Even in her anger, she catches sight of the blank look on my face. “Dudley has scooped up Jane for his daughter-in-law. He has married her to Guildford. He was sent sniffing around her at Christmastide.”
NO! I cry inside my head.
The Lady Mary smacks her lips with pleasure. “Guildford Dudley is a simpleton. How my learned little cousin will hate him! He likes to hunt and play cards. He has never held a book in his hands.”
It has happened! And I am only able to bear it because her worst fear has not come true. She has not married the King.
The Lady Mary mistakes my sad face for fatigue. A servant shows me to a bedchamber flooded with sunlight and I lie there until summer thunder rolls across the horizon.
I rouse myself when I hear the bell for Mass and the ecstasy of it eases my agony. Although King Edward allows Mary to say the Catholic Mass, it is only on condition that she goes to chapel alone. But now she ignores this. I fall to my knees and pray as I have never prayed before. I breathe in the incense as deeply as I drink ale and it goes straight to my head. But at each moment of the Mass, when the bread is raised, when the wine is raised, I see Jane’s face – slender with flashing eyes – and her glorious hair.
Then I know that although I can live without an outward show of my faith, I cannot live without her.
Jane Dudley.
I tried out the name, trembling. I still could not believe it would happen to me. I glanced at myself in the looking glass before we left for Durham House. My bridal gown was clever. Its golden embroidery made me look tall and graceful. Pearls glinted in my hair, but my face was dazed and dull.
Our wedding barge was the most beautiful thing on the river that day. Early roses strewed its golden canopy and ivy curled around the poles that supported it. I trailed my fingers in the water and thought of Ned and his duckweed spattered chest, thought of the dangling catkin part of him and shivered. I hoped that Ellie was right. She said that Guildford and I would not live together as man and wife, not until my father-in-law decided.
I did not look at Guildford when the marriage ceremony began. Then thin shafts of light shone down on us like the bars of a cage and they grew thicker, suffocating and sinister. I felt their pressure against my spine and my head and I wanted to push them back. When the sun went in, they disappeared.
For the first time, I realized that Guildford was caught in a trap as much as I was. What dreams did he have? I turned to look at him. His profile was strong because his nose was high-bridged. I smiled. He turned and caught my smile, surprised and smiled back, a smile that softened his sulky lips. I could not love him, but I could pity him.
I hardly noticed the feasting and music and fireworks. I only relaxed when it was over, when my parents took me home. Ellie was right.
But fear wore me down. When would I have to lie with Guildford? When that happened, I would truly be his wife and there would be no going back. The hollows of my cheeks deepened and I saw the bones on my wrist sharpen and at night I bit constantly into my flesh. I became the thin and worried girl that Ned had first known. I liked it that way – no reminder of my recent happiness.
Ellie was instructed to keep me healthy, if not happy. She gave me strengthening herbs by day and passionflower to send me to sleep at night.
The June days were sultry and thunder threatened every evening. Then it began to rain. The Thames washed over our water steps, foaming like spittle, and at night, the wind shrieked around the house trying to force its way through closed windows. I put my hands over my ears to shut out its howling.
On the sixth day of July, the sky darkened early and the wind suddenly stopped. Lightning streaked the river horizon lighting up the red hailstones that clattered against my window.
It seemed like the end of the world – and it was the end of my life as a child. Towards ten o’clock, I heard voices downstairs and I peered into the hallway.
Guildford stood behind his mother.
“Pasty little thing,” she was saying. “She will never bear sons as I have, Guildford. That is what comes of marrying somebody who prefers God to people. All that learning has been bad for her. Fresh air, good hunting and red meat – that is what she needs.”
Her words did not upset me. Such words hurt only when they are spoken by those we respect and I did not respect my mother-in-law. But they disturbed me for a few seconds, in the way an insect does when it settles on your skin.
I returned to my bedchamber, my mouth dry with anxiety. Ellie tried to rock me, her forehead crinkled with worry, but I stopped her. “You need not treat me like a child, Ellie,” I said. “I know why they are here. I shall do my duty as Guildford will have to do his. I fear the blood rather than his body.”
Hair brushed and threaded with pearls. Robed in a silken gown. Skin scented with rose-water.
I was alone with Guildford.
His hands were trembling as he stood like a helpless child and I wondered if – at the age of almost seventeen – he had ever undressed himself.
“We have no choice, Guildford,” I said. “It is better to do our duty and then it is finished. There will be no need for you to come to my bed again.”
Yes, he is caught in this trap just like me, I thought.
But his reply crushed my compassion. “Where is your little Catholic boy now?” he asked.
Guildford and I became husband and wife in a few fumbling moments during which neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say. As he lay with me, I imagined that I lay with Ned and I bit deep into my arm, and that was the only blood I saw.
The sun shone the next morning, although the stench of damp river mud sickened me. There was talk of little else except the Great Storm. The flood had drowned people sleeping by the river. Lightning had struck the steeple of the first church in London to hold a Protestant service. And a baby had been born with two heads. One Protestant, one Catholic, people said. But in truth they were just two babies joined at the waist, for they also had four feet between them.
I curled up on the window seat overlooking the river. I had given little thought to the night before. For me it had been another tiresome duty like curtsying and kneeling.
Sun streaked the sky, lighting up a barge at the water steps. When it was steady, a woman climbed out.
It was Mary Dudley, Guildford’s sister.
She wore a short fur cape and jewels around her neck and wrists. Too splendid for so early, I thought.
What was she doing here?
I called out to Ellie, “Send her away.”
“She will have come to find out if your marriage has been consummated.”
“It is none of her business. Tell her that I am unwell.”
As I spoke, I heard footsteps on the stairs and Mary Dudley walked straight into my bedchamber. I shrank back against the wall. “What do you want?” I asked. I did not curtsy.
She smiled at me, a forced smile that did not suit the severity of her face. “You are to come with me to Syon House, Jane.”
Syon House was the Dudleys’ country home, a few miles along the Thames.
“I cannot go,” I replied. “I am unwell.”
She smiled again, just long enough for us both to remember what had happened the night before. I flushed, angry. She put her hand on my arm. “You must come now. My father has sent me to bring you.”
“Are you forcing me?” I pushed away her hand. “Have you brought guards with you? I shall tell my father.”
“Your father and your mother are already there.” She paused. “And so is Guildford, with my parents. There is nothing to fear, sister.”
“That is what people say when they are hiding something,” I replied. “I shall not come.”
Mary towered above us both. “You have not understood me, Jane.” She took hold of my face and turned it to her, hurting my skin. “My father has ordered you to come.” She nodded at Ellie. “Bring the robe she wore on the evening of her wedding. Quickly!”
I always know when I am beaten, when it is
time to give in. Just like the hunt, I allowed myself to be dressed. Mary Dudley did not leave my bedchamber as I stood to be robed. She supervised everything, glancing at my thin chest, at the faint scars on my arms.
Syon House is two hours’ journey by barge. But the prettiness of the river journey could not console me that morning. There are some moments in your life you never forget as long as you live because they are so full of terror. This was one of them.
I sank back against the cushions and pretended to sleep. Mary Dudley let me, supposing, I imagine, that I was exhausted after my wifely duties. When Ellie touched my arm, I opened my eyes and saw the water steps of a large white house on the north bank. We climbed from the barge and made our way to the deserted entrance.
My father-in-law was waiting for us. He led me quickly to the Chamber of State, towards the throne on a dais where my parents were standing with Guildford. As we passed by, the men bowed and the women curtsied.
Dudley raised his hand for silence. “As President of the King’s Council, I now do declare the death of his most blessed and gracious majesty, King Edward the Sixth, on the sixth day of this month.”
My poor cousin! I was not surprised. I remembered his frail body, his gaunt face looking down from the gallery at Christmastide. Tears glazed my cheeks, but I held back my sobs. A thought came to me. The King had died on the day of the red hailstones. Why had we not been told then? And during the time that Guildford was in my bed, the King had lain cold in his.
Now I understood. I looked around the chamber for the Lady Mary. My body relaxed a little. That was why I had to put on my finest robe: to meet my new Queen.
But I could not see her.
Suddenly, my father-in-law was standing right in front of me. His voice, as sharp as a whiplash, forced me to stare up at his cruel mouth. “Before his death, the King prayed to God to defend his kingdom from the rule of his bastard sisters, Mary and Elizabeth.” He bowed so low that his head almost touched my hands. Then he stood straight, his face solemn. “The heir to the throne is by right your mother, the Duchess of Suffolk, the niece of Henry the Eighth. She has stood down in your favour. Before his death, King Edward named you, Lady Jane Dudley, heir to the crown of England.” He turned towards the room. “Long live Queen Jane! Vivat Regina!”
My legs weakened. John Dudley had trapped me. I was his path to power. How skilfully he had hunted me – so skilfully that I had not even known. He had brought me to the place I had always feared most – the throne of England. I touched my neck, felt the blood beating wildly there. How many blows of the axe would it take to kill me?
“The crown should not belong to me!” I cried. “I do not want it. The Lady Mary is the rightful Queen.”
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the room. I did not know what to do. In truth I wanted to hide behind the throne and put my hands over my eyes as I did when I was a child, thinking that nobody could see me.
“Do your duty, daughter!” my father shouted. Guildford stroked my arm. “I am here,” he said. “Let me help you.”
“I pitied you,” I whispered, “but you have deceived me, too.”
I turned to none of them – only to God in my fear. I knelt and prayed out aloud, “Dear God, please tell me what to do.” There was no answer. “If you are there, God, help me. Please.” No answer.
So I sat on the throne of England.
Jana Regina.
A shrieking comes through the open windows of my bedchamber, so awful that it chills me to the bone. I am already awake. Horsemen have ridden in through the night and I lie wondering what news they have brought.
I run downstairs. The Lady Mary is sitting by the fire, her body racked by sobs. Suddenly she stops and laughs out loud. “All my life I have waited to bring this country back to the old faith!” she cries. Now her face is hard with hate. “She has taken it all from me. My own cousin.” She turns and sees me standing there, open-mouthed. “I could have you killed now. Why should I not kill you? That is what I am asking myself, pequenito.”
“What have I done, madam?”
“The most fervent Protestant in England sends you to me and voilà, now she is Queen, in my place. Do you understand, Ned? In my place!”
Sweat pours down my back. I want to be sick. “Queen? I do not understand! To be Queen, she would have had to marry your brother,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. But the Lady Mary is used to catching whispers in the shadows.
“The King is dead!” she cries. “My poor little brother is dead!”
I bow in sympathy. “But how can Jane be the Queen? You have first claim to the throne.”
“Dudley! The traitor Dudley!” she shouts. “He forced Edward to agree before he died. A clever little plan. Now Dudley has all the power through Guildford.”
My heart aches for Jane.
A pawn in a power game. How will she bear it?
In her anger, the Lady Mary amuses herself by attacking Jane. “I used to love her very much – the eldest daughter of my dear cousin Frances, the favoured wife-to-be of my dear brother the King. How could I not love her? I forgave her new faith as I had to forgive Edward and prayed to God to bring them back to the old ways.” She leans towards me, her eyes distant. “She once mocked my faith, and in my own chapel.”
“She was young and foolish then,” I reply. “She would not say such a thing today. She would be ashamed…” I stopped, recognizing that the Lady Mary could be a powerful enemy. “It was wrong of her.”
“In truth, I never loved her so much from that day, Ned. But she is family. And she has been tricked by her father-in-law.” Her face grows serious. “There are going to be difficult and dangerous days ahead for her, and for me, pequenito. I am my brother’s heir. But Dudley does not want a Papist on the throne. My life is in danger.” She seems to be speaking words she has rehearsed many times. “Dudley should have captured me before Edward died. That was his mistake.”
She laughs suddenly. “The people like me, Ned. Many of them remember my father when he still loved my mother. The other wives counted for nothing.”
Will Mary let me stay? After all, I have come from the enemy. And if she does not, where will I go?
Reassurance comes quickly. “It is not your fault, Ned,” she says. “I know that. Stay with me and become a priest. The Catholic Church needs men like you. Yes, stay, pequenito! I like you.”
I stay. But I am lonely. I am the only young man in her small entourage. Her ladies-in-waiting are jealous because she likes me, and angry that I do not flirt with them. Her advisors – only a handful – regard me with suspicion because I have recently come from the traitor Queen.
They think I am her spy.
They stop talking whenever I appear. But it suits me here. This is the nearest I can get to Jane and, if I am honest, a thrill runs through me when I remember that I am witnessing history in the making. When I am older, I can say to myself: I was there.
I do not know the Lady Mary well enough to guess what she will do. During the day, she broods in front of the fire; but in the evenings, she amuses herself by racing greyhounds sent by her supporters.
She loves them like the children she longed to have. I hate them – their thin backs bowed like old men, their ribs sharp under their skin. I back away, disliking their rough tongues on my hand.
But it is magical outside in the summer air. Flaming torches line the lawns leading to the orchard where canopies hang between the fruit trees. The dogs bark softly as I walk them out for a race. A young boy follows me carrying a bundle on his shoulder. “No hares are killed here,” he tells me. “The dogs chase a hare skin stuffed with rags.” Nor does the Lady Mary gamble for money, but for trinkets like handkerchiefs or ribbons or charms.
It cheers her. For the first time, I see her cheeks become soft and pink, her eyes shine with pleasure. I see the happy child she once was.
But my mind sees only one thing: Jane sitting on the throne of England.
I was so full of fear that I ne
eded strong potions to stop me from shaking. Ellie bound my arms so that I could not bite them. So I bit the back of my hands. They bled, staining my wedding ring red, and my father-in-law ordered me to wear gloves. When I ran my fingers through my hair it came away in my hands and my skin tingled as if a hundred wasps had left their sting.
What had happened to the Lady Mary? There were rumours that she had smelled the snare and fled to Norfolk. Her face shadowed with sorrow haunted me.
“What will she have left, Ellie? I have taken away her hope and if you do that to a person you condemn them to unhappiness.”
“You cannot change what has happened,” she replied. “While you wait, it would be better to ask for God’s help to accept the situation.”
“Accept it?”
“What did the raven do when it was caught in the net? Did he struggle?”
“At first. Then he lay still. But he was waiting for death.”
“No, he was waiting patiently so that he wouldn’t damage his wings. You must do the same. You came along and freed him. God will do the same for you. The Lady Mary is no fool. She wants to be Queen as much as you do not want to be. Be calm as you wait.”
“But if she has gone to the coast, what has happened to Ned?”
“You don’t know that he’s gone to her.”
“Then where is he?”
She had no answer.
That night, as I slept, I soar through the sky as you do in dreams. Blood-red clouds tumble around me, releasing the sunlight over the white tower below me and I let myself drift towards it. A row of heads hangs over the Tower gate. Most are almost stripped of flesh, revealing yellowing bones. But one is new and the ravens settle on its tangled curls to begin their dirty work, perching on its forehead, leaning forward to pluck out Ned’s eyes.
It is the custom in England for a new King or Queen to be shown to the people at the Tower by the River Thames. It is said to be one of the prettiest buildings in England, set between gabled houses and lawns sloping down to the water. Fields and forests enclose it. We arrived by barge in a small procession. I tottered through the gates. My mother had forced me to wear chopines tied to my shoes. I had let her because, for one moment, I had wondered what it would be like to stand three inches taller. But I could not walk in them without stumbling and, at a nod from my mother, Guildford steadied me. I hated his fat fingers on my arm, but he would not let go and I had to bear it.
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