Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,144

Guildford’s deaths have aged me.”

“Katheryn said that you fainted a few days ago. Fell off your chair while you were sewing.”

“The room was too warm. I told her that at the time.”

“Henry and Mary would like their physician to see you. So would the rest of us.”

“So I can get poked and prodded and dosed? I believe that physicians only make one sicker. You know that.” I met Robert’s eyes defiantly. “When Ambrose is free and when my grandchild is born, I will let a physician see me. I promise, if it will make you and the rest happy.”

“It will.”

“Then that is settled. Now, tell me. Did you see your father before he died?”

“No,” Hal said. “He sent us a letter begging us to forgive him for bringing us to this. He converted for our sake, you know. Jack, at least, would have been executed with him otherwise.”

“I know.”

“He was gone by the time we got the letter. We couldn’t reply. But we were allowed to pay our respects at his grave before we left the Tower. We spent a long time there. What did we have to forgive him for, anyway? Being loyal to the king?”

I wiped my eyes with my handkerchief, one of my husband’s. “Now tell me about Guildford.”

Robert said, “He wouldn’t say a thing against Father when the lieutenant told him that his sentence was being carried out. Nothing against the fool Duke of Suffolk, either, who deserved it. He even insisted on sending him a farewell message. He said that Suffolk was about the only person in the Grey family who didn’t treat him like something the cat spat out.” My son snorted. “I think he was half in love with Jane by the time he died, judging by that carving of his, but of course he didn’t actually have to spend any time with her. That helped, in my opinion. As I said back there, he begged to meet her one last time, but she decided it would be a distraction.” Robert rolled his eyes. “Poor Guildford. It wouldn’t have been easy, married to a Protestant saint. Anyway, he sent his love to you, of course—I should have said that from the start—and made us promise that we remaining brothers would always be loyal to one another, that we would always speak of Father kindly, and that we would take care of you.” Robert patted my hand as I at last began to give way to my emotions. “He didn’t need to make us promise those things, Mother. We would have done them anyway.”

***

Aged seven and twenty, Jack died in my arms on October 21, 1554. His wife had come just in time to spend a few minutes with him alone. What the two of them said I never asked, but Jack seemed at peace as he said his dying prayers, surrounded by his wife and family.

We buried him at Penshurst—Warwick Castle, where we might have otherwise taken his body, was forfeit to the Crown. I was not present at the funeral, for his death did send me to my bed, from which I found myself too weak to arise for nearly a month. By the end of November, however, I was able to be present while my daughter Mary labored to bring her first child into the world.

It was a long labor, but my daughter remained strong through it all. On November 30, she brought forth my grandson.

King Philip agreed to be one of his godfathers; the Duke of Bedford, who had led the embassy to Spain a few months ago, the other. They served by proxy. I, the godmother, was there in person as we gathered in the chapel of Penshurst in December to christen him.

I bore my grandson to the altar and carefully placed him in the arms of Philip’s proxy—my son Robert. “What name do you give this child?” the priest asked.

“Philip,” Robert said, staring proudly down at his baby nephew. “Philip Sidney.”

46

Frances Grey

October 1554

With Kate settled among the maids at court and thriving, Adrian and I traveled to Beaumanor in Leicestershire. Although it had belonged to Harry and me, we had seldom stayed here, and I was pleased to find the house more attractive than I remembered. It did not have Bradgate’s mellow beauty, but it was a place where I could be at peace. “It does need some repairs, though,” I told Adrian that afternoon. “And it could be made more comfortable, also. It is rather old-fashioned. I