Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (14 page)

What would happen to England under Mary Tudor if I refused to take the crown? I closed my eyes, remembering my cousin’s face the day her servant and I had clashed over the Host at Hunsdon House.

Why do you kneel?

I kneel to Him who made us all …

How many times had I heard how Lady Mary defied her brother Edward and the reformed faith he championed, insisting on hearing mass even when it might cost her life. What would she do if she gained the throne?

All England would be forced to bend its knee to baker’s bread. Icons and false images would fill the churches again. The English translation of the Bible would be torn from people’s hands. Would she bring Rome’s wrath down upon us? The Inquisition itself?

“God, if you would only tell me what to do.” But no whisper sounded in my ear, no sense of certainty flowed through me. Did I surrender out of devotion? Out of habit or fear? Or merely because I did not know what else to do?

I only know that I stood in the midst of that staring crowd and—may God forgive me—mounted the stairs to the dais and sat upon England’s throne.

The archbishop stepped from the shadows and moved toward me in a whisper of jeweled robes, something in his grasp gleaming. His sleeve concealed part of what he held, making the metallic segment appear sharp as a curved blade. He righted the object, and it broadened before my eyes into the shining circlet of a crown.

“We must see how well this fits Your Majesty,” he cajoled, as my mother divested me of my headdress. I winced with pain as the archbishop settled the crown in its place, the rim pressing against my wound. The crown felt heavy, cold, and final as death. Which queens had worn it before me? I wondered. Katherine of Aragon? Anne Boleyn? Catherine Howard, or my own beloved mistress Catherine Parr?

Had any of them felt this panic at the weight of it? Now that I had let them put the crown on my head, there could be no going back. I could see that hard truth in Northumberland’s eyes as the archbishop continued.

“Our own Queen Jane, all England will rejoice at the handsome sight you and your husband make once we order a matching crown for Lord Guilford’s head.”

I looked at Guilford, his face that of a boy who had pilfered every bit of marchpane from the subtleties kitchen. He believed he would be king. That had been Northumberland’s goal all along. I was a conveyance to raise the duke’s poppet of a son to the throne. Then I was to be swept out of the way while Northumberland and my father ruled. Guilford would be easy for the two men to manage—merely distract him with pleasurable pursuits, and he would leave the tedious weight of governing to others. As for me, our fathers doubtless imagined I was of little account. A woman could easily be shifted aside: Guilford and I would be sent off to bed like inconvenient children when conversation got interesting.

I remembered what Mary had said about Father and Northumberland wagering us three maids in a gamble. The two dukes must be so smug, certain they had won. Defiance streamed, thick and hot, through my veins. For the first time since I understood the councilors meant me to sit upon the throne, I felt the steady flame of something I had not known I possessed. Strength.

“There is no need to fit Lord Guilford with a crown,” I announced clearly. “I will not name him king.”

Gasps rippled around me, and I heard Guilford’s angry protest. Northumberland’s tone grew even more obsequious. “Being raised so high has come as a great shock to Your Majesty. Once you have time to consider, you will trust the council of your advisers. We have England’s best interests at heart.”

Astonishing how often England’s best interests match with your private ones
, I thought, recounting the dissolved abbeys, the confiscated wealth, the titles and rich appointments that Northumberland had claimed for himself or showered upon his allies.

Had the duke read my eyes? “It is a queen’s sacred duty to think of her country before all,” he said. “Wisdom agrees it is disaster to place the reins of government in a woman’s hands. The law is too complicated for even the cleverest female mind to grasp.”

“Not so,” I said, remembering the day Dr. Aylmer told my parents I surpassed even my brilliant cousins Edward and Elizabeth as scholar. It was a trespass Cousin Elizabeth had never forgiven me. “I know that only a parliamentary decree can legally name a king.”
Or queen
, a warning whispered in my head. Edward could not have gone before Parliament to change the succession—such momentous news would have leaked out if he had.

But I could not worry about that complication now. I must shore up my resolve against the siege to come. “If God has seen fit to make me queen, I must accept that role, however reluctantly. But I will not make Lord Guilford king. I will grant my husband the title of duke.”

“Duke?” Guilford appealed to his parents as if I had stolen his last sweet. His mother looked as if she would happily murder me if she only had a dagger to hand. Even my own father was blustering disapproval, while the vein on Mother’s temple pulsed in warning. But none of them could unleash that fury before the nobles. No one dared shout at a queen.

I could see the cogs of Northumberland’s mind whirring, his strategy adjusting to the unexpected. “This day’s events have overwhelmed Your Majesty,” he placated. “You are a pious, God-fearing woman. Once you have time to think on Our Lord’s will, you will see the wisdom of the natural order He has set for the world. Scripture commands that a woman must be obedient to her husband, for he is fashioned by God to have a finer mind as well as stronger morals, while women are frail vessels. Once you give the subject further consideration, you will elevate your husband to his proper place as king.”

“A queen cannot rule alone!” my father said. “What do you know of affairs of state?”

“I will depend on my Privy Council to help me navigate those strange waters. But—” I paused, enunciating each word clearly. “I will make the final decisions as to what is best for my realm on my own.”

Fear still haunted me—the fates of my cousins Mary and Elizabeth troubled my conscience—but never again could anyone force me to do what I knew to be wrong. If I were patient, I might even bring Northumberland down. Had not Father and Northumberland destroyed Edward Seymour’s father when Somerset was lord protector? Perhaps in the midst of mastering all the things that frightened me, I might be able to make England better for the people I would rule.

“Your Majesty, my lords,” the Earl of Pembroke interjected, “let us not waste this night squabbling over details. There will be opportunity enough to debate later. Tonight should be a time for celebration. We have prepared a banquet in honor of Queen Jane’s ascent to the throne.” Kat’s father-in-law turned to me with a courtly bow. “If it pleases Your Majesty, we might repair to the feast.”

I doubted I would be able to eat, yet it would be better to have a table between me and the nobles than sit here arguing with them. This banquet would give me time to think.

As I looked at Pembroke, a thought of surprising sweetness occurred to me. My sisters. Because I was queen, I could keep Kat and Mary with me, and no one could separate us.

“I will have my sister Lady Mary join the celebration,” I commanded.

“I fear she has been banished to her chambers after her outburst a short while ago.”

“You speak of her attempt to come to my aid when the rest of you did not?”

“Your Majesty must forgive us. The shock of your collapse was overwhelming.”

“I am recovered now.” I infused my voice with the calm command that I had heard so often in the dowager queen. “I command you to fetch my sister to the banquet. Also, I would have you bring my sister Katherine Herbert to me the moment she arrives.”

Northumberland bowed. “Majesty, I cannot think it wise to indulge a child of Lady Mary’s age at this time. Personal matters will only distract you from your duty.”

“My lord of Northumberland, I have never shirked my duty. Now I am queen, I will be even more scrupulous meeting the responsibilities God gave me. But it is my right to decide what will affect me for ill or good. If I am to be trusted with the care of a nation, personal decisions must be left to my judgment as well.” His lips tightened. I turned away from him and took my lord father’s arm. “I pray you take me to the banqueting hall.”

I could almost feel Father puff up with pride. “It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,” he said. “You had best eat heartily to bolster your strength,” he added in a low voice. “You are only just recovered, and tomorrow we must travel to the Tower of London to await your coronation. That ceremony is heavy work and you dare not falter.”

I had been present at Cousin Edward’s coronation when we were nine. The procession had been grueling, with Edward swathed in the heavy weight of his coronation robes. Once his party reached Winchester Cathedral, the archbishop handed the spindly new king the ball and scepter. The two symbols of his reign were so heavy, my father and my uncle, Henry Brandon, had been needed to help Edward support the gold objects. In spite of that complication, Edward had two huge advantages over me: he was male, and he was King Henry’s legitimate son. No one would ever question whether he had the right to the throne.

Already I felt how grimly the responsibilities of monarch would weigh on me. Father was right—I must not falter. “What about Cousin Mary?” I asked quietly as Father led me to the banquet.

He lifted one shoulder then let it fall in dismissal. “I am certain Lord Robert Dudley has taken her prisoner already. Northumberland dispatched four hundred horsemen to do so three days ago. The contingent is to intercept her as she rides to Edward’s deathbed to say farewell to her brother.”

“But he is already dead.”

“We have taken care so she does not know it.”

I imagined Robert Dudley’s soldiers surrounding the princess, her grief over her brother’s impending death giving way to fear as she realized Dudley had her in his power. I touched my pearl ring with my thumb. “I do not want my lady cousin to be harmed.”

“You must cultivate a strong stomach when it comes to such matters,” Father said. “She will be a danger to you while she lives.”

They meant to kill her? Despite the vast differences between us, I could not help remembering the suffering etched in Lady Mary’s features. I had grown up hearing tales of her father’s hard-heartedness. Four years she had been separated from her beloved mother and endured the humiliation of having to wait upon the infant princess Elizabeth, who had replaced her as legitimate heir and her father’s beloved child. King Henry had broken Cousin Mary’s will during the time Jane Seymour was queen, vowing to let her return to court once Mary signed a testimony that her parents’ marriage was never legal. Mary had never forgiven herself for betraying her mother that way.

Anguish welled up inside me at the thought of condemning a kinswoman I had known since childhood. I pushed the sensation down. Northumberland, Father, and my Privy Council could not harm my cousin without royal consent
—my
consent—and I would not give it. My father must have mistaken my expression as fear for myself.

“You must not fret, daughter. His Grace of Northumberland has all the armament in the Tower at the ready. The military is in place and the fleet on alert lest she try to escape by sea. I have even heard rumors that the Spanish ambassador has orders from her cousin the Holy Roman Emperor to urge her to surrender her claim to the throne and retreat to the continent. Mary Tudor is a frail, friendless woman. She is no danger to you.”

Thoughts of my cousin’s peril receded when I saw another Mary being led into the hall by Bess of Hardwick. My sister’s face was red where someone had scrubbed away the tears she had shed in the presence chamber. She looked so subdued, I knew threats had been leveled to secure her good behavior. I wished I could go to her or seat her near me, but the rules of precedence forbade her from joining us at the queen’s table. I gave orders she was to be situated as close to me as possible, hoping she would take comfort in that.

But my sister was beyond being soothed as her gaze fixed on my crown. Fear deepened the grooves and hollows of her face. Did she understand the import of the fate that had befallen me? Could she sense the danger, with that fey skill that had marked her from birth? I wanted to gather her close, promise all would be well. But Mary would never have allowed me to do such a thing, and besides, I could not make promises about the future. God alone knew how this would end.

Four hours later I heard a commotion, and the gentleman usher hastened to where I sat with Guilford and our four parents. The servant leaned close to Northumberland, whispered in his ear. I caught only snips of their conversation: “Messenger nigh rode his horse to death.” The usher handed Northumberland a crumpled missive. I shivered at the way the duke’s features went still.

“What news?” I demanded.

The duke and my father drew near, Northumberland snapping the wax seal. I saw Father lean over the duke’s shoulder to read handwriting that sprawled across the page, jagged with agitation. “The Lady Mary has escaped,” Northumberland said.

My father swore. “That son of yours made a muck of things! How hard a task could capturing a lone woman be? What kind of lack-spittle fool is that boy?”

The duchess’s temper flared. “Do not dare malign Robert!”

“Robert Dudley’s ineptitude will cost us dear. Your son bungled the whole scheme. Because of him, we will have God knows how much trouble setting the country in order.”

It was not Father’s outburst or even my mother-in-law’s fury that frightened me most. It was the terrible stillness on Northumberland’s face. “We have more urgent matters to attend to than assigning blame,” he said. “Robert’s letter says that the lady was riding to London at breakneck speed, just as we planned. At Hoddesdon she suddenly turned around and fled north to the stronghold of the Duke of Norfolk and bastion of Catholics. There is but one reason Mary Tudor would do such a thing.”

“Someone warned her,” I said.

“Indeed.” Northumberland’s eyes swept the company. “We have a traitor in our midst. But never fear, Your Majesty. We will turn this to our advantage. We will root the villain out and make him pay the price for betraying you. I swear by all that is holy, I will make this traitor an example no Englishman will ever forget.”