“I’d rather swim the Thames in the middle of winter.”
“That cold, is she?” my brother William quipped.
The tension in the room dissolved in cleansing laughter, but the lighter mood did not last. They soon had the whole story out of me—my earlier meeting with Will’s wife, before he was released the first time, and my interview with Queen Mary, arranged by Viscountess Bourchier. I concluded my tale by telling them of the threat against both Will and me if we did not separate.
Although it clearly grieved him, Will agreed that it would be unwise to offend the queen. “You’ll be better off at Cowling Castle for the nonce.”
But Father was shaking his head. “We do not need more attention paid to us. There is only one way I could welcome Bess back into the bosom of her family and stay in the queen’s good graces. I’d need to arrange a marriage for her.”
“I am already married!”
“No, you are not. You’ve lost that battle. We’ve all lost. We have no choice but to accept and rebuild. No more rebellions of any kind. Your only safety, Bess, lies in letting me choose a husband for you.”
I knew he meant well, that he wanted only what was best for me, but some small part of me hoped for another miracle, a way to stay with Will. “I cannot marry another. I will not.” I turned my beseeching gaze to Will. “Perhaps we can still escape into exile. Or perhaps the queen will die!”
“Devil take it, Bess! Do not say such a thing aloud!” my father said.
“There’s no one here but family, Father.”
“In these troubled times, a kinsman can be as deadly as a sworn enemy.” He sent Aunt Elizabeth a pointed look. She glared back at him, having lost as much as any of us by her son’s ill-conceived uprising.
Will said nothing. Like my father, he wanted to keep me safe. As I had been when I’d told the queen I’d give Will up, he was willing to sacrifice our happiness for our lives. But I had never intended our separation to be permanent. Someday, somehow, we would find a way to be together again. I had to believe that or there was no point in living at all.
My brother George broke the silence. “If you won’t come home, where will you go?” he asked.
I drew in a steadying breath. If Cowling Castle was not a choice, then there was only one possibility left. “To Chelsea,” I said. “To the Duchess of Northumberland.”
47
Jane Dudley, who was still popularly known as the Duchess of Northumberland, in spite of her husband’s attainder and execution, welcomed me with open arms, glad to have assistance in her quest for pardons for her remaining sons. She was encouraged oby my success in obtaining Will’s freedom and hoped that soon Jack, Ambrose, Robin, and Henry would be released from the Tower of London.
Living at Chelsea was not easy. It was full of memories of my time there with the queen dowager and Princess Elizabeth and that other foolish Tom, Tom Seymour. And when Jane was not talking of her plans for the future, she spoke incessantly of her late husband, with whom she’d had a strong bond of love and respect, and of her son Guildford, the boy she’d hoped to see crowned king of England.
I missed my own dear Will more than words could express, but at least he was still alive. I tried not to think of him, but to no avail. He was always in my thoughts and in my prayers.
Tom Wyatt was executed on the eleventh day of April.
I accompanied Jane when she returned, again and again, to court. She was never admitted to the queen’s presence, but she pleaded with Her Grace’s ladies to petition Queen Mary for pardons for her four sons. After the queen married Philip of Spain, on the twenty-fifth day of July, Jane sought out noble Spaniards at court, hoping some of them might sympathize with her cause. By then Elizabeth Tudor, now known only as the Lady Elizabeth, had been released from the Tower. That might have been an encouraging sign had she not been sent, closely guarded, to the royal manor of Woodstock.
I remembered my first progress and wondered if Elizabeth would be allowed to explore the maze. Perhaps, if she could find her way to the center, she would have some measure of privacy there. With servants who were also her keepers, she was to be closely watched, even though Cousin Tom, to his death, had insisted that she’d never condoned the rebellion or taken any role in it.
By the time autumn rolled around again, Jane’s sons were still in the Tower and her health had begun to fail. Her unceasing efforts on their behalf had left her pale and exhausted. The news that Jack was gravely ill sent his mother into further decline. She spent her days staring blindly out her bedchamber window at Chelsea. Only the imminent arrival of her first grandchild finally roused her from her melancholy. In October, accompanied by the entire Chelsea household, she journeyed to Penshurst to await the birth of her daughter’s child.
Mary Dudley’s husband, Sir Henry Sidney, had been one of the first to be pardoned by Queen Mary. He’d entered her service and been sent to Spain as part of the delegation to escort King Philip to England. As a loyal subject, he’d been allowed to keep Penshurst, an enormous, ancient, and impressive fortified manor house half a day’s hard ride from London. Traveling in litters with baggage carts, it took Jane and I nearly three days to reach there, but once we arrived at our destination we settled comfortably into one wing.
It was a largely female household at first, with Lady Sidney’s ladies and her mother’s women. Bridget Mardlyn and Alys Guildford were still in Jane’s service, along with four other waiting gentlewomen. In the years since we’d first met, Alys and I had drifted apart, separated for a long time by the difference in our status. Neither of us had attempted to resurrect our old friendship.
We had been in residence at Penshurst only a few days before Sir Henry Sidney descended upon us. To our surprise and delight, he had all four Dudley brothers in tow. Jack, Ambrose, Robin, and Henry had been freed from the Tower. Even before reuniting with their wives, they’d come to see their mother.
For Jack there had been no other choice. Not only did his wife want nothing to do with him, but he was so ill that he’d had to be carried in a litter instead of traveling on horseback. His sister gave orders to install him in a corner chamber on an upper floor, where the sun would fill the room with light.
As the litter bearers carried him upstairs, Jack caught sight of me. “Bess,” he croaked. “There is a God, after all.”
“Blasphemer,” his brother Robin said on a choked laugh.
Tears sprang into my eyes. That Jack was trying so hard to sound jovial meant he was very ill indeed. He was thin and wasted and his skin had a bluish-purple tinge. The agonized sound of his coughing wrenched my heart.
Jack asked for me as soon as he was settled in a bed. I tried to be strong and cheerful and give him reason to smile through his obvious pain, but in good light the signs of his deterioration were even more obvious. He was feverish and his limbs were swollen, so much so that he could lie comfortably only flat on his back. His fingernails were loose. When I saw that, I lost my composure.
“Were you tortured?” I blurted out.
Jack’s wheezing laugh sent him into a violent paroxysm of coughing. He lay there weakly when it was over, staring up at me with wide, agonized eyes. I realized, then, that the loose fingernails were yet another symptom of whatever it was that was killing him.
I knelt by the bed and placed one hand on his forearm. I could hardly see him through my tears, but I could hear his whisper. “You should have married me. We’d both have been happier.”
I did not disabuse him of the notion. “You are free now, Jack,” I told him. “The queen let you go.”
Behind me I heard a derisive snort. Ambrose Dudley and Sir Henry Sidney had remained behind when the other two Dudley boys went to pay their respects to their mother. It was Ambrose who spoke. “We have not yet been pardoned, nor has any of what was taken from us been restored. And the only reason we were let go has naught to do with compassion. King Philip is at war with France. He wants to raise an English army. Where better to find men with training in warfare than among imprisoned rebels?”