Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (24 page)

“I will not leave my son here alone!” She turned to glare at my mother, who was even now hastening toward the door without me. I envied Guilford his mother in that moment.

Outside I could hear the commotion of riders. I ran to the window and searched the courtyard below until I saw my mother and father and their servants pour outside.

So this is what defeat looks like
, I thought as they clambered into carts and litters. I strained to find Mary in the crowd. There she was—a blur of russet velvet, caught up in Hettie’s arms. The Thief’s Coffer was clutched between my sister and her nurse. I feared what trinkets Mary was taking from the Tower. Could one store heartbreak in a wooden box? Horror of defeat? The great sacrifice she had made in leaving her doll with me?

I wept, realizing it would not matter if I cried forever now. The reign I had never wanted was over. My mother and father and sisters were gone. I hugged Jennet tight. Even with Guilford and his mother in the room, I was alone.

Chapter Sixteen

M
ARY
B
RADGATE
H
ALL
, L
EICESTERSHIRE
A
UGUST
1553

did not think it was right for my mother to be happy, not with Jane in prison, condemned to a traitor’s death. But to look at Mother’s face, you would never guess that Jane and Guilford had joined Northumberland and the rest of the Dudleys—Robert and Henry and Ambrose and the other boy I can never remember—in being condemned to the worst punishment anyone in England could suffer.

This was how they killed traitors: hung them by their necks until they near choked, then cut them down and threw water on them to make sure they were wide awake while the executioner used a knife and cut open the traitor’s middle so he could take the inside bits out to burn them right in front of the prisoner’s face. That was the last thing they would see, Hettie said—their insides burning. It does not often happen that someone nobly born suffers the full sentence, but that depended upon the queen. Her mercy was the only thing standing between Jane and having her belly cut open.

I felt like my insides were burning too, every time I thought of Jane walking away from her trial through the mob of angry people, the sharp edge of the executioner’s blade turned toward her instead of away.

If the ax faced the other direction, it would say that she was innocent. If God were fair at all, he would have bent down from heaven and twisted that ax around to show everyone Jane should not be blamed for what had happened. That was not the way God worked, Father’s chaplain told me. But if God could split a whole Red Sea in two so Moses could help innocent people get away from Ramses, why could God not help Jane?

I was scared of what would happen if no one helped my imprisoned sister. Bad dreams woke me up at night, and I was crying. I would not let anyone hold me. I was too wicked to touch.

“Cousin Mary cannot kill Jane!”

“All your caterwauling will not keep it from happening,” Hettie scolded when I woke her too many times with my weeping. “There cannot be two queens. Hard as it is, one of them must die. There is one person who will benefit, though. Whoever warned your cousin to flee Robert Dudley will earn rewards aplenty in the new reign. Without their help, Mary Tudor would now be locked up and awaiting execution instead of your sister.”

It was my fault that Jane’s head would be cut off or that she would burn up in a fire. Executioners did not cut noble ladies apart the way they did other traitors. Hettie said I should remember that from when she taught me about Anne Boleyn. The witch queen had had six fingers, the mark of the devil just like my twisted back. After all that had happened since I sent Cousin Mary that feather, I knew I was even wickeder than people thought I was. But I could not tell anyone what I had done, not even Kat, who had come back to Bradgate three weeks ago without her wedding ring or her husband and had to go back to being a Grey again when she would rather be a Herbert.

Kat would be of no use anyway. She still wrote letters to Henry—pages and pages of them. And she wept every time she wore the emerald earrings that were the color of Henry’s eyes. I had to steal them and hide them away in my Thief’s Coffer to make her stop.

Stop crying, and stop hoping that one of the letters she smuggled out to Henry would bring an answer. I thought if she did not have the earrings to remind her of losing her husband, it would not hurt so much.

I did not think Jane would have minded losing her husband at all, but even in prison she could not be rid of him—he was locked up in the Tower as well. Hettie said his head would get cut off. I wondered if Jane would be glad.

I did not think anything could happen to make things worse—until our lady mother brought some news. She summoned Kat and me to her privy chamber. Her eyes seemed almost hot, she was so excited. “I have just received such news! Thank God! Oh, thank God!”

“Did they let Jane go?” I asked, my spirits soaring. What else could have filled my mother with such joy?

She looked as if she had just bitten into the rotten spot of a peach. “Of course not! How could they?” She gave a huff of disgust. “I have far better news than that!”

What it might be, I could not imagine.

“You and Katherine are to return to court. Our cousin has requested you be raised up as her ladies-in-waiting.”

“You cannot make me wait upon Cousin Mary. I want to wait upon Jane,” I insisted, but no one—not Mother or Kat or Hettie—would countenance it.

“You will wait upon your cousin and be glad of it!” my mother scolded me, with every jolt of the litter that took us back to London. Not to the Tower or Westminster or any of the palaces where Jane had been queen, but to Greenwich. There Hettie scrubbed my skin raw and stuffed me into a black dress so tight I could barely draw breath. When I complained, my mother said she wanted me to look as bad as I possibly could—maybe even a little ragged—to gain Cousin Mary’s sympathy. She said I certainly looked miserable enough.

G
REENWICH
P
ALACE
A
UGUST
1553

Being the sister of a traitor is far different from being the sister of the queen. As Kat, Mother, and I made our way to the presence chamber, women drew back their skirts and men held pomanders to their noses as if they could smell some kind of stink on us and did not want to get any on them.

The way they acted hurt Kat worst of all. Even Maud Herbert did not like her now. Kat was not used to people not liking her. She tried not to show how their meanness pinched, but once I saw her chin quiver.

The gentleman usher announced in his booming voice: “The Lady Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk, Lady Katherine Grey, and Lady Mary Grey.”

A rumble of whispers went through the crowd of people who were waiting upon the queen and hoping to press her for favors. Everyone craned their necks to look at us. Kat’s chin bumped up a notch. As the wall of courtiers moved to make a path for us to reach the queen, I saw the cloth of estate on its four poles. I could still feel the sting of one of them falling on me, when Jane had been the one sitting beneath the velvet canopy.

Now Cousin Mary held court. I could not look at her. Would she tell that I had sent her the feather? She must know it could only have come from me. Hettie claimed the new queen would reward whoever had sent the warning that saved her. What if she singled me out in that way? Kat would hate me for ruining her marriage to Henry. Jane would not blame me for getting her in prison—she would try to make me feel better. That would be worse than anything, even whatever my parents would do once they got me alone.

“Your Grace of Suffolk, Lady Katherine, Lady Mary, come forward,” our cousin said in a voice I had not heard before—one stronger, surer, more regal. She had beaten all the important men who tried to take her throne. I wished I could be glad.

We obeyed. Once we reached the edge of the cloth of estate, Mother fell to her knees. Kat followed. I hung back, so if Cousin Mary told my secret I could run. Mother yanked me down, banging my knees hard against the stone floor. I tried not to yelp in pain.

“Gentle, Frances. Gentle,” the queen cautioned. “Have we not all been bruised enough these past weeks by events?”

“Forgive me,” my mother said. “I am just so ashamed of my family’s part in your troubles, Majesty, that I cannot allow my own child to show you disrespect.”

“I cannot imagine Mary would ever do such a thing,” the queen said, so kindly it hurt.

Please do not tell them what I did!
I begged in my head, as if it could build a wall to hold those damning words at bay.

“Little cousin, I have been expecting you. You need not be afraid. Look at me.”

I did not want to do it. Still, I had to raise my eyes. Cousin Mary’s small frame and sad, lined face stood out, stark and familiar against the dark wood, but there was something new in her eyes that showed she was very sure of something she had not been before. Dark blue velvet fanned out to form her kirtle, every fold of the rich cloth sparkling with silver thread or jewels, as if the frost had come early and drawn patterns on her gown.

Suddenly I noticed something in her hand. Light from the nearby window chased shimmers of color up the length of the blue feather. I feared I would retch all over the queen’s slippers.

“Has your lady mother told you that I wish you and your sister to wait upon me?”

“Both my sisters?” I dared. “Jane would be better at being a lady-in-waiting than I.”

“Mary!” Katherine hissed, and my mother jabbed me with her elbow.

“It is true!” I insisted. “Jane does everything right, and I get things wrong, even when I am trying my hardest to do something good.” I looked at the feather. My eyes burned.

“Your Majesty,” Mother said, “I beg you forgive the child’s forwardness. She does not know she offends you.”

“Mary and I have always been honest with each other, have we not, little cousin?” The queen looked wistful. “Lady Mary loves her sister. It is something to be envied, not to be punished over.”

A measure of alarm drained from Kat’s face. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for understanding. It is very hard for Mary, having Jane under arrest.”

“As for you, Cousin Katherine, you are much thinner than I remember. I can see it is hard for you to be separated from your husband since the annulment Lord Pembroke requested has gone through. I was not invited to your wedding to see it for myself, but I have been told you are quite in love with Henry Herbert.”

“Yes.”

“You are very young, and you have the pretty face and charming manners that make love easy to come by. Your heart will heal in time.” Kat stiffened, but she did not argue even though she wanted to. “I have never been in love. My hopes for a husband and children seemed faint for a very long time. Now I hope to fill that sad void in my life. It is a pity that you, who found love so young, should lose it because of politics, but that is reality.”

“So I have told the Lady Katherine,” my mother said. “Sometimes a woman must bear the consequences for the mistakes of men.”

“It must be challenging, helping a daughter make wise choices of the heart while maintaining the dignity of her station. But there are some things even the best mother cannot teach.” She looked away. Deep sorrow etched in her face. “I wish my mother could see me now, and know that her struggles were not in vain. She endured much for my sake.”

“I am certain she is looking down upon you from heaven, rejoicing,” Mother said.

“I have bought many masses for her soul to make certain that that is so. But which heaven does she inhabit, cousin?” Cousin Mary asked a little sharply. “You and your husband made it clear that you scorned a Catholic paradise.”

Mother started to grovel, but Cousin Mary quieted her with a wave of one hand. “Enough arguing about religion. I have brought you to court not to punish you, but to attempt to reconcile. God bids us be merciful.”