Jane Seymour: The Haunted Queen by Alison Weir
The conversation turned to the King.
“Jane desires to know all about him,” Edward said. “I have been preparing her for her new position.”
“Our sovereign lord is a very religious man, a true friend of the Church,” the Prior informed Jane. “About six years ago, he wrote a book against the heresies of Martin Luther, and for that the Pope awarded him the title ‘Defender of the Faith.’ I have heard that he is assiduous in observing the offices of the Church, and that he creeps to the Cross on his knees, in humility, every Good Friday.”
“His Grace is very learned in theology,” Edward added. “He reads St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Augustine. The Gentlemen of his Privy Chamber say he likes nothing better than a good debate about religion.”
“He sounds like a paragon,” Jane said.
“We are blessed in such a king,” Prior Thomas declared.
“And you will meet him very soon.” Edward smiled.
* * *
—
It was exciting being on the river for the first time. Jane had never been on a barge before, and she found herself enjoying the gentle motion and the swishing of the oars through the powerful currents. The speed was exhilarating.
London was as marvelous as she had anticipated, with its skyline pierced by a hundred steeples and the fine mansions that lined the banks of the Thames. As they were rowed downstream, Edward pointed out Hampton Court, the great palace built by Cardinal Wolsey, and Richmond Palace, with pinnacles and domes that would not have been out of place in an ancient legend; and then, passing Westminster, she saw the great hall and the abbey, and after it the City itself, London Bridge creaking under the weight of its shops and chapel, with St. Paul’s Cathedral dominating all.
Some way further along, Greenwich Palace sprawled along the River Thames like a great red-brick lion. It was vast, with huge oriel windows facing the waterfront and a great tower. Surrounding it were beautiful gardens with fountains, lawns, flowers and orchards. The scale of it all had Jane gaping. She had thought Wulfhall large! How would she ever find her way around this place?
“Sir Francis Bryan should be waiting for us,” Edward said, as the barge turned toward the shore. “Be wary. He’s done you a great favor, and he might expect something in return.”
“Surely not!” Jane felt the heat rise from her neck. “Father paid him for the favor.”
“Be on your guard, that’s all. He’s not nicknamed ‘the Vicar of Hell’ for nothing. He’s notoriously impious, and likes to make free with the ladies. But none can touch him, for he’s a close friend of the King and a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. His mother is Margaret, Lady Bryan, who is also held in high regard and was governess to the Princess Mary. Oh, and another thing. He wears an eyepatch. He lost his eye in a tournament last year.”
“Oh, how awful!” Jane exclaimed.
Her stomach was churning like the water beneath her as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Gripping the bench in front for support, she smoothed the skirts of her new black gown and white kirtle, straightened the gable hood her mother had made, and gathered her train over her arm. She climbed the stone stairs to the quayside, her black veil flapping over her shoulder. At the top, they were challenged by the King’s guard in their splendid red uniforms, but when Edward explained that Jane was come to serve the Queen, and that Sir Francis Bryan was expecting them, a groom was immediately sent off to inform him of their coming, and they were escorted into the tower and through an apartment of such splendor that Jane wondered if she had died and arrived in Heaven. Everything was gilded or painted in bright colors. The armorial glass in the oriel windows glittered in the sun’s rays; huge tapestries hung on all the walls, and naked plaster cherubs gamboled along decorative friezes. There were carpets on the floor—Mother would have gone into spasms at the thought of people walking on them; her two Turkey rugs adorned tables, and woe betide anyone who got dirt on them.
Jane had to mind her train as they turned right into a long gallery hung with portraits and maps, and threaded their way through the press of courtiers waiting to see the Queen. A tall, dark-haired man was waiting at the far end. He wore an eyepatch and a fashionable short gown of fine gray damask above his doublet and bases, and he bowed courteously at their approach.
“Mistress Jane,” he said, with a wolfish smile.
Jane curtseyed warily, keeping her distance, painfully aware that the low, square neckline of her court gown was revealing far more of her breasts than she would have liked.
“Welcome to court.” Sir Francis beamed, his eyes raking her up and down. “You look most becoming. I take it your father is well?”
“Very well, thank you, Sir,” Jane said. “In truth, we are all most grateful to you for finding me this position.”
“It was my pleasure,” he assured her. “Come. The Queen is waiting.” She was feeling really nervous now. What place could a country girl have here in this mighty court? How would she avoid making a fool of herself? She could not believe that she was about to meet the Queen of England, and that that Queen was her new mistress. She might even meet the King today! She trembled at the prospect. She thought of turning around and running back to the barge. She hardly knew how she stopped herself.
Sir Francis led them into the Queen’s lodgings, through two chambers of great magnificence, pointing out treasures and paintings with consummate ease and charm. Even on short acquaintance, Jane found his knowledge impressive, and feared she would find herself at a disadvantage if everyone at court was so learned. Listening to Edward conversing with Sir Francis, she realized she had not known her brother to be such a scholar. She began to feel even more inadequate.
The Queen’s presence chamber was empty, save for the guards who stood at the doors. At one end, beneath a canopy of estate blazoned with the royal arms of England and Spain, stood a cross-frame chair upholstered in crimson velvet. To the far side was a door, where they waited for the usher to announce them.
“Her Grace is in the privy chamber beyond,” Sir Francis told Jane. “Only the most privileged persons may enter, and now you are one of them.” He gave her that wolfish smile, but there was warmth in it. “Have courage, mistress. The Queen is a gentle lady.” Jane could see why women fell for him.
“This is where I leave you, sister,” Edward said, kissing her and stepping back. “Good luck!” She was suddenly seized with fright and almost ran after him, but took a deep breath and reminded herself that he was not going far away.
They followed the usher through the door into a large apartment, as sumptuously furnished as the rest. Jane looked around. On the dais at the far end, the Queen sat in a great chair, her purple damask skirts spread wide about her. On her head she wore an ornate gable hood with biliments of gold, on her ample breast a pendant with three drop pearls. Her gorgeously attired ladies and a bevy of maids in black and white were seated or kneeling around her. They all looked up from their needlework as Jane sank into a trembling curtsey.
“Welcome, Mistress Jane,” the Queen said, in a heavily accented voice that betrayed her Spanish blood. Jane rose and saw that she was smiling and holding out a plump hand adorned with sparkling rings.
“Kiss it,” Sir Francis whispered.
She stepped forward, fell to her knees and did as she was bidden, thinking how old and sad the Queen looked. She was stout too—nothing like Jane had expected—and she had an overly prominent chin, yet there was a pleasing sweetness in her smile, her eyes were kind, and her dignified, gentle manner immediately set Jane at her ease.
“Sir Francis, I am most grateful to you for recommending Mistress Jane to me,” the Queen said.
“She is most fortunate to be serving your Grace,” he replied.
“It is a great honor, your Grace,” Jane murmured, aware of the curious eyes of the women who would from now on be her daily companions.
“Mistress Elizabeth,
One of the ladies stood up, a young woman with dark hair, a rosy oval face and deep blue eyes.
“Come with me,” she said.
Leaving Sir Francis and the Queen conversing, Jane curtseyed and followed the lady up a winding stair that led to a big chamber on the top floor, with gabled windows on both sides. Along the walls were long lines of pallet beds, each with a chest next to it, and pegs on the walls above on which to hang clothing. The room smelled of sweat, perfume, shoes and—faintly—bloody monthly clouts. It did not bother her, as she was used to sharing a room with Margery.
“I am Elizabeth Chambers, Mistress of the Maids,” the young woman said. “Everyone calls me Bess. I am in charge of all the Queen’s maids-of-honor, and responsible for their welfare. If you have any problems, come to me.” She smiled. “I see you are wearing the requisite colors.”
Jane was relieved to find her so friendly. “My mother has provided two other gowns, one of white, the other of black,” she said, as two men in green-and-white livery entered the room carrying her baggage. “I will show you.”
“There is no need,” Bess Chambers told her. “You may have some time to dispose of your gear. The King always joins the Queen for Vespers, so you will need to be downstairs for six o’clock to attend her. Supper will be served in her privy chamber afterward, and the great ladies of her household join her at table, unless the King stays. We maids eat with the chamberers in the watching chamber with the officers of her Grace’s household. After supper, we usually enjoy some recreation before attending her Grace when she goes to bed. You will take it in turns with the other maids-of-honor to sleep on a pallet bed in her bedchamber, in case she needs anything in the night. Is that all clear?”
“Yes, Mistress Bess,” Jane said.
“In the morning, you will rise at six and make ready in time to help dress the Queen when she gets up. You will attend Mass with her and her household, after which breakfast will be served, which we take with her in her privy chamber. We attend her Grace as necessary during the day, depending on what she is doing. Often we sit with her working on our embroidery or making clothing for the poor.”
It all sounded straightforward—and very pleasant. “I love embroidering,” Jane said.
“Her Grace will be pleased.” Bess paused for a moment. “Mistress Jane, forgive me, but I am instructed to say to every new servant of the Queen that virtuous and decorous behavior is required of her maids at all times. Precedence is always to be given to the great ladies of her household, for they are the wives of the highest peers of the realm. And when the King appears, as he may do without warning, you always curtsey low, and remain there until you are told to rise. Do not address him unless he speaks to you.”
“No, mistress,” Jane said, hoping she would remember everything.
“How old are you, Jane?” Bess Chambers asked.
“I am nineteen,” Jane told her.
“And I am twenty-two. I have served her Grace faithfully since I was thirteen, which is why I now enjoy this position. You will find her a loving and kind mistress. We are all eager to do her bidding, not so much out of duty as out of love. And the King is a most gracious prince. He is friendly to us all. Oh, that reminds me—young gentlemen are always welcome in the Queen’s apartments. She likes to see them, and she does not discourage them from paying court to us young ladies, so long as she considers them suitable company. But if anyone proposes marriage—or something less honorable—you must inform her at once, for she is in loco parentis, and any scandal would reflect upon her.”
“Of course,” Jane agreed.
“I will leave you now,” Bess said. “I will see you downstairs before six o’clock.”
* * *
—
Trying to still her beating heart, Jane waited with twenty-nine other maids-of-honor in the Queen’s closet, an oak-paneled chamber fitted out as a chapel. She looked at her new companions, the girls and young women who would henceforth be part of her daily life. Some were staring at her appraisingly, some smiled at her, others seemed unaware of her presence. She hoped she would make a friend among them.
The altar was covered with a rich pall and frontal of cloth of gold, and the crucifix was encrusted with precious stones. In front of them stood the ladies-in-waiting. The Queen had seated herself in the smaller of the two chairs that faced the altar, her feet resting on a velvet cushion on the floor. Her head was bent over her missal.
There was the sound of approaching footsteps. A voice cried, “Make way for his Grace the King!” And there he was, the man who had wielded dominion over the kingdom for as long as Jane could remember: King Henry himself, the eighth of that name. He was everything she had expected: a personage of great height and assurance, his skin rosy and clean-shaven, his hair reddish gold, his shoulders broad beneath the rich damask of his gown. He had a Roman nose, hooked at the bridge, she noticed, and piercing blue eyes. He swept into the chapel, passing between the ranks of curtseying ladies, with his gentlemen and the Yeomen of the Guard following, and raised his Queen from her deep obeisance, taking her hand and kissing it. Then the two of them knelt and the Queen’s chaplain began to say the divine office.
Jane knelt with the rest, hardly able to believe that the King of England was at prayer only feet away from her.
After the service, King Henry escorted the Queen back to her chamber, her ladies following two by two. Jane found herself paired with a pretty young woman with blue eyes and a dark wiry curl escaping from her hood. She smiled at Jane.
“I’m Margery Horsman,” she whispered.
“Jane Seymour,” Jane told her.
“Maybe the King will stay for a while,” Margery murmured. “You might be presented to him.”
Jane’s heart began to beat very fast indeed.
* * *
—
“Mistress Jane Seymour,” King Henry said, as she rose from her curtsey. He looked down at her from his great height, those steely blue eyes appraising her. “I trust you will do her Grace the Queen good service, and enjoy your time at court.”
“I will do my utmost best, your Grace,” Jane assured him.
The King nodded benevolently, and accepted a cup of wine brought to him by one of the ladies-in-waiting. Soon he was surrounded by admiring women, chatting and joking, as the Queen smiled at them from her chair. Jane stood there diffidently, next to Margery Horsman, waiting to be spoken to. But the King did not stay long. Putting down the half-full cup, he made his adieus, kissed his wife’s hand and departed. The women exchanged glances, and the Queen looked downcast.
“She’s missing again,” Jane heard one lady mutter to another. “Such disrespect!” the other hissed.
It was astonishing to Jane that anyone would dare to show disrespect to the Queen. She wondered who had gone missing.
In their absence at Vespers, the table in the privy chamber had been set with four places and a dazzling array of gold and silver-gilt. The servitors were waiting with napkins and ewers. When the Queen seated herself, with three of her ladies, everyone else curtseyed and left the room, trooping through the presence chamber to the watching chamber beyond, where the officers of the Queen’s household were waiting for them, standing at their places at the high table and at the head of the two boards set at right angles to it. Those ladies-in-waiting who had not been fortunate enough to be invited to eat with her Grace sat next to them, in order of precedence, then, at the lower end, the maids-of-honor and the chamberers. Margery Horsman told Jane that the grooms, ushers and pages always ate in the great hall with the rest of the lower servants of the household.
It was all rather overwhelming after her quiet life at Wulfhall, and Jane prayed she would give a good account of herself here. Out of the blue, she remembered Thomas once unkindly saying that she put peopl
She was seated next to twin sisters, who introduced themselves, in heavily accented English, as Isabel and Blanche de Vargas. They were olive-skinned and much older than she, but friendly.
“We come from Spain with her Highness twenty-five years ago,” Blanche explained. “We have been with her ever since.”
“She must be a good mistress to enjoy such devoted service,” Jane said.
“She is the best mistress anyone could wish for,” Isabel told her.
“And you, Mistress Jane? Where is your home?” Blanche asked, as platters of rabbit joints were laid along the table, followed by some kind of broiled fish. They all helped themselves. The food was well cooked and plentiful, but nowhere near as good as Mother served at home. At the thought of them all sitting down to sup without her in the Broad Chamber, enjoying the excellent fare, Jane suddenly felt choked, as homesickness swept over her in an engulfing wave.
“In Wiltshire,” she said, unable to enlarge for fear of bursting into tears.
The very pretty girl sitting opposite leaned forward. “And your father? Who is he?”
Jane swallowed. “Sir John Seymour,” she said, trying to summon an appetite for the food she had put on her wooden trencher but barely touched.
“Is he at court?”
“He was,” Jane said, “and he has served the King well on his campaigns in France, but now he is sheriff and Justice of the Peace in Wiltshire. My brother Edward is master of horse to the Duke of Richmond.”
The pretty girl looked impressed. “Joan Champernowne at your service, Mistress Jane,” she said, extending a hand across the table. “And this is Dorothy Badby.” She turned to the doll-like figure with the fair hair sitting next to her, who shook hands too and smiled.