Innocent Traitor by Alison Weir Read Free Book Online Page B

of year, when summer holds sway. It is cool indoors, with all the casements open, and the rooms smell sweet, scented with the fragrance of the fresh rushes on the floors. No longer do the great fires roar up the chimneys; instead, the hearths are decorated with great displays of flowers. The gardens are full of color, alive with growing things, and there is the promise of a good harvest to come.
    With little fuss, Lady Dorset bears another daughter. Her labor lasted through the night and gave her little trouble.
    I take Jane to see her new sister on the day after the birth. We find her lying in the cradle by their mother’s bed.
    “Her name is Katherine, for the Queen,” says the Marchioness. It must be plain to Jane that her mother looks tired and disagreeable, due, no doubt, to the disappointment of not having borne a son. Nevertheless, this new infant is beautiful, lacking altogether the crumpled appearance of most tiny babies. She is fair, with enormous blue eyes and a sweet, angelic-looking face. Jane clearly thinks she is wonderful and seeks to cheer her mother.
    “She’s better than any boy,” she announces, but the effect is not what she had anticipated.
    “Take her away,” snaps my lady, “for she talks a lot of nonsense.” I hurriedly usher Jane out of the room.
    “It’s all right,” I soothe, seeing her dismay. “You meant well. Your lady mother is just tired and not herself. Now come upstairs, and we’ll get on with sewing that pretty nightgown for Lady Katherine. And perhaps I can find some marchpane comfits in my coffer.” Thus consoled, Jane begins to skip happily along the passage, then remembers that a well-bred girl such as herself should comport herself with decorum and slows her step, continuing at a more stately pace. My heart aches for her: so toward, and yet so young. And so unloved by those who should care for her most.
    Lady Jane Grey

    BRADGATE HALL, OCTOBER 1541
    Today I am four years old. Mrs. Ellen wakes me up at six o’clock and bids me to my prayers. I kneel at my prie-dieu and ask God to make me a dutiful, virtuous child and to bless my parents, but all the time I keep thinking of the day that is to come, and what my lord and lady have ordained for me. Now that I am a great big girl, I am to take my meals with them at the high table in the great hall. This is a very grown-up thing, but it is also frightening, because there are so many rules of courtesy I have to remember that I am sure I shall forget some of them and so make my lady mother wrathful. She is often angry with me, even though I try my best to be good, but Mrs. Ellen has told me lots of times what I must and must not do. I must not speak during the meal, unless anyone speaks to me. I must never, never yawn, belch, pick my nose, wipe my fingers on the tablecloth, or, worst of all, let go a fart. And I must above all remember that each meal is like the Last Supper, so I must eat with as goodly manners as if I were in the company of Our Blessed Lord Himself.
    All these things I think I can remember, but there are more. Lots of dishes are served at table, but a child must not commit the sin of gluttony, and I am not supposed to choose more than two or three at a time. Eating too much rich food, Mrs. Ellen says, overheats the blood. And if I get a tummy ache from doing so, I must sit quiet in my chair and not make a fuss.
    I have been dancing up and down at my devotions and cannot eat my breakfast because of nervousness, so Mrs. Ellen stops tending to Katherine and tells me to leave it, as it is time to prepare myself for my great day. I stand still, stretching out my arms, as she dresses me in lots and lots of fine clothes—far too many for this warm day, I say.
    “But it is the custom, Jane. You must be properly attired to attend upon your parents. They have guests at table, and you must dress as beseems your rank. A lady does not complain, even if she is hot and uncomfortable.”
    First, Mrs. Ellen puts on me a