Innocent Traitor (30 page)

I stand stony-faced and dry-eyed as the coffin is set down on trestles before the altar rails and remain so while the psalms are sung and the service performed. It would be undignified to cry, but indeed, even were I able to let myself go, I would have no tears left to flow. They have all been spent in private.

I try to concentrate on Dr. Coverdale’s sermon, but tragic thoughts of the dear Queen we have lost, and her motherless babe, keep intruding. When he has finished speaking, and the coffin is lowered into the open vault beneath the altar pavement, I think that I could never feel more miserable than I do now. The household officers break their staves of office and cast them in after the coffin to signify the ending of their service to the Queen; then it is all over, and my heart is as dead as a stone.

“Oh, Mrs. Ellen!”

I am cradled on my nurse’s lap, crying on her shoulder as if my heart will break. It is late evening, and the mourners have either ridden home or gone to bed; as soon as I could, I escaped to Mrs. Ellen’s chamber.

“I cannot bear it! I miss her so dreadfully.”

“It’s always hard, my pet, to lose someone you love,” says Mrs. Ellen, stroking my hair. “It takes time to come to terms with it.”

To be truthful, my tears are as much for myself as for her whom I have lost.

“I dare not think what my life will be like without her. I have been so happy here. I like the Admiral, but I do not think my parents will allow me to remain here now that the Queen has died.”

“No, child, it would not be fitting,” says Mrs. Ellen sadly, “not without a lady of rank present to act as your chaperone. And more’s the pity, because I have been happy here too.”

“Lady Seymour could chaperone me,” I venture.

“I doubt your parents would agree to that, Jane. Lady Seymour is getting on in years and keeps mostly to her rooms—you know that. What’s more, she doesn’t have the social standing of the late Queen, which I’m sure was one of the chief reasons why your parents placed you with the Admiral.” Mrs. Ellen sighs. “I see nothing for us but to go home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” I sob. “This is my home now.”

“You have to go home, child, if your parents command it. You are all of eleven years old.”

I wonder inwardly what will become of the Admiral’s plans to marry me to the King, but of course I cannot discuss them with Mrs. Ellen because I have had to keep them a secret. If only my marriage could be brought forward—then I might not have to go home, or not for long, anyway. Yet in truth, I have little hope of the Admiral’s chances of success in arranging my marriage to the King, and even if he did, I should have to wait three years before the Church would permit us to live as husband and wife.

Thinking this through, I am calmer, though still emitting the occasional sob as I lie in Mrs. Ellen’s arms. But my passion is spent, and with it my desperation. If they insist, I will go home without complaint, however miserable it makes me. After all, I couldn’t feel much more miserable than I do now.

“I have written to all my friends and acquaintances to inform them of this dire loss,” says the Admiral a week after the funeral, as we sit at dinner with the late Queen’s ladies and a few remaining guests. “I have also sent a letter to the Lady Elizabeth.”

He does not reveal what he said in it, nor do I ever find out if he receives a reply.

“I am concerned about what is to happen to you, Jane,” he tells me for the fifth time. I am not so green that I don’t realize how valuable an asset I am to him. “I have written to your father to ask if you might remain with me. I have told him I believe you to be sufficiently mature to order your own affairs.”

If only that could be so, I think.

“I also informed him,” the Admiral continues, helping himself liberally to some pigeon pie, “that I have retained the services of my dear wife’s maids of honor, so that you would be suitably chaperoned and attended.”

“I do hope my lord father will agree, sir,” I say. Sad as this household is now, it is infinitely preferable to my home, which I can only envisage as a perennial field of conflict.

“He has already replied.” Looking grim, the Admiral produces a letter and passes it to me. To my despair, it is a demand for me to be returned home. With mounting indignation and embarrassment, I read that I am too young to rule myself without a proper guide and, for want of a bridle, might take too much head and be forgetful of the manners and good behavior taught me by the Queen. My father knows nothing of me! In sum, I am to be restored to my mother’s care, to be framed toward virtue, sobriety, humility, and obedience.

Remembering with a shudder what that will entail, I sit crestfallen, utterly wretched. I
cannot
—no, I
will
not—go back! I had thought to have put the misery of home behind me forever, and that I would in due time go from the Queen’s household to the King’s. But I know I have no choice: I am bound to obey my parents. It is my duty, and God will justly be displeased with me if I rebel against it.

The Admiral is watching me speculatively, but I fear there is nothing he can do or say to make things better. He knows as well as I do—as, indeed, the world knows—that without the Queen his wife, he counts for little in the corridors of power. The King might be fond of him, but for the present the King is his brother Somerset’s creature, nothing more. I suspect there is now little likelihood of the Admiral being able to bring about the royal marriage he and the Queen planned. My parents too must be of this opinion, if they are ordering my return.

The Admiral bends close to me. “Cheer up, little one. I shall refuse to let you go. I intend to write this very night to your father and assure him that His Majesty has said he will marry none other than you.”

“
Has
he said that?” I ask, astonished.

“Of course he has,” the Admiral replies, smiling broadly. “And if that is not enough, we will sweeten your father with a nice fat payment towards the price of your wardship. You wait and see—all will be well!”

HANWORTH, OCTOBER 1548

My parents are here! We have removed to Hanworth, which is more convenient for them than Sudeley, and the Admiral is receiving them downstairs now. I wait, trembling, in my chamber, with Mrs. Ellen—who is almost equally agitated—for the summons. Today my future will be decided.

The quarter hours pass. I cannot settle to anything. It seems as if they have been talking for hours.

“Someone’s coming!” says Mrs. Ellen. It is the summons, at last. It is all I can do to restrain myself from racing down the stairs, so anxious am I to find out what has been decided for me. But I take care to hold myself decorously as I enter the great chamber and make my curtsy, hardly daring to lift my eyes to my parents,’ in case I read my future in them.

My lord and lady are alone, the Admiral having tactfully withdrawn.

“Greetings, Jane,” says my father. He is wearing hunting leathers and a jaunty plumed cap. He seems cheerful enough.

“God’s blessings on you, child.” My mother, seated in a high-backed chair and wearing a magnificent pink damask gown, is looking me up and down, no doubt to see if I have grown or been cured of my freckles. I cannot deduce much from her expression.

“I am pleased to see you, sir, madam,” I reply dutifully.

“Sit down,” says my lady, pointing to a stool at her feet. I sit, arranging my skirts neatly around me.

“As I am sure you are aware, we have been discussing your future with my Lord Admiral,” my father says, “and we want you to know that we have accepted his offer to have you remain with him.” I bow my head in relief. I had not expected this.

“I still have my doubts as to the wisdom of it,” my mother comments. “I should tell you, Jane, that we have been seriously considering an offer for you from the Lord Protector himself, for his son.”

I am astonished, not only at this revelation, but also at my parents’ willingness to use me as barter in this way. If you can’t have the King, snare the Lord Protector’s son. Either will bring our family influence and greatness, although in different measures. It’s the way of the world, of course, but so cold, so calculating, and so dismissive of my feelings in the matter.

“Sometimes one has to be realistic,” my mother continues. “We heard nothing from the Admiral on the matter of your marriage for a long time. We had doubts that he could keep his promises. I have to say that I am not yet convinced—”

“We
should
accept Lord Sudeley’s offer, Frances,” interrupts my father. “As yet, the Lord Protector has given no firm indication that he is interested in an alliance with us. He hints shamelessly, but will commit to nothing.”

I try hard to remember what the Lord Protector’s son looks like, but no image comes to mind. Perhaps I’ve never met him.

“At least,” my father says, “the Admiral has given us a substantial sum as tangible proof of his good intentions. He also proposes that Jane remain in his household until she is of childbearing age. That will give him more time to arrange the marriage. Moreover, by then the King will have reached his majority and will be able to choose his own bride, and our matter will go forward more smoothly, God willing.”

“Well, you must do as you think fit,” says my lady, tart. “But I agree, there is not much chance of us finding another suitable husband for Jane at this present time. I’ve had enough of the Protector’s delaying matters. I hope you are aware, nevertheless, that the Admiral has his own ambitions.”

“Which ride with ours,” replies my lord. “He speaks sense, and I for one am prepared to give him another chance.”

“You were ever easily bought, Husband,” my mother observes.

“Sweetheart,” he replies with heavy irony, “the Admiral is hardly likely to have outlaid all this money to no purpose.”

“So be it, then. I just hope that old Lady Seymour is a fit guardian for Jane. From what I’ve seen and heard here, she’s an ailing recluse.”

“She is a virtuous lady, Frances, and must be used to governing a large household,” my father says firmly. “Jane will come to no harm under her rule, I am sure.”

“Madam, she is a most pleasant and kind lady,” I venture.

“Soft, I make no doubt,” my mother replies. “I hope she won’t spoil you.”

They have gone. What a blessed relief. And they have left me behind, for which I thank God. It has been an anxious fortnight. The Admiral summons me and Lady Seymour to celebrate our victory with a cup of wine. I am strangely happy, despite the grief for the Queen that never leaves me and has me weeping into my pillow every night. I had never realized that it was possible to be both happy and sad at the same time.

Troubles, however, never come singly. Within days, there is a disturbing rumor in the household. Mrs. Ellen, having got wind of it, sits me down and says she must tell me what is being said. I am bewildered at her urgency.

“This is serious, child,” she tells me. “I am shocked to hear it being whispered around that the Lord Admiral’s true intention is to marry you himself.”

“What?” He is far too old to think of such a thing, surely. He is forty-two! And the Queen his wife so recently dead!

“Has he said anything at all to you that might indicate he means to wed you?” Mrs. Ellen demands.

“Nothing,” I answer, astounded, thinking back hastily to his dealings with me over the past weeks, and finding nothing. But doubt begins to nag me. “Although, when I think about it, such a plan could explain why my marriage to the King goes forward so slowly. My lord has told me that it must now wait upon His Majesty coming of age, but…”

“That could just be an excuse,” Mrs. Ellen finishes. She looks stern and worried. “Jane, if your parents knew of this, they would summon you home at once.”

“Please don’t say anything!” I beg. “It is, after all, just a rumor. That doesn’t mean to say there’s any truth in it.”

“Yes, but you often find, child, that there’s no smoke without fire. I have a responsibility towards your parents, mind you, and I warn you, the first hint I get that that rumor speaks truth, I shall write to them. I should have no choice, for your honor would be compromised by remaining under this roof.”

“Then I pray the rumor is false,” I say fervently.

It is evening. The Admiral and Lady Seymour are entertaining a guest, a courtier friend of my lord’s, and I am to join them for supper. It is early yet, but I am impatient to be downstairs. Mrs. Ellen, who is to attend me, is not yet ready, but says I may go ahead.

In soft slippers, I descend the great oak staircase. The door to the dining hall is ajar and I can hear voices. A mention of my name stops me short. They are talking about me.

I know that eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, or so Mrs. Ellen tells me, but I cannot resist stopping to listen, since there is no one to observe or reprimand me.

By the sound of it, the Admiral is already a little drunk. He is slurring his words slightly.

“Yes, there has been a silly tale of late that I shall wed her,” he is saying. “I tell you this but merrily!” He laughs. “Aye, merrily! But I have my eyes on a bigger fish.”