Innocent Traitor (55 page)

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 18TH JULY 1553

In the evening, Henry comes to my bedchamber. He is close to tears. This truly startles me, for I have never seen him so overcome, even when our little son died.

“What is wrong?” I ask, alarmed.

“The traitors, the bloody, bloody traitors!” he cries.

“What traitors?” My fear is evident in my voice.

“The privy councillors, my dear. They never went to the French embassy. Any fool could have seen that that was a bluff. But what did they do instead? They gathered at Baynard’s Castle for some secret conclave, and then, would you believe it, they went to St. Paul’s to give thanks for the kingdom’s deliverance from treachery. Whose treachery, you may well ask?”

“Did they declare for Mary?” Icy tremors are shooting down my spine.

“Not in so many words, but—may God forgive them—they had the bare-faced temerity to order the Catholic Mass to be celebrated in the cathedral. Can you credit it?”

“Oh, God!” I wail. It is as if the world is about to come crashing down around us.

Henry draws me urgently into his arms.

“Whatever happens, you must accept that I did it all for the best, for us, and for Jane, and for Katherine too,” he whispers. “I never dreamed it would end like this. Northumberland seemed invincible, his plan flawless.”

“I believe you,” I say flatly. Then my pragmatic streak comes to the fore. “We should leave the Tower now, while we can, and take Jane with us.”

“No. Best to see what happens first. If the Londoners are set on declaring for Mary, we might be safer in the Tower. You know how volatile the London mob can be.”

“We should at least tell Jane what is happening.”

“Not just now. Leave her in peace for the moment. It cannot be long now. She has borne up well so far, but this latest news might prove altogether too much for her. Her best defense is her youth and innocence.”

“Surely Mary will take that into account?” For the first time it is dawning on me that there might be serious consequences for our daughter as well as for the rest of us.

“I do not believe she will be unmerciful to one of her own flesh and blood.”

“I pray God you are right,” I say fervently. Our eyes lock in concern and trepidation.

Queen Jane

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 19TH JULY 1553

“Mrs. Underhill went into labor during the night,” announces Mrs. Ellen. Mrs. Underhill is the wife of one of the yeomen warders of the Tower. I look up from my book.

“Perhaps she is delivered by now,” I say. “Please, would you go and find out?” The anticipated birth of this child is a beacon of light in a gloomy world. I could not admit it to anyone, but the prospect of seeing, and possibly holding, a newborn baby is suddenly enticing.

Mrs. Ellen misses little. She looks at me thoughtfully, then leaves the room.

She is soon back with a proud and slightly bashful Mr. Underhill.

“It’s a fine boy!” she tells me.

I smile and give the warder my hand to kiss. “Many congratulations, Mr. Underhill. When your wife has rested, I should like to visit her and the child.”

“I thank ye, Your Grace,” the man stammers. “I, er, that is, we was wondering, would Your Majesty consent to the boy being christened Guilford, in honor of your lord husband?”

“Of course,” I say warmly, although it occurs to me that the Underhills might not have much cause to rejoice in that name in the years to come.

Mr. Underhill is still standing there, fiddling with his cap.

“Is there anything else?” I ask.

“Um, Your Grace, begging your pardon, but I have another favor to ask. Would you do us the great honor of standing sponsor at the christening? It’s to be this evening, in the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula in the Tower.”

“I shall be delighted,” I say, beaming.

When he has gone, Mrs. Ellen is pensive.

“What troubles you?” I ask.

“Oh, probably nothing. It just struck me, when I went to the Underhills, how quiet it is in the royal apartments. Do you know, in the White Tower, the state rooms are all but deserted. Where is everybody?”

“You saw no one at all?”

“I did pass Archbishop Cranmer and his chaplain on the stairs. I suppose, if he is here, the rest of the council must be also.”

“Yes, I suppose they must,” I say, but with little conviction.

Dinner is a muted affair, served in my privy chamber. No one arrives to keep me company at meat. Mrs. Ellen goes out again afterward and reports, on her return, that everywhere still seems to be deserted.

The tense hours of the afternoon drag on interminably in the stifling heat. Then suddenly, soon after five o’clock, the bells of the city churches begin to peal joyously and there are distant shouts. Through my open window I can see drifts of smoke rising above the rooftops, and the river packed with craft.

The steward appears and announces that supper is served. As I seat myself under the canopy of estate in the empty presence chamber, I wonder tremulously if I will soon be informed of the cause of the afternoon’s commotion. I think I can guess it, though.

I am right, on both counts. My father, followed by three yeomen warders, bursts into the room and, without paying his respects to me, begins tearing down the cloth of estate above my head. Clumps of displaced dust fall into my food.

I stare at him, half-comprehending.

“Jane, you are no longer Queen,” he tells me bluntly. “London has declared for the Lady Mary. Go to your chamber and stay there. You must put off your royal robes and be content to live henceforth as a private person.”

“That is all I ever wanted. Nothing could please me better.”

He regards me with some surprise. “I wonder at your calm acceptance of this calamity.” Then, as I just sit here, unmoving, he repeats more urgently, “You must take off your royal robes now!”

“I much more willingly put them off than I put them on.” Then the precariousness of my situation begins to dawn on me, and I look on this man, my hitherto all-powerful father, who did so much to place me in it. It is his ambition that has brought me to this.

“Out of obedience to you and my mother, I have grievously sinned,” I say bitterly. He stares at me, startled, for my voice betrays the depths of my resentment. “I willingly relinquish the crown. I never wanted it.”

He nods. The canopy is down, lying in a heap on the floor. For nine days it has signified my sovereignty. That is over now, finished.

“May I not go home?” It sounds childish, and perhaps it is, but this is what I long for. My father looks as if he is about to cry. I am shocked to my core. I have never seen him this way in my life.

“No, Jane, you must stay here,” he answers in a choked voice. “I am going now to Tower Hill to proclaim the Lady Mary Queen of England. I hope you understand why I am doing this. I am trying to save us all.” And he hastens from the room. I know with certainty that he is going to run for his life and lie low, waiting to see what the new Queen will do. He will leave me to my fate. He must think that Mary will spare me on account of my youth and inexperience—otherwise, surely, he would not have left me here. Of course, I reason, he, a mature adult, can expect no such mercy. He has committed high treason.

My mother does not even come to say good-bye. Later I learn that they have gone to Sheen.

Alone in the chamber of presence, I sit unmoving. What will happen to me now? I cannot believe that Mary will cut off
my
head for what I have done. She will appreciate that I was forced to it, that all this was against my will. Somehow I must convince her that I am no danger to her, and that I wish her nothing but good, even though she is a Catholic. But how to go about that? Should I crave an audience? Will she even consent to see me?

The door opens and I catch my breath, but it is only Guilford who stands there. One glance tells me he has been crying. His eyes are red.

“So you know,” he says. I nod. There is an awkward silence. Even at the best of times we have had little to say to one another.

“What if you are with child?” he ventures.

“Let us pray that that is not the case. There are too many Dudleys already in this world.”

His eyes brim again with tears. “My father,” he whispers. “What will they do to my father?”

If I were not so numb, and he had not been so brutish to me, I might try to comfort him. I understand that, for him, this is a personal tragedy. But I have no words to say to him.

He sniffs. “I will leave you now. I must comfort my lady mother.” He walks out, shoulders heaving.

With dragging feet, I make my way to my bedchamber, trying to assume a cheerful countenance for the sake of Mrs. Ellen and Mrs. Tilney. But when I tell them what has happened, Mrs. Tilney falls to weeping pitifully. Mrs. Ellen remains dry-eyed; I realize she is too full of fear to cry. Instead, she busies herself with practicalities, helping me to change into one of my plain black gowns. Life, after all, has to go on.

“It is near six o’clock, madam,” she reminds me.

I had forgotten. I have promised to attend the Underhill christening.

“We must make haste,” I say, taking my prayer book. But when I open the door to my chamber, I find the way barred by guards.

I am a prisoner.

Lady Jane Dudley

THE TOWER OF LONDON, 20TH JULY 1553

The Marquess of Winchester stands before me.

“Madam, you are required by Queen Mary to surrender to me the crown of England, also the crown jewels and other regalia, as well as other property in this Tower rightfully belonging to our lawful sovereign, such as furs, clocks, and portraits.”

“Sir, they are at your disposal. I never wanted them.”

He ignores this.

“The Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Bridges, will inform you of the arrangements that have been made for your confinement,” he concludes, then gives me a curt nod and withdraws from the room with a speed that is only just this side of dignified.

The Lieutenant, a kindly, avuncular man in his fifties, comes to me soon afterward. Clearly he does not relish the duty imposed on him in keeping a fifteen-year-old girl in custody and is sympathetic toward me personally. But, as Winchester explained earlier, I am being imprisoned not so much for what I have done—since the Queen, in her mercy, realizes that I have been led astray by wicked men—as for who I am.

“Her Majesty fears,” he explained, “that you might be the focus of Protestant plots to overthrow her, once this present rejoicing over her accession has died down. Hence you are to be kept in the Tower for the time being.”

Mrs.Ellen