The Fallen Queen (31 page)

When Jane was ready, the three of us went to stand before the big, silver looking glass that had been brought in to replace the one Jane had broken her first day in the Tower.

There we stood, Jane in her golden royal regalia, Kate in her fashionable embers and ashes gown and feathered hat, and me in my deep green damask blooming with teal roses.

“Go on,” Kate prompted, giving Jane an encouraging nod.

Jane hesitated only a moment before she stepped up to the mirror and declared herself, “The brilliant one!”

Kate followed, with a sunny smile and a pert sashay of her hips. “The beautiful one!”

Then I stepped forward. “The beastly little one!”

We clung together and laughed until we wept. But Kate would not let us give in to sorrow.

“Come, Mary!” She rushed around to gather up the hem of Jane’s heavy golden robe, and I hurried to help. Jane, casting her habitual solemnity aside, to be once again—just one last time!—a little girl playacting, pretending to be queen, raised her chin high and swept grandly out into the presence chamber and took her place upon the throne for what we all knew would be the last time.

Kate and I arranged the folds of her robe gracefully around her feet and sat on the top step of the dais, each of us reaching up to take one of Jane’s hands, as we waited for the inevitable.

As the wild jubilation continued outside the windows, with a party on every street in London, joy spilling from every door and window, we sat and waited. Guildford peeped in for a moment then disappeared. We shared a glance, disdaining him for being a coward, for deserting us. But we misjudged him. A little while later he reappeared in his splendid gold coronation suit with a servant walking behind him, carrying a gilded chair. At a nod from Guildford, the man placed it on the dais next to Jane’s throne and Guildford sat down. Kate smilingly relinquished Jane’s hand, and Guildford took it, and this time Jane did not pull away.

Thus Sir John Bridges and the guards found us, sitting as though we were posing for our portrait. Very gently, he informed Jane and Guildford that they must vacate the royal apartments and come with him now.

Hand in hand, Jane and Guildford descended the dais, as grand as a king and queen about to lead the opening dance at a court ball, and as she swept past us both, Kate and I reached out to smooth and straighten the folds of her gold and ermine train. As they faced their guards, Guildford turned to Jane and leaned down and gently kissed her lips.

“I am sorry,” he said, “for depriving you of the pleasure and consolation of my body these last days.”

“That’s quite all right,” Jane answered, then added as a soft, hesitant afterthought, “I forgive you.”

“Of course you do.” Guildford nodded understandingly and smiled, still holding her hand, massaging the back of it with his thumb. “I’m much too beautiful for anyone to stay angry at for long.”

Then the guards led them away. At the last moment, Jane shrugged off her royal robe. “’Tis a great, cumbersome thing, and I shall not be needing it where I am going,” she explained as she bunched it up as best she could and tossed it to Kate. In the open doorway, she paused and turned back and implored us to “please tell Mrs. Ellen to bring my books.”

Then she was gone.

Mercifully, a dungeon was not our sister’s destination. Speaking soft and gentle, to try to allay her fears, and gesturing for the guards to fall behind as they crossed the Tower Green, Sir John escorted her to the pleasant home of the equally pleasant gentleman gaoler, Master Partridge, and his wife, which adjoined his own fine timbered residence, and possessed an excellent view so she “could sit by the window for hours and watch all the doings and comings and goings” at the Tower. She might even, if she liked, walk out to enjoy the gardens and fresh air or to feed the Tower ravens.

“A pack of greedy voracious pets they are, my lady,” Sir John said fondly as one of the big, black birds lighted in his path and gave a great squawk before taking wing again. “You are to be treated well, my lady,” he assured her, “and have naught to fear from any of us.” He paused and added meaningfully, “We know ’twas all none of your doing, and though some would adjudge you a traitor, you are an innocent one and have every hope of receiving the Queen’s pardon in due course; it’s sure to come when things have settled some.”

The Partridges were a well-named couple, plump, amiable, and smiling. Introducing themselves as “Nate and Nelly,” they greeted Jane warmly as though she were their much-loved niece. Mrs. Partridge had even baked some apple tarts to welcome Jane and told her that she was “bound and determined to put some meat on your poor bones.” Mrs. Ellen and Mrs. Tylney were already there. It turned out that there was no need for us to convey Jane’s message; they had anticipated her desire and were already busily unpacking the plain garb that Jane preferred, putting her beloved books on the shelves, and arranging her desk before the window, so she would have the best light for writing. Nelly Partridge herself had already made up the bed fresh with fat, goose down pillows and a bright quilt “to help chase out any gloom from the room.”

Poor Guildford was not so fortunate; he was taken to the Beauchamp Tower, albeit to a commodious and comfortable cell that he was to share with his brothers, and the Dudleys’ wealth afforded them many luxuries denied to common prisoners. Guildford was even allowed to have Fluff and all his fine clothes with him, and many delicacies and fine wines for their table. They even had apples to feed to the porcupines in the Tower menagerie, to which the brothers had taken a fancy.

There was no more we could do at the Tower, so we hired a barge to take us back to Baynard’s Castle. Kate kissed me and said, “All will be well,” and even let me hold her little dog, whose name she said was Cinnamon.

But all would
not
be well, and even more unpleasant news awaited us at Baynard’s Castle. A maid met us at the door and said we must go straight in to the earl’s study. The Earl of Pembroke had, with the rest of the Council, thrown a cap of gold in the air and declared himself all for Mary, and he would not suffer his only son to be bound in “pernicious wedlock with the daughter and sister of traitors.” Kate’s marriage—fortuitously yet unconsummated—must be annulled right away. Her things had already been packed and sent on to Suffolk House, and all her animals too, and she was to be turned out, to go to the devil or wherever pleased her; it was a matter of complete indifference to her formerly fond and indulgent father-in-law, who now stood there staring at her as though she were a loathsome, leprous thing he could not bear the sight of.

With a heartrending cry that brought tears to my eyes, Kate fell on her knees and clung to him, sobbing out her love for Berry and begging that he let her stay. Spying her husband, watching covertly from behind a velvet curtain, Kate reached out an entreating hand to him, but he hadn’t the courage to defy his father and, with tears in his eyes, and mouthing the words “I’m sorry!” Berry turned away.

“Kate”—I pulled at her and pleaded—“do not so humble and demean yourself before this man; neither he nor his cowardly, milksop son are worth it!”

But Kate would not hear or heed me, and her tears fell on the Earl of Pembroke’s shoes like rain as she grovelled shamelessly, forgetting all pride and thinking only of love.

In desperation, she lunged up and grabbed Berry’s arm, forcing him to stand with her before his father.

“You cannot annul our marriage,” she said boldly, lying blatantly. “It has been consummated. We defied Northumberland’s edict, and I may be with child.” She laid a hand on her belly. “Surely you would not want to risk your grandson being born a bastard? Berry is frail and sickly, and you have no other son, or daughter either, so unless he gets a son, your line will die with you!”

Oh, Kate!
My jaw dropped and I shook my head as I stood there, dumbfounded. I could not believe what she was doing. What did she hope to gain by this deception? Time to drag it out and be hurt all the more? A slow torture instead of a swift end? She could not hope to have the chance to get Berry alone and make the lie true. If he decided to be patient and wait to see if Kate bled, Pembroke would be sure to have them watched even more vigilantly than ever before.
Stop, Kate, stop!
I wanted to shake her and shout.
You are fighting a losing battle that you cannot win! Recollect your pride and leave this sorry wretch and his snivelling boy with your head held high! You deserve better and you can find it!

The Earl of Pembroke took a step forward and stared straight into the stormy ocean of Kate’s blue grey eyes, still glimmering wet with the tears of her heart.

To her credit, Kate proved herself to have a better card face than our father ever did. He scrutinized her hard, but Kate held her ground, her face inscrutable, and in the end he could not say whether she was bluffing. She had succeeded in planting the seed of uncertainty … for what little it was worth.

“Is this true?” He turned to Berry.

“I—I—” the young man hung his head and stammered, his blushing face proving the aptness of his nickname. “I—do not know!
Please,
Father, do not ask me anymore; I cannot bear it!” Then he burst into tears, covered his face with his hands, and ran out, weeping volubly, from fear or heartbreak or both I could not rightly say.

“Very well”—Pembroke nodded—“we shall see.” He summoned a servant and bade him take Kate upstairs, to her former bedchamber, now stripped bare of her belongings, and station men outside her door to ensure that she made no attempt to leave and no one entered without his permission.

I stepped forward then, clutching Kate’s hand, determined not to let go. “Where Kate goes I go!”

Pembroke snorted and shrugged. “What care I, little grotesque? You are of no importance, an ugly, worthless thing that can neither help nor hinder.” He gestured impatiently for us both to leave his study and mount the stairs to the room that would be our prison until he set us free, whenever that would be.

Did an hour pass or two or even three? I could not say. We could have looked at the clock, of course, but somehow this didn’t occur to us. Kate and I lay silently on her bed, with her little dog between us, staring at the ceiling and holding hands, tensely awaiting we knew not what. Did he mean to keep us here until her monthly bleeding proved the lie? Or had he something more sinister in mind?

Finally the door swung open and Pembroke came in accompanied by the most bizarre creature I had ever seen. I sat up and blinked and rubbed my eyes, but I was not dreaming. Standing at the foot of the bed staring at us with gold-lidded evil eyes was a filthy hag arrayed in even filthier finery, made of hundreds of colourful and glittery scraps of rich materials haphazardly stitched and patched together to form a jagged, ragged rainbow motley. Her face was painted like a harlot’s, bold scarlet outlining a mouth filled with blackened stumps. She wore her dingy, dirty, greying hair trailing down her back in a gay messy tangle of little braids plaited with silken ribbons every colour of the rainbow, gold and silver tassels, and even tiny bells. Golden hoops drooped from her ears, and stacks of clanking gold bangles adorned her wrists and ankles. The nails on her bare feet were long and yellow with sharp tips like daggers—did she file them to create those sharp points? I marvelled that walking unshod on the earth or stone floors hadn’t blunted or broken them. Even before Pembroke introduced her as Kate’s “old friend, Madame Astarte” I knew who she was; I recognized her from Kate’s description. But how did
he
know? Both Kate and I started and exchanged puzzled looks. Had he had Kate followed?

But there wasn’t time to ponder it. From amidst the filthy folds of her skirt of many colours, Madame Astarte drew a bottle that looked to be filled with black bile.

With a swift movement, she grasped Kate’s head, forcing it back, and put the bottle to her lips. “Open or I’ll break those pretty pearly teeth!” she threatened.

With a shriek, I launched myself across the bed at that wicked Circe, clawing and biting with all my might.

“Run, Kate, run!” I cried, but Pembroke barked an order to the men outside the door to stop her as he pulled me off the witch and threw me contemptuously into the corner. I heard Kate scream my name, and she started to run to me, but Pembroke caught her, and she kicked and flailed as he bore her back to the bed and held her as he shouted for Madame Astarte to do her business fast.

My head had struck the wall, and for a moment or minutes, I sat there dazed and stunned watching through a starry dazzle as, with sharp scarlet-painted nails digging into Kate’s chin, drawing pinpricks of blood, Madame Astarte forced my sister to drain the evil bottle to the dregs.

“Drink this, my pretty,” she cackled as Kate thrashed and kicked, helpless against the two of them. “It will void your womb if there is anything in it. If not, I pity you the more for the cramps it will make claw and grip you from within until you wish you are dead.”

And then it was over. They were gone. The door was shut, locked from without, and we were alone again. Kate ran to me and knelt beside me, clasping my face, urgently imploring me to speak to her. I groaned and sat up straight, assuring her I was fine, even as I noted the fierce ache in my spine where my hunched back had struck the wall.

“Can you stand?” Kate asked, helping me to slowly rise, but then she gave a great gasp and doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Hurry, the chamber pot, Mary!” she cried as the pain brought her to her knees.

The agony my Kate endured! She was not with child, and there was little within her bowels to expel, and once it was all gone the cramps continued, sharp as knives, making her gasp and cry out, and all I could do was hold her, bathe her face, and be there for her. I sang and told her stories, trying to help her mind rise above the pain that gripped her tight like an iron-gloved hand squeezing inside her, determined to wring her dry. I wanted to undress her to make her more comfortable, but she slapped my hands away, even as the beautiful embers and ashes gown grew heavy and soaked with sweat, wrinkled and twisted by the agonized jerking and writhing of her limbs. No, she said, she wanted nothing to delay our departure, she wanted to be ready the very instant we were able to go.