Lady Jane Grey and Her Times

by Ida A. Taylor

Hitherto she had looked on as a spectator at life. Her skiff moored in a creek of the great river, she had watched from a place of comparative calm the stream as it rushed by. Here and there a wave might make itself felt even in that quiet place; a wreck might be carried past, or she might catch the drowning cry of a swimmer as he sank. But to the young such things are accidents from participation in which they tacitly consider themselves exempted, regarding them with the fearlessness due to inexperience. Suddenly all was to be changed. Torn from her anchorage, she was to be violently borne along by the torrent towards the inevitable catastrophe.

As yet she was ignorant of the destiny prepared for her. Under her father’s roof, she had pursued her customary occupations, and by some authorities her third extant letter to Bullinger—another tribute of admiration and flattery, and containing no allusion to current events—is believed to belong to the interval occurring between her marriage and the King’s death. The allusion to herself as an “untaught virgin,” and the signature “Jane Grey,” seem to give it a date earlier in the year. The time was fast approaching when leisure for literary exercises of the kind would be lacking.

It would have been difficult to trace her movements precisely at this juncture were it not that she has left a record of them in a document—either directly addressed to Mary from her prison or intended for her eyes—in which she demonstrated her innocence.[155] Notwithstanding the promise made by the Duchess of Northumberland at her marriage that she should be permitted to remain at home, she appears to have been by this time living with her husband’s parents, and, upon Edward’s death becoming imminent, she was informed of the fact by her father-in-law, who forbade her to leave his house; adding the startling announcement that, when it should please God to call the King to His mercy, she would at once repair to the Tower, her cousin having nominated her heir to the throne.

The news found her totally unprepared; and, shocked and partly incredulous, she refused obedience to the Duke’s commands, continuing to visit her mother daily, in spite of the indignation of the Duchess of Northumberland, who “grew wroth with me and with her, saying that she was determined to keep me in her house; that she would likewise keep my husband there, to whom I should go later in any case, and that she would be under small obligation to me. Therefore it did not seem to me lawful to disobey her, and for three or four days I stayed in her house, until I obtained permission to resort to the Duke of Northumberland’s palace at Chelsea.” At this place—the reason of her preference for it is not given—she continued, sick and anxious, until a summons reached her to go to Sion House, there to receive a message from the King. It was Lady Sydney, a married daughter of the Duke’s, who brought the order, saying, “with more gravity than usual,” that it was necessary that her sister-in-law should obey it; and Lady Jane did not refuse to do so.

Sion House, where the opening scene of the drama took place, was another of the possessions of the Duke of Somerset, passed into the hands of his rival. A monastery, founded by Henry V. at Isleworth, it had been seized, with other Church property, in 1539, and had served two years later as prison to the unhappy child, Katherine Howard. The place had been acquired by Somerset in the days of his power, when the building of the great house, which was to replace the convent, was begun. The gardens were enclosed by high walls, a triangular terrace in one of their angles alone allowing the inmates to obtain a view of the country beyond.[156] In 1552 it had, with most of the late Protector’s goods and chattels, been confiscated, and during the following year, the year of the King’s death, had been granted to Northumberland. It was to this place that Lady Jane was taken to receive the message said to be awaiting her from the King.

Her destination reached, Sion House was found empty; but it was not long before those who were pulling the strings arrived. The message from the King had been a fiction. Edward’s gentle spirit was at rest, and he himself forgotten in the rush of events. There was little time for thought of the dead. The interests of religion and of the State, as some would call it, the ambition of unscrupulous and unprincipled men, as it would be named by others, demanded the whole attention of the steersmen who stood, for the moment, at the helm.

It had been decided to keep the fact of the King’s death secret until measures should have been taken to ensure the success of the desperate game they were playing. To secure possession of the person of his natural successor was of the first importance; and a letter had been despatched to Mary when her brother was manifestly at the point of death which it was hoped would avail to bring her to London and would enable her enemies to fulfil their purpose. Stating that the King was very ill, she was entreated to come to him, as he earnestly desired the comfort of her presence.

Mary must have been well aware of the risk she would run in responding to the appeal; and it says much for her courage and her affection that she did not hesitate to incur it. A fortunate chance, however, frustrated the designs against her. Starting from Hunsdon, where the tidings had found her, she had reached Hoddesden on her way to Greenwich, when she was met by intelligence that determined her to go no further. The King was dead; nor was it difficult to discern in the urgent summons, sent too late to accomplish its ostensible purpose, a transparent attempt to induce her to place herself in the power of her enemies.

Opinions have differed as to the means by which Northumberland’s scheme was frustrated. Some say that the news was conveyed to the Princess by the Earl of Arundel. Sir Nicholas Throckmorton also claims credit for the warning. According to this account of the matter, a young brother of his, in attendance upon Northumberland, had become cognisant of the intended treachery, and had come post-haste to report what was a-foot at his father’s house. A few words spoken by Sir John Gates, visiting the Duke before he had risen, were all that had reached the young man’s ears, but those words had been of startling significance, the state of affairs being what it was.

“What, sir,” he had heard Gates say, “will you let the Lady Mary escape, and not secure her person?”