My Story: Lady Jane Grey (My Royal Story) (15 page)

A mighty shout reaches me from Tower Hill. Soon now the cart bearing Northumberland’s headless body will rattle over the cobblestones back into the Tower for burial. His head will doubtless shortly join others on London Bridge.

If Northumberland had hoped to save his life, he hoped in vain. And he had to say Mass this morning like a good Catholic before he was taken to his execution. I try to imagine his face when the Lieutenant of the Tower brought him the news he was to die on the morrow after all. My nurse says she will dance on his grave. As for me – I feel no pity for him. So dies a traitor.

I was reading my Bible when I heard a voice outside talking to the guards. As always I strained to hear who it was and what they were saying. But it was only Master Partridge. What a kind man he is! He had come, he said, to invite me to dine with him and his wife, and their friend, Master Lea, who, he explained, is an official at the Royal Mint. He seemed to think the honour was all theirs, but it is mine. Oh, what joy it will be to see new faces, and have someone fresh to talk to!

I have rarely seen a man so astonished as Master Lea when he saw me seated at table in the Partridges’ dining chamber. In confusion, he pulled off his cap. It was very clear that he knew who I was. Bidding him welcome, I insisted he put his cap back on – and then I lifted my goblet and toasted the Queen’s health, wishing her a long and happy reign.

I asked if the Mass was being said again in London.

“In places it is,” I was told.

“The Duke was happy to hear it,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“Doubtless he hoped for a pardon,” my host said.

“Pardon!” I exclaimed, laying down my knife. I felt myself shake with anger. “He – who led a force against the Queen, who brought my family low to satisfy his ambition. How could he expect a pardon? And what good would it have done him? Given him a few miserable years, before he burned in hell forever. No, rather die. I will never betray my faith, even to save my life.” I saw those around the table glance at each other and now I am back in my chamber, Elizabeth has been pleading with me to be careful.

“Mistress Jacob told me what passed at dinner,” she said. “My lady, what if they report your words to the Queen? I beg you, take more care what you say in front of others.” I said she did not know me very well if she thought I would lie, or hide how I feel. Elizabeth looked at me sadly, but I had said nothing wrong. I only spoke the truth.

Mistress Partridge has baked me a pie! She brought it to me
herself. “It is not often,” she said, puffing as she put the pie down
on the table, “that we have so noble a lady in our house.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and bobbed a curtsy. “There!” she said, looking down at the pie proudly. “I hope you will like it.” I felt tears fill my eyes and blinked them away. “I like it very much,” I told her. Her cheeks went bright pink. How kind she is.

I saw Guildford this afternoon! I was reading when I heard Elizabeth exclaim and I looked up hastily. “What is it?” I said. She looked awkward. “Tell me!” I insisted.

“It is Lord Guildford,” she said reluctantly. “He is outside.”

“What?” I cried. I ran to the window just in time to see Guildford turn the corner to the Queen’s Garden. His head was bowed and guards walked at his side. So, he is allowed to exercise while I am not. The same thought must have been in my nurse’s mind for I heard her grumble to Elizabeth.

“My sweeting grows pale for want of fresh air. It is not right that the Dudleys are allowed to walk outside when my child is not.” Guildford, I have learned, has been moved to more comfortable lodgings in the Bell Tower. It is where the most important prisoners are often held. They dine well too, food being sent them from the Lieutenant’s kitchens. But apart from the want of exercise, I have nothing to complain about. I am well treated and have all the time I want to read and study. It is my little prayer book I open day after day. I am sorely tested, and a yet greater test lies ahead but I trust I will not be found wanting.

My heart is heavy. All Edward’s reforms have been swept away by order of Parliament. Soon the Mass will be heard again in every church, the priests will declare that a piece of bread is Christ’s body and every service and every prayer will be said again in Latin. Most people will not be able to understand what the priests are saying. As for those who defy the Queen, I tremble to think of their fate. Already I fancy I can smell the fires of Smithfield, hear the crackle of flames as good and brave people die for their beliefs.

I am condemned of high treason. I refused to let my judges see how I felt as the dread words were pronounced – death by burning or beheading. My fate now lies in the Queen’s hands. Sir John assures me that I will be pardoned. I told him that my mind was fixed now on heaven, but I cannot deny to myself my secret hope that I will live. My ladies have not stopped weeping since they learnt my sentence, which is of no comfort to me.

I was full of dread when I heard that we were not to be taken to the Guildhall by river but were to walk to our trial through the streets of the city, like common prisoners. I know how hostile the crowds are to traitors. And I, Jane, must surely be a traitor in their eyes. For I usurped the crown! My courage nearly left me when I saw how many had come to watch us pass. Halberdiers lined the streets, pikes in their hands. The people who pressed behind them looked at me curiously. A few weeks ago, no one knew who I was. Now everyone knows who I am. That is she, their eyes say. The girl who usurped the throne.

“How tiny she is,” I heard someone say. I did not wish to be queen, I longed to shout. I never wanted to rule. Wicked men put me there. But instead I lowered my head penitently, and kept my eyes fixed on my prayer book until I stumbled on a loose stone and had to look up. But I heard no one spit at me, or wish me dead.

My gaoler, Master Partridge, led our little procession, the axe in his hand. Its silver blade flashed in the sunlight. Behind him walked Archbishop Cranmer, who was to be tried with us, then Guildford. I could not speak to Guildford, we were closely surrounded by guards. But we exchanged glances. He looked frightened but he kept his head held high. I had tied my precious English prayer book to my girdle, though my nurse had begged me not to. “It will be said you defy Her Majesty,” she said. I took no heed of her advice. Will she never understand me?

I had been dreading the long walk back to the Tower. The blade of the axe, which had been turned away from us, was now turned towards us. Everyone in that crowd now knew our fate. Death. I steeled myself for insults and catcalls. But not a single insult was hurled at me. I saw nothing but pity in people’s eyes. I even heard the sound of weeping. “That poor child,” I heard a woman say as I passed her. “That poor child.”

My ladies cannot understand me. How is it, they say, I exercise more energy over one who has abandoned his faith than I do over my own fate? But locked away, it is one thing I can still do – show the world how to live and how to die. One day I hope the words I write will be widely read so that others who think of abandoning their faith will pause and reflect. Oh, that wicked imp, that spawn of the devil. I feel heartsick to think how he – Thomas Harding – who was once a chaplain to my family – could betray his faith and become a Catholic. What crime could be more wicked? The beliefs he taught me he now abandons. He has betrayed me. He has betrayed us all. How can I not be angry? How can I not express my disgust? I have written what I feel in a letter and pray that it will find a way to reach him.

Have felt too weak to write these past days. The want of air has taxed me greatly. Nurse says that I made myself worse, by dwelling on Master Harding’s betrayal. But the physician, who was sent for, agreed with me, and this morning the Lieutenant of the Tower brought me welcome news. I am allowed to walk in the Queen’s Garden!

So this afternoon, wrapped up warmly and escorted by guards, I stepped outside into the fresh air for the first time since my trial. It was bitterly cold but it was wonderful to walk in a garden again and I inhaled the fresh air in delight. The plants are dead and the ground hard with frost, but by spring all will be in flower again. I felt my spirits begin to lift. Was this a first step towards freedom? And then, as I strolled back and forth, I saw a young man enter the garden, like me under guard. He looked thinner and pale, like me, but I knew him at once. “Guildford!” I exclaimed. We stopped and looked at each other. He cried my name. “Jane!” We walked hesitantly, nervously towards each other and as we drew closer Guildford turned to his guards and I heard him beg them to allow him to speak to me. They nodded their heads and then most kindly they turned their backs on us and moved a little away so that we could talk in private.

I told him I had seen him walk past my house a few times on his way to exercise in the Tower grounds. He was astonished and I explained where I was kept. He has promised to look up at my window whenever he passes by. He told me he had seen the new prayer book at my girdle on the day of our trial and how my wearing it so openly had given him courage. “Not that I expected less of so brave a wife,” he said. The word “wife” on his lips made me start. I had almost forgotten that we are married. We have spent so little time together. We chose our words carefully, neither of us wishing to cause the other pain. We did not speak of our parents, who had brought us to this sorry pass. I felt for the first time as if a bond could grow between us. Our misfortunes have made Guildford more thoughtful. He begged my pardon for his folly and I begged his for my unkindness to him. But by now the guards were looking restless and we bade each other a hasty farewell. As I was escorted back to the gaoler’s house I found myself hoping I would see and speak to him again. Guildford told me he was hopeful about the future – the privileges we have been granted are a sure sign that the Queen will be merciful towards us, he believes. I feel curiously heartened to know that he is here and thinking of me – a companion in my misfortune.

Elizabeth smiled when I returned from my walk today. “There is colour in your cheeks, my lady,” she teased. I blushed at how I had stumbled in the garden and Guildford had caught me. I had not minded his touch. We had drawn apart quickly, but our guards had their backs to us, and anyway have grown used to seeing us together. While we walked, Guildford confided that he spends much time reading the Bible. “I feel as if I never knew before what true comfort it gives,” he said earnestly. I said it was a comfort I had learnt early. As the guards returned to escort us back, Guildford whispered hastily, “Jane, do you always carry your prayer book?”

“Always,” I said.

“Then, bring it on your next walk,” he said. I asked him to explain, but by then the guards were too close for us to speak privately. I long to know what he means, but I will find out tomorrow, and tomorrow is nearly upon us now. I can hear Mistress Jacob humming as she sets the table in the next chamber. Her humming is quite tuneless. Her husband was a court musician and I wonder he could bear it.

I have in my hands Guildford’s prayer book. And he has mine. This afternoon, while the guards’ backs were turned, Guildford thrust the little book into my hands. “It is my New Year’s gift to you,” he said.

Oh, Guildford, I thought, feeling a lump in my throat. “I will treasure it,” I said simply and put mine into his hands. Tonight I will sleep with his book under my pillow.

Early this morning my nurse woke me. The Lieutenant of the Tower was outside she said and wished to speak to me. I was terrified. What could the Lieutenant want, at this hour? But I got up at once pulling my robe around my shoulders.

“Madam, I am afraid your visits to the Queen’s Garden must cease,” Sir John told me. “And for your safety, your guard is to be increased.” I felt my heart thump heavily. “Be not alarmed,” Sir John said gently, seeing the fear in my eyes – he has always treated me kindly – but how can I not be? Is this truly for my safety, or is there some other reason? Sir John’s eyes were troubled and strained.

I hear the sound of marching boots and barked orders. Earlier Mark was sent out to find the cause. He took a long time to return, and when he did, his eyes were wide and excited. “There is an uprising against the Queen’s marriage to the King of Spain, my lady,” he said breathlessly as if he had run all the way. “It is led by a gentleman called Sir Thomas Wyatt. His men are even now approaching the city and—” I seized him by the shoulders and shook them urgently. “Did anyone mention my name?” I demanded.

He shook his head. “No, my lady.”

“And the Lord be thanked for that,” said my nurse tartly who had clearly been listening at the door. I gave her a look and she was silent. “But,” Mark went on, “the Lady Elizabeth’s name is being much bandied about.” I confess I am mightily relieved, though if it is true I feel nothing but pity for my cousin Elizabeth. If the rebellion fails she will surely join me in the Tower.

I feel both frightened and exhilarated. Mark says that Wyatt commands a mighty force – though I have wrung out of him that he only spoke to a beggar and a midwife hurrying to attend a birth.

I pray that Wyatt truly does not intend to put me back on the throne or I am doomed. The city streets are hushed and quiet, Mistress Jacob reported when she returned with my clean laundry, the shops all shut up, only those with no home to go to, or who have urgent business now dare step outside.