A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey

by Mullally, Margaret, 1954-

  'My cousin the Queen,' faltered Jane.

  'Her Majesty gives her full consent. The document bears her signature. Perhaps you would care to examine it?'

  Jane passed over the taunt. 'When — when am I to die?' she asked.

  'Between eight and nine on Monday morning, February the twelfth,' Feckenham answered crisply. 'The Queen has decided that you will be beheaded within the walls of the Tower, in fact on the green, so there will be no mournful crowds to pay tribute.'

  So it had finally come. For seven months, Jane had lived with the knowledge that any day she must die at the Queen's command. She was never to leave the Tower, except to make that short journey to the scaffold. Had she deserved her fate, she could have borne it without any resentment, but she was innocent. Did nobody understand how she had been used, remorselessly, cruelly? Did nobody remember how reluctantly she had married Guildford and then allowed them to crown her? She had fought against them, she had been bullied and threatened and beaten savagely, and still their evil minds groped about for fresh torture to inflict upon her. How could anyone have expected a girl of fifteen to hold out against so much force and authority? It wasn't fair. It had never been fair. And never had Fortune been so cruel to one person.

  Feckenham, totally insensitive to her plight, proceeded to read aloud the death warrant. Jane was on the point of collapse. She didn't know she was crying until a warm tear splashed on to her wrist. Angrily, she ran her hands over her streaming cheeks.

  'I am innocent,' she announced, when the warrant had been read. 'likewise is my Lord husband, but I know that anything I say in my defence or his falls upon deaf ears.'

  'It is not for you to question the justice of Her Majesty's commands,' snapped Feckenham. 'You may have religious comfort if you wish it. The Queen instructs me to pray with you and guide you towards repentance if you decide that you want comfort. You may only talk with Catholic priests, however.'

  'Then I prefer to deny myself such consolation,' Jane said coldly. 'I won't pray with a papist.'

  Feckenham smirked and withdrew with his usual abruptness.

  'My Lady,' said Bridges, taking her hand and pressing it gently. 'My Lady, I'm truly sorry that this must happen. Though it isn't my place to say so, I believe you have met your trials with courage and, if God is at all merciful, he will reward you.'

  'But I must die. I must die.' Her tear-stained face was stricken with childish incredulity. 'God help me, I had not thought it to be so hard.'

  Her voice was low, husky with nervous strain. Her fair head was bent. She seemed hardly aware of herself or him. She was locked inside a terrible tragedy that he could not share. Sorrowfully, cursing his inability to help her, the lieutenant took his leave.

  Jane knelt at the foot of the bed, and prayed for strength until her mind was cramped with fatigue. Then she went to bed and dreamed that she was a child again, playing with her sisters at Bradgate.

  It was Saturday, February 10th — two days before Jane was to meet her end on the green.

  She dismissed her woman, for she wanted to be left alone. There was so much to do and so little time in which to do it. Time, a vicious bird, swiftly flying on dark wings to snap her up in its beak, was her bitter enemy.

  She read her letters and poetry over and over again, letters from Queen Catherine Parr, Edward VI, Lady Jane Seymour, Roger Ascham, John Aylmer and Guildford. She read the witty epistles of her step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, whose humorous descriptions of various important people brought a smile to her lips even now.

  Some of the letters were of a personal nature, especially those written by Guildford. Jane, who didn't relish the idea of people probing into her correspondence after her death, decided to burn most of these. One letter, which she couldn't bring herself to destroy because it reminded her of some of her happiest hours at Bradgate, she reserved. It was written by Roger Ascham and she had treasured it lovingly for three years.

  'I have travelled far, have visited the greatest cities and have made the most diligent observations in my power on the manners of the nations, their institutions, laws and regulations. Nevertheless, there is nothing that has raised in me greater admiration than what I found in regard to yourself during the last summer, to see one so young and so lovely, even in the absence of her learned preceptor, in the noble hall of her family, in the very moment when her friends and relatives were enjoying the field sports, to find so divine a maid diligently perusing the Phaedon of Plato, in this more happy, it may be believed, than in her royal and noble lineage.'

  This last sentence made her smile ironically. Her noble lineage! What pleasure had it ever brought her? Had it not been for her royal and noble lineage she would not be in her present unhappy state.

  The letter continued;

  'O happy Aylmer! To have such a scholar and to be her tutor! I congratulate both you who teach and she who learns. These were the words to myself, as to my reward for teaching the most illustrious Elizabeth. But to you I can repeat them with more truth. To you I can concede this felicity, even though I should have to lament want of success where I had expected to reap the sweetest fruits of my labours. Two things I can repeat to you, my friend Aylmer, for I know you will see this letter, that by your persuasion and entreaty, the Lady Jane Grey, as early as she can conveniently, may write to me in Greek, which she has already promised to do. I have even written to John Sturnius, mentioning this promise. Pray, let your letters and hers fly together to us. The distance is great, but John Hales will take care that it shall reach me. If she even were to write to Sturnius himself in Greek, neither you nor she would have cause to repent your labour.

  Your kindness to me, most noble Jane Grey, was always most grateful to me when present with you, but it is ten times more so during this absence. To your noble parents I wish length of happiness, to you a daily victory in learning and virtue and to your sister Katherine that she may resemble you, and to Aylmer I wish every good that he may wish to Ascham.

  Farewell, most noble lady in Christ.

  Augustae

  18th January 1551

  'It isn't fair,' Jane whispered, folding the letter and placing it with others.

  They said that Roger Ascham was a little in love with her. Jane didn't care whether he loved her or not, though they had always been good friends, and she was genuinely fond of him. She thought it more likely, however, that he bore her a brotherly affection. Ever since her early years, she had acquired a knack of forming deep, lasting friendships with members of the opposite sex. She discovered in men an unwavering loyalty and warmth of comradeship she had never found in women.

  She threw herself down on to the bed and lay there for almost an hour, gazing moodily at the ceiling.

  The door opened and Lady Bridges came into the room.

  There is somebody here who insists on seeing you, madam,' she announced crisply.

  'I'm in no mood for visitors,' answered Jane shortly.

  'But he says his business is urgent.'

  'Urgent for him, I dare say.'

  Jane rose reluctantly from the bed, smoothing down the folds of her gown. 'Send him in then,' she ordered wearily.

  The visitor paused in the doorway, enthralled by the sight that met his eyes. Somehow the girl who stood at the window was a pale shadow of the Lady Jane he had always known and yet, in her new frailty, she was in many ways more appealing than the child who used to sit on one of his knees while her sister Katherine was perched on the other; the quiet young scholar who used to ride and walk and sing with him. The Jane he remembered was an adorable creature, unshadowed by any great personal tragedy. But this pathetic, white creature was a Jane he had never seen nor even imagined. She was even more graceful than before, and her pale face still bore that sweet nobility of expression, although it had become thinner with suffering. The great eyes had not lost their grave beauty, but they were dark-circled with strain and fatigue, sadly mirroring the secret of fearful, sleepless nights.

  At sig
ht of him, a strangled cry broke from her. In the space of several seconds, she was laughing and crying immoderately in the arms of her old tutor, John Aylmer.

  'This is the happiest day of my life since I married Lord Guildford,' she told him, pressing his palm to her wet cheek.

  'I would have come sooner, but I was afraid I might distress you, and of course I didn't want to bring you any trouble. But when I heard that you are to — well, I decided that I would stay away from you no longer, and to hell with the Queen and her commands. Is it true, Jane?'

  Jane nodded, forcing a smile. 'On Monday, I must pay the price for my parents' ambition and my own folly. But let's not talk of death now. Do you remember how we stood by the wishing well at Bradgate and you laughed at my childish superstitions? Yet I think you half-believed in the well yourself.'

  'You never did tell me what you wished for that day,' complained Aylmer. 'Won't you tell me now?'

  'No, not even with death and the hour of judgement so close. Anyhow, it wasn't granted.'

  Jane lifted the worn, tattered English Bible from the table, glanced briefly at the page at which it fell open, and closed it again. She turned to him and, as she had expected, she found him watching her. It was the old eager, angry, baffled look that had surprised her so often in the schoolroom at Bradgate. He said nothing, just watched her, and her head began to swim in confusion.

  'Do you remember that last day at Bradgate?' she said slowly. 'Before my father told me that I'd have to marry Guildford. You kissed me. I often wondered why you did that.'

  'I often wondered too,' Aylmer replied. 'For I knew I didn't love you — at least not physically. As a pupil, you were ideal — intelligent, persevering, with a seeking mind. But as a mistress, you would have been too self-centred. I would never have had all of you, and that would have frustrated me. And besides, I can never accept royal ladies as women of flesh and blood. To me, they are symbols of historical significance and family pride. You were different, to a degree, I confess. You had character and charm, too. But you were still royal, and it kept me from you. I dare say I kissed you that day because I was curious and couldn't help myself. I know it sounds cruel.'

  'My husband loves me,' Jane said proudly, lifting her chin. 'And, in case you are ignorant of the fact, our marriage has been consummated.'

  'Oh? I heard that it wasn't.'

  'It didn't happen until last autumn. We were bored and needed entertainment.'

  Aylmer grasped her hand. 'Please, Jane, that doesn't sound like you. And it was a very foolhardy thing to do, because it might have made things very unpleasant for you and those with you.'

  Jane lowered her head, ashamed because she had tried to hurt him. His arms went around her and she began to tremble violently as his mouth closed over hers. Dizzy, half-terrified, her head tilted back. She felt cheated and disappointed when he finally released her. For a moment she stood there, thinking she would collapse if she didn't find something solid to hold on to.

  He spoke first. 'Jane, I have seen your sister, the Lady Katherine.'

  She lifted her head from his shoulder. 'Katherine! Oh, how is she?'

  'Prettier than ever, and heartbroken because you are to die.' He pulled her closer to him. 'She has longed to visit you, but your lady mother forbade her. She was afraid you might think she had been neglectful.'

  'I'll write to her tomorrow,' Jane promised. 'Poor Kate, she's such a child. I'm afraid she will get badly hurt. Will you look after her for me?'

  'I have to leave England,' Aylmer said. 'If I stay in England much longer, my wicked Protestant flesh will burn in Smithfield Square. Her most Christian Majesty is stalking every Protestant in the land, and I'm treading on dangerous ground even now.'

  'Yet you risked the Queen's anger by coming to see me!' Caution stilled the words on Jane's tongue before she could utter them. Quietly, with her hands clasped into the folds of her gown, she asked, 'Where will you go?'

  'To Switzerland. I intend to stay there until Bloody Mary is dead and the bells are ringing for Elizabeth.'

  'Elizabeth!' gasped Jane. 'But she's — well, even now she's on her way down to London as the Queen's prisoner. I doubt if she'll escape the axe.'

  'Elizabeth is a Tudor, with every inch of her father's vitality and her mother's witchery. Like her mother before her, she is hungry for the crown and, like her mother, she'll stop at nothing to obtain it, though she'll have need of an entirely different approach. But, whichever way she comes to the throne, it will be a glorious day for England when she finally gets there.'

  Jane made no reply. How could he talk of the welfare of England when she, Jane, was to perish on the scaffold? Besides, she had a great deal to tell him and the sands were filtering too swiftly through the hour glass.

  'There is something I must tell you,' she said, twisting her hands. 'It bruises my pride to do so, but you must know.' Imploringly she looked up at him, tears on her lashes, and she saw pity and understanding in his eyes.

  He kissed her hands. 'Jane, I wanted to spare you this.'

  'Then it's true. You don't love me.'

  'I can never make you understand. I love you, but my love is - well, intellectual rather than physical. I love your ripe, alert mind, your thirst for knowledge. My pride in your wit, your spirit and courage is boundless. You were placed in my hands as a young, raw thing, and I produced you. I made you the golden nonpareil of learning that you are. You are my creation, and I love you as I would my most treasured possession. Oh, I'm not blind to your physical charm, I appreciate it immensely, but the things of the mind and spirit will always take first place.'

  She understood, with a cold shock, what he meant. It wasn't her face or her body that attracted him. It would not have mattered to him if she didn't have those grey eyes and that white skin. He was mad not to want her. The winter sunlight, streaming in through the window, poured pale amber over the soft, bright gold of her hair.

  'I am thirty-two and you are only a child of sixteen,' Aylmer went on, regarding her crestfallen face sadly. 'You are a Duke's daughter, whereas I am a humble schoolmaster. My dear one, it was never meant to be. Only in fairy tales can a princess marry a woodchopper. In the hard reality of this world, equal powers alone may mate.'

  'Rank wouldn't have been of any great consequence to me,' Jane said contemptuously. 'I wish to God I had been born the daughter of a minstrel or a vagabond. The lot of a milkmaid is happier than that of a queen.'

  'Do you really mean that you would have given up all your possessions and risked the wrath of your parents? ' he asked, smiling sagaciously and stroking his beard in amused disbelief.

  'Yes,' Jane whispered, and he knew that she meant it.

  It was the end, then, of their strange love story. He had never felt for her the torrid sexual desire he felt for his anonymous green-eyed mistress, and which Guildford had felt for her, Jane. But it was different with Guildford. His lust was controlled by his love for her, but this man had never truly loved anyone. Yet, in his way, he cared for her, and that was not to be despised.

  At that delicate moment, when all had been said and tension iced the air, Lady Throckmorton diplomatically appeared and informed them that Sir John Bridges was on his way.

  'How can I die when I know that, in some small measure, you care for me?' Jane whispered, clinging to Aylmer.

  'It may seem difficult now, but you'll do it nobly, my poor, brave little girl,' he answered, his lips brushing her hair lightly. 'God can't know what I'm going to lose, though.'

  'You can still get married.'

  'I doubt it sincerely, and if I do, it will only be because something about the woman reminds me of my Jane.' He touched her cold hand. 'God bless you, darling. I hope — I hope it isn't too painful.'

  'I can take it,' said Jane, in a dull, strangled voice. At that moment, she felt that the pain slashing her heart would tear her in two.

  He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder and kissed her brow. He would not insult her with an embrace, although sh
e secretly begged him to. But she forced a smile to her lips and tossed her head high. Lady Jane would never beg from any man.

  'When you come back, don't forget about Katherine,' she called softly, as he strode across the room.

  He smiled in slow, rather reluctant admiration, and blew her a kiss. Then he was gone.

  Chapter 18

  'I hold a queen,' announced Robert Dudley with marked cynicism, as he sat at cards with his brother.

  Guildford hurled his cards aside and strode away from the table, scarlet with anger.

  'I apologize if I've touched a sensitive spot in your heart, Guildford,' laughed dashing, dark-haired Robert.

  'One queen is much the same to me as another,' came the sullen retort.

  'You still hanker after Jane. Oh, come now, brother, there are maidens more attractive than she and far more willing.'

  'Alas, I shan't be here long enough to accept your challenge,' said Guildford coldly. He fetched a nail that he had found several weeks ago in his cell and began to scratch his young wife's name on the wall, with a kind of pathetic patience that was later to wring many hearts, but not hers.

  'What words of wisdom do you leave for me to read? ' jibed Robert.

  'Merely my epitaph,' replied Guildford with a light-hearted nonchalance that he was far from feeling.

  'You should have forced her to share your bed long ago. After all, you're stronger than she is. But then, perhaps you don't possess my virile attractions, otherwise she would never have refused you.'

  'I'm sure my charms provide ample competition, but I like to think I have a little more dignity than that.'

  'And so you have, Guildford, so you have. I was a knave to suggest such infamy.'

  Robert began to pace up and down his cell thoughtfully. Had he not married Amy Robsart, that simple-minded country wench, he would most certainly have been united with Jane Grey, as he was the eldest of his father's eligible sons at the time. Not, grinned Robert, that he would have minded that, for he had always thought Jane most charming. She had poise and breeding, and he had always had a liking for intelligent females. But, most of all, he liked her grave air of innocence, because he had seldom encountered it in a woman before.