Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2: The Queen’s Fool, The Virgin’s Lover, The Other Queen. Philippa Gregory
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of a church, there were some insulting words scrawled on a wall, a woman prophesied doom in a churchyard – nothing to frighten the priests or the lords of the counties individually; but put together, they were unmistakeable signs of widespread unease.
The queen held Christmas at Whitehall and appointed a Lord of Misrule and demanded a merry court in the old ways, but it was no good. The missing places at the Christmas feast told their own story: Lady Elizabeth did not even visit her sister, but stayed at Ashridge, her house on the great north road, ideally placed to advance on London as soon as someone gave the word. Half a dozen of the queen’s council were unaccountably missing; the French ambassador was busier than any good Christian should be at Christmastide. It was clear that there was trouble brewing right up to the very throne, and the queen knew it, we all of us knew it.
She was advised by her Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner, and by the Spanish ambassador that she should move to the Tower and put the country on a war footing, or move right away from London and prepare Windsor Castle for a siege. But the grit I had seen in her in the days when she and I had ridden cross-country with only a stable groom to guide us came to her again, and she swore that she would not run from her palace in the very first Christmas of her reign. She had been England’s anointed queen for less than three months, was she to be another queen as Jane? Should she too lock herself and her dwindling court into the Tower, as another more popular princess gathered her army about her and prepared to march on London? Mary swore she would stay in Whitehall from Christmas until Easter and defy the rumours of her own defeat.
‘But it’s not very merry, is it, Hannah?’ she asked me sadly. ‘I have waited for this Christmas all my life, and now it seems that people have forgotten how to be happy.’
We were all but alone in her rooms. Jane Dormer was seated in the bay window to catch the last of the grey unhelpful afternoon light on her sewing. One lady was playing at a lute, a mournful wail of a song, and another was laying out embroidery threads and winding them off the skein. It was anything but merry. You would have thought that this was the court of a queen on the brink of death, not one about to marry.
‘Next year it will be better,’ I said. ‘When you are married and Prince Philip is here.’
At the very mention of his name the colour rose up in her pale cheeks. ‘Hush,’ she said, gleaming. ‘I would be wrong to expect it of him. He will have to be often in his other kingdoms. There is no greater empire in the world than the one he will inherit, you know.’
‘Yes,’ I said, thinking of the fires of the auto-da-fé. ‘I know how powerful the Spanish empire is.’
‘Of course you do,’ she said, recalling my nationality. ‘And we must speak Spanish all the time to improve my accent. We’ll speak Spanish now.’
Jane Dormer looked up and laughed. ‘Ah, we must all speak Spanish soon.’
‘He won’t impose it,’ the queen said quickly, always conscious of spies even here, in her private rooms. ‘He wants nothing but what is best for Englishmen.’
‘I know that,’ Jane said soothingly. ‘I was only joking, Your Grace.’
The queen nodded, but the frown did not leave her face. ‘I have written to Lady Elizabeth to tell her to return to court,’ she said. ‘She must come back for the Christmas feast, I should not have allowed her to leave.’
‘Well, it’s not as if she adds much to the merriment,’ Jane remarked comfortably.
‘I do not require her presence for the merriment she brings me,’ the queen said sharply, ‘but for the greater pleasure of knowing where she is.’
‘You may have to excuse her, if she is too ill to travel …’ Jane remarked.
‘Yes,’ said the queen. ‘If she is. But, if she is too ill to travel, then why would she move from Ashridge to Donnington Castle? Why would a sick girl, too ill to come to London where she might be cared for, instead plan a journey to a castle ideally placed for siege, at the very heart of England?’
There was a diplomatic silence.
‘The country will come round to Prince Philip,’ Jane Dormer said gently. ‘And all this worry will be forgotten.’
Suddenly, there was a sharp knock from the guards outside and the double doors were thrown open. The noise startled me and I was on my feet in an instant, my heart pounding. A messenger stood in the doorway, the Lord Chancellor with him, and the veteran soldier Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk beside him, their faces grim.
I fell back, as if I would hide behind her. I had an immediate certainty that they had come for me, they somehow had discovered who I was, and had a warrant for my arrest as a heretic Jew.
Then I saw they were not looking at me. They were looking at the queen and their jaws were set and their eyes cold.
‘Oh, no,’ I whispered.
She must have thought it was the end for her, as she rose slowly to her feet and looked from one stern face to another. She knew that the duke could turn his coat in a moment, the council could have mustered a swift plot; they had done it before against Jane, they could do it again. But she did not blench, the face she turned to them was as serene as if they had come to invite her to dine. In that moment I loved her for her courage, for her absolute queenly determination never to show fear. ‘How now, my lords?’ she said pleasantly, her voice steady though they walked into the centre of the room and looked at her with hard eyes. ‘I hope you bring me good news for all you seem so severe.’
‘Your Grace, it is not good news,’ Bishop Gardiner said flatly. ‘The rebels are marching against you. My young friend Edward Courtenay has seen the wisdom to confess to me and throw himself on your mercy.’
I saw her eyes flicker away, to one side, as her swift intelligence assessed this information; but her expression did not otherwise alter at all, she was still smiling. ‘And Edward tells you?’
‘That a plot is in train to march on London, to put you in the Tower and to set the Lady Elizabeth on the throne in your place. We have the names of some of them: Sir William Pickering, Sir Peter Carew in Devon, Sir Thomas Wyatt in Kent, and Sir James Crofts.’
For the first time she looked shaken. ‘Peter Carew, who turned out for me in my time of need, in the autumn? Who raised the men of Devon for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Sir James Crofts, my good friend?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
I kept back behind her. These were the very men that my lord had named to me, that he had asked me to name to John Dee. These were the men who were to make a chemical wedding and to pull down silver and replace it with gold. Now I thought I knew what he meant. I thought I knew which queen was silver and which was gold in his metaphor. And I thought that I had again betrayed the queen while taking her wage, and that it would not be long before someone discovered who had been the catalyst in this plot.
She took a breath to steady herself. ‘Any others?’
Bishop Gardiner looked at me. I flinched back from his gaze but it went on past me. He did not even see me, he had to give her the worst news. ‘The Duke of Suffolk is not at his house in Sheen, and no-one knows where he has gone.’
I saw Jane Dormer stiffen in the window-seat. If the Duke of Suffolk had disappeared then it could mean only one thing: he was raising his hundreds of tenants and retainers to restore the throne to his daughter Jane. We were faced with an uprising for Elizabeth and a rebellion for Queen Jane. Those two names could turn out more than half of the country, and all the courage and determination that Queen Mary had shown before could come to nothing now.
‘And Lady Elizabeth? Does she know of this? Is she at Ashridge still?’
‘Courtenay says that she was on the brink of marriage with him, and the two of them were to take your throne and rule together. Thank God the lad has seen sense and come over to us in time. She knows of everything, she is waiting in readiness.