Robin Tremayne / A Story of the Marian Persecution

by Emily Sarah Holt

“And at the windows of many houses in the City,” continued Mr Ive, “money was thrown out; and bonfires all along the Chepe and Poultry be a-lighting, and at all the gates, and in Cornhill, and Fleet Street, and Aldersgate Street, and I know not where else; and (say they) such shouting, crying, and singing of the people, ringing of bells, playing of organs, tables of meal and drink setting forth in every street; and such racket and bruit, as a man might scantly hear his own voice. And after the proclamation in Cheapside, all the Council rade to Poules, and there was Te Deum to be sung at evensong.”

“But who be ‘they’?” cried Mr Underhill. “Who told you all this jolly tale?”

“The keeper of Aldgate, and your friend Mr Newman, and George Ferris, and divers other. I gat not all from one man.”

“Newman and Ferris! Then it is true,” murmured Mr Underhill, very gravely.

It was true. Before night they knew all concerning this deed of treachery.

And—last and worst of all—no sooner did the Duke of Suffolk, within the Tower, hear that the Council had proclaimed Queen Mary without, than out he came upon the hill, and saying “he was but one man, and would not withstand all the Council,” proclaimed Queen Mary on Tower Hill, to the ruin of his own daughter: and then went into London, leaving poor Lady Jane almost alone in the Tower,—for only Lord Guilford, and the Duchess of Northumberland, and Lady Throgmorton and her husband Sir Nicholas, and Sir John Bridges, were left with her. And when Lady Throgmorton returned from Saint Katherine’s to the Tower, she found the cloth of estate already taken down, and all changed; and when she would have quitted the Tower again, she was not permitted to do so.

That evening, there was a gathering at the Lamb. Mr Underhill stayed to rejoice; Mr Rose came to mourn; Philippa Basset came to rail; and Mr Holland came to pacify them. And no very soft nor sweet words were bestowed on Lord Sussex by Mr Holland (whose words were not all peace); nor on Lord Arundel by Mr Rose; nor on Lord Grey by Mr Underhill; nor on the Duke of Suffolk by any body; nor on any body by Philippa. Only to one no hard words were given by any; and that was the Lady Jane, whom all united to excuse and pity. But all agreed in calling Lord Arundel a traitor, and Suffolk a man too weak and pitiful to be blamed.

All hope of the Lady Jane’s success was now gone. The Duke of Northumberland himself proclaimed Queen Mary when he discovered it; but notwithstanding this feeble attempt to curry favour, on the 22nd he was apprehended at Cambridge. Lord Grey de Wilton and others who submitted themselves early were pardoned. Lady Jane, Lord Guilford, and those with them, were kept prisoners in the Tower.

Towards the end of July, Isoult and Esther were coming along the riverside by the Tower, when they saw a great crowd shouting and running towards them. Neither John nor Robin being with them, Isoult was rather frightened, and turned aside into the porch of Saint Katherine’s for safety. But when they came nearer, she saw that here were the prisoners borne under guard to the Tower. First rode the traitor Earl of Arundel, who had them in his guard; and had he received his deserts, he would have been among them. And after him, riding upon horses, their bridles tied to those of the guards, came the Duke of Northumberland, his sons, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Ambrose, and Lord Henry Dudley; Lord Huntingdon, Lord Hastings, Sir John Gates, and his brother Sir Henry, Sir Andrew Dudley (brother to the Duke), and Dr Sands, Chancellor of Cambridge. But when Isoult saw the face of the last prisoner, she was unspeakably startled. Esther asked if she were ill; “for (said she), you look ever so white and faint!” It was no wonder, when she looked up into the unforgotten face of Sir Thomas Palmer.

Thirteen years had passed since she saw him; but Isoult knew him in a moment. All the old Calais memories came flashing back on her like an overwhelming flood, drowning the newer evil he had done, as she saw this man, who had persecuted the saints of God, who had done the Duke of Somerset to death, who had been one of the four destroyers of her beloved master—led to his prison and to his suffering in turn.