Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (29 page)

No man’s downfall has brought more delight to Queen Mary’s supporters than that of the haughty Duke of Suffolk. My guards informed me that my shivering, wet father was dragged from a hollow tree in his deer park. There he had hidden like one of the pathetic animals he loved to hunt—Father run to ground. His former ally, Lord Huntingdon, placed him under arrest.

Whatever Wyatt’s purpose was—to stop Cousin Mary from wedding a Spaniard; to place Lady Elizabeth on the throne; or to reinstate me as queen—it did not matter. My father cried out for Queen Jane, so I must die as well, either that or damn my soul to hell. It is a devil’s bargain Cousin Mary offers. If I recant my faith and turn Catholic, she will let me live—so says Dr. Feckenham, her own confessor and the emissary she has sent to tempt me. Would God I could loathe the priest as I should. But he has been too kind, too wise, too much a friend. The ruddy-faced clergyman disproves many things I was so sure of regarding the popish church and those who serve it. I am torn between wanting to spite him and wanting to bury my face in his lap and cry.

Sixteen is too young to die. I know I should surrender my life gladly, but it is hard, especially while Dr. Feckenham pleads with me, fatherly tears glittering in his eyes. He displays a tenderness I never witnessed from my own parents.

In spite of my stubborn clinging to my faith, the priest has promised not to leave me as my parents did. He will take that last long walk with me to the gallows. He will stay with me until the very end. I believe him, and it comforts me a little.

In the days after the rebellion, I waited. I no longer hoped for a pardon, not anymore. But I would give much for a letter, a visit, a basket of comforts from my mother, my sisters. I imagined my father in another cell, humiliated, his pride stripped away. In spite of the peril he placed me in, I would give all I own to see him or my mother or sisters.

Do Kat and Mary know I am to be executed? They must by now. What happened to them in the aftermath of Wyatt’s ill-fated rebellion? Are they still waiting upon the queen, or are they banished somewhere, loathed and despised as daughters of a man condemned as a traitor two times over? What are they thinking? Feeling? Has Father’s recklessness hurled them back into danger?

I imagine the queen’s ladies sniping at Kat. Those loyal servants would delight in punishing Suffolk’s daughters, to pay for the terror the rebels had put them through. But I cannot help my sisters now.

As Dr. Feckenham enters the room, I go to the table and take up the small hoard of objects there, the last gifts I have to bestow on those I love. “Will you see that Kat gets my Greek Testament?” I ask him. “I wrote her a letter and placed it inside. This is for Mary.” I pass him the doll I made in a time when I could not have imagined all that has come to pass. Mary’s Jennet—she has been a silent witness to betrayal, hope, and despair ever since my little sister thrust her into my hands the last few moments I was queen. “You must tell Mary how much this poppet has comforted me these past weeks. Now it will comfort her.”

Dr. Feckenham nods.

I hear footsteps beyond the door, know my time is here. Fear thrusts to my very marrow. I think of the crowd waiting just outside to see me die, imagine them watching my severed head roll across the straw. Then they will go about their lives, drink wine and eat meat pies and quarrel with their sisters. I will never see mine again.

Trying to hide my fear, I turn to the priest. “Dr. Feckenham?” My voice sounds high, tight. Even to my own ears it quavers. “You will not leave me?”

“No, child.” His sorrowful eyes meet mine. “We will see this through together.”

I take up my prayer book, square my shoulders. As I pace out into the sunshine for the last time, I try to focus on my prayers, but memories steal through. Bradgate’s stream, Mary struggling to catch up while Kat races ahead to catch a gauze-winged butterfly. Me, forever caught between them. I will not be there to soften the places where their spirits chafe each other.

I fight to hide my trembling as I move toward the scaffold—step by step, wishing to hear their voices, my sisters, the two people who truly love me. I dare not think on what is to happen, the severing blow that Guilford faced earlier this morning. Dare not remember the sight of him walking to Tower Hill, his blond hair gleaming. I hated him after that night in the abbey, but in the months that followed I saw that he was a victim of his father’s ambition as much as I was. I saw the fear in him. Yet when his father betrayed the reformed faith and fled back to Catholicism, Guilford held firm, even though it cost him his life. There is honor in that, and courage. Perhaps we could have learned to deal more amiably with each other after all, given time and distance from our families.

Pity for this stranger who was my husband filled me when the cart bearing Guilford’s body returned to the Tower and made its way to St. Peter ad Vincula, his corpse swathed in bloody cloths, his head bundled separately and tossed in beside his body.

Soon my fate will be the same. My gorge rises, and I fight to keep my terror from showing, shaming me. I am a princess of the blood. I must meet my fate with dignity, or my lady mother will be angry. A wild laugh threatens to break free as I imagine what my sister Mary would say to that. She loves the tale of the Countess of Shrewsbury, who claimed she was not guilty of treason and ran from King Henry’s headsman. The man hacked her to death in a series of clumsy blows. Dear God, why must I think of such a thing now?

“Jane!”

Through the crowd’s rumble I hear a faint cry. No, imagine it. Mary’s voice. She cannot be here, on Tower Green. But I cling to the sound. “Forgive me!” she pleads.

What is this? Some cruel torture? A demon sent to distract, not comfort? Or am I hearing my little sister’s pain from across the miles? Her grief over the strangeness between us since that first meeting after I became queen? Barriers I felt in every letter since I was in the Tower? Poor little sister. She will worry over it in secret now with no one to coax it from her.

Whatever burdens her spirit, I pray she will realize another truth in time.

There is nothing in this world or the next I would not forgive my sisters.

My feet grow steady as I make my way across the scaffold where the wooden block awaits.

M
ARY
F
EBRUARY
16, 1554

So much blood. Rivers of it, choking me. I could not scrub the sight of it off my mind. Jane’s mouth still moved as the executioner grasped her head by its long auburn hair and raised it high. His voice boomed: “Thus die all traitors. God save Queen Mary.”

What was Jane saying? In the moment between life and death, had angels told her what I had done? I could see her lips form the sorrowful words:
Mary, how could you?

I moaned as I tossed and turned in a strange bed, far from my old room with the other maids. Where was I? I did not know, nor how I got here. I remember Jane, the ax, the blood, then falling, never wanting to wake.

I remember the queen’s own doctor pressing some bitter brew to my lips. The sound of hushed voices, but none familiar enough to cling to in this nightmare. Even Hettie was gone. A stranger kept vigil over me now, dribbled watered wine down my throat, and sopped up the sweat and tears that made my hair cling to my cheeks.

More than I wanted Hettie, I wanted Kat. But she had been crying for days, even before I ran away to the Tower. Crying, not just for Jane, but for Father. He was to stand trial soon, but everyone knew what the judges would decide. They would cut off his head too. How long had it been since the world had gone all black and swirly in the crowd that watched my sister die? Kat would know. If only I could see Kat.

No! Panic filled me. I never wanted to see Kat again, have to look in her eyes. She might see that I was the one who warned Cousin Mary to escape Robert Dudley’s men, and she would hate me. I had trusted my cousin, my friend, and she had killed the only person who ever really loved me.

I whimpered into the bolster. I was the devil child that people had named me. Even Kat would think so now. I would burn in hell. I deserved it. If only I were not so scared of fire.

I heard a scratching on the door. My guardian startled awake.

“Her Majesty, the queen,” the gentleman usher said, in a voice so low I could barely make it out. I burrowed under the covers as the door opened. I did not want people gawking at me, especially the ladies who waited on the queen. They would be glad to tell everyone how wicked I was. They did not like Kat and me anymore.

When I did not hear the rustling of numerous skirts or the whispering of gossip being exchanged, I peeked from beneath the coverlet. The attendants that usually surrounded my cousin were nowhere in sight.

A cloth bundle was tucked in the crook of the queen’s arm. The single taper illuminating the room cast it in shadow as she motioned for my attendant to leave us. The door thudded closed behind the woman, leaving the queen and me alone. She drew near me, and I pulled the covers back over my head.

“I would see with my own eyes that you are unharmed, as the guard who carried you back to the palace claimed,” she said. “Come out from your sanctuary, cousin.” I did as she ordered, but the instant I uncovered my face, I turned it away from her. I knew it was unforgivable to treat a queen thus. I would be punished for it. I wanted to be punished.

“You did a very dangerous thing, running off to Tower Green,” she said sternly. “A child as small as you, Suffolk’s daughter—there are many who would rejoice at the chance to do you harm. It would have grieved me if something terrible had happened to you.”

I could not keep a sound of pain from rising in my throat.

This time the queen looked away. “You are right,” she said, twisting the heavy ring of state around on her finger. “Something terrible did happen. I know it will be hard for you to believe, but Jane’s death was horrible for me as well. It is worse still to know I broke my vow to you, when you were so brave and loyal on my behalf.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

“When you are quite grown to be a lady, you will understand better. Sometimes we must do things we do not wish to do.”

Her words pried loose the other question that had been lodged in my head ever since that fearful day when Wyatt had stormed nearly to the palace gates. “People say you should kill Kat and me, as well. I heard them.”

I knew the queen had heard those people too. “I would never do such a thing. You and Lady Katherine are safe under my care.”

I did not dare say she had promised that Jane was safe from harm as well.

She must have seen reproach in my eyes. “All will be well once your father is beyond his traitorous plotting.”

“He is … he is still alive?” I knew he was in his cell in the Tower.

“He will be tried tomorrow.”

“The day after Jane …”

“It is February seventeenth tomorrow, child. It has been four days since your misadventure.”

Only four days. Such a short time, like the nine days Jane had been queen.

“I do not mean to distress you, Mary, merely to reassure you that the wild talk of doing you and Katherine harm will fade. Spanish fears will be calmed once the prince and I are wed, and courtiers who scorn you now will find some fresh scandal to feed upon. I am sure of it.”

But I was no longer sure of anything except that Kat must not see what I had seen. “Majesty, I do not care if you kill Father. At least not so very much. It was his fault that they hurt my Jane. Even our mother says so. But Kat cares. She is Father’s favorite.”

“I remember the duke was very fond of her.”

“I do not want Kat to go to Tower Hill with him, to see all that blood. It would break something inside her, like the crystal mother shattered in a temper. If Kat breaks like that, no one will ever be able to put her back together. You can make sure she does not break.”

“It is good of you to think of your sister, though you have had such a shock. I will do what I can, but I could not protect you, could I?” I shook my head. “Even so, I would do the best I can by my cousins. You must aid me in a matter of great import to me.”

“What is so important, Majesty?”

“
Your
feelings, Mary.” Her words startled me. Jane was the only person who had ever asked what I was feeling. “Now I must ask you a question, child, and you must tell me the truth, no matter how hard it is. As queen, I command it. As your cousin, I ask humbly.”

Silence fell, and I realized the queen was waiting for my answer. She looked so sad, almost afraid. It made my throat tighter. I nodded, agreeing to her terms.

“Can you bear to serve me after the wrong I have done you? Or shall I send you away? I will do it if you wish me to”—her voice dropped low—“though I will miss you sorely if you are gone.”

I thought for a long time, knowing what I should say. After what Cousin Mary had done to Jane, I should go as far from court as I was able. But where would the queen send me? I was selfish enough to wonder. Would I go to my lady mother? She did not love me. At least there was tenderness in my cousin’s eyes. I was betraying Jane all over again, but I could not help it. I did not want to be alone. I sucked in a deep breath and looked into my cousin’s sad, squinty eyes. “I will stay with you.”

The queen’s shoulders sagged, and she released her breath in a shuddery sigh. “I am glad of it. There is one thing more, Mary. You know my confessor, Dr. Feckenham?”

I could picture the man who had guided Jane to the block when the kerchief was wrapped about her eyes. Dr. Feckenham was kind to Jane at the last.

“Your sister gave him charge of some of her belongings to deliver as keepsakes to those she loved most. This one is for you.” Cousin Mary extended the soft-wrapped parcel.

For a moment, I could not take it. It seemed forbidding, like the secrets festering inside me.

“Come, child. It is a gift from your sister, not a curse.” Her eyes brightened with tears. “I know you feel you wronged your sister, as I did my mother long ago. I am sure you have heard of my betrayal. Sometimes I still feel as if it is painted across my brow.”