Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (5 page)

“Close the drapes,
Mrs. Helen. There is not cause to wake today,” I said with a pout.

“Oh, my lady, but ther
e is! Today is your wedding day. And even if you are not so excited to marry, you should be pleased and pretty for your sister.”

I gave an unladylike snort. Jane was marrying Guildford Dudley
. Mother had lamented on and on about him not being a true prince of the blood and not good enough for her daughter. But Father had insisted.

Jane was
also not pleased with her groom. She had always held herself above others, and I did not think she would marry the fourth son of a common man who’d risen himself to power, and now titled a duke. Not when Father had groomed her to marry a king. I could only imagine what plans my sire had put into place to see such a thing happen, and now disappointment must run thick through his veins.

H
is princess, his means to a kingdom, would marry a lowly commoner.

According to Jane
, the Duke of Northumberland—Guildford’s father—had attained his status only with treachery. He had a hand in many a courtier’s demise. Even the king’s own Lord Protector had not been safe from Northumberland’s climb for power. The Lord Protector, His Grace, the Duke of Somerset, had been the dear brother to the late Queen Jane Seymour—executed for some trumped-up treasonous charge the cad Dudley had pinned on him. Jane said she was surprised Northumberland hadn’t been arrested himself.

So
while my companion, Mrs. Helen, lamented over my sour face, I found it necessary given that I, through my sister Jane, should be linked to such a man.

I was happy to take a slobbering oaf over a Dudley.

From down the hall, raised voices echoed, and something shattered.

“Your sister
’s having a time of it this morning,” Mrs. Helen muttered.

“Why?”

“Well… ’Tis not my place to say. I shan’t be named a gossip.” Mrs. Helen pursed her lips and pulled from the wardrobe a linen chemise, an ivory stomacher threaded with gold and gems, an ivory gown embroidered with gold thread in floral patterns and matching slashed sleeves from which gold tissue silk would be pulled through. She placed the costly and beautiful items gently on the settee at the foot of my bed.

“
Mrs. Helen, I promise not to name you a gossip. Now, go on, do tell.” Left in the dark most times, I was eager to hear what the maid had to say. From what I’d learned, the servants knew
everything
. Had not Mother taught me that, in order to stay ahead of the game, one must know
all
the players secrets?

Mrs. Helen
busied herself with pulling out pins that would fasten my gown to me and connect the various pieces. It felt like an eternity went by before she finally said, “Her most gracious Duchess—your mother—has been up in arms all morning about the wedding. Got your sister into quite a tizzy. Word has it that young King Edward is ill again.” Mrs. Helen crossed herself and mumbled a prayer. “Your father and the Duke of Northumberland, your soon-to-be father-by-marriage, have been having secret meetings.”

“What secret meetings?” I blurted out and then quickly covered my mouth. I didn
’t want Mrs. Helen to think I’d become too excited by what she shared and hence stop talking. I pretended to pick a speck off my coverlet.

“Arranging Jane
’s marriage the way they have…”

I knew
Mrs. Helen referred to the plotting I’d heard while listening behind closed doors. Talk of kings and queens. ’Twas treasonous. Mrs. Helen wouldn’t come right out and say that my parents were plotting against the crown, but even still, her words were clear.

“
Your mother is not too happy. Imagine that low-born Dudley boy as…a ruler? For shame.” Mrs. Helen clucked her tongue. “Your sister deserves someone better. Leaves tongues wagging, it does, to have your sister marrying a fourth son. The boy will inherit nothing, unless of course your father’s made sure the marriage contract stipulates something for the two of them. As it stands, you’ll be a countess, but I guess none of that really matters much when you consider Jane may be queen.”

Mrs. Helen
crossed herself again and for a moment stared off into space. Her words resonated deep within me. Jane to be queen? A plot to steal the throne? Princess Mary Tudor would surely seek retaliation. And Princess Elizabeth would gladly seek her vengeance—thrust aside once more and Jane taking her place.

S
uddenly, the sense of doom that seemed to cloud over this entire prospect of marriage and how hurried it was made me light-headed. ’Twas treason for Father to be party to such a plot.

“You
mustn’t—” I started to say, but my throat was so tight, so constricted I couldn’t get the words out. I wanted to warn her not to whisper of such things to anyone else, lest she brought the wrath of God and the king down on our heads.

“Now, dear, don
’t worry. Things will work out in the end. ’Tis God’s will we must trust in.” Mrs. Helen poured a cup of watered ale and handed it to me. “And I shan’t be telling anyone what I heard either.”

The ale tasted
bitter, sour and warm on my tongue.

“Come now,
” Mrs. Helen said, “at least start your morning ablutions, else your mother find you still abed and redden your hide.”

Although Mother hadn
’t reddened my hide since I was a young child, I wasn’t going to risk it. If the sounds coming from down the hall were any indication, Mother was in rare form already with Jane’s antics.

“Where is Mary?” I asked, my concern for my younger sister accidentally
wandering into my mother’s path acute. The poor girl was never spared, and while she usually held a canny knack for avoiding our mother, I still wanted to be certain.

“Oh, the little
Lady Mary is with the Cook and the others in the kitchen. Saw her traipse in there earlier this morning. She does love to avail herself with making preserves, and from what I hear, Cook is making a delicious peach preserve for the folks to feast on after the wedding.”

The thought of peaches, let alone syrupy sweet peaches
, turned my stomach, and this time I did rush to the chamber pot. I wiped the back of my mouth with my sleeve and closed my eyes as Mrs. Helen pressed a cool, damp cloth to the back of my neck.

“You
’re a nervous little bride, love. Do not worry overmuch. Your husband will be kind to you, and he’s just a boy. You shan’t have to grow up yet.”

I turned and buried my face against my
maid’s ample breasts. “But, Mrs. Helen, I started my courses not two months ago. For certes. they will expect me to begin my duties as a wife.” I wailed loud on this last part, for I did not
want
to fulfill my duties, not at all!

“Oh, hush, love. I heard tell your father struck a bargain that you shan
’t consummate the marriage in truth until you reach your sixteenth year. No need for tears. Dry them up.”

And
, indeed, with her words, my tears dissipated. My mother may have turned into a shell of herself, a woman fearful of court intrigues and party to the plots of my easily persuaded father in constant search of power, but she had always promised us as children that she wished us not to marry until we were at least sixteen. When she’d told me of my upcoming nuptials, I’d wanted to shout at her about her promise but had known it would have done no good. Mother must have fought for me behind closed doors and won.

Knowing
she’d done so sent a current of sadness rushing through me. I wished at that moment that I’d been closer to her, for now I would leave her home for good. I wished I’d listened to her more, had tried to make her happy in at least some small way.

But the past was the past, and there was nothing I could do to change it. Only give her what she
wanted, and that was an obedient daughter. Now all I had to worry about was how my future husband’s family would treat me.

The sound of horses clopping outside my window jarred me from staring at the wall.

The arguing had stopped down the hall, and I could only imagine how mortified Jane would be with puffy eyes for her wedding ceremony. Since living with the dowager queen, Catherine Parr, before the great woman passed, Jane had become quite preoccupied with her appearance and how she looked to others, often lamenting that a lady’s job was to appear well put together and in the latest fashion to show others that she cared for herself and would not take lightly to being abused in any way.

Even I ha
d taken to plucking my brows with silver tweezers, as Jane did.

From below,
I heard my father’s booming voice ordering our staff about. It was time to leave. The River Thames beckoned us to depart, to float down the river and never return.

Footsteps rushed just outside my door.
I stood, smoothed my hands down my stomacher and over my skirts. The ivory silk of my gown and gold threads shimmered in what little sunlight passed through the window.

I stood to contemplate my room one last time. Would I ever sleep here again? I ran my hand along the
thick brocade of my bed curtains and over the carved oak of the footboard. All of my personal belongings had been packed, and nothing of this room remained of me, except my memories.

Jane, Mary,
I, my parents, and our attendants who were to accompany us to Durham House where the triple ceremony was to take place, walked along the wooden deck to the quay where my father’s barge awaited. The sun shone bright and mixed with the fishy smell of the Thames came the scents of lavender, peaches, roses, and rosemary from our gardens.

A slight breeze blew, ruffling my skirts
, and I instinctively reached up to steady my headdress, not wanting it to come unpinned and ruin my hair—Mother would never forgive me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jane doing the same.

She turned to look at me, deep purple colored beneath her eyes, her face pinched. I wanted nothing more than to pull her to me and hug her,
like we had that day at Sudeley, but Jane was not one to be consoled, nor would she want me to pity her. Her eyes narrowed, perhaps seeing the thoughts crossing my countenance.

“Do not pity me, dear sister.” Her voice was soft, not at all how I was used to her. For a
n instant, the girl I’d once known returned. “We shall both bear a similar fate.”

A
swift wind blew. My lips parted in question, but I need not speak, for Jane continued close to my ear as the barge lurched forward, both of us gripping the rail. “The king is sick. He will soon go with God, and I’ve been told I shall be queen. ’Tis not my place, Kat, ’tis not what I want, but it may be what God wills.”

“But—
” My voice came out a little shrill.

“Hush, do not make a scene.” Her eyes flicked to the servants and to our parents
, who both stared out over the river onto the landscape.

London
’s tightly woven together timber buildings with wattle and daub sat amongst immaculate grand brick or stone homes and palaces. Smoke curled up from buildings, and birds flew in circles around the tops of the bridges. I shuddered, recalling the heads those birds were most likely feasting on.

“
I am doing my duty for God. For country. For England. ’Tis what King Edward wants. What his father, our great uncle, proclaimed.” Jane paused, as if in thought. “Princess Mary is most unforgiving. She is displeased with being ousted from the line. I fear when things fall into place, Mary will not let us live, knowing we are a threat to her succession.” Jane turned her gaze toward the opposite shore. “Perhaps I shall not be a wife for long.”

I felt sick. My head pounded
, and the grayish sun was suddenly too bright. Why did Jane sound so certain? Mother would not let us die…would she?

“Jane,
’tis only wedding jitters weighing upon your soul. Come, let us be merry today! You shall be a wife! And to a handsome courtier!” I attempted to cheer her, though my own mind was bleak.

Jane smiled bitterly, a puff of breath escaping her lips. “Oh, Kat, you are so
naïve.”

I had only been trying to cheer her
, hoping her future husband’s handsomeness was at least pleasing, if his bloodline was not. I gave Jane a bright smile, hoping to ease one from her. “Not
so
young. You forget, I am to be married, too.”

Jane
’s eyes clouded, and her face cleared of emotion. “Aye, and the only one between us marrying someone worthy of a princess of the blood.”

I wanted to ask her
why Mother and Father had insisted on Guildford Dudley as her groom. I wanted to know why they were so insistent on a marriage between me and Pembroke’s heir. Why now? Why the urgency? But I didn’t ask. I don’t know if it was because I was afraid of the answer, or because her eyes had become distant as she looked down into the river as it passed us by.

We arrived at the quay outside Durham, greeted by an army of servants who led us into the house. I was overwhelmed by the number of guests, the formalities.
The triple wedding was lavish. The ceremony long. My groom’s palms sweaty and his pallor sickly. He informed me he’d just risen from his sick bed and that if it were up to him, he would have remained in it. There was no added remark about how long, causing me to believe he might have died there rather than marry me. Part of me wished he had stayed abed, as I would now have to worry overmuch about catching whatever illness he had. Good thing I’d had the sense to tell Mrs. Helen to pack the herbs, flowers and roots I dabbled with in making mixtures for healing, a hobby since I was old enough to pick flowers. And a hobby that had helped to heal many of our tenants.