Chapter 11
I was at last able to sleep, because with everyone hovering around the wretched Jane, I could slip away and find a bed.
I crept into one that a maid had just abandoned to serve the invading Northumberlands, the straw mattress warm from her round body.
I slept hard for a short time then awoke, restless and worried.
What young Tom—whom Aunt Kat had released when Northumberland’s men arrived at Hatfield—had reported to us was true. The darling Dudleys had somehow persuaded the council to let them steal the throne from under Mary’s nose.
I did not doubt that though the crown would be on Jane’s head, it was Northumberland and the Duchess of Suffolk who’d truly have the power. They would rule England, and Jane would let them.
Guildford Dudley might try to put his hand in. Jane’s father, Suffolk, obviously thought he’d have much say himself. Northumberland would be the true monarch, though, with Jane’s mother to make Jane’s decisions for her.
I studied the ceiling above my borrowed bed, watching a spider crawl across a crack that must seem a chasm to it. So must the abrupt accession to the crown seem to Jane, with her parents standing behind her to push her into it.
I knew Jane would never have chosen this for herself. She loved reading and scholarly pursuits, not the trappings of power. Her tutors had praised Elizabeth’s quickness but loved Jane for her devotion to her studies.
What would Princess Mary do? And where was she? Someone surely had given her the news by now. Strong-willed Mary would never simply bow her head and step aside. She’d even now be planning a way to keep her crown.
Mary had made her resentment clear when her father had stripped her of her titles during her girlhood, and she’d make it clear now. With her fixed stare and deep convictions, Mary would never allow an upstart like Northumberland and a mouse like Jane keep her from her rightful place.
I threw back the thin covers and climbed from the bed. I had to shout into the hall for a maid to come and help me dress, then I followed her down to the kitchen and demanded breakfast.
The cooks wanted nothing to do with me. I told them I’d come at Lady Jane’s special request and advised them not to anger the new queen on her first day. The kitchen staff threw me evil looks but also handed me a good helping of stew.
After I filled my stomach, I returned to the chamber where I’d worked in the night before and found it empty. The beautiful fabrics had spilled from the bench the duchess had knocked over, and my needle box lay in a jumble where it had fallen.
I quietly tidied my things and brushed dust from the cloths, folding them neatly. I resumed working on the patterns, my head bent, so that if anyone peeked in, it would appear as though I’d remained virtuously at my post all morning.
The first person to find me was Sweet Robin himself, dressed in finery fit for a queen’s brother-in-law.
“Is it Eloise Rousell?” Robert asked as he peered into the cool shadows. “But it is. Dear Mistress Rousell. Dear, dear, Mistress Rousell.”
“Leave off your dears, my lord,” I said, raising my head. “Or have they made you a duke as well, and I must call you Your Grace?”
Robert sent me his quick smile, his pleasant face lightening. “Always impertinent, is our little Eloise.”
We were near the same age, so he had no business calling me little. “You have not answered my question, my lord.”
“My father and brother have all the duking,” Robert said jovially. “I am simple Robert still. Tell me why you are here.”
“My lady Jane asked me to help her with her wardrobe.” I explained this calmly, but my heartbeat sped.
Robert was no fool, and he knew Elizabeth well. He’d reason she’d not lend her favorite servants willingly, which either meant I’d abandoned Elizabeth, or she’d sent me here for her own purpose.
I did not know where Robert’s loyalties lay—with his father and the Suffolks? Or with Elizabeth, for whom he felt friendship and more?
Robert could easily tell his father that Elizabeth had sent me to spy on them. He could also use me for his own purposes, perhaps to feed me information for Elizabeth, true or false.
I saw in his eyes, which danced with possibilities, that he hadn’t yet decided what to do with me.
Our conversation might have turned in a hazardous direction if we’d not been interrupted. I recognized the man who entered as Robert’s friend, with whom I’d danced at Robert and Amy’s wedding—James Colby.
Colby had fiery red hair and a look of the Welsh about him, though I’d heard he was English, from Shropshire. He was tall and rawboned, his face not particularly handsome, though it was strong, and he possessed eyes of keen blue.
Those eyes swept over me without much interest and fixed on Robert. “Dudley, they’re looking for you.”
No my lords, no obeisance. Merely a blunt Dudley.
Robert bowed to me as fairly as he would a lady at court. “Au revoir, my little seamstress. Colby,” he nodded to the man at his side.
Colby sent another gaze over me, an assessing one this time. Likely he tried to decide why Robert favored me with his courtly bow.
Was I a mistress, friend, Northumberland’s servant? Colby’s reddish brows drew together as he tried to reason it out.
Robert, already finished with me, swept from the room. Colby, with a final baleful glance at me, which I met with my head high, followed in his wake.
Later that day Jane, likely for the first time in her life, stood up to her mother and father.
William Paulet, who had arrested Aunt Kat and Master Parry that fateful night four years ago and who’d had a hand in the trials of both Anne Boleyn and Lord Protector Somerset, arrived in the hall, where I continued to sew, with a casket in his hands.
He moved to Jane, where she stood near her father and Northumberland, and bowed to her.
“What is that, my lord?” Jane asked, her tone barely curious, though she was, as ever, deferential.
For answer, Paulet opened the box. Jane flinched as she gazed down into it, her hand stealing to her throat.
Not until Paulet lifted the heavy pointed circlet studded with jewels did I understand—he held the crown of the monarchs of England.
“I did not ask to see that,” Jane said rapidly. “Why have you brought it?”
Paulet regarded her without expression. “To see how it fitted, Your Grace.”
Jane backed a step. “I will not put it on. It is not time. I did not ask for it. Please, do not make me.” Tears clogged her voice, but her spine remained straight, no more fainting fits.
“You must take it boldly,” Paulet answered, some kindness in his tone. “Soon I will have another made to crown your husband.”
Jane stilled. Her tears ceased to flow, drying on her face in the July heat. “My husband?” she asked in bewilderment.
“Aye, Your Grace,” Paulet said. “Your husband, who will be king beside you.”
Jane flicked her gaze from the world-weary Paulet, who waited calmly for her response, to the dukes of Suffolk and Northumberland, who stood side-by-side like the conspirators they were.
“There is no need to make a crown for my husband,” Jane said clearly. “Guildford Dudley will never be king.”
Father and father-in-law went slack-jawed, as though they’d heard a dog suddenly speak English.
Northumberland was the first to recover. He moved quickly to Jane, reaching a long hand to rest on her shoulder.
“Guildford is your husband,” he said, as though explaining to a child. “Of course he will be king. He is married to the queen.”
Jane faltered beneath her father-in-law’s stern gaze, but her neck remained unbent.
“I am queen because my mother is the daughter of King Henry’s sister,” she declared. “I am Henry’s grandniece—his sister’s blood is in my veins. Guildford is a Dudley. He is not royal-born, and God has not decreed him king.”
Northumberland glared at her a moment then turned away with a snarl. “Suffolk, tame your daughter.”
It was not the Duke of Suffolk but his wife who sailed from the doorway to Jane and slapped her across the face.
“You will obey your father,” the duchess commanded. “He has made you queen, Jane, so that the reformed religion may continue, unencumbered. You do not want Mary and her popery to rule us all, do you?”
Tears trickled down Jane’s cheeks, but she stood resolute. “I will never deliver England back to the Pope.” She wiped the tears from her face, the pearls in her hair shining in the summer sunlight. “I will be queen, yes, but only if Guildford is never king.”
Northumberland regarded Jane incredulously. He had underestimated her, I saw from my vantage point, a grave mistake.
However quiet she was, however beaten into obedience she was, Jane was a Tudor. She shared with Elizabeth, Mary, Henry, and Edward the conviction that God’s will alone had brought them to the throne.
Northumberland swerved his gaze to Jane’s father. “Suffolk,” he growled.
Suffolk lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If she will not, then she will not. We will make Guildford a duke in his own right.”
“Duke of Clarence,” Jane said quietly. “A lofty title.”
My estimation of Jane rose. Clearly, she had thought long about this, as though she’d known it would be no use to fight her parents. Therefore, she would impose her conditions. I suspected she’d exerted the same stubbornness to keep herself out of Guildford’s bed for as long as possible.
Paulet viewed the scene with a canny eye. I wondered if he’d brought in the crown to provoke Jane’s declaration, and to make certain Northumberland knew where things stood.
Paulet’s face held no expression, but this gentleman, having survived the long reign of Henry and the short one of Edward, was a wise old bird. I had no way of knowing whether he supported Northumberland’s scheme, but I had the feeling he’d be among those standing at the end of the day.