Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,100

I asked, breaking the silence that fell over the room. “What of my husband and his army? Has the council forgotten him?”

“No, they have not. As we speak, the council is preparing a letter for the Duke of Northumberland, who is said to be at Cambridge, informing him that he must disband his forces and instructing him to await the queen’s orders. Signing it is the duty of which I spoke.”

“We must warn John,” I said, pulling myself to my feet. “Come, Guildford! We cannot just let him wait to be captured.”

“My lady—”

I ignored Suffolk and ran out of the chamber, followed by Guildford. With the crowd still celebrating outside, leaving the Tower on foot or on horseback would be neither easy nor wise, but if I could go by water to one of our houses, I could take horse to Cambridge. It was a journey of over sixty miles, but I was a country girl by birth, who had learned to ride before I learned my letters, and I could cover that distance quickly if called upon. Or I could send one of our men ahead of me. Or—

“Your Grace, you cannot pass.”

I blinked at the large guard who was blocking my path to the water gate. “What do you mean? Let me through!”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I can’t. Orders of the council.” Seeing my uncomprehending look, he added, “You are Queen Mary’s prisoner now.”

32

Frances Grey

July 19, 1553

Harry watched wearily as the Duchess of Northumberland and Guildford raced out of the hall where my daughter and I had been dining with her ladies. “She’ll not get far,” he said. “The guard has orders to take her into custody. Guildford, too.”

“Why the Duchess of Northumberland?”

“She can be a hostage if the duke tries to flee the country or starts trouble down at Cambridge. I wouldn’t give two pence to be in his shoes at the moment. He’s a dead man, if you ask me.”

My food, served just moments before Harry had walked through the door, sat untouched in front of me. Now that the worst had happened, I found myself reacting with a strange numbness, almost as if I’d foreseen this happening all along. For horrid as this turn of events was, it was not entirely unexpected. The signs had been there: the coolness that had greeted Jane’s proclamation, the sullen silence of the crowd who had watched Northumberland leave the city with his army. Above all, there had been two more things: the people hated Northumberland, and they had loved Mary’s mother, Catherine of Aragon. No daughter of hers could ever be a bastard in their eyes.

How blind King Edward had been not to see that—but then again, he was a dying boy. Northumberland, nearly fifty, had no such excuse for not anticipating the people’s reaction. It was he, I realized as my numbness began to give way to anger, who had brought this catastrophe upon England and upon our family. It was he, then, who should have to face the consequences. Not my daughter.

The door opened, and Lady Anne Throckmorton, who had been serving in Jane’s stead as godmother at a christening near the Tower, started to kneel to Jane, then saw the cloth of estate lying waste on the floor. “Then it’s true what I heard?”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“Ah,” said Lady Throckmorton, “a sudden change.” She sat down and looked about. “Do you think they’ll be bringing us anything more to eat?”

I pushed my plate toward her. “Here.”

It soon became clear no more dinner courses were going to be brought to us that evening; the rhythms of royal life had ceased entirely. Even the musicians who normally played for us at dinner—most of them men who had served King Edward—were packing up their instruments and wandering off.

Then two men from the Tower garrison arrived and walked over to Harry. After conferring in low tones, they approached Jane. The shorter of the two cleared his throat and said, “My lady, the council has ordered that you be confined until further notice.”

“Yes, that is what Father told me.”

“You may take two ladies of your choosing with you, and three manservants will be appointed to wait on you.” He looked around. “The other ladies are free to leave, but I would advise not doing so until the morning. The crowd is boisterous.”

“I’ll go with you, my lady,” said Elizabeth Tilney, Jane’s companion since childhood. Ursula Ellen, a widow who had served Jane for the past several years, echoed, “Please, my lady,