The Fallen Queen (26 page)

“This declaration hath been approved by all the lords of the Council, most of the peers, and all the judges of the land,” Northumberland continued. “There is nothing wanting but Your Grace’s
grateful
”—he paused meaningfully as his eyes bored into Jane’s and his fingers dug deeper into the tender flesh of her shoulder—“acceptance of the high estate which God Almighty, the sovereign and disposer of all crowns and sceptres—never to be sufficiently thanked by you for so great a mercy—hath advanced you to. Therefore you should
cheerfully
”—his fingers bit harder—“take upon you the name, title, and estate of Queen of England, receiving at our hands the first fruits of our humble duty, now tendered to you upon our knees”—he paused long enough to kneel—“which shortly will be paid to you by the rest of the kingdom …”

With a gesture, he brought the whole room to their knees and every voice swore to be loyal to and defend “even unto death, our sovereign lady, Queen Jane.”

With a wrenching cry, Jane levered herself up from the throne, staggered forward, then fell in a dead faint. Northumberland rose swiftly and stood staring down at her with a grimace of distaste, while Guildford, jostling Fluff from one arm to the other, bent to pull her skirt down into a more modest drape “as only the king and her female attendants should ever see the Queen’s garters.” The highborn lords and ladies made a great show of pretending not to notice. Only Kate and I attempted to break from their ranks and rush to assist her, but Pembroke and Berry held Kate back, adamantly shaking their heads, while Mary Sidney restrained me.

“Guildford, how well you are looking, you look good enough to eat!” Father exclaimed, breaking the awkward silence as Jane lay, defenceless and unconscious, upon the dais, with her hood knocked askew and her grey skirts trailing down the steps like dirty rainwater.

Guildford simpered and preened and, stepping down from the dais to stand before Father, did a little turn to show off his buff-coloured doublet and matching hat, both trimmed with layers of white and gold lace, gilt and silk braid, and lustrous gold and white pearls. “Isn’t it
delicious?
The colour is called marzipan; my tailor says it is London’s latest fancy. He says I should
never
wear anything that doesn’t make people want to
devour
me!”

“More apt words have never been uttered since God created the earth!” Father agreed. “Mmmm …
marzipan!
A most delicious creation!” His eyes closed and his mouth fell open, and for a moment he seemed lost in a fantasy world before he recovered himself. “I
dream
of you in marzipan! A gilt marzipan sculpture come to life! How you tempt and tease and torment me!”

Guildford smiled. “I am constantly amazed by how well you understand me!”

There was a groan from the dais as Jane slowly sat up, rubbing the back of her head where it had struck the dais. “No, no,” she said groggily, massaging the small of her back as she manoeuvred herself around to sit upon the top step, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, “the Crown is not my right and pleaseth me not! The Lady Mary is the rightful heir!”

“Nay.” Northumberland shook his head as he reached down to jerk Jane to her feet, like a puppet master pulling the strings. “Your Grace does
great
wrong to yourself and your house!”

“Shut up, Jane, and do as the Duke says! You stupid girl, by the way you’re behaving, anyone would think you were being forced into the tooth-drawer’s chair instead of being honoured with a throne!” our lady-mother exclaimed. “It is your duty to obey the last wish of your cousin, King Edward, entrusting you on his deathbed with safeguarding his kingdom so that the light of the Reformed Faith should not be snuffed out as it surely would if Papist Mary came to the throne! Do you want the Pope’s good shepherdess leading us all back to the Catholic fold, bringing the Spanish Inquisition to our shores, and burning those who resist? Is that what you
really
want? To end the enlightenment and go back to the dark ages, the Catholic creed, selling of indulgences, and Latin litanies? Enough of that, Hal! Here! Wipe that drool off your face!” she snapped angrily, impatiently thrusting her handkerchief at Father, as she moved swiftly past him to take Guildford’s arm, and, rather forcefully I noticed, urge him back up onto the dais “to stand beside your lady, until such time as we can have another throne made for you, Your Grace.”

“A gold one set with emeralds to accentuate my golden hair and green eyes,” Guildford regally dictated as he resumed his place on the dais, pausing to give Jane a shove that sent her flopping back onto the velvet-cushioned throne with her feet flying up in the air, then artfully draped his arm across its jewelled back and adopted an elegant pose.

Jane sat frowning and floundering on the plump purple cushions, then, wiggling to the edge and dropping to her knees, announced that she would pray to the Lord for guidance.

While all stood around glowering and glaring at her, rolling their eyes, and tapping their toes upon the stone floor in mute impatience, Jane raised her hands to heaven and implored the Lord above to give her a sign and tell her what she should do.

“You stupid girl!”
our lady-mother, weary of waiting, lost her temper and shouted. “His silence
is
a sign! He is telling you that you should obey the will of your parents as the Scriptures say and accept the throne He has seen fit to vouchsafe you!”

For a moment Jane wavered, swaying on her knees, teetering on the verge of another faint, and then she gave in and nodded. Northumberland and Guildford each bent down and clamped a hand around an arm and lifted her back onto the throne, and Jane announced to the assembled company, “If what hath been given to me is lawfully mine, and it is my duty and right to succeed to the throne, may Thy Divine Majesty aid and grant me such spirit and grace that I may govern this realm to Thy glory and service.”

“Well said, well said, God save Queen Jane!” Father led the company in a round of applause. “Now let us have sweet wine and sugar wafers! My daughter, the Queen, commands it!” He clapped his hands to summon the servants who instantly, as though they had been lurking just outside waiting for this moment, filed in with well laden platters, trays of golden goblets, and flagons of wine to fill them.

After partaking of these refreshments, the assembly broke up, Northumberland hastily enjoining Jane to get a good night’s rest as she would make her formal entry into London on the morrow, via barge instead of the customary procession through the city streets, lest the populace, being partial to King Henry’s daughters, show themselves quarrelsome and unruly. “The royal apartments at the Tower are being made ready for you as we speak,” he added, “and from there, in a fortnight, you will go to Westminster Abbey for your coronation.” Then he called for Mrs. Tylney, whom he had chosen to assist Mrs. Ellen as Jane’s tirewoman, and Lady Throckmorton, whom he had appointed as Jane’s chief lady-in-waiting, and asked them to escort “Queen Jane” upstairs and put her to bed.

Before the words had even left Northumberland’s mouth, Kate grabbed my hand and determinedly barged ahead of Mary Sidney, who tried to hold us back, and elbowed Mrs. Tylney aside. “As the Queen’s sisters we have precedence over all except the King,” she sweetly explained, flashing a bright smile. Then, crooking a finger to summon Mrs. Ellen, who had arrived with Guildford’s servants and had been standing awestruck at the back of the room through it all, we graciously allowed Mrs. Tylney and Lady Throckmorton, each holding a branched candelabrum aloft to penetrate the grey gloom of the former nunnery, to lead the way upstairs.

Alone in Jane’s bedchamber, we undressed our sister, peeling off her grey gown and stripping her down to her sweat-stained shift. We guided her to sit upon the bed while I knelt and removed her shoes and stockings, and Kate divested her of her hood and unpinned her hair, dropping the pins into Mrs. Tylney’s waiting hand. Through it all, Jane sat wide-eyed and trembling, murmuring over and over, “I should not have accepted it, it is not my right, it is not my right, I should not have accepted it …”

After Mrs. Tylney had answered a knock upon the door and conveyed a message from Guildford that he would sleep apart from his wife tonight as he owed it to their subjects to look his best upon the morrow, we dismissed her, along with Lady Throckmorton and Mrs. Ellen, sending her to inform Berry and the Earl of Pembroke that Kate would bide a while with her sisters and they should return to Baynard’s Castle and not tarry for her sake.

We tucked our sister into bed and lay one each on either side of her, hugging her shivering body between ours. Though no words were uttered, I knew that in the face of the frightening enormity that Jane faced, like a knight alone against a great and fierce dragon, all had been forgiven. Jane squeezed Kate’s hand and willingly laid her head upon her shoulder, and Kate smiled as tears rolled down her face and pillowed her cheek against Jane’s hair, and I smiled too, thinking that it was like the sun showing its bright face through the rain and whatever happened we would weather this unexpected storm together—“the brilliant one,” “the beautiful one,” and “the beastly little one.”

6

T
he next morning found us all baking beneath the blazing July sun, squinting and shading our eyes against the brightness as spreading wet blossoms of sweat bloomed beneath the arms of our sumptuous new clothes. Slowly, in a grand yet sedate procession, we boarded the big gilded barge that would convey us to the Tower of London, where Jane and Guildford were to await their coronation. Behind us, other nobles swarmed onto their own barges, to form a flotilla that would accompany us. Not a breeze was blowing, and all the colourful gold and silver embroidered and fringed banners hung slack, limp and lifeless, as the trumpets blared seemingly with the sole purpose of deafening us. Oh what a sight we were! Sumptuous and sweaty, beautiful but bedraggled! When I remember us now, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry—we were both comical and magnificent.

Our lady-mother walked proudly behind Jane, like a golden galleon in full, majestic sail, hung with a fortune in diamonds and arrayed from head to toe in cloth-of-gold that the sun struck with blinding brilliance. Beside her, Father, in gold-embellished wine-coloured velvet, reverently followed Guildford, holding up the hem of his long, ground-sweeping green-satin-lined white velvet cloak embroidered with golden crowns, yellow gillyflowers, and gold and silver lilies and roses.

Our lady-mother had insisted upon being the one to carry Jane’s heavy green and white velvet train, profusely embroidered with red and white Tudor roses and golden crowns, while my poor sister tottered along, reeling like a drunkard, balanced precariously upon the four-inch cork platform soles of the chopines we had strapped to her green velvet slippers at Northumberland’s insistence, to raise her diminutive form so that the people could see her better. She staggered and stretched out her hands before her like a blind woman trying to feel her way along as she boarded the barge and made her way to the purple velvet-carpeted dais where she was to stand, with Guildford, and their closest attendants, on display for the teeming multitudes thronging the muddy banks of the Thames. She took her place beside her husband, frowning deeply and tugging at “Cousin Mary’s bloody necklace.” Our lady-mother had herself fastened it around Jane’s neck, ignoring her complaints that it was too tight and bit painfully into her neck, just as she ignored Jane’s insistence that the green velvet headdress laden with jewels was too heavy and the pins stabbed her scalp like a multitude of tiny daggers. “One must suffer to be beautiful, Jane,” our lady-mother answered, slapping down the little white hands that tried to pluck out the pins she had only just put in.

Beside Jane, Guildford stood smiling and waving with restrained elegance at the crowd. Each golden curl was arranged to gleaming perfection, and his beautiful body was clad in gooseberry green hose that looked as though they had been painted on and a white velvet doublet embroidered with golden gillyflowers. While behind him, beside Father, stood a radiant, smiling Kate, the heir apparent until Jane bore her first child, arm in arm with her husband and father-in-law, beautiful in spring green velvet and cloth-of-silver, the emeralds they had given her blazing green fire on her throat, breast, fingers, and ears, and in her hair, its colour a bold, flaming reminder of her Tudor heritage.