20

Elizabeth

Lying in the quiet of my bed, with the curtains drawn, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

I had always known Edward would never make old bones. A recent attack of smallpox following hard on the heels of a virulent case of measles had fatally undermined his constitution, and a consumption of the lungs had set in. I heard he was worn to a shadow by a constant racking cough and often brought up blood.

Northumberland clearly relished his role as the power behind the throne and was loathe to relinquish it as he surely must with Edward’s death.

Mary was next in line to the throne, and as an ardent Catholic, would undermine the Protestant regime, reverse it out of existence in her vain attempt to turn back the clock to the happy days of her youth, and root out what she saw as heresy with all the zeal of a pig after truffles. She would never suffer Northumberland to continue in his current role or any other. He wanted to rule, not be ruled, and it would be folly to place him in any position of power. No, Northumberland would have to go first into the Tower and then up the thirteen steps of the scaffold. It would not be safe to let him live, even if sent into exile he would never stop plotting to regain power. And Northumberland knew that if I came to the throne instead of Mary he could not control me; no puppetmaster would pull my strings or put words into my mouth.

But, if, by some means, both Mary and I were excluded from the succession, then the next logical heir would be Cousin Jane—fifteen, meek, weak and, most importantly to Northumberland and her power-hungry parents, malleable. Easily intimidated, devoutly Protestant Lady Jane Grey might be an intellectual power to be reckoned with when it came to scholarship, but when it came to her own life, was a spineless quivering heap of fear who had been intimately acquainted with cruel words and physical brutality from babyhood; she would not be able to fight those who would force her onto the throne and cram onto her head a crown I knew she did not want. She had recently been forced into wedlock with Northumberland’s youngest son.

Now it all made sense. Northumberland was setting himself up as a kingmaker, to found a ruling dynasty of Dudleys with his youngest, fairest son, Guildford, to wear the crown on his gleaming crop of perfect golden curls.

Jane was just the means to an end, and might even afterward be disposed of if she became too bothersome once she had provided Guildford with a son or two, an heir and a spare to assure the succession. And it did not take a mind of astounding brilliance to see who would in reality rule the realm; vain Guildford had more interest in his wardrobe than in politics. Thus his father, Northumberland, the Lord Protector, would continue to hold the reins of power, king in all but name. Guildford would just be the pretty figurehead who so becomingly wore the crown.

But Northumberland did not look beyond the glittering façade of glory. His vainglorious concoction was in truth a recipe for disaster. He did not reckon on the English people.

Jane was all but a stranger to them. Some might have a vague notion of who she was, but they had not watched her grow up and suffer all manner of trials and tribulations as they had Great Harry’s daughters; Mary and I were the last remaining vital links to our father, that majestic figure of awe and fear, the king they had for so long known and loved, and they knew and loved us too.

And Jane, poor Jane, lacked the confidence to command. She was gifted with great intelligence, yes, but she did not have the quality of queenship, that aura of supreme confidence. She could never harness the hearts of the common people; the poor girl could not even meet the eyes of whomever she talked to. The people would see her at once as an usurper, Northumberland’s puppet, and they would rise up against this new regime and fight for what they knew was right—the ascension of the rightful heiress, Queen Mary.

I knew I had assessed the situation correctly when Northumberland sent a messenger to me, offering me a weighty bribe to formally renounce my claim to the crown.

I informed him that he must first make this agreement with my sister before he petitioned me, for as long as she lived I had no claim to renounce. Then I fell back against my pillows, assailed by the most violent head pains, and Kat shooed Northumberland’s lackey out and told him sharply to tell his master to bother me no more.

Left in peace, my privacy ensured by a physician’s certificate that I was too ill to be disturbed or to travel, and comfortably cocooned in my bed with the curtains drawn, and a comfit box filled with my favorite fruit suckets, I waited to see which way the winds of fortune would blow. Would Mary prevail or would it be the unwilling and unwanted usurper Queen Jane?