My Story: Lady Jane Grey (My Royal Story) (13 page)

I write in the Tower, the great palace that is also a fortress. I have sent my ladies away and I sit in the same chair that Edward will have sat in years ago, when he too came to the Tower before his coronation. I am very afraid – and have good reason to be. I will write of that later. But first I will write of the events that brought me here. Wearing the Tudor colours of green and white I was brought to the Tower by the royal barge from Durham House. The afternoon sun lit the towers, but I shivered as I looked up at them. I stepped from the barge, and ascended the royal stairs, my mother bearing my train. By my side strutted my husband Guildford Dudley, cap in hand, bowing and smiling as if he were king. The guns boomed in salute, but as the great gates clanged shut behind me I felt more like a prisoner than a queen. The heralds sounded their trumpets – proclaiming me queen to the crowds that lined the streets and riverbank and had crammed round the Lion Gate to watch me enter. A few people cheered and I found myself wondering if they had been ordered to, for most were silent. They looked bewildered and I am sure many of them do not even know who I am. Inside the gate I stopped and a noble knelt to give me the keys to the Tower, as is the custom. It is my palace now. But before I could take them from him, the Duke quickly grabbed them and bowing, gave them to me in his place. Nothing could have shown me more clearly by whose will I am here.

I felt sick when I saw the throne under the cloth of state, which is where I have to sit. I do not belong in it, but I must pretend that I do. It feels so strange to hear my commands obeyed, and to see the mighty Duke of Northumberland on his knees before me. Even Mother and Father have to obey me now – which I admit gives me some pleasure. The royal jewels have been brought to me. The sight of them sickens me. I feel like a magpie in borrowed feathers. I long to be home, in my old black gown. But I must not think of myself now. I am the Queen.

But for how long will I rule? Will the people accept me, or will they flock to the Lady Mary’s side? For now I must write of what gives me great fright. A letter has come from the Lady Mary demanding that the Council accept her as queen, and promising pardons to all those who swear allegiance to her. When the letter was read to us, Mother and the Duchess burst into tears but I was calm. I felt as if I had known in my heart this would happen. The Council assure me of their loyalty and insist again that Mary’s claim is unlawful. They have thrown the elderly servant who brought the letter into one of the Tower’s many dungeons, poor man. Northumberland says he should have known better. He has written to Mary declaring that I am the rightful Queen and the whole Council has signed the letter. But I still feel uneasy. Did they sign the letter willingly, or out of fear of the Duke? How long can I trust to their loyalty?

I keep to my apartments, but my Council is busy. Letter after letter is brought to me to sign. My signature stares up at me from the page: “Jane the Queene”. Will I ever get used to those words? As soon as they are signed the letters are hastily printed, and circulated around the city for people to read. By now everyone who can read – or who can find someone to read to them – will know that I was made lawful queen by my cousin Edward, and that Mary and Elizabeth have been debarred from the succession. What Elizabeth feels about this I do not know. Wisely she keeps her own counsel. I have other letters to sign, too. These are sent to the lord lieutenants and officials in every county asking them to raise men and horses to resist Mary’s false claim to the throne. I warn them that Mary is calling my people to rebel and will hand the country over to papists and foreigners by force. My nobles are to call up their tenants and servants to fight for me. I tell myself that my cause is just. To my last breath I will defend England from the papist threat.

I have been blind. How could I not have seen what must be clear to everyone else? Northumberland plans to make his son king! And Guildford has been playing the part very well, attending Council meetings and dining in state while I eat in my apartments. My ambassadors – my women say – have even been heard addressing him as King Guildford!

Today the Lord Treasurer brought me the crown. I drew back saying that I had not asked for it. “Come, try it on,” he said smiling. “See if it will fit.” Reluctantly I allowed him to place it on my head though I felt myself grow pale. “It fits well,” he told me. “Another will be made for your husband.”

“No!” I said sharply, causing those present to turn and stare. “Leave us,” I said to them. “We would talk with our husband alone.” The courtiers bowed and left me.

Guildford stormed and ranted when I told him that I will make him a duke, but he will never be king. “A woman cannot rule alone,” he protested. He told me about the Council meetings he had attended as if that would sway me! “I have wise councillors,” I said. “I do not need a boy to help me rule.” He went red then white, and ran to his mother. She and I have had a furious row. She threatened to take her son away, but I forbade it. “His place is here with me,” I told her. I fear they might still try to slip away so I have ordered the earls of Pembroke and Arundel to make sure that they do not!

As I write I hear the faint sound of trumpets, shouted orders, and the squeak and rattle of cartwheels over cobblestones as guns, pikes and gunpowder, tents and victuals are brought into the Tower. Mary has declared herself queen in Norfolk and Suffolk, and preparations are being made to send an army against her. Heralds have gone out to the four corners of the city to proclaim me queen and Mary’s claim unlawful. Notices of Edward’s will have been plastered on every wall in the city and the people are reminded that Mary is a Catholic and would bring back popish ways and may even marry a foreigner. Not everyone takes heed, but the punishment is harsh for those who dare speak out. A boy has been put in the pillory and has had both ears cut off. It is a cruel punishment, I said, when the news was brought to me, but it was pointed out that none will dare speak against me now – openly, at least. I cannot order what they think and feel in their hearts and minds.

The Council has offered double the usual pay to any man who will enlist in my army. But will even this sway the people? In Norfolk and Suffolk the gentry are flocking to Mary’s side. She has taken refuge in the great Suffolk castle of Framlingham, which will be easier for her to defend than her house at Kenninghall. But I am also told that even in the east many declare for me. I must try and put my fears aside.

The Duke has left. He has gone to Durham House, where he will muster his men. Tomorrow they will march east out through the city to Framlingham. I sense a curious air of relief among my councillors. Is this because they have faith in the Duke? Or because they are relieved to see the back of him? Mother says I am a fool. She says I should have put Father in charge of my army. But Father is unwell. “Stupid girl,” she said. “What were you thinking of, putting the Duke in command?” She looked tired and drawn.

“The Duke put me here, madam, then let him keep me here,” I said coldly. “Besides, he is our best soldier.”

“But to send him to Norfolk, where he is hated!” Mother exclaimed. “That is madness!”

“There is support for me in Norfolk too, I am told,” I returned.

“For you, yes, but not for the Duke.”

“I have made my decision,” I said. Mother looked at me.

“You always were stubborn,” she said. “Always so sure you are right.”

“Madam,” I said. “You forget who you speak to. I am the Queen. Now leave us.” Mother looked flabbergasted. I had never spoken to her like that before, and I felt no small sense of satisfaction as she backed out of my presence. But now she is gone I am left to ponder her words and I pray I did not make a mistake. Nor can I forget the words the Duke uttered before he left.

Rising from the table he had looked at his fellow councillors most meaningfully. His words made it plain that he mistrusts them. “Do not think to betray us,” he said, his eyes resting on each man in turn. How they seemed to shrivel under that look. “We can protect ourselves as well as you.” Then his gaze fell on me. “Remember,” he said, “your oath of allegiance to the Queen’s Grace. It is we who made her accept the crown, she never sought it herself.”

The sun glints on pikes and helmets. Drums beat. From my seat by the window I see Sir John Gates ride up to lead the household troops out of the Tower. Sir John is to join Northumberland and is confident they will soon catch up with the main force. As the great gates swing open to let them pass Sir John is saluted smartly. Tomorrow, I am told, the supplies and artillery will be ready to leave. I wish it could be sooner. How much time it takes to prepare an army to fight – and time is what we do not have.

As I met my councillors today, none would look me in the eye. I felt my heart sink. This could only mean bad news. At last my father broke the silence and clearing his throat told me that the fleet stationed off the Norfolk coast to prevent Mary from fleeing the country has declared for the Princess. Somehow I managed to keep my voice steady. When, I asked, had they learnt this?

“The sailors mutinied against their officers yesterday,” Father told me, “but word only reached us this morning.” He looked worn and ill. Secretary Cecil broke in, calmly reminding me of the many parts of the country which have declared for me. He and all the Council are as staunchly behind my right to rule as ever, he added. But I saw Arundel and Pembroke’s eyes slide to each other. Pembroke – whose son is married to my sister. Could I trust even him not to waver in his loyalty to me? Neither he nor Arundel have any love for Northumberland.

Elizabeth Tilney tells me that she heard Bishop Latimer preach a most angry sermon against the princesses Mary and Elizabeth at St Paul’s Cross. “How did the people respond?” I asked. She did not answer. I remember how the Bishop thundered against the Admiral when I was still a child. Now I am thankful that one man has the courage to speak out boldly for me. Is he the only man in the city whose support I can count on now? I found myself saying aloud. My ladies looked at each other uncomfortably.

Tenants and servants are refusing to obey their lords and march against the Princess. They would rather throw away their livelihoods and starve than support me. Rebellion is feared in the counties of Buckinghamshire, Oxfordshire and Northamptonshire, and a march on London is talked of, but my Council seem easy about this. Even here, I am assured, not everyone supports the Princess. This must be how civil war begins.

The Lord Treasurer has vanished from the Tower. “How long has he been gone?” I asked my councillors, my mouth dry. No one knows. I feel sick when I think what he may be doing. Guards have been sent to find him and bring him back. They will go first to his house. I am relieved that no one shows any sign of wishing to follow him, but I have ordered the gates to be locked early tonight. I will feel more secure knowing that no one else can slip out, should they change their mind. On my orders the guard has been increased and the keys of the Tower brought to me. But even now I do not feel safe. I feel as if I am a prisoner here – as if it is me who is the quarry and Mary the hunter.

I thank God! The Lord Treasurer has been found and brought back. He is an elderly man and was most apologetic. He had business he had to attend to at home, he told me. He looked truly contrite but does he speak the truth? It is awful, not knowing who you can trust.

At the Council’s urging I have sent letters out again to stiffen the resolve of my officers in Buckinghamshire. I remind them of the dreadful punishment that awaits them if they waver in their loyalty to me. The Earls of Arundel and Pembroke are to muster their men in the Welsh Marches, and join their forces to cut off support for Mary from the west. My lords bow and assure me they will do my bidding with all speed. I remind myself how Arundel had wished to join the Duke when he left for the east, but I am filled with foreboding. Northumberland has not been able to muster the support he hoped for and we have no news now where he is.

I have promised to be godmother to the baby son of one of the men-at-arms. Edward Underhill, the father, is a staunch Protestant so I could not refuse. Lady Throckmorton has promised to stand in for me. I myself have too much to attend to. Oh, how weary a business it is to be queen.

As godmother it is for me to choose the baby’s name and after some thought I have decided to christen him Guildford, after my poor husband. Master Underhill is much gratified, and Guildford has been brought up a Protestant like me. It is some amend I can make him. I have begun to feel some pity for Guildford. He is as much a pawn in our parents’ schemes as me. He no longer struts about and there are dark circles under his eyes as if he too cannot sleep easily at night. When I told him my choice of name for the boy he suddenly burst out: “Oh, if only I could have ridden with Father to help you keep your crown.” He spoke so bitterly and I felt a sudden rush of warm feeling for him. He feels helpless and useless, he confided. If only he could stand up to his mother. I, though, find a new resolve in me. Though I never sought to be queen, I am determined that I will do whatever I can to keep my crown.

Even through these thick walls I can hear the sound of noisy cheering. Something has happened, but what I do not know. Earlier I asked Elizabeth Tilney to close the windows to try and shut out the din. Then, feeling a most dreadful apprehension I hastened to the council chamber. Only one man sat at the table. My father. I gripped the arm of a chair, feeling all of a sudden sick with fear. “Father, why are you alone?” I asked, almost in a whisper. “Where is my Council?”

My father raised his head. His face looked pale, his eyes would not meet mine. “They are gone to meet the French ambassador, to ask him for his help in enlisting troops from the Netherlands,” he said wearily. A terrible suspicion filled me. “Could they not have summoned him here to the Tower, Father?” I said.

“No, the meeting must be kept secret,” he said. Kept secret from me – and from you too, I thought. My heart sank. At best we now depend on foreign troops to keep me on the throne. At worst… I swallowed.

I must not let myself dwell on the frightful suspicions that fill my mind. That my councillors have slunk away like frightened hounds to join Mary. Why, only this morning they urged me to sign a letter to Lord Rich, asking him for his support.