Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,90
joined the family. It squawked ‘Sweet Jane’ the other day, and I was mortified until I realized it was referring to the duchess. It pays her little compliments all day long—a tiny green courtier with feathers. But don’t get me started on that parrot; I could go on forever.”
Jane sighed as Kate and I walked her to her waiting barge and waved farewell to her. Not an hour had passed when a servant arrived, wearing the royal livery. “Your Grace, the king has asked that you come to see him immediately. My lord Suffolk is with His Majesty and adds his request to the king’s.”
What on earth could the king want with me? I rose. “I will be ready straightaway.”
***
Not only my husband stood beside the king, but the Duke of Northumberland and his duchess. It was her presence that made me realize something truly extraordinary was going on.
I listened as the king explained with a heartbreaking calmness that he was dying, a statement corroborated by his frail appearance. I listened as he told me what everyone now knows, of his decision to disinherit his sisters. Then he told me my girl was to be the reigning queen of England.
Harry looked at me proudly as I heard the words that made my knees begin to shake under my gown. I barely knew the lady Elizabeth, many years my junior, but I had known the lady Mary almost since we were both infants. And now my daughter was to supplant her! “She cannot be queen, Your Majesty,” I said. “Not a reigning queen. She knows nothing of how to rule a kingdom.”
“Our grandfather Henry VII was not brought up to rule, either,” Edward said. “He gained his throne only because of the cruel murder of the young Edward V by Richard III, and yet he left England healthy and prosperous. Our own father was a second son, yet he made all of England quake before him.”
“But they were men.”
“The king is aware of that, my dear,” Harry put in.
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” I said. “I am simply stunned by this. I have never looked to see my daughter rule.”
“It does your ladyship honor that you are humble enough to question your daughter’s ability to rule England,” said Edward tiredly. “But she will have men to guide her, wise men like her father and the Duke of Northumberland.”
I looked at the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland, who stood by the king with their heads bowed respectfully. How far had they influenced what the king was saying now?
Edward continued, “Her sex hinders her no more than would that of the lady Mary, and she is of a godly persuasion, unlike our sister Mary. It is our wish that this be carried out, and the process has started already. The justices are drawing up the necessary documents for signature.”
“And my daughter knows nothing of this?”
“Not yet. It is our wish that she not be told until we are satisfied that everything is in place. We would not distress her until her smooth accession is assured.”
If my daughter could rule the kingdom, could not she be taxed with the responsibility of knowing about it beforehand? But I said nothing. Instead, I knelt and kissed Edward’s hand. Like the rest of his extremities, it was pale and swollen. “Your Majesty does us incomparable honor.”
“Our cousin is a learned and wise young woman,” Edward said sadly. “She will carry out our legacy and strengthen our religion. We know it.”
I took my leave of the king soon afterward, my mind so abuzz with the news I had just been told that, at first, I did not see the crone making her way to the chamber I was leaving. She saw me, though, and kicked a quick curtsey in acknowledgment of my rank. It was then I realized what an unlikely figure she was at Greenwich Palace. She looked as if she ought to be selling charms or potions in Southwark. “Who are you?”
“Madge they call me, my lady—Your Grace,” the crone corrected herself, nodding to herself in approval at guessing my rank. “I’ve come to dose the king.”
“On whose orders?”
“On the Duke of Northumberland’s orders, Your Grace. I come here every day. Reckon I’ve been doing it for a week or so.”
“What are you giving him?”
“Healing potions, Your Grace, of my own recipe. Mind you, the physicians don’t set much store by them. But the great folk, when they give up on the physicians, they call Madge,