Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen Read online

  “So many questions!” Bryan winked at her with his one sardonic eye and grinned. “And yet, sweet Jane, you have hit the nub of the matter. She can unseat him because right now the King’s brain is in his codpiece, and when a woman has a man there, she can do anything she wants with him.”

  Jane laughed, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “She is bedding with the King?” she asked.

  “Who knows? He is mad for her. But there is far more to it than bed sport, for her at least. Some years ago, the Cardinal mortally offended her. She was set on marrying the Earl of Northumberland that now is, but his Eminence would not have it, and he insulted her in the process. Now she is having her revenge. She publicly snubbed him when he came home from the French embassy. The Cardinal could have received no surer sign of her ascendancy.”

  Jane sat down on a stone bench with carved lions at either end. “She must hate him.”

  Bryan sat down next to her, watching a couple stealing a kiss under a shady tree at the end of an alley. “She has cause. She will use him to get what she wants, and then she will destroy him. He has too much power, and I, for one, will be glad to see him go.”

  His vehemence startled Jane. “You hate the Cardinal too?”

  “I and many others.” His face darkened. “There are two centers of power at court, Jane. One is the Cardinal, who is Lord Chancellor and holds God knows how many other offices. The other is the King in his Privy Chamber. The Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber enjoy great influence because they spend every day with him and have his ear. What they want is not always what the Cardinal wants, and he is jealous of their power. I was a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. I was appointed many years ago with my brother-in-law, Sir Nicholas Carew, and honored with the King’s friendship. But twice the Cardinal purged the Privy Chamber of its most influential men, alleging that the King was being led astray by young hotheads. Twice I lost my position. Since last year I have been at court only through the King’s good favor, but the Privy Chamber is barred to me.”

  Without thinking, Jane laid her hand on his, as she would have done to one of her brothers. “But that is shocking. Surely the King has the power to order otherwise?”

  “He is too much in thrall to the Cardinal,” Bryan said. Suddenly he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. No man had ever done that, save in greeting, and she did not know what to do. She was not sure that she even liked the sensation, and when he thrust his tongue against hers, she remembered what her brother had said about Bryan being called the Vicar of Hell, and drew away in distaste.

  He smiled at her with those rakish eyes. “Forgive me if I was too bold, little cousin, but your kindness lent me encouragement.”

  “I am not sure that the Queen would approve,” Jane said.

  “She might, if my advances were welcome,” he countered.

  “And that might depend on your intentions.” Jane smiled back, in command of herself again.

  “Ah, so there is spirit in you, little cousin! Her Grace would be delighted if I found a lady I could love, I assure you. She has recently reproved me—as kindly as ever—for reaching the grand old age of thirty-seven without taking a wife.”

  “Then I must be even more careful, Sir Francis,” Jane said, drawing away, “for it seems that your dealings with ladies have not always been honorable.”

  “A little dalliance never hurt anyone,” he observed lightly, leaning back on the bench.

  It was time to change the subject. She liked him, but she must be wary.

  “I do see why you have no love for Wolsey,” she said.

  He sighed and regarded her ruefully. “That is why I and many others support Mistress Anne in whatever she can do to overthrow the Cardinal.” His smile was wolfish again. “And now, sweet cousin, I think I should return you to your mistress.”

  They stood up and turned back toward the stairs, no longer arm in arm.

  * * *

  —

  “Jane, will you kindly go and find Anne Boleyn,” Queen Katherine asked, one morning in autumn as she seated herself at the breakfast table. “She should be here by now to serve me.”

  “Of course, Madam.” Jane curtseyed and left the privy chamber. She looked in the dorter first, but it was empty. She ran down to the privy garden, but that too was deserted. She checked the chapel and the closets. Finally, she sought out the sergeant porter at the palace gatehouse. “Mistress Anne Boleyn?” he repeated. “She rode off home yesterday evening.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, and took the stairs slowly, anger burning in her. She wished she did not have to tell the Queen of this latest insult. At the very least, Anne should have done her mistress the courtesy of asking permission to leave court.

  “She left for Hever Castle last night, Madam,” she told Katherine nervously.

  There was a pause as the Queen digested the news. “I see,” she said.

  “I wonder that her Grace does not dismiss Mistress Anne,” Jane murmured to Margery as they fetched the embroidery tambours from the sewing closet.

  “She will do nothing to displease the King,” Margery told her. “She shows favor to that woman for his sake, because she loves him.”

  “She is a saint,” Jane observed, remembering that her mother had shown a similar forbearance toward her father. “Maybe it is the best way, since a wife owes her husband obedience, and she has to live with him.”

  “Aye,” Margery agreed, gathering up the tambours, “and—as the King’s Great Matter proves—annulment is very difficult. Not that the Queen wants that.”

  Nor did her mother, Jane realized. At least her father had been discreet, unlike the King. “It is a scandal that a man may flaunt his mistress as his Grace does. Yet turn the tables, and imagine how far greater the scandal if the Queen were to take a lover!”

  Margery’s blue eyes widened. “I cannot ever imagine her doing so—but I take your point. Alas, men can commit adultery with impunity, but we poor women must be above suspicion, lest we foist bastards on our husbands!”

  “That’s enough idle gossip!” barked a strident voice behind them. It was Lady Willoughby, on her way to the Queen’s chamber. “Hurry along, ladies. I may agree with what you say, but it is not your place to say it!”

  Jane shrank back against the wall, shamed. It was best to keep your head down in this court and say nothing.

  Chapter 6

  1528

  Anne was back at court. She seemed to come and go as she pleased these days, much to the annoyance of the other ladies and maids. But the Queen never reproved her. She would do nothing to provoke her husband’s displeasure.

  Anne and Jane were among those in attendance on their mistress when the King burst without ceremony into her chamber one morning, greatly agitated.

  “The sweating sickness is under our roof!” he announced.

  The Queen paled and the ladies looked at one another in horror. “Three of my servants died during the night,” the King went on, terror in his face and his voice. “It’s under our own roof! We’re leaving at once. I’m taking a reduced household to Waltham Abbey. Tell your women and Lady Salisbury to make ready with all speed. Hurry!” He bowed, remembering at last the courtesy due to his wife, but there was stark fear in his eyes, and he almost ran from the room.

  Jane could remember people talking about the last outbreak of the sweating sickness; there had been a great visitation about ten years ago. She knew that it could kill with devastating speed, and that it struck people of all estates, high or low. Father James had once said that it was a manifestation of God’s displeasure. It occurred to her that maybe the King was being punished for his wickedness, and his whole realm with him.

  When the Queen commanded her to help Margery Horsman to pack her clothes, Jane’s legs could hardly carry her into the wardrobe closet. She was trembling with fear. Had she come into contact with any of those who had
died, inadvertently brushing against them in a gallery, or breathing the tainted air they exhaled?

  Margery swallowed. “My grandmother died of this plague in the last epidemic, God rest her. I remember it as if it were yesterday. The physicians were useless; they knew of no cure. She died within four hours.”

  Jane was almost weeping with fear. “I am so sorry.” It was all she could do to lift down the leather boxes containing the Queen’s hoods from their shelves. Yet forewarned was forearmed. “What were the symptoms?”

  “Grandmother had violent sweats and shivering fits, pains in her stomach, a vile headache and a rash—they all came on so fast. Then suddenly she broke out in a sweat. They say one can be merry at dinner and dead at supper, and in her case it was true. But the doctors told us that, once twenty-four hours have passed, all danger is at an end.”

  Joan Champernowne, Dorothy Badby and Nan Stanhope were being sent home. Even Nan was subdued. For all the hot weather, she had wrapped a scarf around the lower part of her face to avoid any contagion in the air.

  Anne Boleyn, as usual, was absent, and when Jane arrived in the courtyard in the wake of the Queen, she caught sight of her standing with the King in the midst of his courtiers and household officers, all impatient to mount their horses and leave. She sensed suppressed panic, permeating the crowd like a miasma.

  “Fear is the worst enemy,” the Queen said. Throughout their hurried preparations, she had remained calm and smiling. “I do believe it is true what they say, that one rumor causes a thousand cases of sweat. More suffer from fear, I think, than from the sickness itself.” Jane prayed she was right.

  * * *

  —

  “There are forty thousand cases of the sweat in London,” Katherine said, having gathered her women around her in her chamber at Dallance, the King’s hunting lodge near Waltham Abbey. They had been there for four days now, and it was just past the dinner hour.

  The Queen crossed herself. “We must pray for those poor souls, and we must pray for ourselves, for it is here, now, in this house. Mistress Anne’s maid died of it last night!”

  Jane was gripped with dread. Here. In this house. Dear God, help us all! The others were gaping at each other, terror-struck. Isabel burst into tears.

  “Mistress Anne has been sent home,” Katherine continued, “and the King is removing to Hunsdon at once. He has commanded that most of you go home too. Isabel, calm yourself. You, Blanche and Bess will stay with me and Lady Exeter. The rest must leave. You will be given money for your journey, grooms to escort you. Take only what you can carry. The rest of your gear can be transported with us, and will be waiting for you when you return. I will let you know when it is safe to do so. Now hurry, and make all speed to depart.”

  Jane bobbed a wobbly curtsey and ran up to the room under the eaves that served as a dorter for all the Queen’s female attendants. She hardly knew what she was doing as she bundled up clothes and pushed them into the traveling bags that would be slung across her saddle. What if she had caught the sweat and it was at work in her already? She could be dead by evening!

  She felt so alone, facing a long journey through miles of countryside, with only a stranger for company, and the plague lurking who knew where. Feeling a little faint, she somehow carried her luggage downstairs and went in search of the Comptroller of the Household. There was a queue of people waiting outside the closet he used as an office, all come, like herself, to collect the money for their journeys. To her comfort, she saw that Sir Francis Bryan was among them.

  “Don’t look so afraid, Mistress Jane,” he said when he saw her. “We’re the lucky ones—we’re leaving. Are you bound for Wulfhall?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Jane could hardly speak.

  “Let me escort you there. I am going to my family’s house in Buckinghamshire. I am happy to make a detour.”

  Jane could have wept with relief. Bryan might have a reputation, but he would hardly compromise her honor if he was taking her to her family. And she suspected he liked her. After all, he had secured her place at court, and at little advantage to himself.

  * * *

  —

  With a scarf muffling her mouth and nose, Jane rode westward through Essex, with Bryan at her side and the groom following behind. They had a hundred miles ahead of them, and no idea of what they might meet on their way.

  The land sweltered under the June sun. The tracks they followed were ridged with mud baked dry; the untended herds and flocks around them were lowing and bleating out their misery. In the first village they approached, they saw few souls abroad, only crosses daubed on the doors to warn of the pestilence within.

  “We had best keep to the byways and avoid habitations,” Bryan said, grim-faced, as Jane clamped her scarf to her mouth, and thereafter they took a route through open countryside, where the air was hopefully purer. In the distance they could hear church bells tolling for the dead, and sometimes far-off cries and shouts, which sent them hastening in another direction. All their talk was of devising strategies to escape the sweat. Gone was the rakish Bryan, and in his place was a serious man concerned only for their protection.

  North of London, they emerged from woodland and saw, in a valley below them, men throwing shrouded bodies into an open pit. The stink from it was on the breeze. Jane urged her horse on, desperate to get away, and fretting in case they had been infected.

  They were a little further on when she first felt a headache coming on.

  “Dear God!” she cried. “I have it!”

  Bryan peered at her in concern. “You are sweating?”

  “No, but my head aches.” She was trembling violently.

  He reached across and felt her forehead. “You have no fever,” he pronounced. “It’s probably the sunshine or your fear that has caused it.”

  She attempted a grateful smile, near to tears. “Thank you, Sir Francis.”

  Already the pain was abating. She breathed deeply in relief.

  * * *

  —

  The journey seemed interminable. They sought lodgings overnight at abbeys and priories, where they were not always welcome, for it was feared that they carried the sweat with them. At one nunnery, the porteress refused to open the door. When they were admitted, they found the rooms in the monastic guest houses bare of luxuries, but they were clean, and the plain food they received was welcome after hours in the saddle.

  Bryan maintained his serious demeanor and a respectful distance. Jane felt safe with him, and even a little disappointed that he had not tried to flirt with her. Instead, they had become friends, united by their shared peril.

  Near Newbury, they were overtaken by a traveler on horseback. Keeping their distance, they asked if he had any news of the sweat abating.

  “No,” he shouted back, “and I’ve heard that Mistress Anne Boleyn has it!”

  Jane crossed herself.

  “Pray God she does not die,” Bryan muttered as they rode on.

  But if she did, Jane thought, the Queen’s troubles would be resolved overnight. It was wrong to wish Anne dead, but if God thought fit to take her unto Himself, He would be doing everyone a great favor.

  “You don’t agree with me,” Bryan said, steadying his horse on the rough ground.

  “I love the Queen,” Jane replied. “I cannot bear to see what she suffers on account of the King’s love of Mistress Anne, and this interminable wait for the Pope to give judgment. It’s been a year now. The strain has been dreadful, and yet she is always cheerful.”

  “I love the Queen too,” Bryan declared. “I have great respect for her. But the King needs an heir. As his friend, I can vouch for how long he has grieved over his lack of sons.”

  “But these doubts about his marriage—no one had heard of them until last year, and then it became clear that he was paying court to Mistress Anne. Do you think he really will marry her when
—if—he is free? She is not royal; she cannot compare with Queen Katherine.”

  “No, but maybe she is what this kingdom needs right now. She is a forward thinker with radical ideas. The King lets her read banned books. Like many of us, she sees the Church as corrupt and presses for reform.”

  Jane looked at him sharply. “You mean she is a heretic? A Lutheran?”

  “Some say, but I don’t think so. At heart, I believe, she is as true a Christian as any of us. All she wants is reform.”

  Jane shook her head. “It worries me, at a time when the very tenets and traditions of Holy Church seem to be attacked from all sides, that someone like Mistress Anne has the power to influence change, even if it is for the better. It is the Pope who should do that, not a humble gentlewoman. Sir Francis, our faith is under attack. Those heretics who follow Martin Luther have rejected five of the seven sacraments! And there are those who want the Bible to be in English, to read and interpret it for themselves. I had never heard of such things before I came to court, and I have been appalled at the way everyone has an opinion on matters that are beyond a lay person’s understanding. That is why Queen Katherine should be cherished. She is a truly devout daughter of the Church, and we should all seek to emulate her.”

  Bryan chuckled. “By God, Jane, you are become a politician too—and a reactionary one! The King has need of voices like yours on his Council! But heed me.” The smile vanished. “Keep your views to yourself. Those who criticize Mistress Anne rapidly fall from favor.”

  “I know my place,” Jane assured him. “We are not at court now, there is no one to hear us but the birds, and you are my kinsman, whom I trust. I would not say these things at court, for all the world.”

  “No,” he agreed, “you just stand there being discreet, but taking in everything that goes on. I’ve seen you doing it.”