A Dangerous Inheritance (16 page)

She remains there praying, while the court fidgets with impatience. “She’ll have to give in,” Pembroke mutters. Harry bends to my ear. “In truth, I am sorry for your sister. But Guilford is right: she must accept,
for the whole realm stands to benefit. Otherwise it will suffer under the Lady Mary.”

“Of course she should accept it!” I whisper, and my mother nods.

“She will,” she mutters.

Jane is on her feet once more. “God in His mercy has not vouchsafed me a sign,” she says miserably, “so I can only conclude that He wishes me to obey the will of my parents, as is laid down in Scripture.” As my mother huffs in exasperated agreement, Jane bends her head. “I accept the crown. I pray that I may govern to God’s glory and service, and to the advantage of the realm.”

There is an air of palpable relief in the chamber as she seats herself on the throne, and Northumberland, expansive with triumph, kisses her hand and swears allegiance even to death, with all the lords following in his wake.

She is calmer after that, and when it is my turn to kiss her hand, she embraces me and whispers in my ear that I should rejoice, for the true faith will now be preserved in this kingdom, and that I must come and serve her as soon as it can be arranged. And now I am overwhelmed with excitement and jubilation, for my sister has accepted the crown and is acknowledged the true Queen of England—and I am now, as her recognized heir, the second lady in the land. One day I too might be a queen!

June 15, 1483; St. Paul’s Cathedral

and Crosby Place, London

The press of people outside St. Paul’s was solid, and Kate and Mattie congratulated themselves on slipping out after early Mass and securing a place near the front of the crowd. They were not supposed to be here, and Kate had concocted a tale to explain their absence, telling her father that they were going out to walk along the Strand to see the great houses that lined it. The duke had looked at her fondly.

“How grown-up and beautiful you are becoming,” he reflected. “I will soon have to find you a husband. But not just yet. I would keep you with me awhile longer to enjoy your company.” It was some time since he had spoken to her so tenderly, and she was filled with the familiar rush of love for him. He
was
just the same as ever; there was no need to worry. He had not changed: he was just preoccupied with the heavy cares of his office, and the plotting of the men and women who coveted his power. His eyes were sad, troubled. Impulsively, Kate hugged him. “We will be back in time for dinner,” she said.

It was he himself who had let out the news that Mistress Shore was to be punished as a strumpet and sorceress, and that this morning she would do public penance at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Both Kate and Mattie were agog to see this immoral witch who had cast a spell on the duke and fornicated with the late King and Lord Hastings, but they knew instinctively that any request to watch the woman doing penance would meet with disapproval. Well-brought-up young ladies were not supposed to take an interest in such things.

They made their way through the bustling London streets, wearing plain unadorned gowns so as not to draw attention to themselves, and waited impatiently outside the cathedral. Soon there was a shout. “She’s coming!” A small procession came into view, escorted by guards marching before and behind the sheriff and his prisoner, and as the people caught sight of that unfortunate woman, a hubbub broke out. For Mistress Shore was barefoot and dressed only in a thin sheet that she was clutching tightly around her voluptuous body, while in her other hand she carried a lighted taper, a symbol of her penitence. People were pointing and catcalling, and most of the men were whistling and making lewd remarks.

“Drop your sheet, love!” bawled a coarse individual in homespun standing at Kate’s left.

“Now we can all see what King Edward saw in her!” his companion observed.

Indeed, as Mistress Shore passed, Kate could see that she was beautiful, with long honey-colored hair and flawless skin. She had dainty hands and feet, and plump white shoulders, while the rest of her
shapely body was clearly delineated by the thin fabric of the sheet. “Made for bed sports,” Homespun was saying.

“She doesn’t look like a witch, does she?” Mattie said in Kate’s ear. Kate giggled.

“What did you expect? A haggard crone with a black cat and a broomstick? No, she’s very pretty. Looking at her, I find it hard to believe she has it in her to cast malicious spells, but my father the duke would not have accused her falsely.”

Mistress Shore looked embarrassed as she struggled to hold the lighted taper upright and preserve her modesty. There was misery in her eyes.

“What will happen to her?” Mattie wondered.

“The duke said she would go to prison,” Kate told her. “But it will not be for long. It’s just to make an example of her.”

The shameful procession moved on into the cathedral. It would not emerge for some time.

“We’d better not wait,” Kate said. “We should get to the Strand, so that we can speak of what we have seen.” Pushing their way through the crowd, they set off down Ludgate Hill and into Fleet Street.

They arrived back at Crosby Place late for dinner and flustered. The duke and duchess were already seated at the high table in the hall, and the food platters were being borne in when Kate, excusing herself, hurried to her place. The duchess smiled, and the duke raised an eyebrow.

“So the Strand was interesting? You’ve been gone a long while,” he said.

“We stopped to pray in St. Clement Danes,” Kate said.

“Very fitting. I am pleased to see you are growing up to be pious.” Her father smiled. He himself was very devout, an example to them all. Kate felt guilty that she had lied to him.

Gloucester turned to his wife.

“I’ve had a letter from my solicitor, Lynom,” he said. Anne inclined her head. Her manner was slightly distant.

“The fool wants to marry Mistress Shore,” the duke told her.

“Will you allow it?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll let that harlot cool her heels in prison for a week or so, then let her go. Master Lynom can vouch for her, and keep an eye on her.”

“She will have performed her penance by now,” Anne said.

“Aye, and I hear that a lot of the good men of London were most appreciative of the spectacle,” Gloucester stated wryly. Kate said nothing, but kept her eyes on her plate. She hoped her father might not guess the reason for her being late.

She was saved from any speculation on his part by the arrival of a burly man in the duke’s livery.

“Pardon me, my lord, but there is news. The Marquess of Dorset has fled the sanctuary at Westminster.” The marquess was the Queen’s elder son by her first marriage; it was his brother, Sir Richard Grey, whom her father had imprisoned at Pontefract.

The duke leapt to his feet. “Where has he gone?”

“No one seems to know, my lord. Your man Pickering thinks he might be in hiding near Westminster.”

“Surround the area with troops, take the dogs, and carry out a thorough search!”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man hastened away and Gloucester sat down, his face taut.

“Dorset must be found,” he declared. “He is as much of a danger to me as Hastings.”

“Doubtless he has fled because he heard of what happened to Lord Hastings,” Anne said quietly. “If you find him, what will you do to him?”

“That will depend on what he has to say for himself.” The duke’s tone was clipped. He sat there brooding, toying with his goblet but never raising it to his lips. “I must tighten security at the Tower,” he said at length. “Who knows what Dorset is plotting? He may attempt to seize the King.”

“But he would have to rely on the help of the King’s servants, and you chose them yourself,” Anne pointed out. “Surely they are loyal to you?”

“Are they?” he retorted. “I can trust no one these days. Who knows, those servants may have been corrupted already by my enemies. There
is danger from every side, madam. The King’s attendants must be removed forthwith.”

Anne looked distressed. “He must have someone to wait upon him. If you deprive him of his attendants, he will be lonely.”

Richard’s mouth was set, his eyes steely. “I will appoint new servants, and I have resolved to send his brother York to keep him company.”

“Think you the Queen will let him leave sanctuary?”

“If the council ordains it, she must.”

“But no one can force someone to leave sanctuary; once that right is claimed, it is sacrosanct,” Anne protested.

The duke gave her a sharp look. “York must join his brother. I have reason to believe he is being detained against his will by his mother. If that is the case, he should be liberated. Sanctuary was founded by my ancestors as a place of refuge, not of detention, and the boy wants to be with his brother.”

Anne said nothing.

“I will lay the matter before the council on Monday,” the duke said.

July 10, 1553, Tower of London

It’s another glorious hot day. This morning the royal heralds proclaimed Jane Queen throughout the City of London, and from Baynard’s Castle there were fanfares of trumpets. This afternoon she will go in state to the Tower of London, where, by custom, she must lodge before her coronation. We must all look our best, and my mother has commanded Mrs. Ellen to bring me my wedding gown.

At noon Pembroke summons his barge to convey us to the Tower. At the Court Gate we are received by the lieutenant, Sir John Bridges, and conducted in procession to Caesar’s Tower. Never before have I been treated with such deference and ceremony, and it really brings home to me the exciting reality of being the Queen’s sister.

We ascend in great state to the council chamber, which has been fitted out as a presence chamber with a chair and canopy of estate. Here the entire Privy Council is waiting, with a great company of peers. They bow deeply, and I am so overcome with the import of it all that I begin to tremble. But Harry is beside me, holding my hand tightly and looking exceptionally handsome in his short coat and doublet of crimson damask banded in black velvet.

Jane enters, preceded by the Marquess of Winchester and escorted by Guilford, her hand resting lightly on his. She is followed by our mother, who is acting as her train bearer—our proud mother, attendant on her own daughter, if you please, and looking very much like a queen herself in her rich cloth of gold.

At Jane’s entrance, we all sink in deep obeisances, and Guilford bows very low to her as she seats herself in the chair of estate beneath the richly embroidered canopy blazoned with the arms of England. I rejoice for her, yea, and for England too—and I envy her, I do confess it, for I would give much to be in her place. How I should love to be a queen, above anything else!

More wonders! Our father and Northumberland fall to their knees before Queen Jane, bidding her officially welcome to the Tower, and to her kingdom. There too is proud, petulant Guilford, bowing again, almost to the ground, every time she addresses him. What it is to have such power over the great ones of the land! Then Jane leads us in procession up the ancient stairs of the keep to the old chapel of St. John the Evangelist for a service of thanksgiving, and I offer the Almighty my fervent, heartfelt gratitude for our great good fortune. Afterward we return in solemn fashion to the council chamber.

And now the Marquess of Winchester brings the crown jewels for the new Queen’s inspection. I cannot take my eyes off the glittering array of golden regalia studded by diamonds and other gemstones that wink and flash in the sun’s rays streaming through the narrow windows. I have never seen anything so glorious in my life. I notice my mother eyeing the crown jewels greedily. They are what she has wanted for Jane all along.

“It will be my honor to place the crown on your head, madam,” says the courtly marquess, lifting high that most precious diadem.

“No!” Jane says sharply. “I refuse to wear it.”

“More silliness,” my lady growls. I can only agree with her—what is wrong with Jane, that she cannot thankfully accept this great blessing that has been bestowed on her?

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I but wished to see how well it will become you,” the marquess protests, much abashed.

“No, I will not wear it,” Jane repeats.

“Your Grace may do so without fear,” he persists.

“Very well,” she demurs, with bad grace, and he places it on her head. She does indeed look becoming, very queenly with her quiet, solemn dignity, and again I cannot help wishing that I were in her place, wearing that beautiful crown. Around me everyone is breaking into applause. The deed is done, and there can be no turning back; Jane is Queen and, God be praised, we are safe from the Catholic threat.

Evening has descended, and we are all guests at a great feast served in Caesar’s Tower in honor of Jane’s accession. The tables are liberally laden with choice dishes and the wine is flowing. Minstrels play; there will be dancing later when the board has been cleared. The chatter is deafening, and the chamber stuffy from people sweating in their velvets and silks. I have almost had my head turned by courtiers paying me compliments and outdoing each other to win my favor. I can hardly believe that it is I whom they court—I, who never considered myself very important. But I am the Queen’s sister now, and I cannot help thinking that, if Jane were to lay down her crown, I would be Queen. I wish no ill to Jane, of course I do not, yet I cannot but feel that the crown is wasted on her, who does not want it, and I can’t help myself thinking that, had I been the one set upon a throne today, I should have presented a much happier—indeed an ecstatic—face to the world.

Harry is at my side, a little drunk; his hand keeps straying to my breast or my knee, and to my astonishment, Pembroke is looking on benevolently. I feel myself blush under his interested scrutiny.

Harry whispers in my ear. “I have great news, my Katherine. I am allowed to come to you tonight. My father is at last content that we should consummate our marriage.”

My heart sings.

“Are you content?” he asks eagerly.