Nine Days a Queen: The Short Life and Reign of Lady Jane Grey (17 page)

"My father will be beheaded on the twenty-third of this month. Beheaded, Jane. I fear we both will share the same fate."

"No, Guildford. Don't."

He gave a small smile. "I have carved your name on the wall of my room, Jane. People will see it. It will be there always, for generations,"

What could I say? "As long as you keep busy," I answered. "Master Partridge is a good man to let us meet like this. But we must say good-bye now so we don't get him in trouble."

"Jane?" His voice cracked, and he reached for my hand over the hedge.

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He looked so young of a sudden. So much like a child. He was genuinely frightened. I gave him my hand briefly. "Have a care, Guildford," I said.

Tears filled his eyes and near spilled over. "I have not been a good husband to you. Do you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive," I said.

"Do you think we could pass notes, with the help of Master Partridge?"

"I wouldn't want to get him into trouble."

"Jane." He tried to speak again, but couldn't. His voice broke.

"I must go, Guildford. We have no more time. God keep you." And I turned and ran away from him, down another path.

August went on and routine took over. The days were hot but already the evenings and mornings were cooler and the slant of the sun looked different, a little less bold and more mellow.

Mrs. Partridge gave me a warm blanket for the nights.

That's when my demons came, haunting me. Outside on Tower Hill was the execution block,

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where Northumberland would soon go. Where Sir Thomas had gone. And his brother Edward.

Sir Thomas! That was so long ago! Like another lifetime!

Nights, I knew I would end up on that execution block too. What would keep me from it? They'd behead Northumberland and that would make Mary think of his son Guildford, and then her mind would settle on me.

An owl called from somewhere on the grounds outside, where there were looming shapes and dark shadows. And the sound echoed in my soul and found places of sadness and depths of fear I did not know existed.

At supper on September third Master Partridge told us that the Queen had given Edward Courtney back his earldom. "And expensive clothes and land and a diamond ring and sixteen thousand crowns," he added.

Lucky Edward.

"Some say she is to wed him," he said, "Others say Philip the Second of Spain. My money is on Philip, as is every bloke's in every public tavern."

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I was sixteen in October, but I did not feel like sixteen. Sometimes I still felt like the child who had gone to live with Queen Katharine and King Henry, who had romped in the gardens with Elizabeth at Chelsea Manor.

November came and there were still fall roses in the Tower gardens. The sun still felt warm in the middle of the day.

November came and the wives of Guildford's brothers, John, Robert, Ambrose, and Henry, were allowed to visit and stay with their husbands in Beauchamp Tower. November came and with it word that Guildford and I were to proceed to the Guildhall for our trial.

They sent us by barge down the river. Mrs. Ellen went with us. I wore

the

new black gown she had sewn for me. It had an overskirt of black velvet. My hood was of black satin, trimmed with pearls.

At least four hundred halberdiers guarded the streets after we left the barge and walked to the Guildhall. The people had come out by the thousands to see us. I did not know we would

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cause such a commotion and it was passing strange to see so many faces after being isolated for so long.

The halberdiers had to hold the people back as they pressed toward us, and I heard whispers from some women: "Look, she's just a little girl! A child!"

Well, I suppose I was a child, so now I wanted to cry.

The hall was large and drafty and frightening. The trial was brief and deadly. We pled guilty to treason. Judge Morgan then read the dreadful sentence.

We were sentenced to death.

In front of the judge's bar there was an axe. When we came in, the edge was turned away from us; but after the judge passed sentence, the executioner, who stood by, turned the edge toward us in a symbolic gesture.

We knew what it meant.

The executioner followed us to the water gate when we went back to the barge, and the crowd assembled around him.

There were cries of: "Well, what is it? Death or mercy?''

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"Arraigned and condemned," he said loudly. "Judgment to die."

I knew it was a formality. I knew it had to be carried out thus. But the words chilled me to the bone.

"Jane cannot die," I heard a woman from the crowd wail. "She is but a child. Do we execute children now?"

There was no answer.

Back in my lodgings there was considerable weeping and wailing from Mrs. Ellen. "I am innocent," I told her. "Queen Mary knows the crown was thrust upon me. She will not let me die. She will pardon me, you will see. Maybe even at the last minute. Come, let's go downstairs for supper."

We heard that the citizens in London were against Queen Mary's Spanish marriage, that they were calling Philip II "Jack Spaniard." We heard that the council was begging her to wed Courtney, the Englishman.

One day Sir John Bridges, the Lieutenant of the Tower, came to our lodging and told me that my father had requested permission to

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visit, if I would see him.

I was half afraid to say yes. There were whispers from Master Partridge and his wife of rebellions being formed to keep Mary from marrying her Spanish prince. And I knew if rebellions were being formed, my father would be part of them.

But how could I say no to my father? I said yes, and when he came, I asked to be left alone with him, which I was.

"Jane." He put his hands on the sides of my face and held them there for a moment. It was the only tenderness I ever remember from him. Ever.

He looked older than his forty-five years now. His hair was almost all gray and his hands trembled.

I inquired after my mother and sisters. "Mary and Catherine are ladies-in-waiting for Queen Mary," he said. "It is a good sign, Jane, that she will forgive you."

"I hope so," I said.

"Jane, listen to me." And he took my hand and sat me down beside him. "The people are not happy with Mary's choice for a husband. Some are going to try to stop her from marrying

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Philip. Do you know what will happen to this country with a Spanish prince?"

"I have been told," I said.

"The Spanish will come into this realm with armor and guns and will make us Englishmen worse than enemies, for this realm will be brought into such bondage as never before."

There was no arguing. He was passionate.

"Jane," he whispered, "the city fathers are anxious. In country shires, the people are polishing up weapons and looking for leaders. Peter Carew in the west and Sir Thomas Wyatt in Kent are organizing rebellions on a large scale. I am going to join Sir Thomas. We may have you back on the throne yet."

"No!" I said vehemently.

"Jane"--and he took both my hands in his-- "you must be ready if it comes to that. We cannot have Spanish rule."

"I am condemned to death already. But there is still a chance of mercy from Queen Mary. She is my cousin. She will not kill me. I have written to her and declared my loyalty."

"Declare all the loyalty you want. Wyatt has a faultless plan. They are issuing an anti-Spanish

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proclamation in Leicester and Coventry on the twenty-sixth. Jane, I ask nothing of you. Just to keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. And to be there if we need you. You can see I am booted and spurred and ready to ride."

"I will always care for you, Father," I said.

It had to be said or he would never cease his prattle about rebellion. And I wanted no more of it. When he bade me good-bye, I told him to mind himself.

"We don't want you in the Tower," I said.

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TWENTY-FOUR

C

hristmas came and went. It would have been my first Christmas as Queen. I could imagine the merriment at court, the feasts, the masques, the entertainments. Did Mary worry for her kingdom?

She sent out eight thousand men to put down the revolts. They stayed out until the end of January, putting down the rebellious troops.

There was a proclamation out there somewhere, naming me as the Queen's rival. Oh, I had hoped my father wouldn't do it. I had prayed he wouldn't do it. Would I never stop being a pawn for ambitious men?

I tried not to think of it. But each night at

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supper, I couldn't wait until Master Partridge told us the news.

One moment there was hope for the rebellions, the next, news of defeat. Men deserted their respective armies, turned their coats, and went begging the Queen for mercy when they saw the rebellions were failing.

And then, on February sixth, Master Partridge gave us the news. Wyatt was captured. My father had been caught hiding under a bundle of hay near a church, where he had stayed, shivering, for two days and. nights before he was sniffed out by a dog.

A traitorous, scheming man named Huntingdon had defected from the rebellious forces and gone to fight for the Queen. He had delivered my father up to the Lieutenant of the Tower only a few hours before Wyatt was brought in at Traitors Gate. Then Huntingdon went to Westminster for a meeting with the Queen.

She thanked him and gave him a diamond ring.

It was over.

And of course, the blame for it all was put on

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me. Certain members of the council wrote to Prince Philip that "Jane of Suffolk and her husband are to lose their heads."

I did not believe it. I had sat in my lodgings for the past months, sewing, reading, studying, and praying. I had not recruited men to fight for me. I had not plotted. I wished Mary well. Gould I help what others had done?

No. Mary had always been straight thinking and honest and caring toward me. She had once said we were like sisters. I would not believe she would now be anything less.

The council members could write all the letters they wanted to Prince Philip of Spain. Queen Mary could, and likely would, sign our death warrants. There was always mercy and pardon at the end. She would grant me a reprieve. I was sure of it.

My father and his brothers were brought to the Tower on the sixth of February. On that same day Queen Mary signed death warrants for me and for Guildford.

Formality, I told everyone. Just formality.

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And to prove it, I had to go about acting as if I were going to die. I wrote notes to both my sisters. I read the mail my father sent me. I wrote to Guildford. They said he was crying in his lodgings.

I reminded him how Queen Mary was my cousin and as such would pardon us at the last moment. I told him to be brave.

Then I had to decide on a dress to wear to my execution.

"How can you, child?" Mrs. Ellen asked.

"I can and I will," I told her. "Fix the black I wore to my trial. Put a white ruff about the neck for hope. Let a bit of red show through the slashed sleeves."

She set about doing so. I sent for a Protestant minister, but was denied him. Instead Queen Mary sent her own minister. Her very own! His name was Father Feckenham. Of course, he was Catholic, but he was so nice that I took to him immediately and we became fast friends.

He assured me that Mary had no intention of carrying out my sentence, that it was all for show. Londoners loved a show, he reminded me. And when they saw me out there, child that I still was,