Mary Tudor (41 page)

Read Mary Tudor Online

Authors: Linda Porter

Arundel signed this appeal to the shires but, the truth was, occasion did not serve. He already saw his future with Mary, not with Jane, no matter how good and gracious she might be. And he was not alone. Some time after 16 July, he and Pembroke were able to slip out of the Tower and establish themselves at Pembroke’s London residence, Baynard’s Castle, in the City. Suffolk either did not, or, more likely, could not, control them. Pembroke was Katherine Parr’s brother-in-law and a courtier of long standing. He was joined in the relative security of his home by half a dozen other key councillors, including Paget. Most of these men had worked with Northumberland without demur, but they now believed he could not win. Galvanised as much by fears for their own future as by a rousing speech in support of Mary’s claim by Arundel, they now formed a rival faction that would sweep Jane Grey from her rocky throne.
Others, though, were not of the same mind. On the morning of 19 July the councillors were still split, with Cranmer in particular unwilling to embrace the idea of Mary as queen, with all its implication for the Edwardian religious legislation. During a day of heated exchanges, the outcome hung in the balance until late in the afternoon, when the archbishop and a dwindling group of Janeites reluctantly agreed that Mary should be proclaimed. The text of their newly discovered loyalty was agreed, beginning with the assertion:‘We your most humble and obedient subjects, having always (God we take witness) remained your highness’s true and humble subjects in our heart’. These correct but totally unconvincing sentiments would, it was hoped, save many political careers.
In the Tower, the duke of Suffolk interrupted his daughter’s evening meal with the removal of her colours and the stark announcement that she was no longer queen. It could not, by then, have been entirely unexpected. Popular tradition has it that she expressed relief but, even if this were so, the implications could not have been lost on her. As an intelligent young woman who well understood the harsh realities of mid-16th-century politics, she knew the fate of usurpers, and that was what she had become. She had no cause for joy. Even as the bells rang out in London and street parties took place to celebrate Mary’s accession, Paget and Arundel snatched up the letters for the new queen and took horse to her Suffolk stronghold. Jane’s brief period of rule had ended in victory for Mary and disaster for the Greys and the Dudleys.
 
The two councillors who were ushered into the royal presence on 20 July were a good choice to represent the astonishing volte-face of the privy council in its most positive light. Both were Catholic sympathisers, personally uncommitted to the changes of Edward’s reign, though they had not sought to draw further attention to themselves by publicly challenging Cranmer and Northumberland on this issue.They also had good reason to dislike the duke, who had humiliated them and caused them heavy financial loss on vaguely specified charges of corruption. Paget was stripped of his Garter in 1552 and imprisoned for a period in the Tower, while Arundel was fined
£
12,000 and sent off to cool his heels (and murmurings of discontent) among his affinity in Sussex. But both were later restored to the council, further evidence of Northumberland’s pragmatic rather than vengeful approach to opponents. Paget, risen from humble origins and ever the committed public servant, may have understood. Arundel, the holder of the premier earldom in the country, could trace his Fitzalan ancestors back to the Norman conquest, and his resentment was much less easily assuaged.
Nevertheless, it is hard to believe that their explanations sounded sincere to Mary and unlikely that she received them with anything other than a businesslike welcome. She needed them, but this did not mean she suddenly trusted them, or anyone else on the council. Yet the country had to be governed and she could not dismiss the men who had sought to keep her from the throne, however personally distasteful she found their malleable consciences. Her priority was also theirs. And that was to apprehend the duke of Northumberland.
He had stayed at Cambridge, in the house of Sir John Cheke, provost of King’s College, while his colleagues in London dissembled and finally disowned him. His inaction is curious, but, again, in keeping with the man. Failure, which had been so long a stranger, paralysed him. But it also seems to have deluded him into thinking that if he abased himself, he might, just possibly, be allowed to live.When Mary was proclaimed in Cambridge it is said that he, too, threw up his cap as a sign of rejoicing. He could have tried to escape but the desertion of most of his troops and the sudden triumph of Mary’s cause left him an isolated and forlorn figure. When Arundel came to arrest him on 23 July, he expressed the hope that the queen would show him mercy. ‘My lord,’ replied the earl grimly, ‘ye should have sought for mercy sooner.’Two days later he was brought under armed escort into London and imprisoned in the Tower. Fearful for the fate of his wife and family, he had to wait for his trial while Mary established herself on the throne.
That process began on 24 July when Mary left Framlingham for Ipswich. She then moved at a leisurely place towards London, stopping at New Hall, where her first council met at the end of the month, and later at Ingatestone in Essex, the home of Sir William Petre. While at New Hall, she received one anguished petitioner but refused to see another.The favoured supplicant was her cousin Frances.The panicked duchess of Suffolk had pleaded to be allowed to speak to the queen, and was received at two o’clock in the morning. She was desperate to make restitution, to implore Mary for understanding and forgiveness. But it turned out that her request was only for herself and her husband, not for her daughter. Jane, still in the Tower, but now as captive, not ruler, would have to fend for herself. Frances was more fortunate than the duchess of Northumberland. She also asked to speak with Mary, but was refused. Desperate to save her husband’s life, she wrote an impassioned and disorganised letter to William Paget’s wife, Anne, imploring her to use her influence with the ladies close to Mary. If she was not allowed to speak to the queen herself, she placed all her hope on the two women she believed stood the best chance of pleading her case: ‘Now good madame,’ she wrote, ‘for the love you bear to God forget me not: and make my lady marquess of Exeter my said “good lady” and to remember me to Mistress Clarencius to continue as she hath begun for me.’ She also asked for help for her sons, though she added with a frankness that speaks much for the depth of her love for her husband: ‘I do not so much care for them as for their father who was to me … the best gentleman that ever living woman was matched withal’. Neither Lady Exeter nor Susan Clarencius succeeded in saving Northumberland, but there is interesting indirect evidence that Susan, at least, may well have tried. When the duchess died in 1555 she left her ‘tawny velvet jewel coffer’ to Mistress Clarencius and her ‘high-backed gown of wrought velvet’ to Anne Paget.
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But in August 1553, as for her daughter-in-law, Jane Grey, the Tower of London became her prison. It was clear where Mary’s retribution would lie.
 
And now the one figure who had been missing throughout the crisis of July 1553 emerged from the shadows to make her move. Princess Elizabeth was at Hatfield House in Hertfordshire when Edward died. A distance of 15 miles separated her from Mary at Hunsdon, but there is nothing to indicate that the two women had any contact until Mary was proclaimed queen. Like Mary, Elizabeth was summoned to London, ostensibly to visit her sick brother, but she stayed put. Given that her own prospects and, indeed, probably her life depended on how her sister fared, her inaction could easily have put her in danger. She would surely not have been overlooked for long if Northumberland had succeeded in capturing Mary. Did she know of Mary’s plans but resolve to remain aloof until there was a definite outcome? Perhaps she did not rate Mary’s chances any more than the council in London did. There could have been an opportunistic aspect to her inaction. Perhaps she believed that, if Mary failed, she could pursue her own claim to the throne, since she was not a papist. Apparently she never considered giving unreserved support, either publicly or practically, to her sister though if it had come to a fight the number of men she could have supplied from her own affinity might have been crucial. Given the unpredictability of the situation and her own natural caution, far greater than Mary’s, her wait-and-see attitude is not surprising. She had her own reasons, based on hard experience, to fear the inconstancy of politicians in London. On top of this, Edward’s attempt to cut her out of the succession was a bitter blow in view of the almost flamboyant affection she had always shown him.
Once it was certain that Mary had prevailed, Elizabeth wrote with congratulations. She was preparing to come and greet her sister but, with an attention to detail that may have been somewhat irritating, she was equally concerned with what she should wear. Must it be mourning for Edward VI? she wondered.
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Apparently she was informed that this was unnecessary. The dictates of fashion and decorum satisfied, she then moved back into London, where she established herself in advance of Mary’s planned entry into the capital. On 29 July, accompanied by 2,000 of the well-armed men she had conspicuously failed to offer her sister, Elizabeth rode through the City of London, sporting the Tudor colours, to take up residence at Somerset House. She was met with great popular acclaim. Her ability to muster such an impressive force belies the image of the defenceless princess so beloved of historical novelists. This was a powerful young woman, a Tudor to her beautifully manicured fingertips, fully conscious of who she was. After this splendid show, she left the next day to meet her victorious sister at the royal manor of Wanstead. They had great cause to celebrate Mary’s success together, since it restored the direct line of their father. In one of the charming acts of generosity that were typical of Mary, she gave jewels to her sister’s ladies. Later, Elizabeth herself received white coral beads trimmed with gold and a ruby-and-diamond brooch telling the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, both from the queen’s personal collection.
But there were undercurrents between the sisters, tensions not yet acknowledged openly but also not far below the surface.The clever little sister that Mary loved as a child was gone, replaced by a woman she did not really know. At 20 years old, Elizabeth was in full bloom. Her adult presence - and she had plenty of it - disturbed Mary. How could it not? The spectre of Anne Boleyn haunted her still. When Mary looked at Elizabeth, she saw someone who could have been a younger, taller version of herself.The two women bore a striking resemblance to each other, with their red hair, long noses, heart-shaped faces and thin lips. They shared a love of fine clothes, the latest fashions and jewels. No one who saw them together could doubt that they were the daughters of Henry VIII, though Mary herself came to question it when their relationship was at its most difficult. But this was unworthy.Their father may have deprived Elizabeth of her title but he never questioned her birth.
For the present, buoyed up by the joy of her accession and distracted by the many decisions concerning advisers and policy that had to be made in a very short space of time, Mary put aside her misgivings. Elizabeth came to her dutifully and quite properly and they would enjoy Mary’s victory together. On 3 August came a moment that only the queen herself and a small group of those closest to her had dared to contemplate a mere month before. Accompanied by an estimated 10,000 men, the new monarch entered her capital. Huge crowds acclaimed her as she rode in her royal chariot.‘Her look, her manner, her gestures, her countenance were such that in no event could they have been improved,’ reported the imperial ambassadors. ‘She was dressed in violet velvet, her skirts and sleeves embroidered in gold; her face is more than middling-fair; her equipage was regal. She was followed by my Lady Elizabeth, her sister, whom she has welcomed with great warmth, even to kissing all her ladies… her estate has been increased since the Queen’s accession.’
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