Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (13 page)

With that thought, I continued to read her precious words.

…
neither for love of life nor fear of death, for if you will deny his truth, to give length to a weary and corrupt breath, God himself will deny you and by vengeance make short what you by your soul’s loss would prolong. But if you cleave to him, he will prolong your days to your comfort and for His glory, to the which glory, God bring me now, and you hereafter when it shall please him to call you.

Farewell
, good sister, put your only trust in God, who only must uphold you.

Your loving sister,

Jane Dudley

“Fare thee well, darling sister, and may God receive you in his loving hands, and corruption you shall know no more,” I whispered and closed the book very carefully.

I climbed from bed,
clutching her Testament to my breast with one hand and carrying the candle with the other. To my chest I went. The very chest that once held my wedding clothes and now housed only what little jewels I’d been gifted in my short life. I set the candle down on the ground with shaky fingers.

I lifted the lid, and when it did creak, I
half-expected to see Mrs. Helen jump from some dark corner to inquire what I was doing out of bed. Moving several layers of expensive silk—yet to be made into a gown—aside, I felt around the cavernous bottom for the latch I knew well was hidden there. When my finger did stumble upon it, I opened the secret panel, revealing all of the letters Jane had sent me while she was in the Tower, and placed this most precious one, her last to me, so conspicuously written within the pages of her Testament, on top of the others.

I would follow my sister
’s words, and I would take her Testament out and read it again and again when no one was about. I could not stand it if anyone sought to take it.

I sat back and stared down at the simple leather binding, the Greek letters etched on the front
:
Novum Testamentum Graecum.

Jane
advised me to never waver from the faith. To not pretend another, as mother and so many others were doing for the queen. Perhaps I should put my faith in something else. Love, if it existed.

To listen to Jane
’s words meant she had not lived in vain and yet to listen to her words meant to put myself in her shoes and travel to the scaffold shortly thereafter. That in itself seemed a sin.

I pressed a kiss to my lips and placed it on the embroidered letters.

One thing was for certain. I did not want to die.

February 12, 1554

I imagined the bells ringing out, even though I could not hear them in Sheen. The ground rumbled with what I swore was a thousand cannons, but it was simply thunder from the sky, as if God himself were not pleased at the events taking place today.

Jane and her husband
were dead. I supposed I should have been grateful the queen had not had their heads put on spikes on London Bridge—and despite knowing their heads rested in their own arms, the macabre sight of their lifeless eyes atop spikes haunted my vision.

Father
would be executed in eleven days’ time. I was not so forlorn for him. I thought it a fitting end to a man who’d done nothing but murder his daughter and thrust the rest of his family from society into danger’s path.

I glance
d across the table, as Mother had made me attend her this morning to break our fast.

“Why
were you not in London with Jane?” My tone was accusatory. I was incensed and outraged that she had not gone to Jane in such a time of need.

She d
idn’t even look at me. Instead, she glanced at Master Stokes, whom she now most obviously flaunted in front of everyone.

“Jane
is dead. We made our peace a long time ago. She did not wish me there.”

Mother
’s harsh words stole my breath. “Did she tell you thus, or did you make that assumption?”

My mother pursed her lips like she used to before she would pinch me or slam her hand on a table.
I watched her take a deep breath before she answered, and while I was impressed that she had found some sort of new control over her temper, I was also irritated.

“She did not need to tell me. She refused to even see her own husband the days before today.”

Mother had abandoned Jane.

Indeed
, it felt as if all of England had abandoned her. Only a few stepped forward to offer feeble mumblings for the queen to spare Jane’s life. How I wish I could have rushed to the Tower and grasped my older sister in my embrace.

“I know what you are thinking, Katherine, and you are a fool.” Mother swiped angrily at her mouth with her linen napkin. “She was my daughter. I birthed her, raised her, loved her, and she was taken from me. No mother should have to see
her child precede her in death, and yet I have. I did not abandon her in her time of need. I cleaved to the daughters I have left, the ones I
can
protect.” She tossed her napkin onto the polished oak dining table and abruptly stood.

My sister
Mary, sitting at an oddly leaning angle because of the shape of her spine, choked on her watered ale at Mother’s abrupt move. She hacked and spewed, but Mother paid her no attention. Instead, her gaze was fixed on me with a mixture of tense emotions.

For the first time, I imagined my mother was intim
idated by me, when it had always been the other way around. She’d was resentful—for no one had chosen her to be queen, but instead skipped over her in favor of her children. That had to have been a huge blow to her ego. I almost felt sorry for her—
almost
.

I did not let my gaze waver, but hoped to convey through my eyes how much I abhorred her part in all this, and the utter disgust I had that she’d abandoned Jane. Mother held my gaze for the span of several breaths, the tension in the room growing palatable. I’d never stood up to her before, never dared. But now with Jane gone, my grief ruled me. My anger thrived. I held no fear for my mother any longer.

My mother glanced away, fumbling with her cup and cleared her throat. “Do not make me out to be a monster. You are looking in the wrong place for someone to blame. Best you pray.”

It was a bitter triumph for me, finally having turned the tables on the formidable Frances Brandon.
The bite of bread I’d taken went down harshly in my throat. I watched with resentment as the great Duchess of Suffolk exited the room on the arm of her Master of the Horse.

“Pray I shall,” I said to her back—but not loud enough for her to hear me.

Chapter Six

When from the heavens storms do blow,

and striketh down your sail.

From thunder cracks both man and beast

yea Sun and Moon doth fly:

The earth and all that lives below,

do fear the rattling sky.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan
soldier and poet

More than four years later…

June
24, 1558

“Majesty.” I curtsied to Queen Mary, who sat looking dwarfed in the regal chair built for her father. She was covered in jewels, velvets and lace, and her pinched face all but disappeared in the mountain of necklaces and her bedecked hood.

“You
’ve a request for us?” she asked in a dull tone.

“Lady Anne Seymour has invited me to accompany Jane as she makes her way to Hanworth House in Middlesex.
’Tis not far from court. And with the recent illnesses, I thought to gain some country air.”

A number of courtiers and many of Queen Mary
’s ladies had come down with influenza, a disease brought to us from the continent, many suspect by Prince Philip’s men, the queen’s own husband, when he was here the year prior. I myself was struck with fever, but only briefly as Mrs. Helen marched in and fought the illness as if it were the French themselves invading England and she the only savior of our beloved country.

“And has your mother also given permission?” Queen Mary looked hard at me as she always did
when she spoke of my mother.

I nodded
, not knowing whether that would make Her Majesty wish to turn down my request.

“What is your purpose at Hanworth?”

“Companionship to Jane Seymour.” I kept my eyes upon the floor, hoping to appear meek.

“There is no other reason?”

I shook my head.

“Our advisors say we should fear that you live.”

Her words shocked me, and I jerked my head up to stare into her black, beady eyes. “I am your most humble and loyal servant, Majesty.”

The
queen grunted. “And you will stay that way—a humble, loyal maiden. There are some poking about as to your eligibility. Know that I will deny them as of now.”

A maiden. Unwed. I swallowed hard and then nodded.
A marriage and possibly an heir or two shortly thereafter would have solidified my claim to the throne. I wanted nothing of the throne. I would have burned the records naming me heir if I could. “As is your desire, Majesty.”

“You may go. We will send for you when
’tis time for your return.”

“Many thanks, Your Majesty.” I curtsied, but she
’d already looked past me as if I was nothing to her. Which in all honesty relieved me. I wanted to be nothing to her. I did not want her to fear me.

Moments later
, I climbed into the litter that had been procured for our trip and leaned heavily upon the cushions.

My dear friend, Jane
Seymour, was consumed by a fit of coughing. “Oh, Jane! Here,” I said, pity and sadness in my voice as I pressed a clean handkerchief against her palm.

Her coughing did not abate for several minutes, racking her entire body. She held the linen to her lips
, trying in some manner to maintain some feminine delicacy. When she pulled it away, the cloth was no longer white but pink and red, a mixture of blood and sputum.

“
’Tis a blessing Queen Mary dismissed you from court for the summer months,” Jane said quietly, tucking the soiled linen away.

“Indeed it is.”

She shivered and pulled the blanket resting on her legs up around her shoulders. Her sharp eyes took on a glazed hue.

“You
have a fever,” I accused her.

Jane
’s fevers came and went. Luckily, her vomiting seemed to have abated somewhat. She’d drunk the tinctures I’d made for her, but I could not tell if they bolstered her or not. The cough she’d had for some time did not appear to be improving, and if anything, this bought of influenza was only making it worse.

“Not overmuch, Kat.
’Tis just the wind.”

“Hmm…”
Her illness was lingering too long. I shuddered to think what could happen to her, but the physicians at court had prescribed fresher air to heal her—and the queen had all but banished from court anyone who was ill. All I could do was pray. Pray that she would get well once again. This court needed her, but most of all
I
needed her. Without Jane, I would not have known what to do with myself. She was my confidante, but she was also more than that. With my own elder sister executed—and, oh, Dear God in Heaven, I miss my sister Jane so—and Mary off with Mother and her new husband, I was left without a body I could trust to confide in. Everyone knew these little biddies about court did nothing but gossip.

Jane
had become a sister to me—I think partly because she shared the namesake of my own sweet sister Jane. We were much the same, and in her I had found a person I could trust and turn to in time of need, and she likewise.

Because Jane
was too ill to ride, the litter was procured for us. A bitter wind swept through the openings of the thick curtains despite the summer season. I tried to close the curtains more and gave Jane my blanket, so the wind didn’t continue to chill her. A thunderstorm had pounded London and the surrounding parts for days now. In our covered horse-drawn litter, the cool gusts of wind sent chills up and down my arms, and droplets of rain whipped inside. Wetness seeped into our gowns, making the fabric cling uncomfortably. The duchess’s home was not too far from court, mayhap an hour since she resided on the outskirts of London. I saw a roaring fire in our future.