If I go on like this, she thought, I shall go mad.
After Anne’s execution, which had followed swiftly her arrest and trial, Mary had known a brief period of elation, experienced a sort of euphoria. The worst was over; the specter of Anne loomed no more. All should now be well. England had come out of the dark days and into the sun, and this was truer for Mary than for anyone. She had survived. Literally! For she believed none of the nonsense that good Lady Kingston, bless her soul, had told her on Anne’s behalf. It was all simply the drivel of a frightened woman about to meet her maker. The rumours of poison and other dark deeds perpetrated by Anne were legion. Where there was so much smoke there must be some fire. And many were the times when both she and her mother had been sick unto death, their lives despaired of. Many believed that her mother had, in fact, died of poison.
“May I not go with you?” asked Elizabeth, tugging at her skirts.
Angry words rose to Mary’s lips, but she did not utter them. She must learn to have patience with the child. Neither the king nor Cromwell had responded to her letters, part of which concerned Elizabeth. Upon reflection after her visit from Lady Salisbury, Mary had decided that she must have permission to break the news to Elizabeth of her mother’s death and the change in her status, and that it would be best to wait to say anything until she had it. She must do nothing to anger the king. Certainly it would be the utmost folly to do anything on Elizabeth’s behalf that was likely to rile him. She would be prepared to speak to Elizabeth when, and only when, she was instructed to do so.
Mary walked quickly to the room where the Privy Council members awaited her. At the door she drew a deep breath. This was the moment she had been waiting for, for four long years.
She opened the door and met the steely eyes of the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Sussex and the Bishop of Chichester. Dear God, she thought. Why on earth had her father sent these men? Norfolk was a known enemy, Sussex had been very active in his support of the royal divorce and was a proponent of Fitzroy, and Chichester was newly made Bishop…not by the pope, as was proper, but by her father in his role as Supreme Head of the Church in England. Hardly a sympathetic trio!
“My lady,” said Norfolk, with just a touch of the acerb in his voice.
Mary had long since given up saying her piece about being a Princess of England, nor would she have had the temerity to give that speech now. By the looks of the three men before her, this was no friendly deputation sent to bring felicitations from her father and to bring her back to court.
Mary inclined her head. “My lords,” she said in reply, with just a hint of question in her voice.
Norfolk drew a scroll from under his arm and held it out to her. “You will sign this,” he said coldly.
Mary met his eyes without flinching. “And may I ask what it is I am being asked to sign?”
Norfolk bowed slightly and said in a sarcastic tone, “You may. It is a set of articles relating to the law of the land. It has come to His Majesty’s attention that Your Highness has still not sworn your oath to these articles; that the king, and only the king, is the Supreme Head of the Church in England, that your mother was never married to your father, and that you are a bastard and a product of the vilest incest.” He regarded her with eyes as cold and hard as chips of granite.
The room began to spin. I must not swoon, she thought desperately. I will not swoon. Somehow she managed to stay upright. So the nightmare was not over. Nothing had changed. Through her mind flashed snippets of conversations she had had in the past with Chapuys, and recently, with Lady Salisbury. They had tried to warn her, but she had not listened to them. Except for the ending of her life and the threat she posed to Mary personally, Anne’s death had meant nothing…had changed nothing. It was almost too much to take in. Her father had not forgiven her.
Suddenly she felt terribly alone, abandoned, naked to her enemies. She thought of her cousin Charles, the Holy Roman Emperor. And in her heart she knew, perhaps for the first time, that she would get no help from him in this crisis. Chapuys would help her if he could, but in the final analysis, his power was limited by the will of the emperor. She was indeed well and truly forsaken; none could help her. She was on her own.
“I will not sign such a document,” she replied calmly, “nor will I swear any oath to such effect without the gravest of reservations.”
Norfolk strode straight up to her, bent his face to hers and shouted, “You will swear, and you will sign!” He reached a hand out and snapped his fingers. Sussex snatched Lady Shelton’s quill from her writing table and handed it to the duke.
Norfolk took the quill and held it up in the short space between his face and Mary’s. Very quietly he said, “You will sign, Madam, and you will do so now. We will have none of your histrionics, with which I am very familiar. Now, here is the quill,” and with that he lifted Mary’s hand and placed the quill on her palm, “and here is the document.” He lifted the scrolled-up parchment and held it an inch from her nose. “Sign!” he roared.
Mary regarded him blandly. She remembered the times when such deputations had been sent to her mother to coerce her into abandoning her stand against the king, and to bully her into agreeing to the royal divorce. Katharine had always been able to say the right thing, to strike just the right note, and time after time she had come away the victor in such confrontations. How had she done that? One way, Mary knew, was to remain calm. A soft word could not be expected to turn away wrath in such a situation, but to refuse to engage and give like for like was a lesson that she had learnt not only from her mother, but, astonishingly, from Anne. There was no better way to escalate a conflict than to draw your own sword and engage in battle. Hers must be a battle with words, it was true, but she must not fight; she must simply refuse to agree.
Mary straightened her spine and looked up into the angry duke’s face. She strove to keep her own expressionless. “My lord, I will neither swear nor sign. I have written to my father explaining my circumstances. I am certain he will agree.”
“You stupid girl,” said Sussex. “From whom do you think we come?”
“I will not believe that my father wishes me to take such ugly oaths unless I hear it from his own lips,” she replied. How dared they speak to her thus, she wondered. What ever else she might be called, she was still the daughter of a king. And then suddenly she knew why. It was because it had never occurred to these men that she might one day be queen of England. She sighed. Mayhap they were right; perhaps it was hopeless.
Norfolk turned on her in a rage even more terrifying than before. “You will never see your father again unless you swear your oath to the Act of Supremacy and agree to the king’s requirement that you uphold His Grace’s position regarding yourself and the Lady Katharine! You are an insolent, impudent, troublesome brat and you will agree to all of the king’s demands or it is doubtful how much longer you will live! Now sign!”
The door opened and Lady Hussey’s head appeared. “How now, what is to do? What is amiss?”
Mary turned with haunted eyes to Lady Anne and said, “You must go, Lady Hussey…”
“Nonsense! Your Grace, you look quite distressed.” She turned to the bishop, who up until now, had tried to remain aloof from Norfolk and his heavy-handed tactics. His role would be to try to reason softly with the girl should Norfolk’s bullying fail to get the desired result. “You there!” Lady Hussey said to him indignantly. “Get the princess a drink of water, she looks as if she will faint. What has been going on here?”
Mary blanched and almost did faint, the bishop’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide with astonishment, and Sussex’s mouth was frozen in a round “o” of incredulity.
“What did you say?” roared Norfolk. “What did you say? There are no princesses in this room, Madam, only disobedient, headstrong women who should be thrashed within an inch of their unworthy lives! Sir Giles!”
A man dressed in the Howard livery appeared in the doorway; he was part of the duke’s formidable escor
t, and must have been waiting outside the door.
“Lady Hussey, you are under arrest. Sir Giles, take this lady and tie her to a horse. She will return with us to town to face charges. Lady Hussey, it has been known for some time that you are another such who believes yourself immune to the king’s law. You will be placed in the Tower until you swear your oath to the Act of Supremacy, which I believe you still have not done. And then you will personally face the king and explain to him how you came to address his bastard daughter as princess! Go!”
It had all happened so fast that neither Lady Hussey nor Mary could quite take it in. Lady Hussey, wilted and in tears, was being manhandled out the door, and Mary dropped into the nearest chair. Her legs felt like butter and would no longer support her. But she must try.
“My Lord of Norfolk,” she said. “Lady Hussey has only just arrived today, and has permission for her visit. She has been with me for years and is used to calling me princess. It was a mere slip of the tongue, I do assure you. Surely it is not necessary…”
“You will be silent!” bellowed the duke. “You are in no position to defend anyone. You will sign these articles and swear your oath and you will not leave this room until you do!”
Mary stood and faced the three men, careful not to make eye contact with Norfolk, but looking turn and turn about at Sussex and the bishop.
“My lords,” she said in a quiet voice. “I have written to the king to congratulate him upon his marriage, and to beg his leave to visit and pay my respects to the new queen. In this letter, I took great care to explain that I should in no wise abuse my conscience by declaring that which many before me have died rather than affirm. My father knows my mind in this regard. If you have authorization to visit any penalties upon me, then I pray you, do so. I, also, am prepared to die.”
Norfolk turned a dangerous shade of puce, and it seemed that for once, words failed him. Sussex quickly gathered up the articles and rolled them back into a scroll. The bishop made for the door, and Sussex followed him. Their charge from Cromwell had been to get the lady’s signature on the document and to get her to verbally swear the oath in their presence. They had leave to intimidate, browbeat, terrorize her if necessary, but they were not to fail. They had expected reluctance, refusal, tears; they had not expected to hear that she was prepared to die rather than sign.
As he absorbed the meaning of the view he now had of the backs of his retreating comrades, Norfolk finally recovered himself. He looked straight at Mary and said, “Dying is an ugly business, my lady. I wish you joy of it.”
# # #
The silence of the room after the men had gone seemed slightly unreal; she could still hear their voices and the things they had said ringing in her ears. Mary’s eyes alighted on the trodden quill, a victim of the violence of Norfolk’s actions as surely as she was herself. She picked it up and eyed it. It was broken and would never be useful again. But they would not break her.
Her reverie was interrupted by the loud lamentations of Lady Hussey as the party rode away. Poor Lady Anne! She was yet another victim of the perfidious situation in which Mary found herself.
She must write to Cromwell. She wished now more than she had ever done that Cardinal Wolsey were still alive and at her father’s side. The cardinal had been her godfather, and would have seen all put to rights. But Cromwell was all she had now. Could she trust him?
Mary had clung to the belief, despite all the warnings, that once Anne was no more, all would be well. But she had miscalculated. She had made a grave error. It was to be war between she and her father; a war of nerves. God send she had the strength to survive it.
London, June 1536
From the balcony of Whitehall Palace, Jane waved as the king disappeared from view. He was off to Westminster that he might be present as Parliament officially declared invalid his marriage to the Marquis of Pembroke. The fact that this was being done after he had already married Jane seemed to trouble everyone except the queen. What did it matter, she had asked her parents, her brothers? The king will not allow it to be otherwise, so why be concerned?
“And I like it not that Fitzroy is constantly in the king’s wake,” said her brother Edward, apropos of nothing.
Jane smiled. “Forsooth, Edward, but you are a worrier! Why on earth should Fitzroy cause you any unease?”
Edward’s eyes strayed to his sister’s belly, a habit that a disconcerting number of people had begun to exhibit lately. Inwardly, she cringed; it was her one sore spot, and the only issue that caused her any real anxiety. But how in heaven’s name could anyone expect her to have conceived already? She could have told them forthwith that they should all put away their expectations for the time being…she was bleeding even as they stood there. Next month, mayhap... God’s wounds, she thought, she had only been married for less than two weeks! What could anyone expect?
“May I remind you, sister, that the new Act of Succession allows the king to choose any heir he pleases? What if he should choose Fitzroy?” Edward’s eyes smoldered.
“By the rood, brother, what matters it?” asked Jane. “Whomever he chooses is only in default of my sons! And I intend to fill the royal nursery with boys! There, are you happy?” Jane was slightly irritated by her brother’s proprietary air, but it would never do to show her feelings. With the defection of her parents back to Wiltshire, Edward was her rock. Thomas was a fool and could not be depended upon, and Harry was too young to be useful. “Besides,” soothed Jane. “Fitzroy is a bastard. The people would never accept him. That is why I am supporting the reinstatement of the Lady Mary. Can you not see the sense of that? The people love her, and if I help to bring her back to her father’s good graces, the people will love me as well. And you.” She smiled.
Edward scowled. “What matters it which bastard he chooses?” He eyed her carefully. “Is there any sign yet?”
Jane had learnt that unobtrusively holding one’s breath was a powerful tool in the arsenal of those who must live at court. She held her breath, counted to ten, and then took several deep breaths. The desire to box her brother’s ears passed in that time and she was able to reply in her normal, quiet voice. “No, nor will there be for some time yet. Patience, Edward!”
But she was concerned. She was not unduly alarmed that she hadn’t conceived yet; there was no reason why she should not, in due time. She came from a prolific family, and the king had already proved himself a number of times. The nonsense that George Boleyn had so venomously spoken at his trial was just that…nonsense. These things took time. She would be patient. But others would not, it seemed. She had even observed the king eyeing her speculatively when she caught him unawares.
Jane wondered how Mary felt about all this. Mary was being relentlessly harassed to give in concerning the matter of her legitimacy and her stand on the church. Jane secretly agreed with her, but could do nothing to help her. She would continue to insist that Mary be reinstated at court; it was in her own best interest to do so. She needed a friend; Mary was royal, even if the king insisted on calling her bastard. Jane had purposely held aloof from all her ladies. She did not want to emulate Anne by being overly familiar with what was really just a group of self-seeking sycophants. And she needed Mary to be re-established in the public eye so that if for any reason she did fail the king, there would be a viable substitute to hand. One that the people would accept, as they would never accept Fitzroy. A Catholic heir to the throne! That would surely put Cromwell’s nose out of joint!
Jane secretly detested Cromwell. Her dislike of him was intensified by his treatment of the king’s daughter. She realized that Cromwell was really only Henry’s cipher in this and that the emotional devastation they were wreaking on the girl was in part Mary’s own doing. But even without all that, Cromwell was a blatant reformer and sought to destroy the church in England as she knew it. Jane had a flexible conscience and seemingly saw no contradiction between denying the pope’s authority on English soil and keeping the other aspects of the church as they
were. But Cromwell would surely destroy it all in time, as he was presently poised to completely obliterate every monastery in the land. This she heartily opposed, but again, there was nothing she could do. She had learnt her lesson by watching Anne’s ruin, which while inevitable, had been sent over the edge by that lady’s outspoken criticism of Cromwell’s confiscation and private use of the monastic spoils. Jane was no politician; she knew her limitations. The king was indulgent of her but drew a firm, strong line where she was concerned, and she would not cross it to her peril, as Anne had done.
Perhaps once she conceived she would be able to exert a little more influence over the king. In fact, she was certain of it. She only hoped that it would be in time to save the church, if not the monasteries. The monasteries were doomed.
Hunsdon, June 1536
Mary awoke and immediately became aware of a variety of sensations. It was full daylight and it was painful to open her eyes; she quickly closed them again. Her head ached, her teeth throbbed, her neck was sore; there was a sensation of some type of pain in every limb of her body. The individual hurts were too many to catalogue. Her mouth was dry. She tried to move and experienced a sudden wave of nausea. She made no further attempt to rise; she was too exhausted to move anyway.
The linen on which she lay was damp with sweat. Her fever must have broken. Perhaps that was what had awakened her. Suddenly she felt cold and began to shiver, but she dare not move to find the cover and pull it up over her, lest the sweeping feeling of queasiness return. It was best to lie still.
The Baker's Daughter Volume 1 Page 27
