CHAPTER XVII 1553 Lady Jane as Queen--Mary asserts her claims--The English envoys at Brussels--Mary's popularity--Northumberland leaves London--His farewells.

To enter in any degree into the position of “Jane the Queen” during the brief period when she was the nominal head of the State, the time in which she lived, as well as the prevalent conception of royalty in England, must be taken into the reckoning.

In our own days she would not only have been a mere cipher—as indeed she was—but would have been content to remain such, so far as actual power was concerned. Royalty, stripped of its reality, is largely become a mere matter of show, a part of the pageant of State. In the case of a child of sixteen it would wear that character alone. But in the days of the Tudors a King was accustomed to govern; even in the hands of a minor a sceptre was not a mere symbolic ornament.

And Lady Jane was precisely the person to take a serious view of her duties. Thoughtful, conscientious, and grave beyond her years, she had no sooner found herself a Queen than she had asserted her authority in opposition to that of the man who had invested her with the dignity by announcing her intention of refusing to allow it to be shared by his son—already, it appears by letters from Brussels, recognised there as Prince Consort—and shut up in the gloomy fortress to which she had been taken she was occupied with the thought of her duty to the kingdom she believed herself to be called to rule over, of the necessity of providing for the wants of the nation, and more especially for the future of religion. Whilst, perhaps, all the time there lingered in her mind a misgiving, lifting its head to confront her from time to time with a paralysing doubt, torturing to a sensitive and scrupulous nature; was she indeed the rightful Queen of England?

Mary had lost no time in asserting her claims. On July 9—the day before that of Jane’s proclamation—she had written a letter to the Council from Kenninghall in Norfolk, expressing her astonishment that they had neither communicated to her the fact of her brother’s death, nor had caused her to be proclaimed Queen, and requiring them to perform this last duty without delay. The rebuke reaching London on the morning of January 11 “seemed to give their Lordships no other trouble than the returning of an answer,”164 which they did in terms of studied insult, reminding her of her alleged illegitimacy, and exhorting her to submit to her lawful sovereign, Queen Jane, else she should prove grievous unto them and unto herself. This unconciliatory document received the signature of every one of the Council, including Cecil, who was afterwards at much pains to explain his concurrence in the proceedings of his colleagues; and Northumberland, as he despatched it, must have felt with satisfaction that it would be difficult for those responsible for the missive to make their peace with the woman to whom it was addressed.

The terms in which the defiance was couched show the little importance attached to the chances that Henry VIII.’s eldest daughter would ever be in a position to vindicate her rights. Once again her enemies had failed to take into account the stubborn justice of the people. Though by many of them Mary’s religion was feared and disliked, they viewed with sullen disapproval the conspiracy to rob her of her heritage. And Northumberland they hated.

The sinister rumours current during the last few years were still afloat; justified, as it seemed, by the course of recent events. It was said that the Duke had incited Somerset to put his brother to death, and had then slain Somerset, in order that, bereft of his nearest of kin, the young King might the more easily become his victim. The reports of foul play were repeated, and it was said that Edward had been removed by poison to make way for Northumberland’s daughter-in-law. That he had not come by his death by fair means was indeed so generally believed that the Emperor, writing to Mary when she had defeated her enemies, counselled her to punish all those that had been concerned in it.165

The charge of poisoning was not so uncommon as to make it strange that it should be thought to have been instrumental in removing an obstacle from the path of an ambitious man. In Lady Jane’s pitiful letter to her cousin she stated—doubtless in good faith—that poison had twice been administered to her, once in the house of the Duchess of Northumberland—when the motive would have been hard to find—and again in the Tower, “as I have certain evidence.” What the poor child honestly believed had been attempted in her case, the angry people imagined had been successfully accomplished in the case of their young King, and his death was another item laid to the charge of the man they hated.

The news of what was going forward in England had by this time become known abroad. Though letters had been addressed by the Council to Sir Philip Hoby and Sir Richard Morysine, ambassadors at Brussels, announcing the King’s death and his cousin’s accession, the tidings had reached them unofficially before the arrival of the despatches from London. As the envoys were walking in the garden, they were joined by a servant of the Emperor’s, Don Diego by name, who, making profession of personal good will towards their country, expressed his regret at its present loss, adding at the same time his congratulations that so noble a King—meaning, it would seem, Guilford Dudley—had been provided for them, a King he would himself be at all times ready to serve.

The envoys replied that the sorrowful news had reached them, but not the joyous—that they were glad to hear so much from him. Don Diego thereupon proceeded to impart the further fact of Edward’s will in favour of Lady Jane. With the question whether the two daughters of Henry VIII. were bastards or not, strangers, he observed, had nothing to do. It was reasonable to accept as King him who had been declared such by the nobles of the land; and Diego, for his part, was bound to rejoice that His Majesty had been set in this office, since he was his godfather, and—so long as the Emperor was in amity with him—would be willing to shed his blood in his service.166

This last personal detail probably contained the explanation of Don Diego’s approbation of an arrangement which could scarcely be expected to commend itself to his master, and likewise of the curiously subordinate part awarded to Lady Jane in his account of it. But whatever might be the opinion of foreigners, it had quickly been made plain in England that the country would not be content to accept either the sovereignty of Jane or of her husband without a struggle.

Of the temper of the capital a letter or libel scattered abroad, after the fashion of the day, during the week, is an example. In this document, addressed by a certain “poor Pratte” to a young man who had been placed in the pillory and had lost his ears in consequence of his advocacy of Mary’s rights, love for the lawful Queen, and hatred of the “ragged bear,” Northumberland, is expressed in every line. Should England prove disloyal, misfortune will overtake it as a chastisement for its sin; the Gospel will be plucked away and the Lady Mary replaced by so cruel a Pharaoh as the ragged bear. Her Grace—in marked contrast to the sentiments commonly attributed to the Duke—is doubtless more sorrowful for her brother than glad to be Queen, and would have been as glad of his life as the ragged bear of his death. In conclusion, the writer trusts that God will shortly exalt Mary, “and pluck down that Jane—I cannot nominate her Queen, for that I know no other Queen but the good Lady Mary, her Grace, whom God prosper.” To those who would Mary to be Queen poor Pratte wishes long life and pleasure; to her opponents, the pains of Satan in hell.167

Such was the delirious spirit of loyalty towards the dispossessed heir, even amongst those who owed no allegiance to Rome. It was not long before the Council were to be taught by more forcible means than scurrilous abuse to correct their estimate of the situation and of the forces at work, strangely misapprehended at the first by one and all.

News was reaching London of the support tendered to Mary. The Earls of Sussex and of Bath had declared in her favour; the county of Suffolk had led the way in rising on her behalf; nobles and gentlemen, with their retainers, were flocking to her standard; it was becoming clearer with every hour that she would not consent to be ousted from her rights without a fierce struggle.

Measures for meeting the resistance of her adherents had to be taken without delay; and Northumberland, wisely unwilling to absent himself from the capital at a juncture so critical, had intended to depute Suffolk to command the forces to be led against her; to gain, if possible, possession of her person, and to bring her to London. This was the arrangement hastily made on July 12. Before nightfall it had been cancelled at the entreaty of the titular Queen. It is not difficult to enter into the Lady Jane’s feelings, threatened with the absence of her father on a dangerous errand. With her nervous fears of poison, her evident dislike of her mother-in-law, and ill at ease in new circumstances and surroundings, she may well have clung to the comfort and support afforded by his presence; nor is it incomprehensible that she had “taken the matter heavily” when informed of the decision of the Council. Her wishes might have had little effect if other causes had not conspired to assist her to gain her object, and it has been suggested that those of the lords already contemplating the possibility of Mary’s success, and desirous of being freed from the restraint imposed by Northumberland’s presence amongst them, may have had a hand in instigating her request, proffered with tears, that her father might tarry at home in her company. The entreaty was, at all events, in full accordance with their desires, and pressure was brought upon Northumberland to induce him to yield to her petition—leaving Suffolk in his place at the Tower, and himself leading the troops north.

Many reasons were urged rendering it advisable that the Duke should take the field in person. He had been the victor in the struggle with Kett, of which Norfolk had been the scene, and enjoyed, in consequence, a great reputation in that county, where it seemed that the fight with Mary and her adherents was to take place. He was, moreover, an able soldier; Suffolk was not. On the other hand, it was impossible for Northumberland to adduce the true motives prompting his desire to continue at headquarters; since chief amongst them was the wisdom and prudence of remaining at hand to maintain his personal influence over his colleagues and to keep them true to the oaths they had sworn. In the end he consented to bow to their wishes.

“Since ye think it good,” he said, “I and mine will go, not doubting of your fidelity to the Queen’s Majesty, which I leave in your custody.”

More than the Queen’s Majesty was left to their care. The safety, if not the life, of the man chiefly responsible for the conspiracy which had made her what she was, hung upon their loyalty to their vows, and Northumberland must have known it. But Lady Jane was to have her way, and the Council, waiting upon her, brought the welcome news to the Queen, who humbly thanked the Duke for reserving her father at home, and besought him—she was already learning royal fashions—to use his diligence. To this Northumberland, surely not without an inward smile, answered that he would do what in him lay, and the matter was concluded.

At Durham House, next day, the Duke’s retinue assembled.168 In the forenoon he met the Council, taking leave of them in friendly sort, yet with words betraying his misgivings in the very terms used to convey the assurance of his confidence in their good faith and fidelity.

He and the other nobles who were to be his companions went forth, he told the men left behind, as much to assure their safety as that of the Queen herself. Whilst he and his comrades were to risk their lives in the field, their preservation at home, with the preservation of their children and families, was committed to those who stayed in London. And then he spoke some weighty words, the doubts and forebodings within him finding vent:

“If we thought ye would through malice, conspiracy, or dissension, leave us your friends in the briars and betray us, we could as well sundry ways forsee and provide for our own safeguards as any of you, by betraying us, can do for yours. But now, upon the only trust and faithfulness of your honours, whereof we think ourselves most assured, we do hazard and jubarde [jeopardize] our lives, which trust and promise if ye shall violate, hoping thereby of life and promotion, yet shall not God count you innocent of our bloods, neither acquit you of the sacred and holy oath of allegiance made freely by you to this virtuous lady, the Queen’s Highness, who by your and our enticement is rather of force placed therein than by her own seeking and request.” Commending to their consideration the interests of religion, he again reiterated his warning. “If ye mean deceit, though not forthwith, yet hereafter, God will revenge the same,” ending by assuring his colleagues that his words had not been caused by distrust, but that he had spoken them as a reminder of the chances of variance which might grow in his absence.

One of the Council—the narrator does not give his name—took upon him to reply for the rest.

“My Lord,” he answered, “if ye mistrust any of us in this matter your Grace is far deceived. For which of us can wipe his hands clean thereof? And if we should shrink from you as one that is culpable, which of us can excuse himself as guiltless? Therefore herein your doubt is too far cast.”

It was characteristic of times and men that, far from resenting the suspicion of unfaith, the sole ground upon which the Duke was asked to base a confidence in the fidelity of his colleagues was that it would not be to their interest to betray him.

“I pray God it may be so,” he answered. “Let us go to dinner.”

After dinner came an interview with Jane, who bade farewell to the Duke and to the lords who were to accompany him on his mission. Everywhere we are confronted by the same heavy atmosphere of impending treachery. As the chief conspirator passed through the Council-chamber Arundel met him—Arundel, who was to be one of the first to leave the sinking ship, and who may already have been looking for a loophole of escape from a perilous situation. Yet he now prayed God be with his Grace, saying he was very sorry it was not his chance to go with him and bear him company, in whose presence he could find it in his heart to shed his blood, even at his foot.

The words, with their gratuitous and unsolicited asseveration of loyal friendship, must have been remembered by both when the two met again. It is nevertheless possible that, moved and affected, the Earl was sincere at the moment in his protestations.

“Farewell, gentle Thomas,” he added to the Duke’s “boy,” Thomas Lovell, taking him by the hand, “Farewell, gentle Thomas, with all my heart.”

The next day Northumberland took his departure from the capital. As he rode through the city, with some six hundred followers, the same ominous silence that had greeted the proclamation of Lady Jane was preserved by the throng gathered together to see her father-in-law pass. The Duke noticed it.

“The people press to see us,” he observed gloomily, “but not one sayeth God speed us.”

When next Northumberland and the London crowd were face to face it was under changed circumstances.

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