A Dangerous Inheritance

Jane arrives, looking pretty but too thin and pale in crimson velvet, and now the hour is upon us. Filled with a curious mixture of misgivings and anticipation, and giggling nervously, I slide my betrothal ring on to my finger and pull on my gloves with shaking hands. Then we wrap ourselves in our cloaks and pull our hoods down well over our faces.

I have visited Ned’s London house several times with Jane, and usually we come by river, as the main entrance is through a water-gate on the Thames, but this morning the tide is out. Speed is essential, for we dare not be missed, so we hurry along the privy gallery, patter down the stairs and slip out of the palace into a small courtyard. There is hardly a soul about, just a couple of workmen repairing a window. It is freezing, and the wind is bitter.

It feels strange to be abroad unaccompanied. All my life, whenever I have ventured out into the world, I have been attended by a maid, at the very least, and I am sure that the same could be said of Jane. Yet here we are, two lone gentle-women, out on our own, and embarked upon the most daring and perilous adventure. No wonder my legs feel as if they are about to collapse under me.

We pass through a small door in the wall to the frost-rimed orchard, and so hurry southwards to the river bank, where at the edge of the sands there is a narrow pebbled path that leads to the river stairs of Hertford House. It is unlikely that anyone will spot us, because only a few servants remain to take care of Whitehall, yet still I look about me furtively, and in some terror, as we hasten on our way. Jane too is watchful and wary, ready to shield me if she sees anyone who might know us.

When we approach Hertford House, I look up; there is a movement at an upper window, and then I catch sight of my beloved looking anxiously out of another, over the gateway. As soon as he sees us, he waves and disappears. We are here! We have done it!

Suddenly a man emerges from the house and tries to push past us, but Jane is too quick for him.

‘Barnaby!’ she exclaims, as I pull my hood close about my face. ‘Whither go you?’

‘On some business of my lord,’ he replies sullenly, and hastens away.

‘Learn some ma

As she watches for his approach, Ned himself opens the front doors, looking tense but splendid in a fine suit of cloth of silver and a jaunty cape of sage-green velvet. He smiles and opens his arms; and I run to him. We remain locked together for a long, breathless moment before he breaks away, embraces his sister, and closes the front door behind us. We are alone in the withdrawing chamber.

‘You got rid of the servants,’ Jane says.

‘Yes, I sent those I trust least on lengthy errands, and the rest have been told to take their leisure and remain below stairs until after they have eaten their di

‘We ran into Barnaby,’ his sister tells him.

‘A graceless oaf,’ Ned smiles. ‘He is delivering a letter to my goldsmith in Cheapside. He will think nothing of your coming here.’

‘We have to be back at Whitehall for di

‘No, he is not,’ Ned frets. ‘I’ve been looking out for him. Hopefully he will arrive soon. Come up and take some refreshment while we wait.’

We ascend to his bedchamber, which overlooks the river. It was through its mullioned window that I had glimpsed him earlier. My eyes are drawn at once to the grand four-poster bed with carved posts, elaborate wooden reliefs and a solid tester; it lies there waiting for us, made up with the finest linen, its rich counterpane folded back ready … Ned’s eyes meet mine. He has seen me looking at it, and his gaze is warm.

I notice a book lying open on a chest by the bed.

‘I was reading, or trying to,’ he says. ‘I’ve been up since six, making all ready. I could not settle to anything until I knew you were safely here. I even went for a walk, as I could not sit down. Katherine, Jane, help yourselves to some food.’

He waves us to the laden sideboard, spread with platters of cold meats and cheeses, manchet rolls, bowls of almond comfits and flagons of ale. Yet none of us can fancy a mouthful. Ned is distracted, pacing the floor between the sideboard and the window, looking again and again to see if the minister is in sight. I pour some ale and sip it, feeling increasingly dispirited. Where is the man?

Ned fumes. ‘He isn’t coming.’

‘He promised,’ Jane says plaintively. ‘He seemed genuine.’

‘What shall we do?’ I ask.

‘We dare not wait any longer,’ Jane says. ‘Stay here, both of you, and I will go and find another minister to marry you.’

We protest, fearing the danger of her being discovered, but she is adamant, and before we can deter her, she is gone, her black cloak flapping behind her. And so we are alone at last in Ned’s bedchamber.

We stand awkwardly, unaccustomed to this new intimacy. Then Ned crosses the distance between us and draws me to him. I shiver.

‘You are cold, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, holding me against his breast. Our two hearts are thumping so hard you can almost hear them.

‘I am frightened,’ I say. ‘Frightened that Jane will be caught. Frightened that our marriage ca

‘Hush now,’ Ned gentles me. ‘You should not always think the worst.’

‘I have had good reason to all my life,’ I reflect. ‘Are you not afraid?’

‘Of course,’ he confesses. ‘Many might call us mad even to contemplate what we are doing this day. But I want you, Katherine, and I am prepared to risk all to have you. I love you.’

Instantly I am opening my mouth to his, ru

Within half an hour, a breathless Jane returns with a plump little cleric with fair, freckled skin, a red beard and a long black gown furred with lambskin such as the Calvinists wear in Geneva; she’d found him in St Margaret’s Church by Westminster Abbey. Easily persuaded by the ten pounds offered by Ned, he professes himself willing to join together two young and eager lovers in holy wedlock. He asks no questions as to our identity, although he must realise from our surroundings and attire that we are nobly born – yet neither does he give us his own name, nor don any surplice.

Jane helps the minister to prepare for the ceremony, and he tells her she is as comely an acolyte as he’s ever seen. It breaks the tension a little.

‘Pray stand here, facing the window,’ he commands, opening his Book of Common Prayer. We take our places, side by side, with Jane standing behind us, and the nuptials begin.

Ned produces an elaborate gold ring and places it on my finger as we make our vows, then the minister pronounces us man and wife, and the service is over. We have done it! We are wed – at last!

Jane takes the minister downstairs, pays him his fee – since Ned does not have enough money – and shows him out of the house, and while she is gone I share another loving embrace with my husband and admire my ring. It is cu

As circles five by art compressed show but one ring to sight,

So trust uniteth faithful minds with knot of secret might,

Whose force to break, but greedy Death, no wight possesseth power,

As time and sequels well shall prove, my ring can say no more.

Though disquieted a little by the mention of greedy Death, I thrill to read of the secret might of the knot we have just tied, and Ned’s acknowledgement of the trust and fidelity that have bound us all these long years. This ring, like that he gave me at our betrothal, is symbolic of the power of the marriage bond. It makes it all – this strange day, the anonymous minister, the furtive ceremony – seem real.