The Baker's Daughter Volume 2

by Bonny G Smith

  Jane jerked her head up and realized that she had momentarily dropped off. She awoke to find her mother eyeing her speculatively. Jane looked away and snuggled closer to her father. He was asleep, she could tell by the evenness of his breathing, but his arm tightened around her. Her hatred for her mother was the measure of how much she loved her father.

  When they had first set out Jane was surprised to find that the royal barge, which Edward had sent for her, started making its way upriver, instead of downriver towards Greenwich. She had thought that Edward was at Greenwich, but when she questioned this, her parents dismissed her enquiries. Jane shrugged and settled into the cushioned bench, and into her father’s arms.

  She must have truly slept, because the next thing she knew, the barge was scraping the dock and the oars were vertical and dripping water. The sun was low in the sky by this time; Jane looked up and realized where they were. Whatever they were doing at Syon House, they would almost certainly be spending the night.

  # # #

  The cool cloisters of Syon felt welcoming after the heat of the day. The duke and duchess of Suffolk led the way, walking purposefully down the long corridor. What was Edward doing here, wondered Jane? Why had they moved him from Greenwich, when he was so ill?

  Syon House had been a monastery, but early in the Dissolution of the Monasteries ordered by her great-uncle, King Henry VIII, the monks and nuns had all been driven from its protective walls. Dame Agnes and the entire sisterhood had been forced to leave the country and now resided somewhere…Jane could not recall where…on the Continent. Good riddance! thought Jane. Parasites! The great estate was now owned not by the Catholic Church, that band of leeches, but by her father-in-law, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. And he in his turn had stolen it from the hapless Duke of Somerset, whom Dudley had caused to be executed for no greater crime than that he was not capable of the high office of Lord Protector to which he had been called.

  Their footsteps echoed strangely in the seemingly empty palace. Finally, they approached the massive double doors of the Great Hall. As the party drew near, the guards drew up their halberds with a faint swish, and each seized a great iron knob and opened the doors. Without missing a step her mother and father strode into the room. Both of her parents were quite tall, but Jane was short, and she could not see beyond them; she simply followed, lost in her own thoughts. Perhaps they were to refresh themselves before seeing the king.

  Then her parents stepped aside and the sight that met Jane’s eyes startled her. The entire Council was ranged about the great platform that bore Edward’s throne. The arms of England were displayed on the wall behind the throne as usual, but something was not right. And then she realized what it was. The canopy had been altered. The initials now read JR instead of ER.

  Suddenly all the men of the Council dropped to their knees and Lord Chancellor Goodrich proclaimed, in his booming voice, “The king is dead! Long live the queen!” The men then in unison cried, “Long live our sovereign lady, Queen Jane!”

  Too stunned to speak, Jane looked around at her mother, father, and father-in-law; they mistook her meaning, realized that they were still standing, and hurriedly sank to their knees. For a fleeting moment, Jane caught her mother’s eye. Lady Frances seemed astonished to realize that she must now bow down to her own daughter.

  Finally, Jane found her voice. “How now,” she said, in a voice that seemed to rival the Chancellor’s, even in that great room. “What means this? Where is the king? I have come hither at his request to speak with him. How say you that I am queen? Is it truth indeed that my cousin is called to God’s mercy?”

  Chancellor Goodrich, still on his knees, raised his eyes to Jane’s. “It is with heavy heart that I must inform Your Gracious Majesty that the king has been dead these three days.”

  Jane narrowed her eyes. “But in that case, my lord, surely the Princess Mary is now the queen?”

  Dudley cleared his throat, and Jane swung the beacon of her gaze onto him like a magnet. She might have known that this was his doing! Now she understood why she must marry Guilford Dudley, that insignificant person! It was so that John Dudley could tell the children to go and play whilst he ruled England! If such was the case, the parvenu Duke of Northumberland was in for a shock.

  Dudley was still on his knees, as they all were, for the simple reason that Jane had not yet given them leave to rise. Her mother glowered, her husband just looked bored, her father, bless his simple soul, beamed proudly. She returned her gaze to Dudley, who was beginning to look very uncomfortable indeed. Very well, then, let them all stay on their knees! This was their idea, after all. And she not even told! She raised her eyebrows quizzically at her father-in-law.

  It occurred to Dudley, as it had to Lady Frances, that now Jane was queen, they all must at least seem to defer to her. That was going to be most inconvenient! “Your G-Grace,” said Dudley, stumbling over the address that he must now use towards his chit of a daughter-in-law, “the late king, your cousin, in his great wisdom, has left his throne to you. The Princess Mary is a bastard and a papist, and unfit to rule England.”

  Jane pursed her lips and tilted her chin upwards. “Then what of the Princess Elizabeth? Surely she is next in the succession before me?”

  Dudley shifted uncomfortably on his aching knees. The stone of the floor was very hard. “Another bastard, unfit to rule.”

  Jane turned next to her mother and asked haughtily, “And what of my lady mother? Surely she should come before myself in the proper order of things?” The look in her mother’s eyes told the story without a single word being spoken; her mother blustered and blew, puffed and threatened, but in the final analysis, Lady Frances Brandon Grey, Marchioness of Dorset and Duchess of Suffolk, was nothing but a coward. She feared what would happen if their coup d'état failed. But she had no qualms about placing her daughter in harm’s way!

  Jane turned back to Dudley. She studied him in silence. No one dared speak unless spoken to; these people had made her their queen and now must treat her as such. Myriad thoughts ran through her mind. Edward had left the throne to her because she was royal, legitimate and Protestant. It made sense. She glanced once again at her mother, who was plainly irritated at being kept on her knees. There was a heady thought…as Queen of England, what sweet revenge would she be able to visit on that termagant! The remembrance of the beatings, tongue-lashings and other cruelties her mother had perpetrated upon her came to mind. She rested her cool gaze upon Dudley, her father-in-law. She detested him. A jumped up commoner, made duke! She pressed her lips together until they practically disappeared. All right, then.

  Jane waved an imperious hand, indicating that all might rise. While everyone shuffled to their feet, her mind raced. There had been talk of marrying her to Edward, that was true; had those plans come to fruition, she would now have been queen dowager, at the very least. And if the mother of a son, regent, just like Queen Catherine in France! So now she was queen anyway. In this, all of a sudden, she saw the hand of God. It was meant to be. But not the way master high-and-mighty Dudley had imagined!

  The company was now standing and awaiting her next words. Despite her diminutive stature, she seemed to grow by several inches; she straightened her spine and her head took on a regal tilt.

  In a loud, clear voice she said, “If it has pleased God and the late king, my cousin, to call me forth to be queen of this realm, then so be it.”

  There was a moment where no one seemed even to breathe, and then her father and the men of the Council shouted, “Long live Queen Jane!” throwing their caps into the air as they did so.

  Jane noticed, and would remember, that neither her husband, her mother nor her father-in-law joined them.

  Sawston Hall, Cambridge, July 1553

  The sky was turning from a misty pearl gray to just a hint of apricot on the horizon. Mary had arrived at Sawston Hall only an hour or two before, but despite her headlong ride in the wee hours from Hoddesdon, she had been unable to sleep. She
was leaning on the windowsill breathing in the fresh morning air when a faint sound caught her attention. It was only a slight scratching at the door, but all of her senses were on the raw; had she and her men not been worried that they were being pursued, they would not have had to resort to last evening’s subterfuge. She was convinced, as were her retainers, that Dudley was not going to let her go without a fight.

  She sighed and padded in her bare feet to the door. She opened it a crack and there stood Sir John Huddleston, holding a candle with a wavering flame.

  “My lady,” he whispered. “The news is not good. One of the servants must have Protestant sympathies, and another suspicions thereto; a groom went missing shortly after you arrived. He was followed by another of my servants, loyal to yourself, Your Grace, and this one has just informed me that an angry mob is gathering in the town.”

  Mary nodded; the country was very unsettled. Many feared that if Edward died and she took the throne, that the Protestant Reformation would soon be in danger of reversal. And they were certainly correct in that assumption! Had she not been waiting most of her life to fulfill her mission of bringing England back to the true faith?

  “We must away as quickly as possible then,” she replied. “I will rouse my ladies, Sir John, if you will rouse my men. Can we be gone within the hour, think you?”

  Sir John snorted. “Even before that, if you can, Your Grace. Every moment you delay you are in the gravest danger. Come quickly!”

  “We shall,” she said. Mary turned and looked at Jane Dormer, sweet child, and at dear, loyal Susan Clarencieux; both were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion and she hated to awaken them. For a moment she toyed with the idea of leaving them behind, but she knew that they would find it hard to forgive her for that. No, she must wake them. Mary Kempe, a light sleeper, was already astir, having been awakened by the whispering voices at the door.

  “You heard?” asked Mary.

  Mistress Kempe nodded. “I will take this lot in hand, Your Grace,” and she made to awaken the others.

  “That is as well,” Mary replied. She was already dressed, never having taken her clothes off, and as they talked had been putting on her boots and cloak.

  The courtyard was abuzz with activity; the horses had been brought, and the men were already on their mounts.

  “We must away,” said the captain of her guard. “I can hear them! They approach! Sir John, you had best get your lady and your servants to safety. We will see to the princess.”

  Sir John beheld in dismay the approaching crowd. None were on horseback, all were on foot; Mary’s party was mounted and would easily outdistance them. But he eyed their torches with great trepidation.

  Mary saw his dismay and said, in a firm, clear voice, “Sir John, fear not. I can see that they mean to fire the house, the knaves! And only because you have sheltered your princess. If the house burns, I make this vow to all here today,” and with this she pivoted her mare with her knees and made an elegant circle; standing up in her stirrups she cried, “I shall build you such a stout castle to replace the one destroyed that none shall think to bring it down!” And with that, her little party, for the ladies had also mounted and were ready, put spur to horse and were away.

  It had been a brave speech, and she meant every word of it; looking behind her she could see that she would indeed be having to make good on her vow. Great billows of smoke could already be seen above the tree line. Poor Lady Huddleston, to lose hearth and home because of herself! But she was far from feeling the confidence that the rousing promise she had given to Sir John indicated. Had she been living in a fool’s paradise, to believe that there were so many left, after twenty years, who would welcome the return of the old religion? Were her supporters indeed so few that the very suspicion that she was fleeing Dudley’s clutches was enough to turn her own people against her?

  For they were her people; by right of law, blood, inheritance, and her father’s will, she was the rightful heir to the throne of England. But how was she to make good her claim when she was fleeing in the opposite direction from the seat of power, without money, men, or arms? After all these years and all his promises, could she depend upon her cousin, the emperor, to come to her aid? If he had been so unwilling, yes, unwilling, she could own it now! …to support her, had she escaped to the Imperial court at Brussels, how could she expect that he would now invest in her bid for the throne? He could as easily make an alliance with Dudley, and it would cost him far less!

  She had not realized that as she rode, the tears had been flowing down her face. The sun was full up now, it was growing hot, and her teardrops dried almost as soon as they fell. But her heart knew that it was close to breaking. She had so counted upon the people, who had always cheered her wherever she went, and greeted her so effusively when she went to town. Were their cheers inspired by nothing more than a moment’s diversion from their dull lives?

  No! she cried to herself, inside, in the very core of her being. No! Many times in the past years she had been tempted to hopelessness. She would not give in to despair now, that deadly sin, at this critical moment! And the temptations were many. Just before she left Hunsdon the news had reached her that the Council had ordered that the prayers always said by the people at church services for herself and Elizabeth, as princesses of England, were to be stricken from the service and must not be said anymore. She wondered how many people had defied that order! Perhaps none… No! she cried once again. No! That way lay madness, and worse, defeat.

  No, she must not despair; there was much yet to hope for. Many believed that she had no chance of gaining the throne because of her religion, but she refused to believe that. She must not be intolerant; she must realize that the Protestant faith, after so many years of darkness in England, may be all some had ever known. She must bring them back to Rome, yes, but patiently, gently.

  In the meantime, she knew that she had the support of the Catholic faction, and they were many. She could not, would not, believe otherwise. And she also knew that she had many supporters at court and even on the Council itself. They would not own their loyalty for fear of Dudley, but she was positive that there were still some who believed in the sanctity of the rightful succession, and if not in that, then at least in the law.

  As the miles sped by, on and on they rode; she had become as one with the wind in her hair and the jarring gallop of her mare. They were making for Bury St. Edmunds, and should reach there before nightfall. And what, she wondered grimly, awaited her there? More angry mobs? She must think of something else or go mad.

  She thought of Edward and a fresh wave of agony swept over her. Did he live still? What would become of him when he died, unshriven and unrepentant? Would God know and understand that he had been indoctrinated from birth in the Protestant faith, and take him to Heaven anyway? He was blameless, she saw that now.

  Her blood raced with the acute sense of the danger she was in, and the feeling of desperation that gripped her in consequence. But along with these frightful emotions something else ran alongside; a sense of excitement, of exhilaration…something was finally happening, something that could change her life forever.

  For should she win through, she would have to marry, and marry quickly. Rightful heir to the throne she may be, but no man would be willing to allow her to rule. That task would fall to her husband. Oh, if only Philip were still alive! It was odd, but she never thought of him as dead, only as far away, somewhere out of reach. But at the thought that she might soon be called upon to marry and have a child, a child who would in its turn be heir to the throne, her stomach gave a pleasant little flip-flop. Marriage, a child, and the throne! It would be the fulfillment of a life-long dream. She was not too old…there was still hope. The thought took her breath away.

  At such a moment thoughts of her mother were inevitable. How her mother had been unwilling to rise against the king, her father, when she could easily have done so, to put her daughter on the throne; Katharine’s abhorrence of war and bloodshed;
how right her mother had been to make her promise, on that day so long ago, never, never to leave England. But could she win the throne without war and bloodshed? It seemed unlikely. And then she sneered, though none could see her. To wage war one must have an army! And she had none.

  And then her thoughts strayed to her sister. Elizabeth! She had heard rumors that Dudley himself meant to seize the throne, but that was absurd. Even his power lust could not possibly stray that far. So it must be that he intended to place Elizabeth on the throne in her stead. Her sister was unmarried as well, but that was easily remedied. She was young, Protestant, and after herself, heir just as surely as she herself was, by law and by right of blood, though it pained her to own it. But Anne Boleyn’s daughter, on the throne of England! Never! Not while she had breath in her body!

  So on she must ride, to God only knew what fate; she must throw her dice and she must, she simply must, win…for failure would mean not only certain death for herself, but the utter, irretrievable ruination of England.

  The Tower of London, July 1553

  Jane gazed out of the window of the White Tower to the river below. It was a fine day, and she was enjoying being queen. To have one’s every whim and wish granted! Even Guilford seemed to have undergone a change of heart and had become most attentive. Their nightly exploits remained as enchanting as ever, but he had been trying her patience sorely during the daytime. He was wont to either silently ignore her or silently glare at her. But now, instead of the sullen, sulking demeanor she had grown accustomed to, he was treating her in a solicitous manner that surprised and delighted her. Perhaps he had finally realized which side his bread was buttered on! She was the queen, and she would be treated with the respect due to her, especially by her husband.