Queen of This Realm

In due course the inevitable happened. Edward Seymour lost his head on the block—three years after the death of his brother, the Admiral.

Our master was now John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland.

CLEARLY I REMEMBER that Christmas of 1552. The festivities were held at Greenwich and I was looking forward to spending much time with my brother.

As soon as I was in his presence I noticed that he looked rather more tired than usual, although he had never been robust. I inquired anxiously after his health and he told me he had a wretched cough which kept him awake at night.

I asked what his physicians thought about it. “They are always hanging round me,” he told me.

There were the usual entertainments, which most seemed to enjoy, but I was aware of a certain preoccupation in the minds of those present, not least the Duke of Northumberland, and I guessed there was a good deal of concern for the King's condition.

I myself felt very uneasy wondering what would happen if Edward died. Mary—according to my father's will—should be Queen, but for so many years there had been such deep divisions among the people about religion. She was fanatical in her beliefs and declared that she would die for them, so if she became Queen it was certain that she would attempt to bring Catholicism back to the whole country as the one true faith. There were many who were violently against that—Edward himself for one—but if it came to it, he would not be here to have a say!

I could see great trouble if Edward should die. I must tread warily among those who continued to watch me. If Mary came to the throne and England became again a Catholic country, what next? Should we have the dread Inquisition introduced into the land? Mary's mother had been Katharine of Aragon of course, and she had brought up Mary close to Spanish as well as Roman influences. There would be many to stand against any purge of the new faith, my friends assured me. But I was determined to hold my own counsel in matters of faith. Fanaticism had no appeal to me.

Edward being so poorly, all these thoughts must enter the mind, and in view of my own position as one who had had a Protestant upbringing—even though I could be very flexible in the matter of religion—I knew I was passing into dangerous times.

I was alert, watchful—that was a memorable Christmas for me.

I do not know whether Edward felt death near, but during the months which followed he began to concern himself very deeply with the poor and needy. He talked to me about them and how it grieved him to contemplate their sufferings. He wanted to do something for them and no matter what opposition he encountered he intended to.

There was, as a matter of fact, no opposition to his proposals. Perhaps those about him felt they had to humor a dying boy.

The first thing he did was hand over the Palace of Bridewell to the corporation of London as a workhouse for poor and idle people, which meant that there could always be a roof over the heads of some who would otherwise be homeless, as long as they were prepared to comply with the rules of the institution. He had arranged that Christ's Hospital, the old Greyfriars' Monastery, should be turned into a school for poor scholars, and that St Thomas's Hospital should be used for the treatment of the poor who were sick.

These arrangements seemed to give him much pleasure and I told him that his goodness would be remembered for centuries to come and that contented him and I am sure made him feel that however ineffectual he was as a king, he had achieved something of value which would live after him.

I could have wept when I looked at his pale thin face; he had lost a great deal of weight during the months since Christmas. He said he felt tired always.

Once, when I was riding through London, I saw two men in the pillory and on asking what had been their offense, I was told that they had talked unwarily of the King's illness and said that he was being slowly poisoned.

I shivered, though I did not believe this calumny for a moment. But it did mean that the country was preparing itself for the death of the boy King, so I went down to Hatfield and decided to watch events from some little distance.

I had been made aware—by some who held concern for my future—of what was in Northumberland's mind. Lord Guildford Dudley was married to Lady Jane Grey. Guildford was Northumberland's fourth son, but the others were all married. Later I often thought how close Robert Dudley came to being in Guildford's shoes.

July had come and on the sixth of that month a terrible storm blew up— the worst in living memory. The sky darkened and the thunder rolled; and people gazed in terror at the sky, fearing such a storm could only be an expression of God's anger.

My brother Edward lay in his bed at Greenwich Palace. He must have known that he was near the end of his life, but he would not be afraid to die. In fact I believed he would welcome death. He was not suited to his role; he would never be a great king; he was as different from our father as it was possible to be. I thought of Mary who stood next in line. She had been kind to me always but I knew she would alienate the people, with her intense religious fervor, and there were many people in the country who were determined to remain Protestant. Oh, why had a perverse fate in the first place made me a girl and in the second set me so far from the throne! I had had the good sense to go to Hatfield realizing that it is necessary to remain at a safe distance from great events, until one has decided what is the best way to act. The time was not yet ripe for me.

It was on that same sixth day of July that a messenger arrived at Hatfield. I did not recognize his livery but he asked if he could speak to me alone. I immediately granted this permission, and when he told me he came from William Cecil, I was all attention.

Sir William Cecil had been Protector Somerset's secretary, and when his master fell, Cecil had been put into the Tower where he stayed for two months. It was clear, however, that he was a man of exceptional ability, and so he was released and became one of the Secretaries of State. He had effected some business for me once during the lifetime of Somerset, and I had a fancy that he had been rather impressed by me and felt a certain friendship for me. I understood that he secretly saw me as the hope of the future as far as the Protestants were concerned. He feared the accession of my half-sister Mary and the havoc it could bring and he had risked a great deal to send to me now.

The messenger told me that he was a very confidential servant of Sir William who had entrusted him with this errand. The Duke of Northumberland, he told me, had prevailed upon the ill young King to name Lady Jane Grey as his successor.

“That is impossible!” I cried. “My father stated clearly in his will that the Lady Mary, as his eldest daughter, was to follow Edward if he died without heirs.”

“That is so, my lady, but the Duke of Northumberland has persuaded the King to change that. It is for this reason that Northumberland has married his son Guildford Dudley to the Lady Jane. They intend her to be Queen, and Guildford King.”

“The country will never allow it.”

“So thinks my master. But he has sent me hither, my lady, to warn you that you are in grave danger. As soon as the King dies, the Duke will request you and the Lady Mary to come to London. When you arrive you will be placed in the Tower—for your safety, he will say. My lady, my master has sent me to say that you must find some excuse for not obeying that summons.”

“I see,” I said. “Thank your master. I shall not forget his service to me. I intend to retire to my bed with a grievous sickness which will prevent my leaving here until I am well enough to do so.”