Queen Jane’s court amazes me. To appoint Jane Boleyn as your lady-in-waiting is to knowingly welcome a spy who will stoop to anything. Surely, she must know that since Jane Boleyn sent her own husband and sister-in-law to the gallows she will hardly flinch from entrapping a stranger. But then I understand. These are not ladies of Jane’s choosing, these are women placed here by their kinsmen to scoop up patronage and fees and to catch the king’s eye; these are vile place servers inserted here for their reward. This is not an English queen’s court in any sense that I would understand it. This is a rat pit.
I am allowed to write to the princess, though I may not visit her yet. I am patient under this ban, certain that the king will bring her to court. Queen Jane speaks kindly of her, and asks my advice about sending her new clothes and a riding cape. Together we choose a new gown and some sleeves of deep red velvet that I know will suit her, and send them by royal messenger north, only thirty miles to Hunsdon, where she is preparing to come to court.
I write to ask of her health, of her happiness. I write telling her that I will see her soon, that we will be happy together again, that I hope the king will let me run her household and it will be as it was before. I say that the court is calm and merry again, and that she will find in Jane a queen and a friend. I don’t remark that they have much in common, being only eight years apart in age, except of course that Mary was born and bred a princess and Jane the uninteresting daughter of a country knight, and I wait for a reply.
Dearest Lady Margaret,
I am so sorry, and so sad, that I cannot come to court and be with you again. I have had the misfortune to offend my father the king, and though I would do anything to obey and honor him, I cannot disobey and dishonor my sainted mother or my God. Pray for me.
Mary
I don’t understand this at all, so I go at once to the king’s rooms to find Montague. He is playing cards with one of the Seymour brothers, who are now great men, and I wait for the game to finish and laugh at Montague’s carefully judged losses. Henry Seymour scoops up his winnings, bows to me, and strolls away down the gallery.
“What has happened with the princess?” I ask tersely, my hands gripping her letter, hidden deep in my pocket.
“The king won’t bring her to court until she takes the oath,” he says shortly. “He sent Norfolk to her, who cursed her to her face and called her a traitor.”
I shake my head in bewilderment. “Why? Why would the king insist that she take the oath now? Queen Katherine is dead, Anne is dead, Elizabeth declared a bastard, he has a new queen and—please God—she will give him a son and heir. Why would he insist that she take the oath now? What’s the point of it?”
Montague turns away from my anxious face and takes a few steps. “I don’t know,” he says simply. “It makes no sense. I thought that when the Boleyn woman was dead all our troubles would be over. I thought that the king would reconcile with Rome. I don’t see why he would persist. Especially, I don’t see why he would persist against his daughter. You wouldn’t speak to a dog the way that Norfolk spoke to her.”
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry. “He threatened her?”
“He said that if she were his daughter he would knock her head against the wall till it was as soft as a baked apple.”
“No!” I cannot believe that even Thomas Howard would dare to speak to a princess like this. I cannot believe that any father would allow such a man to threaten his daughter with violence. “My God, Montague, what are we going to do?”
My son looks like a man being driven gradually, and inexorably, towards danger, a warhorse going reluctantly towards the sound of the cannons. “I thought that our troubles were over, but they have begun anew,” he says slowly. “I think we have to get her away. Queen Jane speaks for her, even Cromwell advises that she should come to court, but the king shouted at Jane that the princess should be tried for treason, and that Jane was a fool to be her advocate. I think that the king has turned against her, I think he has decided that she is his enemy. Her very presence, even at a distance, is a reproach to him. He can’t see her and forget how he treated her mother. He can’t think of her and pretend there was no Anne. He can’t pretend that he is not old enough to have fathered her. He can’t bear the thought of her defiance. We have to get her away. I don’t think she’s safe in his kingdom.”
Geoffrey rides once again to the secretive riverside village of Grays and reports back that the boatman is ready to leave at our bidding, and he remains loyal to the princess. Our kinsman in Calais, Arthur Plantagenet, Lord Lisle, writes to me and says that he can receive the consignment of goods that I am preparing to send him, and that a message to his steward in London will warn him when it is due to be delivered. Montague brings half a dozen strong riding horses to court, saying that he is training them for the hunting season. Our cousin Henry Courtenay pays a stable boy at Hunsdon for news, and understands that the princess is now allowed to walk in the garden every morning, for her health.
I am following Queen Jane to chapel before breakfast when I see Montague in the king’s train. He comes over to me, kneels for my blessing, and when my hand is on his head he whispers: “Norfolk has denounced his half brother to the king and Tom is arrested for treason.”
I keep the shock from my face as Montague rises and gives me his arm. “Come,” I say quickly.
“No.” He leads me towards the chapel and bows to the queen and steps back. “Do nothing out of the ordinary,” he reminds me.
While the priest serves Mass, his back to the congregation, the quiet mutter of Latin drifting over us, I find I am gripping my rosary beads and telling them over and over. It surely isn’t possible that a Howard has done anything against the king. Tom Howard has risen with his family by doing anything the king asked of them. There are no more loyal, bull-necked henchmen in the country. I can barely hear the Mass, I cannot say a prayer. I glance at the queen’s bowed head and I wonder if she knows.
It is not till the court goes to breakfast that I can walk beside Montague and appear to be talking quietly together, a mother and her son. “What’s Tommy Howard done?”
“He’s seduced the Scottish queen’s daughter, your former ward: Lady Margaret Douglas. They married in secret at Easter.”
“Lady Margaret!” I exclaim. I have rarely seen her since she left my charge to serve Anne Boleyn. For a moment all I can feel is relief that the princess is not threatened by fresh trouble, but then I think of the pretty girl who was in my keeping, but lost at court. “She would never have done anything which did not befit a princess,” I say fiercely. “She was our princess’s lady-in-waiting, and she is the daughter of Margaret Tudor. Don’t tell me that she has made a secret marriage to a commoner without permission!”
“I do tell you that,” Montague says flatly.
“Married to Tom Howard? In secret? How did the king find out?”
“Everyone is saying that the duke told him. Would Norfolk betray his own half brother?”