I, Jane: In The Court of Henry VIII Read online

  And then there was Margery, standing in the center of it all, arms crossed over her chest, surveying the scene with such pride that it was a palpable thing.

  “Sheer perfection,” she declared of her younger daughter.

  Jane saw tears actually shining in her mother’s eyes. She was quite certain that it was the first tear her mother had ever shed. Certainly the first one she had ever seen. At that, the knife of disappointment twisted a little more deeply in Jane’s heart as she forced a smile she did not feel.

  Edward had found success. Soon, Thomas. Now, Elizabeth. Jane might as well have been Lucy Hill for her own lackluster life. No one noticed her. No one knew what she was feeling. The great invisible Jane, she thought, feeling incredibly sorry for herself.

  “Don’t just stand there looking envious!” her mother suddenly barked, bringing Jane back to the moment. “Do come over here and help me with your sister’s train! ’Tis nearly time to go inside!”

  Time heals all wounds…Time waits for no man…Time is the wisest counselor of all. The platitudes rolled around in her head like marbles. She moved forward, managing that same grim, forced smile. She realized at that moment how good she had become at showing the world the person they believed her to be. Deception was every bit as much an art form as were the talents of those who sold them—or their bodies.

  Everyone has their own skill, she thought bitterly. Masquerading was hers.

  The ceremony was grand by any standard, a mix of pomp and ostentation to rival any court wedding that Jane could have imagined. She sat on the slickly oiled wooden pew beside Edward and his new wife, Catherine, a girl he had married at court and whom Jane did not know. The pew smelled strongly of polishing wax as Jane trained her eyes on the dozens of flickering candles in their heavily carved holders, then on the crucifix of a suffering Jesus at the altar. She looked at anything to avoid looking again at the naked adoration on the slightly grizzled face of her sister’s wealthy older groom.

  Let it be over, Jane thought as they exchanged their solemn vows and her mother raised a handkerchief to her eye. Her brother clutched his new wife’s hand as the couple at the altar knelt. They pledged their troth. Just let the sounds of the vows and the music end, and lead me to a tall cup of ale, Jane silently pleaded as they kissed and turned to meet the world, married now, joined forever.

  As the guests took turns half an hour later toasting the couple, Jane busied herself by feeding scraps to the hunting hounds that rested beneath her feet under the table. Sir Anthony had a dozen dogs, who were free to roam the great dining hall of his manor. They were a great distraction. She thought how they might be the most interesting guests in attendance on this day, when she could not possibly have felt more pathetic or alone.

  Francis Bryan set down his goblet and took up her hand to stop her from feeding the hounds. Until then, she had not even cared who was sitting beside her, or noticed.

  “That dog is eating better than am I, which I confess is saying quite a lot,” he chuckled.

  Jane looked at his face and those kind eyes. He had a sage way about him, which she loved and trusted.

  “’Tis just disappointing to be last at home. Thomas is going off with you to court, and Edward is in the employ of the king’s son, Lord Fitzroy, now Duke of Richmond.”

  “It came to nothing, then, with that boy, I presume?”

  “There was never anything there,” Jane answered, knowing he meant William.

  His cavalier expression quickly gave way to his customary wry smile. “Never mind that, then. I see she has not told you yet about the far more interesting circumstance that awaits you than life alone with your parents at Wolf Hall.”

  “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  “Your mother was to speak to you of it on this morrow, but I can see she has not done so, or spared you a moment’s time to prepare.” He shook his head, then picked his goblet back up as the music floated around them and several couples began to dance a branle. “’Tis a shame, since you could do with a bit of preparation, certainly some color on your lips and a new dress or two.”

  “Pray, why on earth would I require such things?”

  “You certainly cannot serve the Queen of England in a dress like that, Jane.”

  “The queen?” Although foreign and exciting, it seemed a strange term to pass across her lips, especially in relation to herself.

  He must have seen the shock on her face, because he continued.

  “Several of Her Highness’s ladies have gone from court recently. Like rats from a sinking ship, if you will pardon me, since the king has begun more actively to question the validity of their marriage and is casting his interest elsewhere, yet again. You are smart, Jane, and sly, but there is a loyal quality to you. The queen can use those attributes right now. I have behaved rather badly of late, spending too much time in the company of the king and a new lady love.” He grinned devilishly. “Still, our queen is fond of me. I must make amends, so I have spoken your praises and arranged an appointment for you within her retinue.”

  “I am to go to court, then?”

  He nodded and smiled. “If she favors you, it can only increase my standing, so do not look upon me too gratefully yet.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, thinking perhaps this was some horrendous joke. “I mean you no offense, sir, truly, but why would you do this for me? Surely there are young women far more deserving.”

  His smile was twisted then, and pleased. “Oh, Jane, you are a smart little one, aren’t you? So delightfully unassuming.” He scratched his small, pointed beard, glanced around, and lowered his voice. “Very well. The truth is not just that I have thrown too much of my attention to the queen’s rival; Her Grace suspects me of being led to all manner of dark pleasures by the king’s new mistress.”

  “Are you not?” Though she did not know who this mistress was, Jane was certain that Francis would never pass up a temptation.

  “Of course I am.” He chuckled devilishly. “That is hardly the point.”

  “What is the point, precisely?”

  “Truth is, I need a little mouse in the queen’s corner since I can no longer be there myself. I must remain apprised of what is going on, and who better for the job than my sweet cousin Jane?”

  “I can see how I would suit your purpose,” she cautiously conceded.

  “Perhaps you can put in a good word for me now and again and tell me if my standing with her is in any real danger.”

  “That’ll not do either of us any good, shall it, if he replaces his queen? Thomas says there is a new girl who just might have that sort of influence over him.”

  “Oh,” Francis scoffed. “Katherine of Aragon will never be unseated,” he said with the greatest authority. “There is no female living who is powerful enough to unseat the daughter of Spain’s Queen Isabella. Not even Anne Boleyn.”

  “Mary Boleyn’s sister?” Jane gasped as her mind reeled with the memories of their childhood encounter.

  “The very same. She was with us in France; do you recall?”

  “I recall her only too well.”

  “I can imagine that you would. She really is quite bewitching now that she is grown, and there is a huge battle brewing. She may no longer be a great beauty, but Her Highness is a smart woman. You actually have many of her same qualities.”

  Jane had realized long ago that beauty was not one of her God-given attributes, but she had decided she was better off cultivating her other assets anyway. No one seemed to suspect that she was more than a plain face. But beauty was overrated…and hidden talents were always useful. Especially if she were to come face-to-face with her old rival, Mistress Anne.

  PART II

  Jane and Katherine

  So my conscience chide me not,

  I am ready for Fortune as she wills.

  —DANTE ALIGHIERI

  Chapter Six

  March 1526

  Richmond Palace

  With all of their other children now gone from
Wolf Hall, John and Margery Seymour were free to escort their eldest daughter to Richmond Palace in hopes of having an audience with the king.

  As the court was busy preparing for the Lenten rituals, Jane walked between her parents, her heavy skirts swishing with each stride, and her heart moving to the rhythm of a steady drumbeat as they passed beneath a brightly gilded doorway. The echo of her shoe heels matched the thump of her heart as she traversed a vast tiled corridor with arched windows that faced the river. Jane was to be presented to the queen, and then, if Her Highness did not object, Jane would begin her service in Katherine’s massive household. It would be a while, she was told, before she would be styled an actual lady-in-waiting to the queen. That was an honor given only if she acquitted herself well in the initial period. It was a comforting notion, Jane thought, still able to recall the incident in France, how she had tripped in front of the queen, and the horror of her embarrassment.

  Through the grand presence chamber, past a massive series of tapestries depicting the triumphs of the gods, the trio silently strode. Heads turned as they moved toward the second set of heavily carved oak doors, flanked by stiff liveried guards, each bearing a dauntingly heavy metal halberd. Jane was surprised to feel her mother reach down and clutch her hand. She did not recall ever touching her mother’s hand. It was small and very cold now. Jane felt herself tremble.

  The second room, the more important privy chamber, was more richly appointed than the first. A long walnut sideboard stood against the wall full of gleaming Spanish silver, all of it glinting in the light cast from the bank of diamond-shaped leaded-glass windows on the opposite wall. Outside, she heard the sound of gardeners constantly clipping bushes and shrubs. At the end of the vast room, flanked by tapestries depicting two gruesome scenes of the Crucifixion, sat a heavily carved throne with a long crimson and gold tester behind it. The stout, dark-haired woman seated beneath it was not at all what Jane had expected. She seemed much older and more starkly unattractive than Jane had imagined when she thought of the grandeur of court. Her full, sallow face looked like rising dough beneath her ornate, gabled black hood. Her black dress was ornamented only by a large silver crucifix that hung over her chest.

  Jane and Margery drew forward, then dropped into low, reverent curtsies. Her father bowed deeply. The silence around them was palpable.

  “Lady Seymour, it has been many years,” the queen said without benefit of introduction. Her soft voice was heavily accented. “Time has been kind to you, I see.”

  Jane knew that many years ago, her mother once had a place in the household of her powerful aunt, the Countess of Surrey, where she had met John Skelton.

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “And this girl, she is yours?”

  Jane felt herself blanch at the implied insult of the queen’s disbelieving tone.

  “She is indeed, Your Highness. May I present my eldest daughter, Jane Seymour.”

  “Edward’s sister. Sí, the resemblance is very clear. They look like their father.” She smiled condescendingly. What might she have been like in her youth, able to capture not one, but two princes of England? It seemed unfathomable now.

  Amid the tension and silence, Jane saw Francis Bryan. He was standing to the queen’s left with a small collection of very dignified young men garbed in costly slashed-velvet doublets, heavy gold chains, and plumed caps. The man next to him was noticeably older, though fit and trim, and his hair was the same color as the silver gleaming on the sideboard. It swept back from a widow’s peak at his forehead in a great wave to match his neat silver beard and mustache. He looked like a wax figure, lean and stiff, Jane thought, like someone not quite real. He was certainly a bit menacing. She straightened her back then, remembering her mother’s constant remonstrations to always stand with dignity.

  The women around the queen’s throne—some standing, some seated in tall tapestry-covered chairs—were like petals on a rose; elegant and regal. Jane detected scents of cinnabar, vanilla, and rose water, the combination of which made her a little dizzy.

  She was most definitely a thorn among roses.

  “My lord Norfolk,” said the queen, turning just slightly to the silver-haired man, her tone a little cooler and more formal, “you recall your good cousin Lady Seymour, I assume?”

  His nod to Margery was tepid, as though he had seen her the day before, not decades earlier. “’Tis my pleasure, Lady Seymour,” he said in a perfunctory tone.

  “And my honor, Your Grace.” Jane’s mother was squeezing her hand so tightly that it began to hurt.

  Her expression did not reveal the slightest hint of anxiety.

  “I am reminded that you are to counsel with the king on the hour, Thomas. Pray, do make haste,” the queen said to the duke suddenly.

  Norfolk nodded to her. “Indeed I shall, Your Highness. Many thanks for the gracious reminder.”

  He had stiffened at the mention of the king, Jane noticed. At Elizabeth’s wedding, Edward had told them that Mother’s cousin, Thomas Howard, was now the powerful Duke of Norfolk, rivaling Wolsey for power and influence. Things were changing swiftly between the royal couple, and many of the most intimate courtiers had begun to choose sides. Jane was not yet certain on whose side she would find Norfolk, so she must take care not to insult him until she did.

  “Very well, walk with me, then, Mistress Seymour,” the queen suddenly bid her. Jane could hear the whispers rise as Katherine was helped down from the dais and Jane advanced.

  The third room in the chain of rooms into which they moved was smaller and far more intimate than the other two. It was a grand bedchamber, and the smell of incense was very strong. A Spanish woman approached the queen, and there was a hushed exchange between them before Katherine lifted a censuring hand, indicating that she wanted no assistance. She wished to speak privately with Jane. The walls and ceiling to which Jane cast her gaze were fully paneled in an intricate block design. At the opposite end was a large canopy bed dressed in crimson sarcenet and a grand fireplace. Above each were the king and queen’s seal, an H and K surrounded by a Tudor rose.

  The queen went to the window and Jane stood behind her, waiting for her to speak.

  “Tell me, do you know what it means to be loyal, Jane?” she finally asked as she gazed wistfully past the massive courtyard to the great, glimmering, barge-dotted Thames beyond.

  “I hope that I do, Your Highness, since there is little of greater value than loyalty.”

  “You betray your youth and inexperience, Mistress Seymour, both of which ring hollow in these halls. Many have left me for her apartments these past months. Can you imagine that harridan has her own suite of rooms now, more elegantly appointed than these? They are directly beside my husband’s official apartments. Everyone still smiles at me and flatters me as they must, but privately they have cast their lot with her, paying court to her now, as if they believe she will vanquish me.”

  Jane still could not believe that the king’s new paramour was that dreadful child she had met in France, grown to womanhood now, Mary Boleyn’s dark-haired sister, Anne.

  “I must have loyalty, Jane, some paltry bit of it left, as I try to do battle with this. Of course I have my precious Maria here. But the others are like the great Duke of Norfolk, who comes here and bows to me, but who follows his niece, Mistress Boleyn, boldly behind my back. His betrayal is as regular as day and night. You are fortunate to have a benefactor like Francis Bryan, who tells me not just of your loyalty, but of your clever mind.” The queen turned back from the windows, then settled her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, on Jane. “I find that I could use someone with your assets when so many around me seem to be losing sight of theirs—a plain girl who, like myself, understands how cruel it is to be outshone.”

  In the awkwardness of such a personal moment, Jane curtsied again. The queen’s words seemed to be meant as something of a compliment.

  “But I warn you, Mistress Seymour, I shall not suffer betrayal. I know perfectly wel
l that you are a second cousin to that she-devil, bound by Norfolk on your mother’s side. Pray God you share only her determination and not her blind ambition.”

  “I met Mistress Boleyn once when we were children in France, Your Highness,” Jane surprised herself by confessing. “She stuck her foot out so that I would trip and look like a fool right in front of the king’s sister. I did not like her then and I would not like her now, no matter what blood we might share.”

  The queen’s plum-colored mouth lengthened into an oddly malevolent smile, and she reached up to clutch the heavy silver cross at her breast. “Praise to my Almighty God,” she muttered, and then began to whisper something in Spanish as she lifted the cross to her lips and kissed it.

  Edward held his mother in a prolonged embrace beneath an archway in the corridor outside the queen’s apartments, pretending to feel the loyalty he was meant to feel. He had been away from her influence for so long that he felt little emotional attachment. She was the woman of his childhood but not of his heart. That part of himself had been irrevocably broken by his cheating wife, Catherine, who had taken the last bit of his true compassion with her infidelity. But no one at court would have known that. He had become too experienced to let it show.

  Still a good and seasoned courtier, Edward made a convincing display of it now that his mother was here.

  “I cannot believe Jane’s good fortune,” she whispered with a smile. “Who would have ever thought of her?”

  “Now, don’t be too proud, Mother. You know part of the reason the queen has her here is to counteract my influence with the king’s little bastard, the Duke of Richmond, and Norfolk schemes for his niece.”

  “Whatever her reasons,” Margery said, kissing his bearded cheek, “Jane is here now, and I thank God for our king’s penchant for infidelity.”