“I could be content as plain Lady Parr as long as I had Will by my side, free and whole,” I confided in Aunt Elizabeth as I helped her inventory the plate in the Carter Lane house. With matters so unsettled, Sir Edward intended to sell some of it for ready money.
“But you will not be Lady Parr. That title, and Countess of Essex, and Marchioness of Northampton, too, will soon be restored to Anne Bourchier. I heard this morning that Queen Mary has sent for her. Her Grace means to make Lady Anne a lady-in-waiting.”
Stunned, I struggled to take in this development. “Will warned me that Queen Mary would undo our marriage, but it never occurred to me that the queen would bring a proven adulteress to court.”
“Perhaps Queen Mary does not know why Will divorced her.”
“Then someone should tell her.” Anger filled me and I snapped out the words. “Have you any connection at court able to whisper in the right ear?”
“If I had, I would not ask them to blacken her name. Think, Bess. Anne Bourchier’s presence could help Will. If he is executed for treason, the Crown will claim all he owned, including the Essex inheritance. She will have none of it. And no title. It is to her advantage that he be spared. If I were you, I would pray that she intends to plead most eloquently with the queen for the restoration of his estates, even if it is only because she hopes to claim them for herself.”
I took a deep breath. My aunt was right. Anne Bourchier could save Will’s life. She could go where I could not.
Dibs and dabs of news continued to filter down to the house in Carter Lane, but all of London knew of it when Will was attainted and sentenced to die. The Duke of Northumberland was condemned at the same time. So was Jack Dudley. And on Tuesday the twenty-second day of August, the duke was executed.
“The Duke of Somerset’s sons—the Earl of Hertford and his brother—were present to witness Northumberland’s death,” Edward Warner told us afterward. They had been two among a crowd of thousands who turned out to see the condemned traitor die. “Northumberland apologized to them for killing their father. An irony, that. Now both men lie buried together, lying between the bodies of Queen Anne Boleyn and Queen Catherine Howard. Or so they say.” He chuckled, but his expression was grim when he added, “Northumberland died in the faith of his childhood.”
“As a Catholic? When he fought so hard and so long to keep the Church of England alive?”
“His eldest son converted, too. And so did Will Parr.” His disapproval of what Will had done was a palpable force in the room.
“I do not see what difference it makes,” I said with some asperity. “All our prayers go to the same God. I can kneel at a Catholic Mass with idols in the niches as easily as I can worship in a whitewashed chapel with an English prayer book in my hand.”
“We will not have any choice in the matter now.” Sir Edward’s tone was bitter.
“We did not have any choice before. And if converting to Catholicism saves their lives, then I am heartily glad Will and Jack had the good sense to recant.”
Sir Edward glared at me, but he dropped the subject.
Northumberland’s widow became plain Lady Dudley again after the duke’s attainder and execution. Throughout those troubled days, I kept in touch with her. Neither she nor I were charged with any offense, but while I was left homeless and destitute, she was granted control of her jointure lands and allowed to live at Chelsea Manor. Although devastated by the loss of her husband, Jane continued to petition the queen for her sons’ release. She wrote to everyone she knew at court to solicit their help. As a result of her efforts, Ambrose, Robert, and Henry Dudley were allowed visits from their wives.
“To whom should I apply for permission to visit Will?” I asked Sir Edward Warner.
He snorted. “The new lord lieutenant might let Will’s wife in but, Bess, you are not his wife.” He drained his tankard. He’d consumed a great quantity of ale since he’d lost his post at the Tower. “As soon as Parliament convenes, the law confirming your marriage will be struck down.”
The reminder stung. In my heart I could not accept that ruling. Defiantly, I continued to wear my wedding ring. And, in imitation of Jane Dudley, I wrote to friends and family to solicit their help on Will’s behalf. Some, like the Earl of Pembroke, ignored my pleas entirely. Others, like my father, were in no position to take up Will’s cause because their own hold on the new queen’s favor was so tenuous. He sent a welcome gift of money but could not do more. Geraldine Clinton promised to speak to her husband on Will’s behalf, but Lord Clinton, like my father, lacked influence with the new queen.
From my window in the house in Carter Lane I could see the highest battlements of the White Tower. Half of London lay between my chamber and the walls behind which Will was held prisoner. Carter Lane was nearer London Stone than London Bridge. But each night I stood looking out at the distant lights, imagining Will pacing the confines of his cell, wondering if he was thinking of me.
And then, on the twenty-fourth day of October, I was separated from my husband in yet another way. The act of 1552 that had pronounced Anne Bourchier as good as dead, the act intended to make my marriage to Will finally and irrevocably legal, was rescinded at the order of the queen. By royal decree, I was plain Bess Brooke again.
43
November was a bleak and dismal month. It suited my mood. I was not cheered in the least to hear that the Duke of Suffolk—title and estates intact—was back in London. This news, however, seemed to improve Sir Edward Warner’s spirits. On the twenty-sixth, he accepted an invitation to dine at Suffolk House and came home again buoyant and smiling.
I paid little attention to his goings and comings, save to note that he was no longer drinking himself into a stupor every night. That pleased me. My aunt deserved better than to be married to a drunkard. Neither did I think anything of it when Aunt Elizabeth’s son, my cousin Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger, who had his own lodgings in London, paid a visit. Aunt Elizabeth had been reconciled with Tom for some time, even though she still disagreed with his decision to be so generous with his late father’s mistress. Tom supped with us, and then he and Sir Edward went out together. They were well acquainted, having both been friends of the late Earl of Surrey. They aped the same fashions, too, both sporting long, pointed beards and short-cropped hair. Sir Edward was only some ten years older than his stepson.
I rarely paid any attention to the comings and goings of my host. All my thoughts centered on ways to free Will from the Tower and on memories, sweet but painful. I missed my husband not only as my lover, but as my dearest friend and companion.
As November turned into December, I steeled myself to ask for help from the last person in the world I wanted to be beholden to—Anne Bourchier. The court had been at Whitehall since Queen Mary’s coronation in early October. Among the queen’s ladies was Mistress Nan Bassett. We had been maids of honor together, and while never fast friends, we had not been rivals, either. I used the money Father had sent me to purchase an enameled brooch and sent it to Nan as a token of my esteem, along with a letter begging her to meet with me. She sent word to come to the fountain in the palace gardens via the public right-of-way that passed through the grounds and suggested a specific day and time.
I waited nearly a quarter of an hour, fretting all the while that she’d changed her mind about talking to me. Then I caught sight of her hurrying toward me along one of the many paths that intersected the gardens. She was older by some six years since the last time I’d seen her, but she did not seem much changed. She greeted me warmly, with a sisterly embrace, and together we made our way to the riverfront, where we could be private.