Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,54
not be so bad, but with him gone on business so much now, there is simply no one I can talk to, except about inanities.”
“My dear lady—”
“She has even laid hands upon me in anger,” Jane continued. “Do you see here, Master Ascham? This was where she pinched me the other day, when I did not sew one of her precious shirts to her satisfaction. There seems to be no pleasing her, for no matter whether I am speaking, keeping silent, sitting, standing, sewing, playing, dancing, or anything else, I must do it perfectly, just as God made the world. I cannot count the pinches she has given me, as well as the nips and bobs, over the years. It is sheer hell! And then my mother wonders why I have no interest in being in her company! I would much rather be in the company of John Aylmer. He makes learning so agreeable, it is all I can do to keep from crying when I must leave him and spend time with my mother.”
“Your ladyship hardly needs any inducement to learn, however.”
I had heard enough. I turned away from the door, tears fogging my vision. Bess took my arm and helped me toward my chamber.
How could my daughter think so ill of me? I had pinched her arm the other day, it was true, but not because she had sewn her shirt poorly; it was because I knew she could have done a much better job if she had bothered to take the time. The poor people who were the intended recipients of the shirts would hardly appreciate having them fall apart after a couple of days’ wear. Nips and bobs I had given her, too, usually when her arrogance was too insufferable, or when she had spoken slightingly to her younger sisters or to a servant. I had received plenty such in my own day when I misbehaved, most usually from my nurse, but also from my beautiful mother herself on the occasions when my conduct was so bad as to merit it. It had never occurred to me to complain of such treatment, or even to resent it. I had simply determined to be a better girl so it would not happen again.
When we had reached my chamber, Bess said, “My lady, that is blatantly unfair! You spoil the girl, if anything, if you do not mind my saying so, and you know that I am fond of her. You should confront her.”
“No,” I said. “I would have to tell her that I was listening, and that would only add eavesdropping to my list of sins.” I sank into a chair.
Bess patted my shoulder. “In any case, my lady, you should not take this too much to heart. Girls are like that, my lady, about their mothers. They believe them stupid and hopelessly old-fashioned, until they have children of their own and suddenly realize they weren’t so stupid after all. Lady Jane is just a more extreme example.”
But I had never thought my own mother was stupid. Neither had my sister Eleanor. For us, she had been a fairy queen come to life, a woman who had married both the King of France and the man she loved. How many women could say that? Our favorite activity as girls had been to go into our mother’s wardrobe, not to try on her clothing, for that struck us as a sacrilege, but to finger each garment carefully and to wonder to what glamorous occasion she might have worn it—despite that my mother had lived a relatively retired life since her marriage to my father. When she died, soon after my wedding to Harry, Eleanor and I had been desolate, even though her health had been poor for some time. I even tormented myself with the notion that traveling to attend my wedding had caused the final crisis, although nothing could have kept her away.
“Maybe I could speak to the lady Jane, as we’re not that far apart in age,” suggested Bess, who was in her early twenties. “She likes me well enough. If she knew how she had hurt you…”
“No. I shall let it pass.” I wearily rose and allowed Bess, stepping back into her role as my waiting woman, to help me out of my riding clothes. “At least now I know exactly what she thinks of me.”
15
Jane Dudley
November 1550 to April 1551
Have you heard the latest gossip about Father?” Robert said.