Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (22 page)

“That would please me greatly.” Why, I could not guess. Kat was too flighty to depend upon for anything of practical use in such a dire situation—even if she were not away at Baynard’s Castle. Besides, Kat was Henry Herbert’s wife. Some might say her first loyalty should belong to him. But surely of all ties blood was the strongest.

Yes. I could depend on that much at least. I looked to my parents, pushing back my growing unease. Perhaps my mother was afraid. Perhaps the future my father had hoped for was crumbling. But they would stand with me. I was certain. The Greys of Suffolk would rise or fall together.

J
ULY
18, 1553

How could it be that the day trudged on as if it were any other? Rising and having my hair combed and braided and bound beneath my headdress. My linen shift drifted down by my ladies’ hands to cover my shivering body, no longer warm from its nest of coverlets in my bed. I broke my fast, directed my servants, met with those of my council who remained. But I knew the loyalty they had shown when my reign began just eight days ago was changeable now, ephemeral as the wisps of mist clinging to the spires of the White Tower.

As I sat beneath my cloth of estate signing dispatches, I paused to peer out the streaked window, looking toward the gate that opens in the direction of Baynard’s Castle. I willed Kat to appear and ride through the stone portal, her red-gold hair shining, her face turned up to the sun. She would be searching for me. Surely she would have had time enough to get over our earlier discord. I would draw her off alone, tell her I was sorry I upset her. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted it more than almost anything. Anything except for this day to be over.

A day of celebration, it was supposed to be. A new queen asked to be godmother to a babe. I had sent one of my ladies to stand in my place at the font in St. Peter ad Vincula, the chapel in the courtyard below. It was hard to pay attention to the sacred when my generals were betraying me and no one—not even the chaplain—would meet my eyes.

I might have given way to panic, were it not for tiny, mundane tasks. I attended to each one as if my life depended on it—the sharpening of a quill, the pressing of my royal seal into melted wax. The wax shone, thick, oozing like blood.

I suppressed a shudder, my attention tugged to the chapel again. St. Peter in Chains, to translate the Latin name properly. Thomas Seymour, who my beloved mistress the dowager queen loved so well, is buried beneath those stones. Edward Seymour’s father lies there as well. Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, once queens, lie headless for eternity.

Would that be my final resting place?

No. I must not give up, some place inside me—still faith-filled, believing in miracles—insisted. How many times had I told Mary and Kat tales from the Bible? Daniel in the lion’s den, Jonah in the belly of the whale, Esther and Deborah and all those whose cause God favored. He saved them just when it seemed certain all was lost. Was that not what made for a thrilling tale?

If you believe faithfully enough, your head filled with nothing but God’s will, He could part seas and calm storms and drain floodwaters away. He would save me if He chose. He could carry Kat through that gate and calm all our fears if I believed strongly enough. If I were not afraid.

I dipped my quill in ink, then wrote as Dr. Aylmer taught me: bold strokes that must not waver.
Jana Regina. Jane the Queen
.

I am believing with all my might, God
, I prayed silently.
Why do you not make Kat come here to me?

Chapter Fourteen

K
AT
B
AYNARD’S
C
ASTLE
, L
ONDON

ow many times during the days at Jane’s court did I wish Henry and I could return to Baynard’s Castle. We had been so happy there, stealing rose-scented kisses along the garden path, our fingers stroking whatever bare skin we could reach beneath the barriers of our clothes as we spoke in eager whispers of what pleasures we planned to give each other once we could share our bed.

But the new home and family I had come to love more than my old one had changed like the beggar woman in the old tales Hettie liked to tell. But instead of transforming from hag to a fairy queen, the love-spun magic of this place had vanished, stripped down to reality harsh as pitted stone.

Though Maud did lie abed, no physician ever came to examine her, no apothecary dosed her to cure her malaise. She started every time I came in the room, and when I asked about the flood of horsemen and carts flowing in and out of the castle gates, it was as if some invisible thorn had driven beneath her skin.

Even Henry behaved more strangely by the hour, closeted with his father and the parade of important visitors now attending on the Earl of Pembroke. A lump of ice seemed lodged in my belly, a certainty that all was not as innocent as they would have me believe.

Finally I concealed myself in the shadow of a sideboard and lay in wait for my husband, watching the door to the earl’s presence chamber, hoping to catch Henry so I could draw him off alone to speak.

It seemed forever that I waited, listening to snips of conversation, studying faces, badges of office, livery that identified those having audience with Pembroke. At last my husband emerged. The expression on his face deepened my fear.

I faced Henry, my heart hurting, betrayal stinging. “What is happening? I saw the mayor of London and a group of aldermen gathering in the courtyard below.”

“The situation is bad, Kat. When Lord Cobham and the Earl of Arundel went to the Spanish ambassador’s, Scheyfve told them Northumberland was attempting to make a deal with the French to put the little Queen of Scots on the throne instead of Jane. England would be swallowed up by France—”

“That is ridiculous! Northumberland wants his son to be king. It makes no sense that he would plot to take Jane off the throne!”

“The rest of the council believes it could be true. In any case, it does not matter if it is true or false. The people will not have Jane as queen.”

The ice in my belly swelled until it ached. “The people? It is not their decision to make. King Edward named Jane queen. Mary is Catholic. Her father named her a bastard.”

“The people have never forgotten the torment she suffered. They loved her mother, and they love Mary. They hate your sister.”

I stumbled at the ferocity in his words. “They do not know Jane. In time they will become accustomed—”

“I am heartily sorry to say it, Kat, but Jane is a Dudley now. People know Jane is Northumberland’s creature, and that is enough reason to reject her.”

“Jane is no one’s creature! She loathes Northumberland! My parents had to beat her to force her to marry a Dudley.”

“So you told me, but that does not change the fact that she is under Northumberland’s control. The duke chose your sister because he could easily turn her to his own wishes. Everyone knows that.”

“Then everyone is wrong!” I cried. “Jane will be a good queen. She works so hard to get things perfect. She will wear herself to a shred trying to be a perfect queen as well. From the time we were little girls, everyone said what a remarkable queen Jane would make. Even Catherine Parr and all her ladies made such a fuss over her that Father sent her to be fostered in the dowager queen’s household. Many people thought Jane would be a perfect match for King Edward—that if he chose Jane, he would not have to wed a foreigner. Catherine Parr and Thomas Seymour were supposed to arrange the match. All I have ever heard was—”

“The simple folk have barely heard of Jane at all. But Northumberland scourged the North, enclosed the common land, and dissolved the abbeys. Grabbed everything to fill his pockets while others starved. Father says—”

“Your father was stealing and burning right at Northumberland’s side!”

“Your father took his share of the spoils as well, even though he did not wield a sword. That is what powerful men do. They do not win riches and lands in battle, then distribute the spoils to the poor! Unless you’re Edward Seymour’s father Somerset. It got him killed by Northumberland and your father and mine! Sacrifices must be made.”

“Who is to be sacrificed now? My sister?”

“We cannot save her. We can only try to save ourselves.”

“How? You will tell me!”

“Father and the mayor and the aldermen are to gather below within the hour. They ride to St. Paul’s cross to declare Lady Mary the rightful queen.”

“They said they would die for Jane. Swore fealty to her. An oath before God.” I could see how torn Henry was. I did not care.

“Men have changed loyalty before,” he insisted. “It is necessary.”

“Are you forswearing yourself, Henry? Abandoning my sister?”

“I have no other choice for the sake of my family.”

“Jane is your family now. I am your family!” I cried bitterly. “Or is it as easy to cast aside a wife as it is a queen?”

Henry pulled me into his embrace, but I twisted free. “Katherine, I will not abandon you! I swear it on my life! But I have to stand with my father. We have got into a tangle, and every man has to free himself as best he can.”

Sick with betrayal, I recoiled from him.

“You think your family is made of finer stuff than the Herberts?” he said. “Your father would sacrifice the house of Pembroke as easily as he draws breath if it meant the queen’s pardon.”

“Jane
is
queen,” I insisted.

“She is not! It is over, Katherine, and we must shift as we can to survive.”

“Do as you will, then. Follow your father to St. Paul’s. I am going to my sister.” I spun away from him, intending to fling a few belongings into a chest and leave Baynard’s Castle behind me as soon as I was able. But Henry caught my arm. “Let go! I am going to my sister! Summon a cart to take me back to the Tower.”

“You are going to ride through streets full of people who see your sister as a traitor? Who loathe Northumberland and your father? Do you want them to drag you off your horse and murder you in the streets?”

“They would not dare!”

“Remember the crowd we encountered at the crossroads the day Jane was declared queen? Their mood was dark enough then. Next morning Northumberland set their hatred afire when he had Gilbert Potter pilloried, his ears sliced off.”

“Stop it, Henry! I do not like to hear—”

“There are things you would like even less, I would wager.” Pembroke’s voice cleaved between Henry and me like a knife.

“My lord,” Henry said as we sprang apart. My breath caught. My father-in-law’s expression was brutish, that of the man who had hacked rebel crofters with his own sword.

“Lady Katherine Grey, I have made a study these past weeks as to your likes and dislikes. And I can assure you that, should you be so rash as to bolt in the direction of the Tower of London, you would dislike what is happening beyond these gates.”

“I am going back to my sister!”

“Would she be pleased if you arrived lighter by the weight of your ears? It is possible that our true queen’s supporters would consider it fair judgment to take your pretty ears in payment for Potter’s suffering.”

I recoiled in horror at the image.

“I could not spare a single man to guard you,” Pembroke continued. “We must make as great a show as possible if we are to have any hope of Queen Mary’s forgiveness.”

“There is no Queen Mary! No country can have two queens.”

“That is so. At least not for very long. Until this inconvenience is sorted out, you will stay here at Baynard’s Castle while my son and I try to salvage what we may—our estates, our rank. Maybe even our heads. Mary’s supporters will be eager for a crop of traitors to replace the corpses that marked the prayer book rebellion.”

My stomach lurched at the thought of Henry dying such a terrible death. Pembroke was right. Heads would roll. I thought of Jane, my father.

“I can only thank God I had the foresight to ignore Northumberland’s order that you and Henry consummate your marriage,” Pembroke said.

“You were the one keeping us apart?” I choked out. “Jane was right all along!”

Henry confronted his father, betrayal in his eyes. “You swore it was not your doing!”

“How else was I to protect you, boy? Let Northumberland and Suffolk go to hell. I can wrest you out of this disaster of a marriage, Henry.”

My knees went weak, but Henry was already beside me, shoring me up. “You are wrong, my lord. My wife and I met in secret. I swived her.” He was lying, knowing that if we had consummated the marriage, even Pembroke could not sever the bond.

But the earl would not be so easily fooled. “You did no such thing. You are far too obedient of a son to defy me. Even if you had been so foolish, I would force you to swear on the Bible that the girl is a virgin. The troubadours may sing of the romance of dying for love, but it is a far grislier fate than most imagine. You are my son. In the end you will bow to my will.”