Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,39

But there is something about the man I don’t trust. Perhaps it is simply that he is the son of a traitor. Such things will out.” She lowered her voice. “They tried to involve me in their scheme, you know. They told me that if I gave them their support, I would be allowed to act as the king’s regent. I refused. I want no part of their plots, and how long would I last as regent anyway? They harass me about performing my religion now, far away from court. What would it be like if I tried to practice my religion at court?”

I was silent, not knowing what to say. Although the matter had been overshadowed for a time by the drama surrounding the downfall and execution of Thomas Seymour, the council had made sweeping religious changes that year—abolishing the elevation of the Host and the doctrine of the sacrifice of the Mass, dear to Catholic hearts and anathema to Protestant ones. Every house of worship was to follow the new Prayer Book, a copy of which was tucked into my own coffers, and the Mass was to be said entirely in English. Harry and Jane had been delighted at the changes—wishing only that they had been more extensive—as had the king. But Mary had been appalled. She had continued to hear the Mass exactly as it had been heard in her father’s lifetime, and when the king’s council ordered that she conform to the new laws, she had increased her two daily Masses to three. The king himself, writing a couple of months before he had been dragged by the Protector to Windsor, had scolded her for her intransigence. Yet the matter had gone no further than a scolding, and the government, wishing to maintain good relations with Mary’s uncle, Charles V, had left the matter there. Harry had sniffed, “Mary might like to think of herself as a potential martyr, but the council isn’t obliging the poor dear.” Even I could not help but think she was being treated rather leniently under the circumstances.

Mary turned to look at my daughters. Kate and my own Mary had looked politely bored during our exchange, but Jane had clearly been fighting to keep herself from speaking. “But that is enough of that. What fine girls you have, Frances! And I have a gift for each of them.” She nodded to Susan Clarencius, who handed a velvet box each to Kate and Mary. They lifted the lids and squealed their thanks at the sight of the golden cramp rings inside. “You, Lady Jane, have a gift more suited for your years.” Mary indicated a large coffer at her side.

With Susan’s help, Jane dutifully opened it. Inside was an ensemble of tinsel, cloth of gold, and velvet, materials so rich that the garments could have belonged only to Mary herself. “Why, it will hardly need altering,” I said as Jane held the gown against her slim figure. “And that color suits you wonderfully.”

“Yes, I thought it would,” Mary said with satisfaction.

“I thank Your Grace,” Jane said. She handed the garment to a servant, who carefully placed it back in its coffer.

She might as well have been thanking King Henry’s sister for a piece of fruit.

***

After dinner, Mary went to conduct some business. As we were on our own for the time being, I went to Jane’s chamber to survey Mary’s gift once again.

“It’s beautiful,” said Elizabeth Tilney. She fingered the velvet wistfully.

Jane looked at the clothing coolly. “What on earth can I do with it?”

“Why, wear it,” Elizabeth said.

“You are so similar in stature, you could wear it at dinner tomorrow,” I put in. “Rose could have it ready for you by then with no difficulty at all.”

“I’m not going to wear it,” Jane said. She shut the coffer resolutely.

“Why on earth not?”

“It is not fitting to wear such outlandish material. The lady Elizabeth, who follows God’s word, eschews such frippery, and so shall I.”

“You most certainly will wear it, and you will wear it here in the lady Mary’s household,” I said. “It is an honor to be given such a gift from the king’s sister, frippery or no frippery. Why, it is finer than any of my own gowns!”

“Father will not expect me to wear it.”

“I don’t care what your father expects. I am your mother, and the lady Mary is my cousin! I will not have it said that I have not raised you to treat her with the