in the Lady Jane's hands alone. She is of noble family. She's married to my son and firmly supported by staunch Protestants. Your Majesty must surely see the wisdom of my proposal.' Northumberland smiled slyly. 'One would honestly imagine that I was seeking my own personal advancement rather than the security of this nation and I assure Your Majesty that this is not so.'

  Edward still flatly refused to strike the names of his sisters from the succession. In final despair the Duke resorted to threats.

  'A good, religious prince,' he sternly pointed out, 'does not hold more regard for his family than he does for his kingdom. If he should do this, God's glory and the faith of his subjects will be endangered and he can expect only eternal damnation.'

  It was typical of Northumberland's brutality to inspire a dying boy with such terror. The prospect of burning for ever within the furnace of hell had the desired effect upon Edward. White and shaking, Edward struggled to a sitting position and wrote his Device: 'For lack of issue of my body, the Crown shall come to the Lady Jane and her heirs male.'

  Three judges came stealthily to Greenwich Palace where, in an ante-chamber, they were told to await the King's pleasure.

  'I don't like the sound of this, my Lords,' the Attorney-General whispered anxiously to his companions.

  'All this secrecy is a little suspicious,' agreed old Sir Edward Montague.

  'I'll wager it's some concoction of Northumberland's,' added the Solicitor-General.

  'His Majesty will see you now, my Lords,' announced the page.

  It was hot and damp in the King's bedroom. Cautiously crossing the threshold, the judges saw that the Duke of Northumberland, Lord Paulet, Sir John Gates and six other councillors were clustered at the Royal bedside.

  Montague went creaking to his knees and his friends did likewise.

  Edward looked on the company gravely. 'Our long sickness,' he commenced, and was immediately overcome by a violent fit of coughing. 'Our long sickness has caused us to consider seriously the conditions and prospects of our realm. Should the Lady Mary or the Lady Elizabeth succeed, they might marry a stranger. The laws and liberties of England would be sacrificed and the religion changed. We desire, therefore, that the succession is altered and we call upon Your Lordships to receive our command upon the drawing up of this deed by letters patent.'

  He looked towards Northumberland as though for approval, and it was quite evident who had schooled him for this event. At a sign from the Duke, one of the councillors stepped forward and read aloud the King's will.

  'You must now make a deed of Settlement founded on the articles of His Majesty's will,' Northumberland said, in that precise, decided tone of his, when the Device had been read.

  The three judges exchanged despairing glances. Without doubt, Northumberland had won the council over to his side.

  'Will Your Majesty give his gracious permission for my colleagues and I to study the document with greater care?' requested Montague after a heavy silence.

  'Our permission is readily granted,' Edward said, loftily.

  Northumberland looked on in barely suppressed anger as the judges pored over the paper. He sensed their resistance and was determined to break it down.

  'Your Majesty,' Montague announced at length, 'this is illegal and can't be drawn up under the heading of an Act of Parliament.'

  'His Majesty refuses to hear your objections,' the Duke said sharply.

  'You may go now, my Lords,' yawned Edward, 'for we are truly exhausted. When next we send for you, we expect you to have dealt with the matter proficiently.'

  A few days later, the judges returned warily, uncertain how long they could resist and go unpunished.

  'Where are the letters patent?' Northumberland demanded, observing that they were empty-handed. 'Why haven't they been drawn?'

  The men slithered to the bedside, refusing to meet Northumberland's angry gaze.

  'Well!' screamed Northumberland. 'Why haven't they been drawn? Answer me.'

  'To do so would be to put us all in danger of being charged with High Treason,' Montague said, falling to his knees. 'The Ladies Mary and Elizabeth are placed before the Lady Jane in the line of succession.'

  'It's also treason to disobey your King, but you don't appear very distressed about that,' said Northumberland wryly. 'The Lady Jane is in truth a Princess of the Blood and Mary and Elizabeth are both bastards.' The Duke did not believe in mincing his words.

  Montague horrified everyone by bursting into tears.

  Sobbing, he appealed to Edward.

  'I have served Your Majesty and Your Majesty's father these nineteen years and I'd be loath to disobey Your Majesty's commands. I have seventeen children.' He paused for effect. 'I am an old man without comfort.' Edward was unmoved. 'If these writings were made, they would be of no use after Your Majesty's death, while the Statute of Succession remained in full force because it could only be abrogated by Parliament.'

  'We intend to have a Parliament shortly,' Edward said.


  'If that is Your Majesty's intention,' beseeched Montague, 'this matter can be deferred to Parliament and all perils saved.'

  'No. We will have it done now and afterwards ratified by Parliament. On your allegiance, make quick despatch. What is your decision?' he demanded of the Attorney-General.

  'I will obey Your Majesty's commands,' came the reluctant reply.

  'And what about you?' This was fired at the Solicitor-General.

  'I, too, will obey.'

  Now that he stood alone, Montague's resolve began to weaken. 'If Your Majesty will grant me a licence under the Great Seal and a pardon for having signed Your Majesty's Device, I will obey.'

  'Oh, very well,' relented Edward, anxious to bring the tedious interview to a close.

  'I won't allow that licence to be sealed,' cried Northumberland. 'If he is pardoned, then so must we all be.'

  Edward sighed wearily, but Northumberland was persistent and, as always, he had his way.

  The next signature to be urgently sought was that of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Edward's godfather. Without Cranmer's signed approval, Edward's Device would be worthless. Thomas Cranmer was faced with what was probably the most delicate situation of his entire career, but he had learned the value of carefully balanced loyalties. Realizing that he would have little to gain from Mary's succession, he signed in favour of Jane.

  Edward Tudor was in agony. His limbs were swollen, his fingers and toes gangrenous. Ulcers had broken out all over his body. There were times when he slipped from consciousness, which was merciful, for only then could he escape from the pain that tortured his flesh.

  One sweltering afternoon in June, as he lay suffering in his bed, he composed his last prayer.

  'Lord God, deliver me out of this miserable and wretched life and take me amongst Thy chosen; howbeit, not my will but Thy will be done. Lord, I commit my spirit to Thee. O Lord, Thou knowest how happy it were for me to be with Thee yet, for Thy chosen's sake, send me life and health, that I may truly serve Thee. O Lord God, bless Thy people and save Thine inheritance. O My Lord God, defend this realm from papistry and maintain Thy true religion that I and my people may praise Thy Holy Name, for Thy son Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.'

  This prayer, feverishly muttered, was hastily recorded by the King's tutor, John Cheke, who never left his pupil's bedside.

  In the first week of July, Northumberland sent a message to the Princess Mary, as though from Edward, begging her to come and say her final farewells in his death chamber, since her pious company would be so soothing to his soul.

  Touched to the core of her heart, Mary tearfully departed for London, but she was somehow warned along the way that the King's 'message' was a false lure and that Northumberland had sent his son Robert at the head of an army to capture her and imprison her in the Tower. Mary fled to Suffolk and, for a while, no more was heard of her.

  Elizabeth was also summoned to London, that the King might say goodbye to his 'sweet sister Temperance' - his childhood nickname for her.

  She did a little personal investigation, consulted her spies, and then declared herself too ill to leave her bed. To bed she returned, a frightened but excited creature, her spirit rising after four lonely years of silence to the challenge of this new adventure.

  July 6th, 1553. It was oddly quiet in His Majesty's bedroom. Outside the door, the guard yawned pitifully and strove to keep awake. He was longing for nightfall, when another guard would relieve him and he could stagger thankfully off to his bed.

  King Edward lay completely still. Not even his eyelashes stirred on his hollow cheeks, and his lips had a deathly, pinched, blue-white look.

  Leaning over the bed, Doctor Owen thought him to be dead. Then Edward's tortured body stirred and he began to murmur inaudibly. He shifted his weight and stared wild-eyed at the grave faces around him. 'Are you all so near? I thought you were far away.' There was relief in his face.

  'We heard you speaking to yourself,' said Doctor Owen. 'But we didn't hear what you were saying.'

  'I was praying to God,' replied Edward, with a ghostly attempt at a smile. He glanced up and saw a favourite servant, Christopher Salmon, standing by the bed hangings. John Cheke was also there. It was comforting to have these old friends so near at such a time.

  A long, painful silence ensued, during which Edward's mind travelled back and forth, scraping against the dull tissues of a now hazy memory. He was sitting on his old nurse's lap, listening in thrilled apprehension as she told her morbid stories of ghosts, goblins and other mournful creatures from a world of gloom. He thought himself to be dancing with his friends, holding the hand of his favourite cousin, Jane Grey, at a banquet, while his father and his gentle, most loved stepmother, Catherine Parr, looked on in smiling approval. He saw Sir Thomas Seymour's handsome face, boldly mocking him from bloodstained shadows, heard him utter his great sailor's oaths.

  Terrified, Edward sat up in bed and gasped, 'I feel faint.'

  Life was draining from his body and his body was disentangling itself from his spirit. He heard a strange ringing and thudding noise in his ears. His flesh felt cold and wet.

  'Lord have mercy upon me — take my spirit,' he breathed weakly.

  Men moved about the room, whispering. Only Cheke and Salmon stayed at his bedside, and were with him when he died.

  Chapter 13

  The secret of the King's death was closely guarded for two days. Then, on the third day, it was announced to the Lord Mayor and the City Fathers.

  The Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and their two youngest daughters made their way to Syon House, where they were later joined by the Earl of Pembroke. They waited impatiently for Jane and Guildford.

  'Very soon now,' Northumberland said, as he and Suffolk strolled amicably along the sunny bank, 'I shall be the father-in-law and you the father of a crowned Queen.'

  'It seems unbelievable, doesn't it?' Suffolk marvelled. 'My pale little Jane, with her stubborn ways and forthright simplicity.'

  'You underestimate the girl, Harry. She has breeding and dignity. What more can be required? She was born to be a queen.'

  'Deep in my heart,' confided Suffolk, rather too emotionally, 'I always knew this would happen one day. But somehow, when it did happen, it was all so sudden.'

  'Policy, Harry, merely policy.'

  'Your Grace! Your Grace!' Lady Katherine Grey came running towards them, her long hair flying in the summer breeze.

  'Remember yourself, child,' Suffolk reprimanded her sternly, at which Katherine drew back, crestfallen.

  'What is it, my dear?' Northumberland was beaming benignly upon her.

  'Your Grace, a barge has been sighted half-way down the river.' She paused, struggling for breath. 'I think that my sister Jane is in it.'

  'Then you did right to inform us.' Northumberland patted her shoulder. 'Good girl.'

  Katherine blushed warmly. She had rarely received praise in her thirteen years and she wondered now why she had ever been afraid of Northumberland. At this moment, he seemed most fatherly. She dipped a curtsy and hurriedly returned to the stately old manor.

  The two Dukes rushed forward to greet the barge as it came to an indecisive standstill at the water's edge. Lord Guildford and his favourite friend and valet, Cuthbert Cholmondeley, stepped out on to the bank, and looked about them, surprised at such an enthusiastic reception.

  'Where is the Lady Jane?' Northumberland demanded. 'Why hasn't she come with you? Did she not receive my letter?'

  'Another hope dashed,' Guildford said, his eyes glinting wickedly. 'I had thought this warm welcome was all for me.'

  'There is no need to be facetious,' snapped the Duke irritably. 'Where is your wife?'

  'She refused to come with me,' replied Guildford. 'She said not to expect her for another hour or so.'

  Lady Jane Grey sat beside Northumberland's rather prim daughter, the Lady Mary Sidney, in the barge taking them to Syon House. Mary made no attempt at conversation
and Jane was glad of her silence for she was beset by unknown terrors. Lifting her face to the sloping sunlight, she felt its caressing warmth on her face, but she was not comforted by it. Ever since she had been told that she must marry Guildford Dudley, her health had been waning steadily. She was nervous and unhappy, showing no interest in her books and music, neglecting her diet and outdoor exercise. There were times when she would shut herself in her bedroom and fall into fits of desperate weeping. It depressed Guildford to hear her crying. She was his wife and should confide in him, seek his help. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. But she didn't make it easy for him to approach her and the longer he delayed the more impossible it became for him to get close to her. The previous month she had been so ill that her life had been despaired of. And still the marriage was not consummated: it wasn't in Guildford's nature to play the aggressive male beast, whatever his proud boasts.

  Only this morning, Jane had received Northumberland's summons to Syon House and it was the urgent tone of the message that had alarmed her. Why had he sent for her?