Though the threat was always in the background, Mary’s situation improved quickly in the last half of 1536. With Cromwell’s help, she began to plan her household, adapt to her reduced status and start to manage her finances again. When the secretary asked her to make suggestions for the ladies she would like to serve her, the abject tone of her reply was, at first, grating. He was, she said, too good to her: ‘How much am I bound unto you, which hath not only travailed when I was almost bound in folly to recover me before I sunk and was utterly past recovery?’ Since the time that he had saved her from herself he had not ceased to proffer advice, to ensure that she did not relapse into being ‘too wilful and obstinate’; so that now ‘there is no spark in me’. Perhaps not, but she went on to address the matter of her sister Elizabeth’s title, still a sensitive issue, with some subtlety: ‘Concerning the Princess (so I think I must call her yet, for I would be loathe to offend)’, she acknowledged that she had been extremely unyielding, but this was a mistake, she realised. On the other hand, now Cromwell had advised that it would be perfectly proper to call Elizabeth merely by the name of sister, she would never call her anything else. Did a smile cross her lips when she wrote this? Was she just teasing Cromwell, playing to his sense of self-importance with her flowery turn of phrase? She would gladly accept ‘what men or women soever the King’s highness shall appoint to wait on me’. It was almost like a script she had learned and could recite when occasion demanded it.
Yet she went on, quite briskly, to put forward names of those ‘I would have about me’, who had done faithful service to herself and the king: ‘Margery Baynton and Susan Clarencius have in every condition used themselves as faithfully, painfully and diligently as ever did women in such a case; as sorry, when I was not conformable, as became me, as glad when I inclined any thing to do my duty, as could be desired.’ In other words, these were women who had been with her throughout most of her difficulties and who she wanted to share her new life. And she added a third name, that of Mary Brown, ‘that was sometime my maid, whom for her virtue I love and could be glad to have in my company; and here be all that I will recommend’.
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It was a modest and very personal request to be with those who had served her well, perhaps the closest she came to having a family. Susan Clarencius would be with her till the day she died, becoming the most influential of her gentlewomen during Mary’s reign. She seems to have already been a widow in the 1530s and was devoted to Mary, though her advice could be unreliable. Mary did not ask for the restoration of Margaret Douglas or any great ladies; that might have seemed too presumptuous. Besides, Margaret was in disgrace for having entered into a secret engagement with Thomas Howard, Anne Boleyn’s uncle. This led to both lovers being confined for a time in the Tower. Howard died there in 1537, but Margaret survived the ordeal and was released to the care of the nuns at Syon convent on the outskirts of London. She did not emerge for another year, and after a further amorous escapade with another Howard (Charles, half-brother to Henry’s fifth queen) she was again sent back to Syon.
Minus the lively Margaret, Mary’s new household eventually numbered 42 people, a far cry from the time when, as a nine-year-old, she had set off for the Welsh Marches with three hundred people in her retinue. Henry VIII made her a basic allowance of £40 a quarter (roughly £13,000 today), and Mary found it impossible to live within her means, especially at Christmas time, when she often had to ask for more. She did, however, ensure that accounts were kept, and it is from these that a fascinating picture of her life in the period 1537-43 emerges. While she still suffered from intermittent ill health (she was unwell several times in the summer of 1537, before her brother’s birth), and was certainly no longer at the centre of events, her existence was comfortable and she was by no means always discontented.
Mary Tudor was a king’s daughter and she lived a privileged life. Her privy purse expenses, signed in her own hand, reveal a woman who loved clothes and jewels, ate well, was generous to her friends and gambled rather more than was seemly. Music continued to be one of her favourite ways of relaxation. In March 1538, Chapuys reported that he had spent some time at Richmond, ‘talking with her and hearing her play on the lute or on the spinet in so admirable a manner that I really believe she is the most accomplished musician that could be found’.
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It seems he was not exaggerating, as his opinion was supported by the French ambassador, who described Mary as playing ‘singularly’ well.
She also revived her instruction in languages and was able to indulge her interests in drama and literature. She retained the loyalty of one of the great wits and entertainers of the period, John Heywood, a devoted admirer of his ‘most noble lady’, whose ‘beauty twinkleth like a star within the frosty night’. For him she was not ‘a thin, frail woman with tight lips’ but a princess in appearance, if not in name.
Others also praised the ‘fayre lady Mary’, and although there may be poetic licence in these descriptions, it seems that Mary did not lose her looks overnight.
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Her complexion, in particular, was regarded as very fine: ‘she looks not past 18 or 20’, wrote the French ambassador in 1540, ‘although she is 24’.
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In many respects, he reported, she resembled her father, and she spoke and laughed like him. But, unexpectedly, she had a deeper voice.Whether this means that Henry actually had a rather high-pitched voice, in contrast to his daughter’s lower register, we shall never know, but the idea of a light voice issuing from that increasingly massive frame is quite strange.
The grandeur of Mary’s dress and the magnificence of her jewels must have added considerably to the effect she produced as a young woman. Even in adversity, the princess had paid a great deal of attention to her wardrobe, ensuring that furs, collars and dresses were mended and that her garments were decorated in the latest fashions. She had been deprived of almost all her jewels in March 1534, as a punishment for her continued intransigence, and was just beginning to build up her collection and her wardrobe again when Jane Seymour died. After the period of mourning, she was given some of the jewellery that had belonged to the queen, but Lady Kingston, in charge of Mary and Elizabeth’s household, felt she should check with one of Cromwell’s men whether it might be acceptable for Mary to wear again ‘her white taffety edged with velvet’, even though this dress had earlier met with the king’s approval.
But such hesitancy was only temporary. Mary became a fashion trendsetter. In her twenties, she favoured French gowns with turned-up sleeves which often revealed a rich velvet facing.The square, open neck of the French gown could be filled in with a partlet, either in the same silk or in a contrasting colour and texture. Mary’s gowns were often of cloth of gold and silver and were already high-collared by 15 44 and open at the neck to show ‘a wrought lining of coloured silk embroidery on linen’.The earliest visual evidence we have of this style depicts it a good ten years later, so Mary was definitely leading, not following, fashion in the 1540s.
Elements of this look, though not the partlet, can be seen in the 1544 portrait of Mary by Master John. She is wearing a gown of crimson damask cloth of gold, brocaded with a looped piece of silver thread. It had paired gold aglets for fastening the foresleeves and a girdle jewelled with rubies and pearls. The headdress was also richly adorned with pearls. Crimson was a favourite colour, which must have looked good with her complexion. Early the previous year the royal accounts noted that she had ordered ‘a coat of crimson satin embroidered with pearls and gold’.
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Mary also wore other colours associated with royalty, such as the stunning gown of ‘purple satin, embroidered with parchment of gold and purple sarcenet for the pulling out of the sleeves’, which would have set off her red hair very effectively.
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These dresses, especially if they featured long trains, were very costly. Mary’s accounts show that she regularly bought silks, cambric, satins and caffa, a kind of silk that cost 12 shillings a yard. She also purchased pairs of sleeves in gold and silver. The cost of cloth of gold and silver varied but was generally about 40 shillings a yard. Prices were high but clothing was also adaptable, even recyclable. Pairs of French sleeves were made into Venetian sleeves when the Italian style temporarily gained precedence over the French in the mid-1540s, and pearls used as decorations for garments and headdresses could also be reused.This was just as well, since Mary had purchased a hundred of them at a cost of over £66, well above her entire monthly allowance, in December 1537. Mary was also very fond, as were other ladies of her time, of ‘night gowns’. These sumptuous garments were perhaps intended for more relaxed evening wear but they were most definitely not for sleeping. One listed in the wardrobe accounts for this period took 15 yards of black velvet, lined with satin, and another required 12 yards of black damask, edged with 3 yards of black velvet and lined with fur. Mary’s attitude to dress is entirely at odds with the negative historical image of a dowdy, dour woman incapable of enjoying life. The love of clothes probably developed in her early childhood, with its memories of her betrothals in appropriate finery to the French dauphin and later to Charles V, as well as the elaborate costumes she wore at court masques.
The jewels that enhanced these dresses were equally important to Mary. She had many pieces set with diamonds, pearls, rubies and emeralds, as well as individual rubies, known as balaces, that hung on chains. Some were in the shapes of crosses, others of flowers; her inventory for 1542 lists ‘one flower with a great emerald set in a dolphin, one ruby on it and one great pearl pendant’. Many were brooches, often of gold and diamonds, on religious themes, such as the history of Moses, Noah’s flood and Christ healing the man with palsy. She also possessed a fine collection of what were known as ‘abillements’, chains of goldsmiths’ work worn round the neck or bosom and set with precious stones.
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At this stage of her life, little of the jewellery Mary wore was actually owned by her.The king made provision for his daughter out of the royal collection, but he could request pieces back or even, as in 1534, require everything to be returned. Mary’s income did not permit her to purchase expensive jewels, so gifts from Henry’s later queens must have been especially welcome. Shortly after her marriage in 1543, Katherine Parr, Henry’s sixth wife, gave her new stepdaughter a beautiful pair of golden bracelets, set with diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
Mary’s surroundings were graciously furnished and comfortable. There were tapestries, velvet hangings and an extensive inventory of bedlinen, cushions, chairs and carpets, crockery and drinking vessels. Her dining was also sophisticated, washed down with wine and ale. At table, she was offered a varied and healthy diet, quite out of the reach of all except the most favoured.There was an abundance of fresh, seasonal fruit such as cherries, peaches, raspberries and pomegranates, as well as apples and pears. In the summer, she enjoyed strawberries and cream. Vegetables were readily available and Mary had artichokes, leeks and cucumbers to accompany a wide variety of meat, fish, crustaceans and game. She ate everything from carp and pike to oysters and sturgeon, and was fond of venison and partridge. Bacon, eggs and cheese were also featured at the less glamorous end of her consumption. For dessert, there could be pancakes or marchpane, a kind of marzipan macaroon. Mary also liked a type of hard candy known as Manus Christi, made from white sugar, rosewater and powder of pearls, decorated with gold leaf. This could also be made into cakes and gilded. It was sometimes used for medicinal purposes, but was probably popular because of its sweetness and attractive appearance.
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When the grim regime that had characterised Mary’s life for three years was lifted in the second half of 1536, she returned to her favourite pastime, betting on cards and dice, with a vengeance. In the accounts, there are 23 different entries up to December 1538 for money delivered to the Lady Mary to play at cards; 40 to 45 shillings twice a month was common at the beginning of this period, but this amount diminished by half later in 1537. Perhaps Mary was trying to rein herself in. She was, for a while, spending nearly one-third of her income on gambling.
Her daily life was healthy, even if she herself did not always feel well. Most days she was reported as walking between two and three miles, and she loved to ride and to hunt. The present of a horse from Cromwell almost as soon as she signed her submission provided a welcome distraction from dwelling on the enormity of what she had done. So too, presumably, did the parrot she received as a gift in 1537 and the spaniel she acquired later from a yeoman of the King’s Chamber.
Throughout her life, Mary had given money to charity and in alms. This was partly because it was expected of royalty - and although she gave frequently she did not give great amounts, which reflects her lack of direct income - but she does seem to have had a definite interest in London’s prisons and poorhouses and in the choristers of the Chapel Royal, whose singing she enjoyed. The largest single sum she donated during this period was 40 shillings in alms on the day her brother Edward was born.
To her family and friends she was generous and thoughtful in the gifts she provided. Those to Elizabeth ranged from 20 shillings to buy her playthings to five yards of rich yellow satin for a kirtle, as well as pieces of jewellery. Mary evidently believed, quite rightly, as it turned out, that her sister would like clothes as much as she did. But what to give her father? The choice of present for Henry must have posed a problem at the beginning of every year. As a king, he lacked for nothing, but his children were expected to provide him with original gifts. Elizabeth’s attempts to think creatively about this in 1545 produced an impressive Latin translation of her stepmother’s religious writings and nearly cost Katherine Parr her life when the king realised the extent, and content, of his wife’s literary attainments. Mary managed to avoid such pitfalls. One year she opted for a beautifully upholstered and decorated chair, commissioned from the leading specialist in London. Although a competent needlewoman herself (she sometimes made cushions for members of the court at Christmas time) she clearly decided that an expert was needed in this case.