“You were wise to desist. My lady … Katharine … they must never know. Gardiner must never guess… about your views.”
“I know,” she said. “He would have me at the stake if he did.”
“Please… please take care.”
She said she would, and I believed I had impressed on her the danger she was in.
THE REFORMERS HAD PERISHED at the stake, and we were leaving on a journey through the country to celebrate the King's marriage. We were to go to Woodstock, Grafton and Dunstable—there would be hunting on the way—and we should stay at the grand houses of noblemen who would be expected to put on grand entertainments for us. I know these royal progresses were a source of great anxiety to those who had to entertain us, for they could become bankrupt in the process. But the King would have been put out if an inadequate welcome was given to him; and those who failed to treat him royally would soon find they were out of favor at Court—and it was always feared what that might lead to.
We had not gone far when one of my attacks came on. I tried hard to fight it but it was no use.
My father was always irritated by illness, and it was thought best to send me off in a litter. We were not far from Ampthill, which had at one time housed my mother, and to this place I was sent.
I do not think it helped being in her old house. Memories of her came back, and I was plunged into melancholy. Dr. Butts was sent to me, and he thought the best thing was to move me to a house which was not full of shadows for me.
Edward was at Ashridge—Elizabeth with him—and it was decided that I should go there to recuperate.
I was feeling very tired, listless and far from well, so it was pleasant to be in the country away from the activities of the Court. I did enjoy seeing the children occasionally—after all, they were my own sister and brother.
Little Jane Grey was with them at this time. She was an attractive child, just about Edward's age—very pretty, dainty and quite learned. Edward was devoted to her. I was amused once more to see how Elizabeth dominated them. She was, after all, four years older, and she had the nature of a leader. The other two looked up to her and in a way protected each other against her.
There was no doubt that, much as Edward admired his sister, he was very pleased to have Jane as an ally.
Mrs. Sybil Penn, who had looked after him since he was a baby, said, “Lady Jane is such a dear little playmate for him. His sister, the Lady Elizabeth, is inclined to bully… much as he adores her. But Lady Jane… she is just sweet and gentle. To see them at their books together…well, it just amazes me that there should be such learning in those two little heads.”
Jane was a sort of cousin. She was the daughter of Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, who had married Frances, daughter of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and my namesake, Mary Tudor, my father's sister. Jane herself was the eldest of three sisters.
Mrs. Penn was fierce in her defense of Edward. She reminded me of Lady Bryan. I often thought what a lot we owed to those women who were mothers to us in our babyhood. They would fight our battles with the King himself if need be. Thus it was with Mrs. Penn.
She was angry about the treatment little Jane received in her home. “Poor little mite,” she said. “They are very severe with her. They think nothing of beating her and locking her up in her room and keeping her without food. I've seen marks on her little body from the whip. I'd turn it on them, I would… dukes or marquises, whatever they be…to treat a child like that and her such a sweet little thing. She's happy here, and my prince is happy to have her with him. I hope we can keep her for a while. Perhaps you would speak for that, my lady.”
I said I would, and then the motherly soul turned her attention to me. She said I needed looking after. She would like to see a little color in my cheeks.
So it was rather pleasant to watch the children together—to note the tender affection of Edward and Jane; and Elizabeth watching them, making sure that she lost none of her influence over the pair.
I was recovering—and in due course I returned to Court.
The Queen was determined to persuade the King to give full recognition to his daughters and, emboldened by her success over Marbeck and knowing that the King was pleased with her, she attempted to do so.
Having nursed two husbands already, Katharine was experienced in the art. She had gentle hands which could be firm when necessary; she could dress his leg more quickly and less painfully than anyone else; he would often sit resting the leg on her lap, and that seemed to ease it considerably. He liked to talk to her of literature, music and theology; and providing she chose her words carefully he found the discourse to his liking.
He was happier than he had been for a long time. He was sure he had chosen wisely, and most would have agreed with him on that point.
In February of that year following his marriage, I was reinstated to my old position at Court. I was even included in the line of succession, but after Edward would come any daughter my father might have by the Queen or— ominous phrase—any succeeding wives. It was a great step forward—and Elizabeth was to come after me.
Elizabeth was full of high spirits during this time.
We owed a great deal to Katharine—but perhaps not all as far as I was concerned, for my father was eagerly seeking to renew his friendship with the Emperor, and it might well have been for this reason that he was treating me as he was.
But that would not account for Elizabeth's recognition, so I suppose we did owe a great deal to the Queen.
It was impossible not to be fond of her. She was determined to be a mother to us and took an especial interest in Edward and Elizabeth, on account of their youth, I think; and they both loved her. They were fond of Anne of Cleves too, and they had liked pretty Catharine Howard, but none had been the mother to them that the present Queen was proving to be. I think that Katharine had always longed for children of her own; it was sad that she had only stepchildren on whom to lavish her affection; and that she did with abandon. She really was a mother to those children—including Jane Grey, who was touchingly devoted to her.
She believed that my weakness and debility were due to a lack of interest in life. Like many people, she thought that I should have married. Perhaps she was right. I seemed to have withered. I had longed for children so much but I had come to the conclusion that I should never have them.
To give me an interest, Katharine suggested that I make a translation of Erasmus' Latin Paraphrase of St. John. It was a task which appealed to me, and I set about it with zest and found myself waking each morning with the urge to get on working at it.
When I had finished it, Katharine was loud in her praises; she said I must have it printed so that many could read it.
I was reluctant at first, wondering whether it was beneath the dignity of a princess—now recognized as such and in line for the throne—but Katharine said she would not rest until she had persuaded me.
Meanwhile I was becoming aware of danger.
Katharine and the King had been married for a year, and there was no sign of pregnancy. Was he beginning to be restless? The fact was that under her skilful hands he suffered less pain; indeed there were times when he was quite without it. It was ironic that Katharine, who had been the one who had brought about this relief, should be the one to suffer for it. It might have been my imagination, but did I see his eyes linger on some of the beauties of the Court? I had also seen a glimmer of anxiety when he looked at Edward. One son was all he had; he was feeling better; I could imagine his telling himself that he was still full of vigor. There were some tempting beauties at Court, and it must be Katharine's fault that there was no child.
It was amazing how those about him were aware of his feelings.
Then came what many believed was a definite sign that the Queen was losing her place in his affections.