A Dangerous Inheritance
Read A Dangerous Inheritance Online
Authors: Alison Weir
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Biographical, #Sagas
A Dangerous Inheritance
is a work of historical fiction. Apart from the well-known actual people, events, and locales that figure in the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Alison Weir
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Originally published by Hutchinson, a division of Random House Group Limited, London.
B
ALLANTINE
and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Weir, Alison.
A dangerous inheritance: a novel of Tudor rivals and the secret of the Tower / Alison Weir.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-53594-8
1. Tower of London (London, England)—Fiction. 2. Political prisoners—Fiction. 3. Great Britain—Court and courtiers—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6123.E36D36 2012
823′.92—dc23 2012027867
Title-page image: © iStockphoto
Jacket design: Victoria Allen
Jacket photograph: Jeff Cottenden
v3.1
As circles five by art compressed show but one ring to sight,
So trust uniteth faithful minds, with knot of secret might,
Whose force to break (but greedy Death) no wight possesseth power,
As time and sequels well shall prove.
My ring can say no more.
—Lines engraved on
Katherine Grey’s wedding ring
Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting …
—Samuel Daniel,
“Hymen’s Triumph”
Love is blind.
—William Shakespeare,
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
1568
I can never forget the day they brought me the news that my sister’s head had been cut off. I was not yet thirteen, too young fully to understand why she had to die, but old enough to imagine the horrific scene at the end. They said she had committed treason, the foulest of all crimes, but it didn’t make any sense to me, for Jane had only done what she was forced to do. And by that reasoning, I too had been an innocent traitor, just as she was
.
We had none of us girls been born to inherit a crown, and yet it has overshadowed us all our lives—and blighted them. I thought once that it would be a wonderful thing to be a queen, to wield power and wear the coveted diadem—but I know differently now. Tangling with princes rarely brought anyone anything but ill-fortune and grief. I have learned that lesson too, in the hardest of ways. I am no longer the innocent, placid child who struggled with shyness and lessons, and was happiest running free in the spacious wilds of Charnwood Forest or playing with my dogs, my birds, and my monkeys
.
If, in the future, there is to be any remnant of that kind of happiness for me in this world, it remains in the gift of Almighty God alone, for I can hope for little from my earthly sovereign
.
In the meantime, I must languish here, in this fine house that is really my prison, having little to distract me from my trials but the routines of everyday life and the stilted exchange of pleasantries with my unwilling hosts. The only pleasures—if that is the right word—that are left to me are writing daily in this journal that I began so many years ago, and gazing yearningly from my window across the flat green parkland and skeletal trees to the forbidden distance, beyond which lives the man I love more than life itself
.
KATHERINE
May 25, 1553; Durham House, London
Today is our wedding day. My sister Jane and I are to be married; all has been arranged so that the one ceremony will serve for both the daughters of my lord the Duke of Suffolk and my lady the duchess. It has come upon us so quickly that I have scarce had time to catch my breath, and am somewhat stunned to find myself standing in this royally appointed bedchamber being decked out in my bridal robes.
Below the latticed windows the River Thames, busy with craft and the shouts of boatmen, glides swiftly past London toward the distant sea. There is the usual whiff of fish, mud, and rotting stuff in the warm air, but the light breeze that stirs the heavy damask curtains and caresses my skin is pleasant, and faintly redolent of the flowers in the formal gardens that cluster below around Durham House.
We stand like statues as our nurse, Mrs. Ellen, and our tirewoman, Bridget, fuss around us, pins in their mouths, hands fiddling with points and laces, dressing us in such finery as I have never possessed, while our mother looks on, hawklike, screeching orders.
“Stand still, Jane! And try to look happy. His Majesty has been most generous in his provision for you, and in finding you such bridegrooms. You would not wish word to get back to him that you are ungrateful, I am sure.”
Jane looks mutinous as the heavy gown of gold and silver brocade is lowered over her head.
“He knows that I did not want this marriage,” she says defiantly. “And it is my lord of Northumberland whom I have to thank for it. King Edward might rule England, but my lord rules the King.”
My mother would like to strike her, I am sure, but even she would not send a daughter to her wedding with bruises on her flesh. Instead she contents herself with tugging Jane’s wedding gown none too gently into place over her kirtle, and arranging the heavy skirts and train, which are exquisitely embroidered with diamonds and pearls.
“You will keep your opinions to yourself, my little madam, and remember your duty to the King, to me and your father,
and
to the Duke of Northumberland, who is to become your father-in-law this day. Rest assured, you would not be getting wed if the King did not wish it. Now, let me look at you.”
Jane stands awkwardly as our mother inspects her. She told me last night, not for the first time, that she despises outward finery; as a virtuous Protestant maiden, she insists on wearing sober, modest garments of black and white, which infuriates our mother, who is given to lavish attire. I can see that Jane is uncomfortable in more ways than one in her rich gold and silver brocade, with its low square neckline that reveals the slight swell of her small breasts.
