“Your Grace,” I said as I curtsied.

“Mistress Brooke. You have come to plead for your kinsmen?”

“My father and brothers,” I said, “and one other who had naught to do with the late treasons against Your Grace.”

“You may state your case.”

I told her first of Father’s efforts on her behalf, omitting his reason for sending the French dispatches to Bishop Gardiner and warning the Duke of Norfolk and refusing to surrender Cowling Castle until he had no other choice. Then I painted a picture of my brothers as young men deceived by a clever, lying rogue—their own cousin. It was not difficult to blacken Tom Wyatt’s reputation. His roistering days with the Earl of Surrey had been notorious. Even as a sheltered, unworldly princess, Mary Tudor had apparently heard the stories.

“I will consider what you have told me.” Her Grace’s words were a clear dismissal.

“There is one other innocent in this,” I said in a rush. “Sir William Parr knew nothing of the conspiracy. He was in prison when the rebels met and plotted. It was only by chance that he was associated with anyone connected to the uprising.”

I did not want to say straight out that Sir Edward Warner had been one of the original conspirators. I had no way of knowing if the queen was already aware of that fact and I did not wish to repay Aunt Elizabeth’s many kindnesses by driving another nail into her husband’s coffin. On the other hand, I would do anything, sacrifice anyone, to save Will.

“Sir William Parr is not your concern,” the queen said.

I bowed my head in acknowledgment, but I could not stop myself from trying one more time to convince Her Grace to spare him. “I have accepted that we had no true marriage. I was not with him when he was arrested. But I know Sir William’s heart, Your Grace. He did much regret having assisted the Duke of Northumberland. He would never have joined yet another conspiracy against the Crown.”

The queen’s oddly mannish voice remained stern. “I will consider your request, but if I do release Sir William it will be on the condition that you never see him more. He is another woman’s husband. If I should hear that you and he have returned to living in sin, I will be obliged to imprison you both and keep you apart by force.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” I backed out of her presence before I gave in to the temptation to say anything more.

I left the palace uncertain as to what Queen Mary meant to do with Will. She had made no promises, only threats. And when, on Palm Sunday—the very day the conspirators had originally planned to stage their uprising—Elizabeth Tudor was incarcerated in the Tower of London, I despaired of ever seeing my Will again. Many disappeared behind those walls. Few were released. Jack Dudley was still a prisoner, along with his younger brothers, Ambrose, Robin, and Henry. Their mother, with whom I’d kept in touch by letter, had been unceasing in her efforts on their behalf. She haunted the court and inundated the queen with petitions for her sons’ release, but nothing she had done had secured their freedom.

And then a miracle happened. It was on Good Friday, the twenty-third of March, that Queen Mary issued pardons to the men she called “the greater rebels” involved in Tom Wyatt’s rebellion. Will was one of them. He was released the following day and came at once to the house in Carter Lane, accompanied by my father and all three of my brothers.

“Have you all been pardoned?” I asked when I’d kissed Will thoroughly and assured myself that he was in good health. In contrast to the last time he’d been a prisoner, he appeared to have been well fed and supplied with adequate heat.

“I was never indicted,” Father said, “and do not require a pardon. A letter I wrote to the queen before I escaped from the rebel camp, detailing the siege of Cowling Castle and my efforts on Her Gracious Majesty’s behalf, inclined the queen to mercy. And it did not hurt that the Count d’Egmont, an old friend from my time in Calais, interceded for me. He is a good fellow, for all that he is a cousin of the king of Spain.”

“We have not received pardons yet,” Thomas said, speaking for himself and William and George, although he had been the only one of the three under sentence of death, “but we’d not have been released if she did not intend to grant them.”

“She awaits the payment of my fine.” Father’s good cheer dimmed. “The pardons will be forthcoming as soon as she receives her money.” He shook a finger at his sons. “Your lives did not come cheap, lads. The family coffers will be lighter by nearly five hundred pounds before this is over. Perhaps I should reconsider whether you are worth the cost.”

Since we all knew that Father would pay far more than that to keep his family intact, this led to a spate of relieved laugher and joking. I did not find as much amusement in this byplay as the others did, but I was relieved to have them all safe. I sat beside Will as he sipped a hot posset, touching him now and again to reassure myself that he was truly there.

“What of you, my love?” I asked. “Did anyone tell you why the queen released you?”

“Other than the fact of my innocence and the lack of any evidence against me?”

I had to smile at his wry tone. “Other than that.”

“I’m told that Her Grace no longer believes she has anything to fear from me. The Spanish ambassador wanted my head, but Queen Mary assured him that I will be faithful to her from this day forward.”

“How can she be so certain of that?” George asked. Lounging in front of the fire with his feet up on a stool, he had been watching us through half-closed eyes.

“Because I left the Tower with nothing but what I am wearing on my back.”

“An odd reasoning,” William said. He stood with his back propped against the window frame, as much at ease as George was. “I should think that would make you resent her the more.”

“She has left me with my life. For that I am grateful.”

Father looked up from the hearty stew Aunt Elizabeth had served all the returning warriors and gave Will a sharp look. “What will you do now, Parr? Where will you go?”

“You cannot stay here.” Aunt Elizabeth spoke for the first time. Her husband had not been released. Her son, too, remained in the tower. He had not yet been executed, but it was only a matter of time before he faced a grisly death.

“No,” Will agreed. “I cannot, but there are other old friends who will take me in, I think. At least for a little while.”

I cleared my throat. “There is a way for you to regain the queen’s favor.”

Every eye fixed on me.

“She wants you to reconcile with Anne Bourchier.”

“Never!”

“You’d only have to pretend. She does not want you any more than you want her.”

“I’d rather swim the Thames in the middle of winter.”

“That cold, is she?” my brother William quipped.

The tension in the room dissolved in cleansing laughter, but the lighter mood did not last. They soon had the whole story out of me—my earlier meeting with Will’s wife, before he was released the first time, and my interview with Queen Mary, arranged by Viscountess Bourchier. I concluded my tale by telling them of the threat against both Will and me if we did not separate.

Although it clearly grieved him, Will agreed that it would be unwise to offend the queen. “You’ll be better off at Cowling Castle for the nonce.”

But Father was shaking his head. “We do not need more attention paid to us. There is only one way I could welcome Bess back into the bosom of her family and stay in the queen’s good graces. I’d need to arrange a marriage for her.”

“I am already married!”

“No, you are not. You’ve lost that battle. We’ve all lost. We have no choice but to accept and rebuild. No more rebellions of any kind. Your only safety, Bess, lies in letting me choose a husband for you.”

I knew he meant well, that he wanted only what was best for me, but some small part of me hoped for another miracle, a way to stay with Will. “I cannot marry another. I will not.” I turned my beseeching gaze to Will. “Perhaps we can still escape into exile. Or perhaps the queen will die!”

“Devil take it, Bess! Do not say such a thing aloud!” my father said.

“There’s no one here but family, Father.”

“In these troubled times, a kinsman can be as deadly as a sworn enemy.” He sent Aunt Elizabeth a pointed look. She glared back at him, having lost as much as any of us by her son’s ill-conceived uprising.

Will said nothing. Like my father, he wanted to keep me safe. As I had been when I’d told the queen I’d give Will up, he was willing to sacrifice our happiness for our lives. But I had never intended our separation to be permanent. Someday, somehow, we would find a way to be together again. I had to believe that or there was no point in living at all.

My brother George broke the silence. “If you won’t come home, where will you go?” he asked.

I drew in a steadying breath. If Cowling Castle was not a choice, then there was only one possibility left. “To Chelsea,” I said. “To the Duchess of Northumberland.”

47

Jane Dudley, who was still popularly known as the Duchess of Northumberland, in spite of her husband’s attainder and execution, welcomed me with open arms, glad to have assistance in her quest for pardons for her remaining sons. She was encouraged oby my success in obtaining Will’s freedom and hoped that soon Jack, Ambrose, Robin, and Henry would be released from the Tower of London.

Living at Chelsea was not easy. It was full of memories of my time there with the queen dowager and Princess Elizabeth and that other foolish Tom, Tom Seymour. And when Jane was not talking of her plans for the future, she spoke incessantly of her late husband, with whom she’d had a strong bond of love and respect, and of her son Guildford, the boy she’d hoped to see crowned king of England.

I missed my own dear Will more than words could express, but at least he was still alive. I tried not to think of him, but to no avail. He was always in my thoughts and in my prayers.

Tom Wyatt was executed on the eleventh day of April.

I accompanied Jane when she returned, again and again, to court. She was never admitted to the queen’s presence, but she pleaded with Her Grace’s ladies to petition Queen Mary for pardons for her four sons. After the queen married Philip of Spain, on the twenty-fifth day of July, Jane sought out noble Spaniards at court, hoping some of them might sympathize with her cause. By then Elizabeth Tudor, now known only as the Lady Elizabeth, had been released from the Tower. That might have been an encouraging sign had she not been sent, closely guarded, to the royal manor of Woodstock.

I remembered my first progress and wondered if Elizabeth would be allowed to explore the maze. Perhaps, if she could find her way to the center, she would have some measure of privacy there. With servants who were also her keepers, she was to be closely watched, even though Cousin Tom, to his death, had insisted that she’d never condoned the rebellion or taken any role in it.

By the time autumn rolled around again, Jane’s sons were still in the Tower and her health had begun to fail. Her unceasing efforts on their behalf had left her pale and exhausted. The news that Jack was gravely ill sent his mother into further decline. She spent her days staring blindly out her bedchamber window at Chelsea. Only the imminent arrival of her first grandchild finally roused her from her melancholy. In October, accompanied by the entire Chelsea household, she journeyed to Penshurst to await the birth of her daughter’s child.

Mary Dudley’s husband, Sir Henry Sidney, had been one of the first to be pardoned by Queen Mary. He’d entered her service and been sent to Spain as part of the delegation to escort King Philip to England. As a loyal subject, he’d been allowed to keep Penshurst, an enormous, ancient, and impressive fortified manor house half a day’s hard ride from London. Traveling in litters with baggage carts, it took Jane and I nearly three days to reach there, but once we arrived at our destination we settled comfortably into one wing.

It was a largely female household at first, with Lady Sidney’s ladies and her mother’s women. Bridget Mardlyn and Alys Guildford were still in Jane’s service, along with four other waiting gentlewomen. In the years since we’d first met, Alys and I had drifted apart, separated for a long time by the difference in our status. Neither of us had attempted to resurrect our old friendship.

We had been in residence at Penshurst only a few days before Sir Henry Sidney descended upon us. To our surprise and delight, he had all four Dudley brothers in tow. Jack, Ambrose, Robin, and Henry had been freed from the Tower. Even before reuniting with their wives, they’d come to see their mother.