Chapter 23
The first thing she did after her guests had departed and Francis had returned to court was sit down to write to Elizabeth.
She would rather have talked with her face-to-face, for she was full of fear about what might happen if King Edward died and would have loved to hear Elizabeth’s views on the matter.
But she dared not commit her thoughts to paper.
For one thing, it was treason to predict or even imagine the death of the King.
For another, that event would bring Elizabeth one step closer to the throne; she would be heir presumptive, and Kate did not want her thinking that she was fishing for special favor.
Yet Edward’s passing would affect Elizabeth in much the same way as it would affect every other English Protestant.
She must have given the matter some thought.
She might be harboring the same fears. If only they could meet!
Kate could go to Hatfield, of course. But Elizabeth was mercurial.
There was no telling if she would want to talk about the future and she often kept her own counsel, not liking to share her inmost thoughts.
No, Kate would write instead. For some reason, she did not want to be away from home at this time.
She sat there for a while thinking of what to say.
Then she began her letter, asking after Elizabeth’s health and telling her about Will and Dot’s visit, for Elizabeth was fond of Will and always liked to hear news of him.
She asked if Elizabeth had heard anything of the King’s health or the rumors that he was very ill.
“I hope with all my heart that they are untrue,” she added, “and I hope that your Grace will be able to reassure me on that point from your own comfortable knowledge.”
A week later, she had a reply. “The King my brother is well,” Elizabeth had written. “I had it from my lord of Northumberland himself. Whether it be true or not I cannot tell, but I have asked my good friend William Cecil to advise me. I will write again when I know more.”
Kate hoped fervently that Northumberland had spoken truth.
Why should he lie to Elizabeth, a good Protestant like himself?
She felt a little reassured when Elizabeth’s second letter arrived, informing her that Edward was indeed well.
He had just suffered an ague and there was nothing to worry about.
Cecil would keep them informed, though. He was reliable, perceptive, and discreet, a good friend to them all.
Resolutely banishing her fears from her mind, Kate sat down at the table by the solar window with pen and paper.
She had long had in mind a project to keep her occupied during the evenings when Francis was absent; it was something for her daughters.
She wanted to compile a collection of psalms and meditations that she had found moving and uplifting in the hope of inspiring them and other women to prayer, and to study the Scriptures. There was no time like the present.
She took up her quill, dipped it in the inkpot, and wrote the title.
A Heavenly Recreation, or comforts to the soul.
It occurred to her that if the worst did happen and Mary came to the throne and restored Catholicism, she might have to hide her work, and the English Bible.
But she would not think about that now. She would meet that problem when it arose—if it ever did.
—
Kate thought little of it when Francis wrote in May to say that one of Northumberland’s younger sons, Guildford, had married Lady Jane Grey.
Once, there had been talk that the King himself would marry his cousin Jane, but Francis had told Kate that Edward was hoping for a political alliance and a French princess with a great dowry.
In his opinion, his Majesty would have done better with Jane, a good Protestant girl with royal blood, rather than a Catholic bride who could only mean trouble.
Kate’s fears resurfaced only afterward, when Francis, in his next letter, confided that King Edward had not been seen in public for weeks.
“Something is definitely amiss.” He sounded worried.
Her hand placed protectively on her growing belly, Kate looked out of the window to where her children were playing a noisy game of tag in the Base Court.
At that moment, a cloud overshadowed the sun.
It seemed symbolic of the shadow over their lives.
What sort of world would her dear ones inhabit if the King died?
She watched them, running about, carefree, unaware of the threat to their happiness, and was seized with a fierce resolve to shelter them from change and suffering.
Whatever happened, she would raise them in the true faith and protect them from any consequences.
Early in July, Francis came home. His face was grave. As soon as he had greeted his children and his household, he led Kate up to the solar.
“What has happened?” she asked.
He took her into his arms. “I am worried, worried for our future. The King is dying, I am convinced of it. He did not leave his apartments for weeks, and then, two days ago, he appeared at a window at Greenwich. Word had been put about that he would be there, and a crowd had gathered. Will and I joined it and we saw him. Kate, he looked ghastly, like a corpse. I hardly recognized him. His days are numbered, I have no doubt. Northumberland is going around the court looking as if he has not a care in the world, when he should be worried, for Mary is no friend to him and his future looks dismal. I’ll wager he is plotting something. ”
Kate held him tightly, facing up to the bad news. Whatever the political and religious implications, her brother—her unacknowledged brother—was dying, at just fifteen years old. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Where is the Lady Mary?”
“At one of her country houses, I believe.”
“Do you think Northumberland will move against her or try to oust her from the succession?”
“I would not put it past him to do both.”
Kate broke away and began pacing up and down. “I would not wish her any ill, but that might be the best thing that could happen. Do you think we ought to warn Elizabeth what is going on?”
Francis came up behind her and folded his arms around her waist. “I think that we should keep our counsel and see what happens.”
“Yes, but if Mary is set aside, then Elizabeth will be queen, by law.”
“I am sure that William Cecil will be keeping her informed. We should not get involved.”
Kate twisted around to face him. “But I am her friend. I am her sister, though she may not know it. Will it not look odd if I say nothing?”
Francis frowned. “If you know nothing, and you really don’t, then there is no need to say anything.”
She defied him. She wrote secretly to Elizabeth, telling her how the King had looked at the window at Greenwich, and asking if she had had any news. There was no reply.
—
Some days later, after Francis had returned to court, he sent Kate extraordinary news. The King was dead, God rest him—and Lady Jane Grey had been proclaimed queen!
The people, he wrote, had been astonished, standing in dumbfounded silence when the heralds announced the news and when Jane arrived at the Tower of London in state to take up residence there before her coronation.
No one knew who this stranger was. Nor did anyone know the whereabouts of the Lady Mary.
It was being said at court that Northumberland had sent his son, Lord Robert Dudley, to find her.
Francis did not like to speculate on what would happen if he did.
He would write again when he knew more. In the meantime, Kate should ask the priest to proclaim Jane queen from his pulpit.
She stood there in shock, the letter in her hand. This was not the outcome she had hoped for. It should have been Elizabeth who was proclaimed queen, not the unknown Jane. And she felt overcome by a deep sadness for Edward, dead so young.
She wasted no time in riding down to the church to tell the priest, Father Michael, what had happened, but he was adamant that he would not proclaim Jane.
“The Lady Mary is the lawful heir,” he insisted. “I’m sorry, my lady, but until I know by what legal process she has been disinherited, I will not risk a charge of treason by proclaiming someone else.”
Kate saw that he had a point. She rode back to Greys Court, feeling somehow disburdened, and wondering how the future would unfold. If God was good, they would have a Protestant monarch—Queen Jane!
—
Francis came home. She had not expected him. He arrived late at night, when most of the household were in bed. Kate was still up, working on her book. Being absorbed in that helped to ward off her fears. When he appeared in the doorway, she jumped up and ran to him, pressing him to her.
“Oh, what a wonderful surprise!”
He bent to kiss her, but then she saw his face. He looked drawn.
“I have left my post,” he told her. “I was at the Tower, guarding Queen Jane, but everyone is slipping away and abandoning her.”
He sat down by the empty hearth, utterly weary.
“You have not heard the news? Mary set up her standard at Framlingham Castle, and the people came flocking. Shire after shire has declared for her, and she has been proclaimed in towns across the realm. Jane is finished. Even her parents have slunk away. The councillors are ready to turn their coats and protest their loyalty. Mary is marching on London.” He hung his head.
Kate stood beside him, quaking. “It is the end,” she whispered. “The end of our lives as we know them. The end of your career at court—unless you convert back to the Catholic faith.”
“That I will never do,” Francis declared. “I shall stay at home and be a country gentleman. The yield and rents from our estates will support us. And, my darling, I will enjoy having the time to spend with you and the children. I have been parted from you for far too long.”