“The Lady Jane’s father has been released?”

“He has. The Duchess of Suffolk was granted an audience with the queen at Newhall. Well, why not? Frances Brandon and Queen Mary are cousins and have always been on friendly terms, despite their differences over matters of religion. Her Grace pardoned the Duke of Suffolk the very next day. The duke and duchess have already left London for their house at Sheen.”

“What of the Lady Jane Grey?”

Sir Edward drooped lower in his chair. “Poor girl. She’s been charged with treason.”

I, too, felt sorry for Jane Grey, but I could do nothing to help her and I might yet find a way to rescue Will. Between them, Sir Edward and my aunt had a remarkable number of friends, and some of those friends had kin in the new queen’s household. Through these channels, Aunt Elizabeth gleaned more news. Thus I learned that Anne, Duchess of Somerset, who had been living quietly at Hanworth since her release from the Tower a few months earlier, had also been able to trade upon her old friendship with the new queen. Two of her daughters were to come to court as maids of honor, and young Anne, the eldest, although married to Jack Dudley, was to join her mother and sisters there.

“A pity that young woman cannot be relied upon to beg for mercy for her husband,” I said, “but she has no love for him.” Not when Jack’s father had been responsible for the execution of her father, the Duke of Somerset

My own father’s timely change of allegiance had succeeded in winning him his freedom. He’d prudently retreated to Cowling Castle to await a formal pardon for conspiring to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne in Mary Tudor’s place. Father sent word that I was welcome to come home and my mother wrote to second the invitation, but I chose to remain in Carter Lane. The last thing I wanted was to put more distance between myself and the man I loved. I needed to be close to Will, even if I was not able to see or communicate with him.

By early August, less than three weeks after Northumberland and Will surrendered to Queen Mary’s troops, most of their followers had been pardoned and released. But not Will and not Northumberland or his sons. All of them were shortly to be arraigned for treason. At that time, Will would officially be stripped of his titles, his Order of the Garter, and very probably his life.

“I could be content as plain Lady Parr as long as I had Will by my side, free and whole,” I confided in Aunt Elizabeth as I helped her inventory the plate in the Carter Lane house. With matters so unsettled, Sir Edward intended to sell some of it for ready money.

“But you will not be Lady Parr. That title, and Countess of Essex, and Marchioness of Northampton, too, will soon be restored to Anne Bourchier. I heard this morning that Queen Mary has sent for her. Her Grace means to make Lady Anne a lady-in-waiting.”

Stunned, I struggled to take in this development. “Will warned me that Queen Mary would undo our marriage, but it never occurred to me that the queen would bring a proven adulteress to court.”

“Perhaps Queen Mary does not know why Will divorced her.”

“Then someone should tell her.” Anger filled me and I snapped out the words. “Have you any connection at court able to whisper in the right ear?”

“If I had, I would not ask them to blacken her name. Think, Bess. Anne Bourchier’s presence could help Will. If he is executed for treason, the Crown will claim all he owned, including the Essex inheritance. She will have none of it. And no title. It is to her advantage that he be spared. If I were you, I would pray that she intends to plead most eloquently with the queen for the restoration of his estates, even if it is only because she hopes to claim them for herself.”

I took a deep breath. My aunt was right. Anne Bourchier could save Will’s life. She could go where I could not.

Dibs and dabs of news continued to filter down to the house in Carter Lane, but all of London knew of it when Will was attainted and sentenced to die. The Duke of Northumberland was condemned at the same time. So was Jack Dudley. And on Tuesday the twenty-second day of August, the duke was executed.

“The Duke of Somerset’s sons—the Earl of Hertford and his brother—were present to witness Northumberland’s death,” Edward Warner told us afterward. They had been two among a crowd of thousands who turned out to see the condemned traitor die. “Northumberland apologized to them for killing their father. An irony, that. Now both men lie buried together, lying between the bodies of Queen Anne Boleyn and Queen Catherine Howard. Or so they say.” He chuckled, but his expression was grim when he added, “Northumberland died in the faith of his childhood.”

“As a Catholic? When he fought so hard and so long to keep the Church of England alive?”

“His eldest son converted, too. And so did Will Parr.” His disapproval of what Will had done was a palpable force in the room.

“I do not see what difference it makes,” I said with some asperity. “All our prayers go to the same God. I can kneel at a Catholic Mass with idols in the niches as easily as I can worship in a whitewashed chapel with an English prayer book in my hand.”

“We will not have any choice in the matter now.” Sir Edward’s tone was bitter.

“We did not have any choice before. And if converting to Catholicism saves their lives, then I am heartily glad Will and Jack had the good sense to recant.”

Sir Edward glared at me, but he dropped the subject.

Northumberland’s widow became plain Lady Dudley again after the duke’s attainder and execution. Throughout those troubled days, I kept in touch with her. Neither she nor I were charged with any offense, but while I was left homeless and destitute, she was granted control of her jointure lands and allowed to live at Chelsea Manor. Although devastated by the loss of her husband, Jane continued to petition the queen for her sons’ release. She wrote to everyone she knew at court to solicit their help. As a result of her efforts, Ambrose, Robert, and Henry Dudley were allowed visits from their wives.

“To whom should I apply for permission to visit Will?” I asked Sir Edward Warner.

He snorted. “The new lord lieutenant might let Will’s wife in but, Bess, you are not his wife.” He drained his tankard. He’d consumed a great quantity of ale since he’d lost his post at the Tower. “As soon as Parliament convenes, the law confirming your marriage will be struck down.”

The reminder stung. In my heart I could not accept that ruling. Defiantly, I continued to wear my wedding ring. And, in imitation of Jane Dudley, I wrote to friends and family to solicit their help on Will’s behalf. Some, like the Earl of Pembroke, ignored my pleas entirely. Others, like my father, were in no position to take up Will’s cause because their own hold on the new queen’s favor was so tenuous. He sent a welcome gift of money but could not do more. Geraldine Clinton promised to speak to her husband on Will’s behalf, but Lord Clinton, like my father, lacked influence with the new queen.

From my window in the house in Carter Lane I could see the highest battlements of the White Tower. Half of London lay between my chamber and the walls behind which Will was held prisoner. Carter Lane was nearer London Stone than London Bridge. But each night I stood looking out at the distant lights, imagining Will pacing the confines of his cell, wondering if he was thinking of me.

And then, on the twenty-fourth day of October, I was separated from my husband in yet another way. The act of 1552 that had pronounced Anne Bourchier as good as dead, the act intended to make my marriage to Will finally and irrevocably legal, was rescinded at the order of the queen. By royal decree, I was plain Bess Brooke again.

43

November was a bleak and dismal month. It suited my mood. I was not cheered in the least to hear that the Duke of Suffolk—title and estates intact—was back in London. This news, however, seemed to improve Sir Edward Warner’s spirits. On the twenty-sixth, he accepted an invitation to dine at Suffolk House and came home again buoyant and smiling.

I paid little attention to his goings and comings, save to note that he was no longer drinking himself into a stupor every night. That pleased me. My aunt deserved better than to be married to a drunkard. Neither did I think anything of it when Aunt Elizabeth’s son, my cousin Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger, who had his own lodgings in London, paid a visit. Aunt Elizabeth had been reconciled with Tom for some time, even though she still disagreed with his decision to be so generous with his late father’s mistress. Tom supped with us, and then he and Sir Edward went out together. They were well acquainted, having both been friends of the late Earl of Surrey. They aped the same fashions, too, both sporting long, pointed beards and short-cropped hair. Sir Edward was only some ten years older than his stepson.

I rarely paid any attention to the comings and goings of my host. All my thoughts centered on ways to free Will from the Tower and on memories, sweet but painful. I missed my husband not only as my lover, but as my dearest friend and companion.

As November turned into December, I steeled myself to ask for help from the last person in the world I wanted to be beholden to—Anne Bourchier. The court had been at Whitehall since Queen Mary’s coronation in early October. Among the queen’s ladies was Mistress Nan Bassett. We had been maids of honor together, and while never fast friends, we had not been rivals, either. I used the money Father had sent me to purchase an enameled brooch and sent it to Nan as a token of my esteem, along with a letter begging her to meet with me. She sent word to come to the fountain in the palace gardens via the public right-of-way that passed through the grounds and suggested a specific day and time.

I waited nearly a quarter of an hour, fretting all the while that she’d changed her mind about talking to me. Then I caught sight of her hurrying toward me along one of the many paths that intersected the gardens. She was older by some six years since the last time I’d seen her, but she did not seem much changed. She greeted me warmly, with a sisterly embrace, and together we made our way to the riverfront, where we could be private.

Low tide permitted us to walk along the shore. Courtiers’ houses two and three stories high lined the land side of our route, and behind them rose what remained of the old palace of Westminster, largely destroyed by fire well before I’d first come to court.

“How can I help you, Bess?” Nan asked when we were certain we were far from listening ears.

I studied her face for a long moment before I spoke. There was compassion in her intensely blue eyes, but also a certain wariness. “You know that my marriage has been nullified and that my husband . . . that Will Parr remains in the Tower under sentence of death.”

She nodded, but held up one hand, palm out, to stay my next words. “If you wish an audience with the queen, that will not be possible. Her Grace will not undo what she has done. Will Parr did much offend her over the matter of her celebrating Mass during the late king’s reign. I was with Her Grace in those days, and I heard the harsh words he used to her. Her Grace is convinced that his evil persuasions were what made her impressionable young brother behave so cruelly toward her.”

“I know nothing of that.” Will had never told me of the incident, but I had always known he favored religious reform . . . until his life depended upon returning to the old ways. “I would ask Her Grace’s forgiveness for him, now that he has recanted.”

“He claims he has accepted the true church,” Nan said, “but it remains to be seen if he is sincere.”

We continued on past Canon Row. I saw the young Earl of Hertford come out of his house. He exited by the water gate but had to cross yards of half-frozen ground on foot before he could hail a wherry. He, too, had embraced the old ways. We all had. I attended Mass every Sunday now with Aunt Elizabeth and Sir Edward.

“We have no choice but to accept the will of the queen,” I said, “but I don’t want Will to die!” My anguish broke through despite my best efforts to remain calm.

“I will do what I can,” Nan promised, “but I do not have much influence. No one does save the Spanish ambassador and a few members of the Privy Council. Her Grace disregards all other advice.”

“I want to meet with Will’s other wife.” I swallowed bile. “Since Queen Mary has brought Anne Bourchier to court, Her Grace must have some fondness for her.”

“She may not wish to meet with you, Bess.”