The Queen's Rivals Part 9

Mercifully, a dungeon was not our sister's destination. Speaking soft and gentle, to try to allay her fears, and gesturing for the guards to fall behind as they crossed the Tower Green, Sir John escorted her to the pleasant home of the equally pleasant gentleman gaoler, Master Partridge, and his wife, which adjoined his own fine timbered residence, and possessed an excellent view so she "could sit by the window for hours and watch all the doings and comings and goings" at the Tower. She might even, if she liked, walk out to enjoy the gardens and fresh air or to feed the Tower ravens.

"A pack of greedy voracious pets they are, my lady," Sir John said fondly as one of the big, black birds lighted in his path and gave a great squawk before taking wing again. "You are to be treated well, my lady," he a.s.sured her, "and have naught to fear from any of us." He paused and added meaningfully, "We know 'twas all none of your doing, and though some would adjudge you a traitor, you are an innocent one and have every hope of receiving the Queen's pardon in due course; it's sure to come when things have settled some."

The Partridges were a well-named couple, plump, amiable, and smiling. Introducing themselves as "Nate and Nelly," they greeted Jane warmly as though she were their much-loved niece. Mrs. Partridge had even baked some apple tarts to welcome Jane and told her that she was "bound and determined to put some meat on your poor bones." Mrs. Ellen and Mrs. Tylney were already there. It turned out that there was no need for us to convey Jane's message; they had antic.i.p.ated her desire and were already busily unpacking the plain garb that Jane preferred, putting her beloved books on the shelves, and arranging her desk before the window, so she would have the best light for writing. Nelly Partridge herself had already made up the bed fresh with fat, goose down pillows and a bright quilt "to help chase out any gloom from the room."

Poor Guildford was not so fortunate; he was taken to the Beauchamp Tower, albeit to a commodious and comfortable cell that he was to share with his brothers, and the Dudleys' wealth afforded them many luxuries denied to common prisoners. Guildford was even allowed to have Fluff and all his fine clothes with him, and many delicacies and fine wines for their table. They even had apples to feed to the porcupines in the Tower menagerie, to which the brothers had taken a fancy.

There was no more we could do at the Tower, so we hired a barge to take us back to Baynard's Castle. Kate kissed me and said, "All will be well," and even let me hold her little dog, whose name she said was Cinnamon.

But all would not be well, and even more unpleasant news awaited us at Baynard's Castle. A maid met us at the door and said we must go straight in to the earl's study. The Earl of Pembroke had, with the rest of the Council, thrown a cap of gold in the air and declared himself all for Mary, and he would not suffer his only son to be bound in "pernicious wedlock with the daughter and sister of traitors." Kate's marriage-fortuitously yet unconsummated-must be annulled right away. Her things had already been packed and sent on to Suffolk House, and all her animals too, and she was to be turned out, to go to the devil or wherever pleased her; it was a matter of complete indifference to her formerly fond and indulgent father-in-law, who now stood there staring at her as though she were a loathsome, leprous thing he could not bear the sight of.

With a heartrending cry that brought tears to my eyes, Kate fell on her knees and clung to him, sobbing out her love for Berry and begging that he let her stay. Spying her husband, watching covertly from behind a velvet curtain, Kate reached out an entreating hand to him, but he hadn't the courage to defy his father and, with tears in his eyes, and mouthing the words "I'm sorry!" Berry turned away.

"Kate"-I pulled at her and pleaded-"do not so humble and demean yourself before this man; neither he nor his cowardly, milksop son are worth it!"

But Kate would not hear or heed me, and her tears fell on the Earl of Pembroke's shoes like rain as she groveled shamelessly, forgetting all pride and thinking only of love.

In desperation, she lunged up and grabbed Berry's arm, forcing him to stand with her before his father.

"You cannot annul our marriage," she said boldly, lying blatantly. "It has been consummated. We defied Northumberland's edict, and I may be with child." She laid a hand on her belly. "Surely you would not want to risk your grandson being born a b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Berry is frail and sickly, and you have no other son, or daughter either, so unless he gets a son, your line will die with you!"

Oh, Kate! My jaw dropped and I shook my head as I stood there, dumbfounded. I could not believe what she was doing. What did she hope to gain by this deception? Time to drag it out and be hurt all the more? A slow torture instead of a swift end? She could not hope to have the chance to get Berry alone and make the lie true. If he decided to be patient and wait to see if Kate bled, Pembroke would be sure to have them watched even more vigilantly than ever before. Stop, Kate, stop! I wanted to shake her and shout. You are fighting a losing battle that you cannot win! Recollect your pride and leave this sorry wretch and his sniveling boy with your head held high! You deserve better and you can find it!

The Earl of Pembroke took a step forward and stared straight into the stormy ocean of Kate's blue gray eyes, still glimmering wet with the tears of her heart.

To her credit, Kate proved herself to have a better card face than our father ever did. He scrutinized her hard, but Kate held her ground, her face inscrutable, and in the end he could not say whether she was bluffing. She had succeeded in planting the seed of uncertainty . . . for what little it was worth.

"Is this true?" He turned to Berry.

"I-I-" the young man hung his head and stammered, his blus.h.i.+ng face proving the aptness of his nickname. "I-do not know! Please, Father, do not ask me anymore; I cannot bear it!" Then he burst into tears, covered his face with his hands, and ran out, weeping volubly, from fear or heartbreak or both I could not rightly say.

"Very well"-Pembroke nodded-"we shall see." He summoned a servant and bade him take Kate upstairs, to her former bedchamber, now stripped bare of her belongings, and station men outside her door to ensure that she made no attempt to leave and no one entered without his permission.

I stepped forward then, clutching Kate's hand, determined not to let go. "Where Kate goes I go!"

Pembroke snorted and shrugged. "What care I, little grotesque? You are of no importance, an ugly, worthless thing that can neither help nor hinder." He gestured impatiently for us both to leave his study and mount the stairs to the room that would be our prison until he set us free, whenever that would be.

Did an hour pa.s.s or two or even three? I could not say. We could have looked at the clock, of course, but somehow this didn't occur to us. Kate and I lay silently on her bed, with her little dog between us, staring at the ceiling and holding hands, tensely awaiting we knew not what. Did he mean to keep us here until her monthly bleeding proved the lie? Or had he something more sinister in mind?

Finally the door swung open and Pembroke came in accompanied by the most bizarre creature I had ever seen. I sat up and blinked and rubbed my eyes, but I was not dreaming. Standing at the foot of the bed staring at us with gold-lidded evil eyes was a filthy hag arrayed in even filthier finery, made of hundreds of colorful and glittery sc.r.a.ps of rich materials haphazardly st.i.tched and patched together to form a jagged, ragged rainbow motley. Her face was painted like a harlot's, bold scarlet outlining a mouth filled with blackened stumps. She wore her dingy, dirty, graying hair trailing down her back in a gay messy tangle of little braids plaited with silken ribbons every color of the rainbow, gold and silver ta.s.sels, and even tiny bells. Golden hoops drooped from her ears, and stacks of clanking gold bangles adorned her wrists and ankles. The nails on her bare feet were long and yellow with sharp tips like daggers-did she file them to create those sharp points? I marveled that walking unshod on the earth or stone floors hadn't blunted or broken them. Even before Pembroke introduced her as Kate's "old friend, Madame Astarte" I knew who she was; I recognized her from Kate's description. But how did he know? Both Kate and I started and exchanged puzzled looks. Had he had Kate followed?

But there wasn't time to ponder it. From amidst the filthy folds of her skirt of many colors, Madame Astarte drew a bottle that looked to be filled with black bile.

With a swift movement, she grasped Kate's head, forcing it back, and put the bottle to her lips. "Open or I'll break those pretty pearly teeth!" she threatened.

With a shriek, I launched myself across the bed at that wicked Circe, clawing and biting with all my might.

"Run, Kate, run!" I cried, but Pembroke barked an order to the men outside the door to stop her as he pulled me off the witch and threw me contemptuously into the corner. I heard Kate scream my name, and she started to run to me, but Pembroke caught her, and she kicked and flailed as he bore her back to the bed and held her as he shouted for Madame Astarte to do her business fast.

My head had struck the wall, and for a moment or minutes, I sat there dazed and stunned watching through a starry dazzle as, with sharp scarlet-painted nails digging into Kate's chin, drawing pinp.r.i.c.ks of blood, Madame Astarte forced my sister to drain the evil bottle to the dregs.

"Drink this, my pretty," she cackled as Kate thrashed and kicked, helpless against the two of them. "It will void your womb if there is anything in it. If not, I pity you the more for the cramps it will make claw and grip you from within until you wish you are dead."

And then it was over. They were gone. The door was shut, locked from without, and we were alone again. Kate ran to me and knelt beside me, clasping my face, urgently imploring me to speak to her. I groaned and sat up straight, a.s.suring her I was fine, even as I noted the fierce ache in my spine where my hunched back had struck the wall.

"Can you stand?" Kate asked, helping me to slowly rise, but then she gave a great gasp and doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Hurry, the chamber pot, Mary!" she cried as the pain brought her to her knees.

The agony my Kate endured! She was not with child, and there was little within her bowels to expel, and once it was all gone the cramps continued, sharp as knives, making her gasp and cry out, and all I could do was hold her, bathe her face, and be there for her. I sang and told her stories, trying to help her mind rise above the pain that gripped her tight like an iron-gloved hand squeezing inside her, determined to wring her dry. I wanted to undress her to make her more comfortable, but she slapped my hands away, even as the beautiful embers and ashes gown grew heavy and soaked with sweat, wrinkled and twisted by the agonized jerking and writhing of her limbs. No, she said, she wanted nothing to delay our departure, she wanted to be ready the very instant we were able to go.

The sun set, and the stars came out to twinkle then faded away. With the first light of dawn, Kate took a deep breath, sat up, cried out, and doubled over again. I scrambled across the bed and tried to make her lie down again, but Kate shoved my hand away. Slowly she straightened her spine and, taking a deep breath again, tried to stand. She failed and fell down beside the bed, yet she would not stop; determinedly she dragged herself across the floor and hammered on the door.

She was kneeling there, hunched and s.h.i.+vering, when Pembroke appeared. She said not a word, but her eyes bored into his, burning with hatred. The silence was answer enough to suit him, and he stepped aside, gesturing that we were free to go. I ran to help Kate as, using the doorjamb, she pulled herself up. I let her lean on me, to give her what support I could, praying that my frail, crooked body did not buckle beneath her weight. I was terrified that she would fall down the stairs, hindered by the heavy, damp, bedraggled skirts and petticoats that tangled about her limbs. I wanted to turn back, swallow my pride and implore Pembroke to be kind and carry her down, or summon a servant to a.s.sist her, but Kate hissed at me through her pain-clenched teeth, "Don't you dare!"

Gripping tight the banister, she made her way slowly down and stumbled out the front door, which led out to the street; better that than risk the damp, slick stone of the water stairs. I left her sitting on the front steps, gasping, hugging her knees, gritting her teeth against the pain, and rocking back and forth, while I ran to hire a coach to take us to our parents' London house. The coachman was kind, and seeing Kate's distress, he came down from his box and carried her and set her gently inside his battered old coach that stank of urine and sour wine. But Kate was so grateful for his kindness that when we reached Suffolk House and he had carried her inside, where Henny waited to cluck over her, she pulled the wedding ring from her finger and laid it in his coa.r.s.e, leathery palm with a fervent "Thank you!" Of course a coin would have sufficed, but such an extravagant gesture was typical of Kate. "My s.h.i.+ning golden moment of proud defeat!" she said with a bitter, biting flippancy as she took one last look at the gold ring before she fell fainting at our feet.

Shortly afterward we received a doc.u.ment attesting to the fact that Kate's marriage had been formally dissolved. The same would soon happen to me, and I would find myself shunned and set aside, for not even Lord Wilton, the great war hero who had survived the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh, was brave enough to marry a traitor's daughter. Our betrothal, never publicly announced, was swiftly dissolved, and many never even knew of it until it was all over. They would shake their heads and sigh, and some would even presume to pat my shoulder and condole with me over my lost opportunity. But the truth was I didn't care; there was no love lost for me to lament over. I had never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve as ripe pluckings for any handsome gallant, much less a hideously disfigured braggart old enough to be my father living on his laurels and gory glory. I would sooner not marry at all than have a man who patted me on the head like a faithful spaniel when I fetched his slippers and plumped the pillows behind his back as he sat by the fire, growing ever more cantankerous and whiny, and endlessly reliving his old campaigns until I wanted to scream and seize one of his swords off the wall and run him through myself.

"Though we never met, we are well rid of each other," I said, and everyone commended me for putting on a brave face to cover my supposed disappointment.

7.

Our lady-mother would not allow us to be tainted by Jane's disgrace. "When a fox is caught in a trap sometimes it chews off its own leg to save its life," she said savagely as she shouted to Father, complaining of boredom in his bedchamber across the hall, to stay in bed. "Feign fearing for your life, Hal, if you haven't the wit to do it in truth! And enjoy that soft, comfortable bed while you can, for tomorrow you may be in the Tower if I cannot persuade the Queen to clemency!" She added this as she elbowed Henny aside and gave Kate's corset laces a vicious yank that made my sister, standing there clinging to the bedpost as though for dear life, wince and cry out, while I, in my new blue black velvet, sat and watched in silence, nervously fingering the sapphire and diamond crucifix our lady-mother had herself fastened about my neck while Hetty braided my hair with ropes of pearls.

But though I sat mute and pliant, inside my heart was raging. It was all so unfair! We were going to court to plead for our family's fortune and Father's life, but when I asked our lady-mother what about Jane, she sternly rebuked me and cautioned me not to mention my sister's name or refer to her at all even with the most subtle hint before our cousin, the Queen. It wasn't right! Jane was to be sacrificed, when she had done naught but obey our parents and her father-in-law. She had never wanted the Crown; she had been all along the p.a.w.n of ambitious, greedy, power hungry men, all of whom had turned tail and run to our royal cousin and saved themselves, and now Jane was a prisoner with no one to speak on her behalf. It wasn't fair! She amongst them all, even our beloved father, was the one most deserving of mercy!

"Pinch your cheeks to give them color!" our lady-mother hissed in Kate's ear as she gave the laces another sharp tug that I feared would snap Kate in half then knotted them tight. "Remember to smile, albeit demurely; you must subdue your sparkle," she counseled, though somehow, looking at Kate's pale and sickly face, I didn't think that would be a problem. "Anything more risks appearing unsuitably brazen given your current circ.u.mstances."

My sister teetered and seemed on the verge of fainting as she clung even tighter to the gilded bedpost. Yet she whispered softly, obediently, "Yes, my lady-mother." My poor Kate, all the fight and spirit seemed to have been wrung out of her by that vile black potion; she was so quiet now, so listless and pale, so caught up in her own woes that I feared she too had forgotten about Jane.

But our lady-mother didn't care how weak and wobbly Kate was, that she was loathe to go to court and appear before the all-appraising eyes as a divorced and disgraced woman, and even perchance see her former husband and father-in-law basking in the Queen's favor while we knelt before her as rosary-clutching, crucifix-wearing penitents.

"Too pale! You're whiter than a bedsheet, my girl; that will never do!" Our lady-mother sighed and stormed out to fetch her own rouge pot, pausing to shout again at Father, who was now whining petulantly for sugared almonds, while Kate, now arrayed in gold-flowered brocade the color of dried blood, sank down onto the foot of the bed and let Henny fasten a diamond crucifix about her throat and brush her beautiful hair, adorning it with diamond and pearl flowered combs, but otherwise leaving it unbound like a virgin's-our lady-mother's way of advertising the fact that Kate was again available and still a good and, most important of all, an unsullied catch-not just barely used and like a virgin but a virgin indeed.

"Remember who you are!" our lady-mother said fiercely as she gripped Kate's chin hard and began to paint her lips and cheeks. "Queen Mary is seven years past thirty. Her womb has been the bane of her existence, bringing her great pain every month since she first began to bleed-'strangulation of the womb' the doctors call it-and even if she should overcome her old maid's timidity and marry, until she bears a son, you are heiress to the throne! She cannot abide Elizabeth! So stop moping and hold your head up high, and I promise you, a day will come, when that weak, sniveling boy will beg you to take him back, and you can gaze at him with withering scorn and say, Nay! You shall have better, my love, far better than the Earl of Pembroke's puny son! The boy's character is as weak as his knees, and the same is probably true of his c.o.c.k too! You married a jelly, but trust me, my Kate, you are well rid of him! I know-I married a jelly too, that ninny lying across the hall braying like an a.s.s for sugared almonds when his very life is at stake, but I made it work for me. Take that lesson to heart, Kate, though the Lord and Law teach us that the husband rules and it is the wife's duty to obey his every wish and whim, I as your mother tell you that you, as a wife, must always find a way to gain the upper hand; you will be lost and miserable if you don't! Now smile!" she commanded and held up the mermaid hand mirror.

"Look at yourself! Such beauty should never even know what sorrow means! Your beauty is your fortune, my love; you can make men bleed and beg for you and use them as you will and never lift a finger even if they think that you are their pretty plaything; learn from this misfortune, my daughter, and use your power well while you can; beauty does not last forever, and one day you'll wake up and discover that without your beauty you are nothing!"

"Yes, my lady-mother." Kate nodded, staring straight ahead, her eyes blind and unseeing, and I was certain she had not heard a word. Thankfully, our lady-mother, already primping before the looking gla.s.s in her garish salmon velvet spangled with gold beads and diamonds, and trimmed with red fox fur, wasn't paying attention; she was preoccupied with stuffing a stray strand of Tudor red hair back into the golden net, fluffing the orange, pink, and white plumes on her velvet hat, and slathering yet more rouge on her cheeks, so Kate's docile answer was enough to content her.

I don't know how we did it. I don't know how we found the strength to walk into the presence chamber, a parade of penitents in finery instead of sackcloth and ashes, with censorious eyes glaring at us from all sides, and kneel humbly before our royal cousin. Kate faltered and almost fainted when we pa.s.sed the Earl of Pembroke, who stared straight ahead and through her like gla.s.s, and watery-eyed Berry, whose doughy belly made him look like a blueberry in his blue velvet doublet, but at least he had the decency to blush and hang his head in shame. But I held Kate's hand tight, letting her feel the bite of my nails, willing her to feel my own strength flowing into her and stay on her feet. She squeezed back and gave me a grateful little smile, and we continued our slow, torturous progress, following our lady-mother up to the gilded throne upon the crimson-carpeted dais where our royal cousin sat gowned in regal purple beneath the gold-fringed canopy of estate, squinting her shortsighted eyes at us.

It all pa.s.sed in a blur that, when we discussed it later, neither Kate nor I could recall clearly except in a few sharp fragments like shards of gla.s.s picked up from the muddy river silt. I remember kneeling several paces behind our lady-mother and staring entranced at her gold-spurred bloodred Spanish leather boots as she knelt laboriously, with creaking, protesting stays that made those standing nearest sn.i.g.g.e.r, before our royal cousin. Kate recalled our lady-mother's sausage-fat pink fingers twisting and tugging at the numerous chains of diamonds and ropes of pearls that encircled her thick, florid neck, pointedly caressing the most prominent jewel of all-a great diamond crucifix as large as a man's hand, while her other hand clutched the pink coral rosary at her waist. She swore we had seen the error of our ways and embraced the true faith and pleaded for Father's life, claiming that Northumberland had secretly administered a slow-acting poison, to influence Father's behavior and put him in fear of his life; compelling him to bend his will to his own if he hoped to attain the antidote and live. And our poor father yet languished, our lady-mother said, an ailing and befuddled invalid uncertain of his life, with a priest's comforting presence keeping vigil at his bedside, aiding in his prayers, which he uttered fervently every waking moment, imploring G.o.d to spare him and that Her Majesty Queen Mary find it in her heart to be merciful to her loyal and loving kinsman who, though he had never wavered in his love for her, had been led most grievously astray by the Devil's henchman Northumberland.

"My husband, as Your Majesty well knows," our lady-mother said apologetically, "is a weak and foolish man, and, alas, he fell into the power of Satan's emissary-the evil Northumberland. I tried, with a wife's gentle persuasions to dissuade him, but alas"-she sighed-"it is a wife's duty to obey her husband and be guided by him, not to counsel him or try to usurp his power."

I choked on my laughter and had to quickly feign a sneeze when she turned and glared furiously at me.

I remember our proud lady-mother, sweating and red-faced, crawling laboriously on her fat knees up the stairs of the dais to kiss the hem of Cousin Mary's purple velvet gown and then receive her embrace and a kiss on each cheek. Then Kate and I were there, in our cousin's arms, feeling her soft velvet sleeves enfolding us like a pair of purple wings, and the hot yet dry caress of her lips brus.h.i.+ng our cheeks and the overpowering odor of her musky perfume mingling with her sweat on that hot July day.

"We are family," the new queen magnanimously declared, "and all is forgiven!" Though all, I would later discover, didn't include Jane; she had been conveniently forgotten, like dust a lazy servant had swept under the grand Turkey carpet.

I gazed up into our royal cousin's pale, pinched, and lined face, half blinded by the rainbow of jewels bordering the purple velvet hood that crowned her faded hair as the sun poured in through the high arched windows and struck them, and prayed G.o.d that she could read my mind as I gripped her hands and silently beseeched her to be kind and merciful to Jane.

But Cousin Mary merely smiled and bent down to pat my cheek as she whispered, "You need not be in awe of me now that I am queen, little cousin; you are still as dear to me as ever." Then Kate was in her arms, as Cousin Mary crooned over her and caressed her face-"so pale, my pretty Kate!"-and condoled with her over the loss of her husband and, taking the pearl rosary that hung from Kate's waist and wrapping it comfortingly around her pale, bloodless fingers, promised that G.o.d would provide a balm for her wounds if she asked Him to. "Pray, Cousin Kate, pray, and in G.o.d's love you will find a greater consolation than in the arms of Pembroke's lad."

Kate nodded blankly and answered softly with a dazed, "Yes, Your Majesty." She looked ready to fall over in a faint, and I quickly moved to help guide her down the dais as we retreated, backward, curtsying thrice as royal etiquette demanded.

Cousin Mary said more, but neither Kate nor I remembered. We felt as if we were watching it all from under water and the babbling current m.u.f.fled our ears; it all seemed so foreign and far away as though it were happening to someone else and the scene was being played out in a foreign language that neither of us could comprehend. And then it was all over, and we were home again, back at Suffolk House, and our lady-mother was calling in the dressmakers again, to outfit Kate and me for court, where we were to go and live and serve our gracious queen as ladies of the bedchamber, and at the same time sternly shaking a finger at Father, who had padded in in his velvet slippers with his comfit box in hand and his valet in tow bearing a gilded tray groaning with fruit and cream-filled pastries and pretty marzipan cakes. He sat pale and s.h.i.+vering by the fire in a cinnamon and white, swirled, brocade dressing gown, listing to our lady-mother insisting that he must, when questioned, say that he did not remember, that he had been ill, and in fear-deadly fear-for his life, and that he must lay all the blame upon Northumberland and say that he had given him poison that had made him follow docile as a dog wherever he led, even unto the folly of committing high treason.

"Yes, dear." Father nodded distractedly as he nibbled on a piece of marzipan.

"But what about Jane?" I asked.

"Shut up, Mary!" our lady-mother hissed as she swung around and dealt me such a slap that I, sitting on the foot of Kate's bed, fell backward, my legs actually flying up over my head, in a somersault that would have been comic had it all not been so very tragic.

Seeing our woebegone, tear-streaked faces, Father came and sat down between us. He gave us each a sugar roll and put his arms around us.

"There, there"-he patted our shoulders-"it's not so bad; think of all the wonderful pastries and sweetmeats you shall have to eat at court! Cakes filled with berries in wine and slathered with rich cream, honeyed pear tarts in flaky golden crusts, marzipan cakes with gilded frosting-mmmm . . . edible gold!-bitter oranges and tart lemons made sweet with s.h.i.+mmering coatings of sugar crystals, tangy candied figs and apricots, candied cherries bright and fine as rubies, red jewels to delight the tongue, sugarplums, almonds hidden inside sh.e.l.ls of colored sugar, mincemeat pies, moist golden cakes sodden with cinnamon syrup, and the subtleties-just think of the subtleties, my dears!"

As our lady-mother rolled her eyes, he mused rapturously about these wonderful works of edible art, wrought from spun sugar and marzipan, in marvelous, miraculous, and magnificent designs, confectionary art and architecture, made especially for the Queen's table, by confectioners who deserved to stand shoulder to shoulder with the world's most brilliant architects. "I've never understood it! Why are the greatest architects remembered but the best pastry cooks forgotten? Where are their memorials? I'll tell you-melted like sugar in the rain! Oh the fickleness of humanity! It makes me want to weep!" he cried and reached into his comfit box and shoved another handful of sugared almonds into his mouth.

Kate and I just sat there, staring down at the sugar rolls growing sticky in the heat of our hands. It just wasn't fair! We were to be ladies-in-waiting, to live in luxury at court, with dancing, feasting, and beautiful clothes, and a generous allowance for each of us of 80 per annum, while our sister was to languish in prison with the shadow of the ax hanging over her. Just as Nero fiddled while Rome burned, our lady-mother was draping our shoulders with pale orange satin to see which of us it suited best and debating whether the gold braid or vermilion silk fringe made the best trim, and Father was railing against the unjustly forgotten pastry cooks of bygone centuries. There seemed to be no justice left in the world!

8.

To appease the fears and keep-or win-the good regard of her n.o.bles, Queen Mary decreed that they should keep their church spoils and plunder, that while the religion would in time be restored, the properties and goods would remain where they were, in private hands. But there were other things that made the men squirm uneasily in their seats around the council table-Queen Mary seemed to trust Senor Renard, the Spanish amba.s.sador, more than she did any Englishman. She deferred to him at every turn. And though it was true these men, most of whom had betrayed and sacrificed my sister to save themselves, did not merit great trust, they were all Englishmen born and bred who would put their own proud little nation before the interests of any foreign country and fight for it unto the death.

It all seemed such a fraud to me! My family and many of the men who now sat on the Queen's Council had, until a scant few weeks ago, been Protestants, ardent devotees of the Reformed Religion, yet now we all decked ourselves with rosaries and crucifixes, listened to the priests' Latin litanies, and marveled at the miraculous moment when the bread and wine became the body and blood of our savior Jesus Christ, and never missed a Ma.s.s.

"We are all turncoats and hypocrites," I said to Kate one day as we were dressing in the room we shared at Greenwich Palace, donning the russet and black velvet livery we wore during our daily attendance upon the Queen, saving our finery for evenings, holy days, Sundays, special celebrations, banquets, b.a.l.l.s, and feasts.

Kate vehemently agreed, adding, albeit softly lest the walls have ears, that she herself believed that Princess Elizabeth had it right and that there was but one Jesus Christ and all the rest was naught but dispute and debate over trifles.

As I finished lacing the back of her gown, Kate turned and in all seriousness said to me, "I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and try to honor and live by his teachings, I read my Bible, follow the Ten Commandments, and say my prayers; why is that not enough, Mary? Why must we be either Catholic or Protestant? Why must lives be ruined and sacrificed for either faith?"

"Heaven only knows." I sighed as I stepped up onto the trunk at the foot of our bed and grasped the bedpost so Kate could return the favor and lace mine. "For I certainly don't!"

Meanwhile, in Master Partridge's house, Jane waited, through the sweltering heat and summer storms. Wait-that was really all she could do. She had already written and justified herself as best she could to the Queen.

Day after day she pa.s.sed sitting tensely by the window, quietly observing the gate to see who came in and out, warily watching the Tower Green, gazing at the Beauchamp Tower, where Guildford and his brothers were kept, and the chapel. All the while the fever burned slow and steadily within her, making the August heat even harder to bear. Mercifully it never rose alarmingly high, never enough to drive her out of her senses into the arms of delirium, or to require more than cooling compresses, but it never departed either.

From her window, Jane watched our royal cousin ride through the Tower gates in triumphal procession, amidst heralds and trumpets and splendidly arrayed n.o.bility, mounted on a white palfrey caparisoned in gold embroidered white velvet nigh down to the horse's hooves, with Cousin Mary herself in grand purple array embroidered with a blinding blaze of gold and a jeweled coronet casting rainbows over her faded hair and haggard face.

Before we hastened to take up her train, Kate and I waved and blew a swift kiss to Jane, just to let her know that we had not forgotten her.

And Jane was there at her window, to observe in stern and disapproving silence the Catholic requiem Ma.s.s Queen Mary ordered in memoriam of the late King Edward. Though, in fairness to our royal cousin, I must say this was more for her than for him, for she had already given Edward the stark Protestant funeral service at Westminster Abbey that he would have wanted. Kate and I, as well as our lady-mother, walked, veiled and black clad, each of us with a large silver crucifix on our breast and a black onyx rosary in our hands, behind the new queen, amidst priests in embroidered and brocaded robes and miters and swinging censers that engulfed us in perfumed blue clouds of incense that made us cough and feel light-headed.

And Jane was there at her window to watch Northumberland embrace the Catholic faith in a desperate ploy to preserve his life. Whenever she saw him being escorted under guard to hear Ma.s.s in the Tower's chapel, she pounded the gla.s.s and loudly denounced him as "a hypocrite," "an evil fraud," "a base and false man," "a white-livered milksop," and "the devil's imp." She accused him of "trading the beautiful temple of G.o.d for Satan's stinking, filthy kennel" and shouted, "Whoso denieth Him before men, he will not know Him in His Father's kingdom!" But if he heard her, Northumberland gave no sign, studiously bowing his head over his book of hours as a pearl rosary swung from his hand, the dangling silver crucifix catching the last rays of the dying sun. Sometimes his sons followed after-Ambrose, John, and Robert-a penitent trio of bowed, dark heads, but strangely never Guildford. Later I heard that when he was coaxed to convert, to try to save himself, Guildford-vain, foppish, frivolous Guildford-replied that since his wife valued the Reformed Faith so highly he didn't think "it should be cast off lightly like one suit of clothes for another."

On the twenty-third day of August, Jane was there at her window to witness the poignant farewell between Northumberland and his sons, outside the chapel where he had just heard Ma.s.s for the last time. Stoically, he bade each boy a fond farewell, until he came to Guildford. It was then that Northumberland's famous composure deserted him. He pressed his golden boy to his breast again and again and wept and kissed him, before Sir John Bridges gently parted them and led Northumberland away to die upon the scaffold, where he once again renounced the Reformed Religion and implored the Queen to be merciful to his children, and remember that they had only obeyed their father as all good and obedient children were reared to do.

But there was reason to take heart; the night before her coronation, when I knelt to remove Cousin Mary's gold-embroidered, rose velvet slippers, while Kate brushed and braided her long, lank hair in readiness for bed, hoping to coax the faded, dingy, orange and gray strands into holding a wave on her day of triumph, Cousin Mary dismissed her other ladies. She bade us to sit beside her and, with her arms draped affectionately about us, confided that she could not bear to have a pall of sorrow cast over the morrow, she wanted it to be a happy day for all, so we must banish our fears and know that Jane had naught to fear from her.

"An innocent girl should not suffer for the crimes and greed of others, and my conscience, and my heart, will not allow me to condemn unjustly. I know it may seem an unjust punishment, but your sister is safer where she is at present. She is housed in comfort and treated with great kindness. As soon as I am married and have borne a son, then, when no man can dare raise a banner in your sister's name, to try to claim for her a crown I know she does not want, then it will be safe-for her and for me-to set her free. For now, I am protecting her by preventing any man from using her as his p.a.w.n; when I restore Jane to liberty I want her to be truly free, to know that no one can ever do that to her again. She is a young woman, not a weapon, and youth and beauty are fleeting, I know, and I want her to be able to enjoy them before they slip away."

Jane was there, as we knew she would be, watching from her window, upon that sultry September morning when the long, splendid coronation procession a.s.sembled in the courtyard, led by Queen Mary seated resplendently in a golden litter in sumptuous ermine-bordered, gold-embroidered sapphire velvet and a dazzling coronet of jeweled flowers like a spring garden sprouting from the lost and faded glory of her hair.

For that occasion, I made two red silk petticoats trimmed with golden lace, for Kate and me to wear beneath our new crimson and ermine gowns. Upon each I embroidered three golden b.u.t.terflies, working a concealed initial into the wings of each-J, K, M. When we emerged from the royal apartments, to take our places in the procession, we boldly went to stand before Master Partridge's house, so that Jane could see us. We lifted our skirts to show our petticoats, the three golden b.u.t.terflies, and we held up three fingers then pointed up to Jane, then back at ourselves, to show that we had not forgotten her, that we were still together, sisters three, and nothing could divide us.

"The brilliant one," Jane mouthed.

Then it was Kate's turn-"The beautiful one."

Then mine-"The beastly little one."

Jane watched us climb into a gilded chariot where a discreet crimson-carpeted step had been supplied to put me at an equal height with Kate. It was with glad and excited hearts that we waved gaily back at Jane as the trumpets sounded and the long, winding procession headed out the Tower gates to progress slowly through the city to Westminster Abbey. We blew kisses back to her, hoping to convey to her that soon, very soon, all would be well, we had the Queen's word upon it, and she would soon be free, to live quietly with her beloved books and Guildford and perhaps-how Kate and I hoped!-learn to embrace the joys of being young, beautiful, and to taste and savor the fruits of love. We still believed that love was possible between Jane and Guildford; if Jane would only stop fighting desire as though it were a demon sent to tempt and torment her.

But we didn't know then that Senor Renard was holding Prince Philip, the dazzling golden Spanish bridegroom, out, tantalizing, before Queen Mary, dangling the man whose portrait our royal cousin had fallen in love with like a carrot before a donkey's nose, trying to compel her to condemn Jane, making it so that Mary must choose between Jane's life and the love she had always longed for. But in those days our cousin was still clinging strong to clemency, wringing her hands, and crying, "I cannot find it in my heart to put my unfortunate kinswoman to death." Vainly she tried to a.s.sure Amba.s.sador Renard that "every requisite precaution will be taken before I set the Lady Jane at liberty." But by these a.s.surances he would not be placated, and Mary's dream of marriage with her gold-bearded Spanish prince seemed to drift further and further away, until, I think, she too began to see that Jane stood between her and the most incredible, fierce desire she had ever known.

Jane was still a prisoner the bl.u.s.tery October day when she turned sixteen. We were afraid she would think that we had forgotten her, so we wanted to do something special to let her know that even though our bodies were apart we, her loving and devoted sisters, were always there with her in spirit. Through Mrs. Ellen, we sent her a rich plum cake and a beautiful but, by court standards, plain, new gown of the more modest cut Jane favored. It was made of velvet of that most delicate hue of blue known as milk-and-water with its modest square-cut bodice edged with luminous moonstones. Mrs. Ellen ignored Jane's protests and dressed her in it and brushed and crowned the red-kissed brown waves of her hair with a delicate pearl chaplet. With the connivance of Mr. and Mrs. Partridge and Sir John Bridges, we arranged that Jane be encouraged to walk in the walled garden after supper and enjoy the breeze off the river.

How Kate and I relished imagining the scene that followed! Kate pleaded a headache and to be excused from her duties that night, and I was allowed to stay with her, and we lay side by side on our bed, imagining Guildford Dudley clad head to toe in s.h.i.+ning white stealing up behind Jane and gently cupping his hand over her mouth so she would not scream. With his own body, he would press her against the side of Master Partridge's house, letting her feel his desire, and there, in the shadows of the weeping willow tree, sheltered by the lilac bush, lift her skirts and make sweet love to her. Even when the rain began to fall and the lightning flashed across the darkened sky, Kate and I imagined them clinging all the closer, feeling the full scorching heat of their pa.s.sion in the chill of the autumn rain.

But Jane always knew how to spoil a good dream. The next day Mrs. Ellen told us that, after their pa.s.sion had been spent and Jane had pushed Guildford into a mud puddle, she rushed into the Partridges' kitchen, soaked to the skin, breathless, and bedraggled, and frantically sought lemon juice and vinegar. She had made a great mess, which she did not tarry to clean up, attempting to pour both into a wine bottle, then bolted up the stairs to her bedchamber, ripped off her sodden clothes, and flung herself naked upon the bed. She spread her legs wide, and, with a rage-fueled brutality akin to rape, shoved the long, slender neck of the bottle inside her cunny, thrusting her hips high as she poured its tart, stinging contents inside her.

When Mrs. Ellen tried to intervene, fearing that Jane would do herself an injury, Jane snarled like a mad dog and slapped her hands away, shouting, "Leave me be!" and Mrs. Ellen quietly withdrew to sit upon a stool in the corner. Later, when Jane lay curled upon her side and wept because the mixture stung and burned her inside, and she ached from the bruising force of the bottle she had thrust into her secret center, she rejected all Mrs. Ellen's attempts to comfort her and ordered her to get out.

"Leave me be! Leave me be!" she sobbed to the rhythm of Mrs. Ellen's softly retreating footsteps.

When I heard about it later, I sighed and shook my head and felt the salty p.r.i.c.k of tears stab my eyes. There was a battle betwixt angels and demons raging inside my sister, so heated, confused, crowded, and clouded by smoke and writhing, warring bodies, sometimes it was impossible to tell good from bad, friend from foe, or who would triumph in the end. I loved my sister, but I despaired of ever understanding her. Why must she fight against herself and push away any who would love and comfort her? Why did she relish the role of victim and stage her life for sacrifice? Why did she reject pleasure and choose pain time and again?

These questions I can ask, but never answer, and I wonder sometimes if Jane even could. Perhaps the truths were too deeply buried to ever be unearthed. Some things are not meant for the plain light of day and prefer to dwell in darkness; some things are better left hidden no matter how much curiosity needles us.