Jane Boleyn: The True Story of the Infamous Lady Rochford (37 page)

With that potentially unpleasant scrape dealt with, Jane could enter into court life in a more relieved frame of mind. This was her present; it was pointless to dwell in the past, no matter how deep her sorrow for George’s untimely death might be. When Anne’s confidante, she had always enjoyed taking part in court processions, and with her new mistress she could do so again. None would match Anne’s coronation celebrations, when Jane had such a prominent role, but while on nowhere near the same scale, the journey to Greenwich for the Christmas celebrations could not but have brought back bitter memories. The winter was so very cold that the river Thames froze over. Barges could not negotiate the ice so the royal party had to ride from London to Greenwich. The citizens of London unpacked the cloth of gold and the arras to decorate the houses as the cavalcade rode through the graveled streets and past the cheering crowds, who were just as eager to catch a glimpse of Henry’s new queen as they had been to see Anne. The parade was led by Sir Ralph Warren, the new lord mayor, and the aldermen, all beautifully dressed in their ceremonial robes. The members of the city guilds and crafts, in their livery and with their hoods on their shoulders, were there too. Friars in their richly embroidered copes stood on one side of the narrow streets, holding candles, with crosses aloft and with censers at the ready. The choir of St. Paul’s stood by the west door of the great church, while two priests from every parish church in the city lined the route for some way onwards, each proudly carrying the very best cross and candlesticks and censers that their individual churches possessed. As a demonstration of monarchical power, and as an assertion of the old faith to calm fears surfacing over monastic closures, it could not have been bettered. The king felt satisfied; Queen Jane no doubt felt at ease. The whole event was such a glittering spectacle and success that “it rejoiced every man wondrously,” Lord Lisle was informed.

It was definitely impressive. As Jane could see for herself, recent events notwithstanding, royal pomp was just as it always had been. So was the court. Mary rode in the cavalcade, her years as a pariah blanked out. Blanked out too were Anne and George. As for Jane Rochford, she might be a lonely widow, her property and wealth considerably reduced, but she was back where she belonged.

CHAPTER
25

A Prince at Last

H
OW LONG
J
ANE WOULD LAST
within the queen’s privy chamber depended very much on how long the queen herself lasted. Henry seemed to love her, but his fickle, changeable nature made him a most unreliable husband. Indeed, just over a week after the announcement of his wedding, the king confided to Chapuys that “having twice met two beautiful young ladies,” he was “somewhat sorry that he had not seen them before his marriage.” And there was no coronation. The idea was mooted, a possible date earmarked, but nothing happened, plague being given as the excuse to postpone it for the time being. In his report to the emperor, the ambassador conveyed the rumor circulating to the effect that the queen would not be crowned at all unless she became pregnant. As Jane, and virtually the entire court knew by now, that would not be easy.

Miraculously, whether through Mary’s prayers, for she was always telling her father that she prayed that he and Queen Jane would have issue, or through his own gargantuan efforts, Henry managed it. Queen Jane, within about eight months or so of her marriage, became pregnant. It was a commendable achievement. Having got this far, all that she needed to do was to give Henry the longed-for son. Whatever gender the child proved to be, Jane realized that any distant dreams of the throne for her niece, Elizabeth, were receding further into the distance as every week passed. With both Katherine and Anne safely dead, the legitimacy of Queen Jane’s child would be beyond question and that child would take precedence over Henry’s previous offspring.

The news of the royal pregnancy was greeted with delight in the city of London. It was officially announced on Trinity Sunday, May 27, 1537, almost a year to the day since Henry had ostentatiously acceded to the entreaties of his Council and married the woman for whom, in fact, he yearned. Audley and Cromwell, along with the mayor, the aldermen, and guild officials, were among the congregation who celebrated the tidings in a Te Deum held in St. Paul’s. Bishop Hugh Latimer, ironically one of Anne’s bishops, preached so effectively that his “oration was marvelous fruitful to the hearers.” The poor could join in the jubilation too, drinking themselves silly from the free wine that was provided at the side of every spluttering bonfire. Or at least they could as long as the wine lasted. And, not to be left out, the people of Calais were treated to sounds of gunshot at 4 p.m. that afternoon.

Henry was overjoyed. Perhaps this time God would give him the heir he knew he deserved. The timing was particularly pleasing and opportune because the Pilgrimage of Grace, the rebellion that had greeted the monastic closures and had caused him tremendous concern and anger, was just being mopped up. London Bridge was decked with the boiled heads of some of those executed for questioning the royal will, and throughout the northern shires, a terrified populace could see the decaying bodies of those punished for similar presumption. Two of the leaders, Robert Aske and Sir Robert Constable, were hanged in chains until death mercifully claimed them. Since the list of the victims included Lord Darcy and Lord Hussey, the visible display of Henry’s justice once again sent shivers down the spines of his courtiers. Neither noble blood nor years of service were any safeguard against the executioner. Everyone understood very clearly that the king must always be obeyed. No one, he had told the rebels, could “rule” their prince.

Jane knew that from bitter experience. When he had begun to tire of Anne, Henry had no qualms about asserting his authority with ruthless aggression, reminding her that he was the king and that she was only queen because he had made her so. And what he had made, so he had destroyed. Even Queen Jane had experienced the force of his anger. With the Pilgrimage crushed and Mary forgiven, however, life within the queen’s privy chamber settled back into a familiar routine. A more relaxed Henry was solicitous toward his pregnant wife; a thoughtful Mary sent her cucumbers several times to satisfy her cravings. And it was up to Queen Jane’s ladies to care for her and keep up her strength for the ordeal ahead. Jane, of course, had been there before. She was an old hand in the birth room by now; she had been there for Anne and was now to be there for her successor. She was not the only person who had made the transition from one queen to another, and Anne’s former vice-chamberlain, Sir Edward Baynton, made a similar switch when he accepted the same office under Queen Jane. He had ensured that the correct protocol had been followed for Anne; he would do so for Queen Jane as well. Established procedure would be followed to the letter.

The venue was different, though. Anne had given birth to Elizabeth at Greenwich but Queen Jane’s confinement took place at Wolsey’s former palace of Hampton Court. The court moved there from Esher and Stoke in the middle of September so there was time for the queen to rest and prepare herself. Henry wanted both his wife and his new child to have the very best accommodations, so he had already ordered alterations and improvements to be made in readiness. The bay windows in the queen’s bedchamber were fitted with thick, no doubt richly embellished, curtains to protect her from any drafts and the dangers that lurked in fresh air, and a screen was provided to shield her bed. Other arrangements for Queen Jane’s comfort and security could be left to Baynton and her ladies, so she was given the same prescribed bedding and hangings that Anne had received not so long ago, with perhaps a card table to help while away the hours of waiting. For the child, there was a new nursery already prepared.

The queen retired to the female world of her chamber, away from public gaze, on Sunday, September 16. Now it was just a case of waiting for the onset of labor. Jane, as one of the privy chamber, accompanied her mistress, but if she was able to take a little time off from her duties to rest and relax, her quarters at Hampton Court were particularly fine. She was entitled to double lodgings there, which meant that she was allocated two large rooms for her own use. There was a fireplace in each room, which was probably a great boon even in October, and she had the luxury of her own lavatory. It was all most satisfactory; she could start to put the weeks of anxiety and grief associated with the deaths of George and Anne behind her. She had the chance to start again, but she was not starting at square one.

However, caring for the queen was her main job. The birth of the baby and Queen Jane’s recovery were paramount. On Thursday, October 11, the queen’s labor began. With Jane amid the ladies at her side, and the midwife encouraging her and mopping her forehead, Queen Jane tossed on her lavishly furnished bed, her newly acquired royal status no defense against the intense pain. The moment news of her contractions was announced, the mayor of London, the aldermen, and guild members, all wearing their liveries, joined in prayers for her safe delivery. Perhaps their supplications were heard, for her child was born at about 2 a.m. on Friday morning. To the joy of her ladies, and the ecstatic relief of Henry, the baby was a boy. He was to be called Edward, because he was born on the eve of St. Edward’s Day. Even the day seemed special, a clear indication that Henry’s heir was linked to England’s royal saint, whose jeweled shrine was so close to the resting place of Henry’s firstborn son, the little prince Henry who had died so tragically over twenty years previously.

Within the queen’s bedchamber, there was still work to be done. Some cared for the exhausted but happy mother, while others turned to their new prince. The procedure was standard: the infant’s navel was gently dabbed with a cooling powder of aloes and frankincense, any blood washed away, and the swaddled child lovingly placed in his cradle, the midwife making the sign of the cross upon him. It was never too soon to seek the sheltering power of the church. Luckily, both mother and child were doing well. The baby was healthy and the queen had survived her travail. Now she needed rest. And the ladies of her privy chamber were there to see that she got it.

Rest was the last thing on other minds, though. As Jane attended her mistress in that quiet darkened room, the court sprang into action. Letters announcing the birth of the king’s son, “conceived in lawful matrimony,” were sent out, courtiers not at Hampton Court hurriedly wrote to congratulate the king, and even the emperor was pleasant. Charles was “as rejoiced as if it had been by his aunt,” or so he said. London erupted with excitement. There was yet another Te Deum, this time sung in all of the parish churches throughout the city, and every bell in every church was rung for hours on end until the aching bell ringers must have dropped from tiredness. London’s mayor and aldermen hastily donned their robes again, the best crosses and candlesticks were brought out by the various parish priests, and in front of the French ambassador, Cromwell, Audley, the Marquess of Dorset, and all of the judges, there was another service held at St. Paul’s. The noise was soon deafening. The pealing of the bells, the sounds of Henry’s musicians, and the gun salute from the Tower combined together in a cacophony of joy. The celebrations continued until late evening. There were bonfires, a further gun salute from the Tower, and free wine for the poor who surely wished that queens gave birth to sons more often.

None of this affected Jane, of course. She was preoccupied with the queen, who seemed to be recovering satisfactorily but would remain in her chamber for some while yet. The arrangements for Edward’s christening, already being discussed, did not directly concern Queen Jane, as by custom she did not attend. Also by custom, neither did Henry. Although we have a list of the most important gentlemen who were there, only a handful of women, those with set roles, are named. And Jane is not mentioned. There was a defined place in the line for ladies of the privy chamber, however, and since Anne Basset, a very new and junior recruit, definitely was present, even needing a new dress for the occasion, it is highly probable that Jane was there too. It would certainly be an event worth attending. Elizabeth’s christening had been splendid, and she had been but a princess. Edward was a prince.

On the following Monday, a bare three days after the birth, the ceremony that Henry had almost despaired of finally took place. Workmen labored throughout much of the weekend to get the Royal Chapel and the processional route ready and to construct the traverses, or cubicles, that might be needed in case the child required attention. Knights, lords, and barons traveled to Hampton Court in response to the king’s summons, Jane’s father and brother among them. They had their part to play as their prince was received into the Catholic Church. So too did the old guard like Norfolk and Suffolk and the Marchioness of Exeter, her indiscretions over Elizabeth Barton conveniently forgotten, and so too did the queen’s officials Sir Edward Baynton and Sir John Gage. Of the younger figures, Queen Jane’s brother Edward was in a particularly prominent position. Thomas Boleyn, eager to prove his loyalty despite his children’s treachery, was there as well, since he was, after all, one of England’s leading peers. For a man who had so hoped that it would be his grandson who was Henry’s heir, the occasion cannot have been easy, but he could show no regret for what might have been, since he would be on full public view himself. So he fulfilled his allotted task, swallowing his grief and hiding his resentment at the continued rise and rise of Cromwell, to whom he had been forced to relinquish his post of Lord Privy Seal and who had joined the exclusive ranks of the Knights of the Garter in August.