A Dangerous Inheritance

‘I can’t bear the thought of people thinking such dreadful things about my father,’ she said.

‘Sweetheart, I make no doubt that, once I have spoken to the King about those rumours, he will ensure that they do not. Now, be at peace, and listen to this.’ He began to recite, but Kate was not listening. She could not forget what Lord Stanley had said. Her father must refute those rumours. He must!

Katherine

January 1554. Whitehall Palace.

The palace is in an uproar. It is terrifying! Some of the women are saying we shall all be murdered in our beds, and the Queen too! There have been rumbles of discontent for weeks – since the Queen’s forthcoming marriage was a

There have been concerns expressed about the Lady Elizabeth, who was finally allowed to leave court last month after bringing much pressure to bear on her sister. Relations between the Lady Elizabeth and Queen Mary had become uncomfortably strained, and no doubt her Majesty was glad to see the back of her. Yet now people think it strange that she departed the court not long before the rebellion.

The Queen, unlike most of the rest of us, is calm. Not for nothing is she a Tudor. I wish I could be like her, for the same blood runs in my veins, but I am of poor courage, wanting to run as far away from here as I can. Yet I must stay where I am, where I can be seen to be loyal to my sovereign. I am spending much of my time at prayer, fearfully imploring God for a speedy deliverance from these traitors.

The most terrible news has come. There have been further uprisings in Devon and the Midlands, both linked to Wyatt’s rebellion, and orchestrated by the same traitors. Fortunately they have proved abortive, but the worst news – for me – is that the revolt in Leicestershire was led by my father. He even went so far as to declare for Jane, proclaiming her queen once more. I am mortified when the Queen herself breaks these tidings to me, and she can see how covered with shame I am, for she speaks kindly to me and assures me she knows I am loyal and true to her, even if my father is not.

Words fail me when I think of the Duke my lord. Even though I have been brought up to respect and honour him, and never to question his word, I have to acknowledge that he has acted with great stupidity and lack of judgement. Did he not think how his rash and treasonable acts could rebound on us all, especially on poor Jane, i

As I do my best to look invisible, the Queen commands the Lady Elizabeth to return to court. Back comes the reply: her Grace has a cold and a headache, and is too ill to travel. The Queen frowns as she puts down the letter. ‘I do not believe it,’ she says. ‘She is intriguing with the French; I have proof of it. She is no sister of mine!’ She rises and angrily raps out an order that the Lady Elizabeth’s portrait be taken down from the gallery.

My mother, in the foulest of tempers, seeks me out at court on the day that my father and other rebel leaders are publicly proclaimed traitors.

‘Well, I did warn him!’ my lady says when we are alone together. ‘Of course, the fool would not listen, and now I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings us all down with him. There’ll be no reprieve this time. The Queen is no longer so disposed to mercy.’

She speaks truth, and certainly there are no grounds for pleading for my father.

‘What will happen to him?’ I ask, heavy-hearted.

‘What happens to all traitors,’ she answers gruffly, betraying no emotion but anger. ‘You had best face up to it. He knew what he was risking.’

The rebels at are Gravesend. The gates of London are now under heavy guard, and the drawbridge on London Bridge has been raised.

I am among the ladies waiting on the Queen when she receives a deputation of the Commons, who beg her to reconsider her decision to wed Prince Philip.

‘I ca

Her spirit remains firm. Ignoring the chorus of protest from her ministers and her ladies, she is resolved upon a personal appeal to the Londoners, and in the afternoon we nervously follow her to the Guildhall. Up to the last minute, she adamantly rejected all her councillors’ pleas to consider her safety and not venture forth into the City.

She is fearless. We stand behind her as she faces the Lord Mayor and a vast crowd of people. Her speech is long and masterful. I listen, marvelling, as she reminds them that she is their Queen, and tells them she loves them as naturally as a mother loves her child. She assures them she would abstain from this marriage if it did not appear to be for the high benefit of the realm.

‘I am minded to live and die with you!’ she cries in her deep, man-like voice, reminding them that all they hold dear is under threat. ‘And now, good subjects, pluck up your hearts, and like true men face up to these rebels, and fear them not – for I assure you I fear them nothing at all!’

The response is tremendous. Caps are thrown into the air and tears are shed as there is a resounding ovation. We depart to the roar of cheering, heartened by the knowledge that Queen Mary, by her courage, now has London in the palm of her hand.

The Londoners have destroyed London Bridge, so that Wyatt and his hordes may not cross the river from the Surrey shore. There are frightening reports that he has sacked the old priory of St Mary Overie in Southwark and Winchester Palace nearby. In the City there is much noise and tumult as men shut up their shops, put on their armour and obey the Lord Mayor’s command to guard their front doors.

In the palace, it is as if we are under siege. The Queen’s presence chamber is thronged with armed guards. In her privy chamber, we ladies huddle together, many of us weeping and lamenting our perilous position; I confess I am among the most tremulous. My mother, though, sits tight-lipped and straight-backed. She will not give way to fear.

The waiting is intolerable. When will the violence begin?

The Queen remains calm and steadfast. ‘You must place your trust in God,’ she exhorts us. ‘He will deliver us from this present danger.’

She refuses to allow the Tower guns to be fired across the Thames at the rebel army.

‘My i

The Queen is urged by her advisers to escape by river, a suggestion she rejects with derision. ‘I will tarry to the uttermost,’ she declares. ‘I only wish I were not a weak woman and could take to the field in person.’

Arms are hastily issued to every member of the royal household. I’ll even wield a pistol myself if necessary.