A consultation was hurriedly held at Throckmorton House, between the father and his three sons. Sir Nicholas, who had been present at the King’s death, was too well aware of the circumstances to minimise the importance of his brother’s story, and, summoning the Princess Mary’s goldsmith, it was decided to entrust him with the duty of conveying a caution to his mistress, and stopping her journey. Sir Nicholas’s metrical version of what followed may be given.[157]

Mourning, from Greenwich did I straight depart,
To London, to a house which bore our name.
My brethren guessèd by my heavie hearte,
The King was dead, and I confess’d the same:
The hushing of his death I didd unfolde,
Their meaning to proclaime Queene Jane I tolde.

* * * * *

Wherefore from four of us the newes was sent
How that her brother hee was dead and gone;
In post her goldsmith then from London went,
By whom the message was dispatcht anon.
Shee asked, “If wee knewe it certainlie?”
Who said, “Sir Nicholas knew it verilie.”

The first stroke hazarded by the conspirators had resulted in failure. Mary, after some deliberation, turned her face northwards, and escaped the snare laid for her by her enemies.

The next object of Northumberland and his friends was to obtain the concurrence of the City to the substitution of his daughter-in-law for the rightful heir. Various as were the views of the best means of ensuring success, all the Council were agreed on one point, namely, “that London was the hand which must reach Jane the crown.”[158] London was to be made to do it. On July 8 the Lord Mayor, with six aldermen, six “merchants of the staple, and as many merchant adventurers,” were summoned to Greenwich, were there secretly informed of the King’s death, and of his will by letters patent, “to which they were sworn and charged to keep it secret.”

All this had been done before Lady Jane was summoned to Sion House. It was time for the stage Queen to make her appearance, and at Sion the facts were made known to her.[159]

Of her reception of the great news accounts vary. A graphic picture, painted in the first place by Heylyn, has been copied by divers other historians. The learned John Nichols, unable to trace it in any contemporary documents or records, has decided that it must be classed amongst “those dramatic scenes in which historical writers formerly considered themselves justified in indulging.”[160]

He is probably right; yet an early and generally accepted tradition has a value of its own, and may be true to the spirit, if not to the letter, of what actually occurred. Mary herself afterwards told the envoy of Charles V. that she believed her cousin to have had no part in the Duke of Northumberland’s enterprise; and, supposing her to have been ignorant, or only dimly cognisant, of the plot, the revelation of it may easily have occasioned her a shock. It has been constantly asserted that, in this first interview with those who, calling themselves her subjects, were practically the masters of her fate, she began by declining to be a party to their scheme; and if her letter, written at a later date, from the Tower to Mary, does not wholly confirm the assertion, it points to an attitude of reluctant assent. Her mother-in-law had given her hints of what was intended, but, like the announcement made by the Duke at Durham House of her approaching greatness, they were too incredible to be taken seriously; and the fact that when she was joined at Sion by the Dukes of Northumberland and Suffolk they did not at once make the matter plain, but confined the conversation for a time to indifferent subjects, seems to indicate a doubt upon their part of her pliability. There was, nevertheless, a change in their demeanour and bearing giving rise in her mind to an uneasy consciousness of a mystery she had not fathomed; whilst Huntingdon and Pembroke, who were present, treated her with even more incomprehensible reverence, and went so far as to bow the knee.

On the arrival of her mother, together with the Duchess of Northumberland, the explanation of the riddle took place. The tidings of the King’s death and of her exaltation was broken to her, together with the reasons prompting Edward to set aside his sisters in her favour. The nobles fell upon their knees, took her formally for their Queen, and swore—it was shortly to be proved how little the oath was worth—to shed their blood in defence of her rights.