Queen of This Realm Read online

I was delighted to come out of my retirement and I was pleased that so many people were intent on paying respect to me. Whether this was due to the King's affection for me or whether many of them were looking ahead to the future when, if certain events took place, I might one day be Queen, I did not know; but it was very gratifying. The previous year Mary of Guise, who had married the King of Scotland, had come to Hampton Court. She had been granted safe conduct when she was returning to Scotland from France, whither she had been to visit her mother at Joinville, and storms had driven her into Portsmouth Harbour, so she had stopped at Hampton Court to pay a visit to the King. She was received with many honors and she and her ladies, although they were only in the country for a week or so, had a great influence on the fashions. The French costumes were copied, and hair was worn frizzed and curled just as the French ladies wore it.

  This had the effect of making our ladies all look very much alike, so I decided to have none of it. I wore my own hair smooth and clung to the plainness of my ordinary garments. This meant that I attracted attention everywhere I went, and if the ladies of the Court thought I was out of step, the people in the streets liked it. I heard warm compliments everywhere— “Our little English Princess,” they called me. And the approval of the people in the streets meant more to me than that of frivolous courtiers. It was also perhaps a sense that I was gaining of how to be entirely myself that I might always be marked for my individual view and never one to accept the mode of the moment, whether of dress or of more important matters.

  In due course the inevitable happened. Edward Seymour lost his head on the block—three years after the death of his brother, the Admiral.

  Our master was now John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland.

  CLEARLY I REMEMBER that Christmas of 1552. The festivities were held at Greenwich and I was looking forward to spending much time with my brother.

  As soon as I was in his presence I noticed that he looked rather more tired than usual, although he had never been robust. I inquired anxiously after his health and he told me he had a wretched cough which kept him awake at night.

  I asked what his physicians thought about it. “They are always hanging round me,” he told me.

  There were the usual entertainments, which most seemed to enjoy, but I was aware of a certain preoccupation in the minds of those present, not least the Duke of Northumberland, and I guessed there was a good deal of concern for the King's condition.

  I myself felt very uneasy wondering what would happen if Edward died. Mary—according to my father's will—should be Queen, but for so many years there had been such deep divisions among the people about religion. She was fanatical in her beliefs and declared that she would die for them, so if she became Queen it was certain that she would attempt to bring Catholicism back to the whole country as the one true faith. There were many who were violently against that—Edward himself for one—but if it came to it, he would not be here to have a say!

  I could see great trouble if Edward should die. I must tread warily among those who continued to watch me. If Mary came to the throne and England became again a Catholic country, what next? Should we have the dread Inquisition introduced into the land? Mary's mother had been Katharine of Aragon of course, and she had brought up Mary close to Spanish as well as Roman influences. There would be many to stand against any purge of the new faith, my friends assured me. But I was determined to hold my own counsel in matters of faith. Fanaticism had no appeal to me.

  Edward being so poorly, all these thoughts must enter the mind, and in view of my own position as one who had had a Protestant upbringing—even though I could be very flexible in the matter of religion—I knew I was passing into dangerous times.

  I was alert, watchful—that was a memorable Christmas for me.

  I do not know whether Edward felt death near, but during the months which followed he began to concern himself very deeply with the poor and needy. He talked to me about them and how it grieved him to contemplate their sufferings. He wanted to do something for them and no matter what opposition he encountered he intended to.

  There was, as a matter of fact, no opposition to his proposals. Perhaps those about him felt they had to humor a dying boy.

  The first thing he did was hand over the Palace of Bridewell to the corporation of London as a workhouse for poor and idle people, which meant that there could always be a roof over the heads of some who would otherwise be homeless, as long as they were prepared to comply with the rules of the institution. He had arranged that Christ's Hospital, the old Greyfriars' Monastery, should be turned into a school for poor scholars, and that St Thomas's Hospital should be used for the treatment of the poor who were sick.

  These arrangements seemed to give him much pleasure and I told him that his goodness would be remembered for centuries to come and that contented him and I am sure made him feel that however ineffectual he was as a king, he had achieved something of value which would live after him.

  I could have wept when I looked at his pale thin face; he had lost a great deal of weight during the months since Christmas. He said he felt tired always.

  Once, when I was riding through London, I saw two men in the pillory and on asking what had been their offense, I was told that they had talked unwarily of the King's illness and said that he was being slowly poisoned.

  I shivered, though I did not believe this calumny for a moment. But it did mean that the country was preparing itself for the death of the boy King, so I went down to Hatfield and decided to watch events from some little distance.

  I had been made aware—by some who held concern for my future—of what was in Northumberland's mind. Lord Guildford Dudley was married to Lady Jane Grey. Guildford was Northumberland's fourth son, but the others were all married. Later I often thought how close Robert Dudley came to being in Guildford's shoes.

  July had come and on the sixth of that month a terrible storm blew up— the worst in living memory. The sky darkened and the thunder rolled; and people gazed in terror at the sky, fearing such a storm could only be an expression of God's anger.

  My brother Edward lay in his bed at Greenwich Palace. He must have known that he was near the end of his life, but he would not be afraid to die. In fact I believed he would welcome death. He was not suited to his role; he would never be a great king; he was as different from our father as it was possible to be. I thought of Mary who stood next in line. She had been kind to me always but I knew she would alienate the people, with her intense religious fervor, and there were many people in the country who were determined to remain Protestant. Oh, why had a perverse fate in the first place made me a girl and in the second set me so far from the throne! I had had the good sense to go to Hatfield realizing that it is necessary to remain at a safe distance from great events, until one has decided what is the best way to act. The time was not yet ripe for me.

  It was on that same sixth day of July that a messenger arrived at Hatfield. I did not recognize his livery but he asked if he could speak to me alone. I immediately granted this permission, and when he told me he came from William Cecil, I was all attention.

  Sir William Cecil had been Protector Somerset's secretary, and when his master fell, Cecil had been put into the Tower where he stayed for two months. It was clear, however, that he was a man of exceptional ability, and so he was released and became one of the Secretaries of State. He had effected some business for me once during the lifetime of Somerset, and I had a fancy that he had been rather impressed by me and felt a certain friendship for me. I understood that he secretly saw me as the hope of the future as far as the Protestants were concerned. He feared the accession of my half-sister Mary and the havoc it could bring and he had risked a great deal to send to me now.

  The messenger told me that he was a very confidential servant of Sir William who had entrusted him with this errand. The Duke of Northumberland, he told me, had prevailed upon the ill young King to name Lady Jane Grey as his successor.

  “That is impossible!
” I cried. “My father stated clearly in his will that the Lady Mary, as his eldest daughter, was to follow Edward if he died without heirs.”

  “That is so, my lady, but the Duke of Northumberland has persuaded the King to change that. It is for this reason that Northumberland has married his son Guildford Dudley to the Lady Jane. They intend her to be Queen, and Guildford King.”

  “The country will never allow it.”

  “So thinks my master. But he has sent me hither, my lady, to warn you that you are in grave danger. As soon as the King dies, the Duke will request you and the Lady Mary to come to London. When you arrive you will be placed in the Tower—for your safety, he will say. My lady, my master has sent me to say that you must find some excuse for not obeying that summons.”

  “I see,” I said. “Thank your master. I shall not forget his service to me. I intend to retire to my bed with a grievous sickness which will prevent my leaving here until I am well enough to do so.”

  “That is what my master thinks you should do, my lady.”

  As soon as he had gone I went to bed, and sure enough later that day Northumberland's messenger arrived. He begged to see me at once and was told that I was sick. I sent Kat down to see what he had to say.

  She returned breathless. “The Duke of Northumberland sends hastily to you. The King is grievously sick and wishes to see you.”

  I thought to myself: Edward is already dead. Oh, William Cecil you are a very good friend to me.

  Kat returned to tell the messenger that I was much too ill myself to leave my bed but as soon as I was well enough I should go to my brother.

  That had to satisfy him for the time.

  Kat came back to me a little reproachfully. “The King has been a good brother to you, my lady.”

  “Indeed he was.”

  “And what is this sudden sickness?”

  “An attack of wisdom, Kat. Northumberland wants me in the Tower. He knows the people will not easily accept Jane Grey.”

  Kat was bewildered, but I told her what I knew, so that we could talk together.

  A few days later, the news was released.

  The King was dead, and before he had died, since both of his sisters were declared bastards, he had named Lady Jane Grey heir to the throne. For that reason the Duke of Northumberland, following the King's wishes, had proclaimed Lady Jane Queen of England.

  Even though I had been expecting this, it was hard to believe it. How dared Northumberland! John Dudley was a bold man, I knew, but this was madness. He had made Jane his daughter-in-law with this in mind, of course, but the country would never accept this flouting of the natural laws of succession. I would be ready to swear that my sister Mary was already gathering forces to take the crown. But… which way would the battle go? So much depended on the people. Mary was the rightful heir but did the people want an ardent Catholic? Mary had right on her side, but Northumberland was a very powerful man.

  The country was aghast. I heard that many believed that the great storm which had thundered while the King lay dying was an indication of God's wrath because the wishes of King Henry VIII had been set aside and his daughters disinherited for the sake of his sister's granddaughter.

  Would the people accept the violation of the law?

  But, to my outrage, the fact remained that Lady Jane Grey had been proclaimed Queen of England.

  I WAS RIGHT when I had thought the country would never accept this flagrant violation of the rights of succession. Men flocked to Mary's banner and deserted that of Northumberland. Within a week or so the Duke and Jane Grey, Guildford Dudley with her, were in the Tower. My sister Mary was proclaimed Queen of England. Poor Jane, she had never wanted to be Queen; she had even had to be beaten into submission before she would agree to marry Guildford Dudley, and I heard that she had fainted when they had told her that she was the Queen. She was not yet seventeen and had never been ambitious; she was merely the tool of power-seeking men. I was very sorry for her. She had been ensconced in the White Tower, living with the state of a queen awaiting her coronation, and straight from there was taken to the House of the Lieutenant of the Tower, there to await the axe. Guildford was sent to Beauchamp Tower with his brothers. I thought fleetingly of Robert and supposed this would be the end of him. He must have been fighting with his father when he was captured. I was sorry; he had been an interesting boy and I had noticed him from the first. I remembered now how something had been said about marriage and I had replied very firmly: “I have no intention of marrying… ever …” which had made him laugh and tell me I was only a girl and would change my mind later. Strange that I should remember that. I supposed it was because he was now a prisoner in the Tower destined for imminent death. The Tower, where my beautiful mother had lost her head! I had felt this sadness at the time of Katharine Howard's death, and I thought again now how close the axe was to us all. And perhaps a little nearer to some than others!

  I should have to be even more wary. I was only one step from the throne now and Mary was not exactly a robust lady, nor was she very young. She would have to be quick if she were going to produce an heir to the throne. And if she did not…I could grow dizzy contemplating the prospect. But none knew more than I that there were dangerous times to be lived through first.

  What should I do now? I needed William Cecil to advise me. My own wits told me that I should do nothing until commanded to by the Queen. I wondered what Mary's attitude to me would be. My great dread was that she would try to make a Catholic of me. I must not accept that. I had guessed the mood of the people and I knew they did not want Catholicism again in this country, and from now on my actions were going to be those which would best please the people. But I must needs disguise my religious convictions meanwhile. Such as they were.

  Messengers from my sister arrived at Hatfield. It was her wish that I should ride beside her when she made her triumphant entry into London. Now was the time for me to recover from my illness and prepare for my journey.

  On the twenty-ninth of July I left Hatfield and attended by two thousand horsemen armed with spears and bows, I came to Somerset House, which now belonged to me. With us came the members of my household, all very splendid in green coats faced with velvet, taffeta or satin. I was proud of them, for I did not want to show myself to the people of London as a pauper.

  The next day I set out for Wanstead where my meeting with the Queen was to take place; but I did not take my armed band with me this time. My instinct told me that this would displease my sister and her advisers and very likely suggest to her that I wished to display a show of might. I wanted to convey to her that I was not only her affectionate sister but her loyal subject.

  We met at Wanstead. Mary had disbanded her army and had merely a bodyguard and her attendants to show that there was no need for protection; she came as the acknowledged Queen. She greeted me with a show of affection and kissed me. The watching crowds cheered. I was aware all the time that I was the one they watched, the one they smiled at, and I knew that they cheered more for me than for my sister. I presented some of my ladies to her and she kissed them to show friendship.

  Beside Mary I felt young and vital and I was convinced that everything I ever wanted would one day be mine. It was a wonderfully exhilarating feeling as we rode side by side. I was twenty, and at moments like this I always looked my best; I was taller than Mary and straighter; the bright color of my hair attracted attention and it was accentuated by the milky whiteness of my skin, whereas Mary was thirty-seven and she looked it. I could not help the glow of satisfaction which it gave me to consider the contrast we must make. When the people cheered I smiled at them and lifted my hand in acknowledgment. Mary gave no smiles. Perhaps she thought it was beneath the dignity of a queen to do so. I do not think she understood the people as I was beginning to do.

  And so we rode to Aldgate and from there to the Tower of London.

  As we entered the fortress I could not help wondering whether Jane Grey could see us from her prison window,
or perhaps Robert Dudley. Would he remember the little girl who had danced with him at that Court function long ago? I was very different now; so must he be.

  Then I forgot about the prisoners, for we were being received by the Lieutenant of the Tower and other officers and everyone was eager to show homage to the Queen.

  Mary thanked them with grace and dignity, and to show that she meant to be a merciful Queen, several of the prisoners received their pardon. They were all Catholics. First there was the same Duke of Norfolk, who had been saved from execution by my father's timely death; the next was Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, who had been a prisoner in the Tower for some years. I had never liked him; he was a bigoted Catholic and one of those who had tried to bring about the fall of Katharine Parr—and that was something I would never forget. He had in the last reign offended Somerset with his religious insistences and as a result found himself in the Tower. When he fell on his knees before Mary she was very moved and bade him rise and gave him his freedom. Whereupon he declared his greatest joy would be to serve her with his life. My heart sank. He was an enemy of mine and he would now, I was certain, receive a high place at Court.

  There was another prisoner who attracted more attention than the others because of his tall bearing and handsome fair coloring. He looked what he was—a descendant of the Plantagenets. It was because of this that he had been a prisoner in the Tower since he was twelve years old, which was nearly fifteen years before. Poor young man, his fault was that he was a great-greatgrandson of Edward IV.

  As the sun shone on his fair hair he looked very attractive and even younger than his twenty-seven years. My sister seemed very impressed by him. His father had been executed at the time of Edward Courtenay's incarceration, and when Mary told him that his title of Earl of Devonshire should be restored to him with his estates he was overcome by gratitude. Mary looked less stern as she regarded him and that was more becoming in her.

  It was a triumphant entry and when we sat down at the banquet which had been prepared for us, I was still at the Queen's side.