Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  * * *

  —

  Henry came to her bedchamber that night, and they lay closely entwined for some time, talking and kissing and holding each other. When he had fallen asleep, his head on her shoulder, she lay there wakeful. Moonlight was streaming through the open casement and the damask curtains were stirring gently in the breeze. Her mind teemed with thoughts of the future. She envisaged herself, full in years, as the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty, with Henry, a magnificent elder statesman, at her side, and a brood of great strong sons encircling them. There would be daughters too, of course, for the King to marry off to secure the friendship of foreign princes. And Mary would be there, and Elizabeth—well married, both of them, and loved by all.

  At first, she dismissed the dark shadow on the wall as a trick of the light. It was some moments before she realized that there was nothing to account for it. It looked like a woman with a halo around her head—or a French hood! It was a woman in a French hood, she was sure of it. Suddenly, terror gripped her. It was Anne, come back to haunt her—Anne, who would take the greatest of pleasure in spoiling her happiness. Anne, her enemy in life, and now in death.

  She wanted to huddle under the counterpane, but she could not draw her eyes away. Was there vindictiveness in Purgatory? Or was Anne already in Hell, doomed to walk the earth for all eternity, and torment those who had destroyed her? Had she appeared thus to Cromwell? Did she haunt his dreams?

  She was dreaming, she must be. She blinked, and the shadow was gone, yet she was not aware of having woken. There were things that could not be explained by rational deduction; she had sometimes seen or felt them. She lay there trembling violently, frightened to rouse Henry or call out, lest she summon up the apparition again. Her maids would come running. They would think she was mad! They would gossip, and speculate why she thought herself haunted. They would guess at the burden of guilt she bore.

  It must have been a dream, she told herself. All the same, she got up and lit a candle, banishing the darkness. It was a long time before she slept. In the morning, she felt sure it had indeed been a dream. And then the cramps began, and when she arose, she saw blood on the sheets. She knew at once what was happening, and her teeth began chattering.

  She shook Henry awake, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “What is it?” he cried, sitting bolt upright. Then he saw the blood.

  He was very kind. There was not a word of reproach, even though he had cause, after she had insisted on riding yesterday. He soothed her, summoned her women and bade her rest. Then he waited in the outer chamber.

  The cramps worsened. It was sheer agony, so a midwife was hurriedly summoned. Presently Jane felt something pass from her. Mary Monteagle clapped a hand to her mouth, staring in distress at what the midwife had in her hand. Jane caught a glimpse of a tiny infant, no bigger than her own palm, before it was concealed in a cloth and whisked away.

  The pains eased then, but the sense of loss and failure was great. As she lay there weeping, Henry came in, still in his night robe, and sat by her side, holding her hand.

  “Sleep now,” he said. “The midwife tells me there is no reason why we should not have another child, and soon.”

  “I am more sorry than I can say,” she sobbed.

  “It was God’s will,” he sighed. She looked up at him and saw tears in his eyes. He was suffering too.

  “Oh, my darling,” she said. “I would not have had this happen for the world.”

  “I know that,” he answered, squeezing her hand. “Now rest.”

  When he had gone, a suspicion began germinating in her mind. If the shadow had not been a dream, was it her child that Anne had come for? And if it had only been a trick of the light, could it be that God was punishing her for her part in Anne’s fall? If so, would He ever permit her to bear Henry a son?

  * * *

  —

  She was soon up and about, and telling herself sternly not to dwell on irrational fears. She was still bleeding intermittently when they returned to York Place, but she felt well, if deeply saddened, for she could not forget the tiny creature that she had nurtured for that short time, and mourned it deeply. But she put on a brave face for Henry, telling herself that there would be other children. She was only twenty-eight, after all.

  She received a letter from Eliza Darrell, asking for a place in her household. She had fond memories of Eliza, who had served with her under Queen Katherine. Eliza explained that since Katherine’s death, she had fallen into penury. She had hoped to enter the Lady Mary’s service, but since she saw no hope of Mary ever being taken back into favor, she had presumed to petition the Queen. Jane told Henry about her request.

  “Would you like to have her, sweetheart?” He was being so kind to her, for all that she had let him down badly.

  “Very much,” she told him.

  “Then you must send for her.”

  * * *

  —

  When Henry arrived that evening, he was attended by a page carrying an iron-bound casket of chased gold.

  “Set it on the table,” he commanded, and opened the casket. It was a treasure chest of jewels, winking and glittering in the candlelight. “These are yours now,” he said, with a flourish of his hand.

  “Mine?” Jane was awestruck.

  “Yes, darling. These are the Queen’s jewels, handed down from consort to consort. Some of these pieces are very old.” He drew out a heavy gold collar. “This was my mother’s. And this dates from the thirteenth century.” He lifted up an enameled brooch. “It belonged to Eleanor of Castile, who was dearly loved by King Edward I. Now another beloved queen will own her brooch.”

  He handed it to Jane. She was staring at the wealth of jewelry before her.

  “Take them out! Look at them. They’re yours,” Henry enjoined.

  She recognized pieces that Queen Katherine had worn before her jewels were cruelly wrested from her by Anne. Here were the long ropes of pearls that had graced her bodice. The jewel that Jane liked best was Katherine’s brooch with its black diamond pendants and the initials IHS, representing Christ’s name in Greek.

  “It will be an honor to wear these,” she whispered. “You are too good to me, Henry.”

  “It is your due,” he told her.

  * * *

  —

  She wore the brooch the next morning when she stood before her assembled household. Henry was not present, and she was doing her best to bear her royal honors with dignity.

  She tried not to let her voice falter. “I have called you here this morning to say that I expect high moral standards among you all. You will observe the proper protocols and etiquette at all times, and show yourselves devout and virtuous. Ladies, you must attire yourselves sumptuously—as I see you already do—but please dress modestly.” She paused to clear her throat. “Your trains must be three yards long, and each of your girdles set with two hundred pearls.” There was a suppressed gasp, which she tried to ignore. If they wanted to serve her, they must look the part. “You are to wear gable hoods and no other. French hoods are banned, for they are immodest.” There was a murmur of protest, quickly stifled, but again Jane ignored it. Anne had favored the French hood, therefore she wanted it banned at her court.

  Her ladies were attired exactly as she had ordered when, three days after her marriage, they followed her to the landing stage at York Place, where they boarded the Queen’s barge, on which her arms had been painted over Anne’s, and followed the King’s to Greenwich. That evening, Jane sat in solitary splendor under the canopy of estate in her presence chamber, wearing a gorgeous gown of creamy damask and a pearl-edged gable hood with frontlets of goldsmiths’ work. She was to dine in public as queen for the first time, a prospect that filled her slightly with dread. She remembered watching Queen Katherine at table and thinking that she could not endure to be the object of such scrutiny. Yet she
was learning that she had inner reserves of strength she had not dreamed of.

  Her servants placed a table before her on the dais, and set it with a cloth of the finest white linen, which was laid with vessels of gold and silver-gilt, with a great gold salt in the shape of a ship. Dinner was served to her with much ceremony, as the courtiers looked on. She took deep breaths and resolved to make Henry proud of her.

  Two days later, on Whitsunday, the King finally emerged from seclusion to preside once more over the court. He wore a triumphant expression when the trumpets sounded in the great hall at Greenwich and the royal heralds proclaimed Jane queen as a great throng of lords, ladies, bishops, Privy councillors, courtiers and the great officers of state looked on. Throughout the realm, the same proclamation was being made, in towns and in villages. Garbed in cloth of gold, Jane bowed to acknowledge the loud acclamations, then followed Henry in procession to Mass, with a long train of ladies walking behind her. She thought she would never get used to people bowing as she passed, but it gratified her nonetheless. Who could not take pleasure in being the object of such deference?

  At the altar, she made her offering as queen, and afterward dined again in her presence chamber, with her officers and household in attendance, ready for the long ceremony of swearing-in that was to take place that afternoon.

  * * *

  —

  Henry had not attended the ceremony of oath-taking; he had been in Council. When he joined her in her privy chamber for supper, he was tense and brusque. She began to wonder if she had offended him in some way, but soon the reason for his anger became clear.

  “The Privy councillors who visited Mary at Hunsdon reported back to me today,” he growled. “Norfolk had ordered her, in my name, to acknowledge her mother’s marriage to be incestuous and unlawful. She refused out of hand. He reduced her to tears, but still she remained obstinate.” Jane could detect no flicker of sympathy in him. All that mattered, it seemed, was that his will must be obeyed. Other people’s consciences were of no account, and anyone who opposed him, be they never so close, must be punished. In that moment, she felt hatred for him, for the first time, and it upset her. As for Norfolk, he was despicable. He had presided over his niece Anne’s trial and passed sentence, and thereby retained his post of Lord Treasurer; and clearly he hoped to retain favor with the King by bullying Mary.

  “Whatever Mary has done, she is of your blood, and the Duke should not have spoken to her so harshly.”

  “Hmm.” She suspected that Henry was unhappy about it, but would he admit it? “I think it is time to intimate to Norfolk that it might be politic for him to retire to his house at Kenninghall,” he said.

  “As ever, you have made a wise decision,” Jane told him. Norfolk was one of the most powerful men at court, and she feared that he might one day champion the cause of his great-niece, Elizabeth, to further his own ambitions. “And Mary? What will happen to her?” she asked.

  Henry bristled. “She will be brought to heel!”

  He did not stay with her that night, and she cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, as Jane sat in her chamber trying to establish a happier rapport with her ladies, Master Cromwell was announced. He bowed low before her as she extended her hand to be kissed.

  “Your Grace, might we speak alone?” he asked.

  Jane smiled at her women, who curtseyed and withdrew.

  Cromwell’s expression hardened. “Madam, I need your help. It is essential that the Lady Mary be restored to favor. Until your Grace has a son, which we all pray for daily, the King has no certain heir. His daughters are both bastards now, and his only son is baseborn. As things stand, the Lady Mary is our best hope for the future. But she has continually defied his Grace over this matter of her mother’s marriage, and this morning he has expressed his resolve to have her arraigned for treason.”

  “No!” Jane cried. “She is his daughter!”

  “Under the law, Madam, she is also guilty of treason. She has written to me, begging me to intercede for her with the King, which I am happy to do, but first we have to rescue her from her folly.”

  “I will plead with his Grace,” Jane said at once.

  “I was hoping you would say that, Madam.” Cromwell smiled. “Surely he cannot refuse so gracious a bride.”

  * * *

  —

  Jane was relieved to receive a summons to Henry’s presence chamber. When she was announced, she was surprised to see ranks of courtiers assembled there, standing aside to let her pass. She curtseyed low to Henry and joined him on the dais. He looked at her contritely.

  “I am sorry I did not visit you last night, darling,” he murmured, taking her hand and kissing it. “I was vexed with Mary, and I got one of my headaches.” He had them increasingly often, sometimes with blind spots and strange flashes of light, and they all but incapacitated him.

  “I trust you are better now,” she replied. It had been painful to discover that there was a side of him that she could hate, but her anger with him was now overlaid by her concern.

  “Much better for seeing my Queen.” He nodded to a man standing nearby. It was the Garter King of Arms, who was holding a scroll. “And now, Jane, you shall see how I reward your family’s loyalty. Summon Sir Edward Seymour!”

  Jane felt a thrill as Edward advanced toward the throne and knelt before the King, and the Garter King of Arms read out a patent of nobility creating him Viscount Beauchamp of Hache, the property of their ancestors in the county of Somerset. Then Henry’s voice rang out, appointing him chancellor of North Wales, governor of Jersey and Lord Chamberlain to the King, and confirming a grant of numerous manors in Wiltshire.

  Edward’s normally stern face was lit up with triumph and pride. This was what he had dreamed of, and worked tirelessly for. But Jane knew that, for all his abilities, he owed his ennoblement largely to her becoming queen, and was glad that she had helped to bring him to this pinnacle. She saw her parents looking on joyfully, and Nan, who would be insufferably proud after this, and Thomas, puce with envy, and the eyes of the courtiers, some jealous, some calculating, some smiling. Edward stayed kneeling as the King placed the mantle of estate around his shoulders and the coronet on his head. He made his oath of homage and stood up a peer of the realm, the most influential Gentleman of the Privy Chamber.

  Harry was summoned next, and made steward and receiver of the Queen’s manors in three counties. “He will administer them well for you,” Henry said. She understood why Harry had received no higher office. For all his kind nature and steady application, he lacked the ability, the ambition and the will to rise further.

  She had expected Thomas and her father to be called next, but apparently the investiture was at an end, and Edward’s relations and friends were crowding around him, offering congratulations. Chapuys, Bryan and Carew were among them. Cromwell stood a little way off, looking on benevolently. Jane rose and descended from the dais to embrace her brother and add her own felicitations.

  * * *

  —

  When she and Henry were alone in her candlelit bedchamber that night, she thanked him for his munificence to her family.

  “It is no more than they deserve,” he said, turning in the bed to face her. “I expect you are wondering why I did not honor Thomas. Well, Jane, the truth is that he is a young hothead and not yet ready for high office. If he settles down and conducts himself well, he may win preferment in the future.”

  “You have the measure of him.” Jane smiled. “But there is one, Henry, for whom I would humbly solicit some small token of your esteem, and that is my father.”

  Henry was silent for a moment. “You must have noticed, darling, that he is a sick man and unfit for any office.”

  “I know. I am worried about him. He doesn’t seem to be getting any better. My mother is aware of it, but she pu
ts on a brave face.”

  Henry reached out and drew her to him. “Would you like me to ask my physicians to examine him?”

  “It is most kind of you, but he will not admit he is ill. We do not mention it.”

  “Then I do not see what you can do,” Henry murmured. She wept then, and he held her tightly against his broad chest, and then desire flared in him, and although she was still bleeding a little, she let him kiss away her tears and make love to her.

  Afterward, as they lay close together, she gathered her courage. This was her moment. “Henry, do you intend to proceed against the Lady Mary?”

  She felt him grow tense. “I do, Jane.”

  “I beg of you not to do this,” she urged. “I beg of you!”

  He drew away from her. “Jane, you must be out of your senses. She has committed treason, against all reason and her duty to me. She is the most unnatural daughter in the world!”

  She said nothing. She lay there, trying to quell her thumping heart.

  Now was not the time to pursue the matter.

  “Do not meddle in this, sweetheart,” Henry said. “I do not want to quarrel with you. God knows, I had enough of that with Anne!”

  “I am sorry if I spoke out of turn,” she said. “I was hoping that the Lady Mary could return to court and keep me company.”

  “You know I cannot allow that until she has acknowledged her mother’s marriage to have been incestuous and unlawful.”

  “It is a hard thing for her to do, Henry.” Even so, why did Mary not give Henry what he wanted, for expediency’s sake, and then ask for absolution?

  Henry reached across the bed and took her hand. “It was your tender heart speaking, I know. But Jane, I intend to instruct my judges to proceed, according to law.”