In March 1552, Lady Jane, then at Bradgate, sent Bullinger’s wife a present of gloves, and a ring. A month later, Ulmer returned from Switzerland, whither he had been sent on a mission, and brought with him a letter from Conrad Pellican, which Jane immediately answered. In Pellican’s Journal, still preserved at Zurich, we find the following marginal note: “June 19th, 1552–3, I received a Latin letter, written with admirable elegance and learning, from the most noble virgin, Lady Jane Grey, of the illustrious house of Suffolk.” This letter is lost.
Early in July 1552, Lady Jane went with her parents to Oxford,[157] and, almost immediately afterwards, repeated her visit to Princess Mary, now at Newhall—a visit fraught with much evil, if we may believe the accounts which have come down to us, from, it must be admitted, rather suspicious sources; that is to say, from Aylmer and Ascham, both eager to represent Jane as even more Protestant than she really was.
Newhall Place, Princess Mary’s chief country seat, had formed part, in days gone by, of the possessions of Waltham Abbey, and had been exchanged with Sir John de Shadlowe by the monks in the reign of Edward III for three other properties. Its most illustrious occupant in pre-Reformation times had been the unfortunate Margaret of Anjou. After her capture by the Yorkists it was confiscated by the Crown, and was eventually granted by Henry VII to Bottler or Butler, Earl of Ormond, who fortified the mansion and enlarged it. It passed, as a dower, to Sir Thomas Boleyn, grandfather of Queen Anne Boleyn, and he exchanged it with Henry VIII, who took a great fancy to the place, and changed its name to Beaulieu. The monarch stayed here on one occasion, at least, with Anne Boleyn, so that Mary Tudor may have found a few of the personal belongings of her mother’s chief foe, when she took possession of the house which Henry bestowed on her towards the end of his reign. She made it her favourite abode, principally on account of its gardens, which are often mentioned in the Household Books of the period, as supplying the royal palaces of London with fruit and vegetables—the cherries and grapes being considered particularly fine. Elizabeth, who did not care for Beaulieu,—its association with her mother and sister must have been painful to her,—presented it to Radcliffe, Earl of Suffolk. He sold it to “Steenie,” Duke of Buckingham, who let the place fall into such ruin that its value so decreased that Cromwell was able to buy it for “five shillings and no more!”
In Mary’s day it was still a fine old Gothic mansion of the ecclesiastical type, with three lofty towers and a magnificent hall, containing a huge chimneypiece and a broad staircase leading to the upper apartments. In the chapel was that famous window made at Dort in Flanders by order of Henry VII, and now the chief ornament of St. Margaret’s, Westminster. The furniture at Newhall, the inventory of which is still extant, was extremely magnificent, and included many sets of costly tapestries, hangings of velvet and Florentine brocades, Turkey carpets and inlaid bedsteads and chairs. The chief artistic treasure of the house, however, was a superb portrait of Mary herself by Holbein, and another of the King her father by the same great painter. These two portraits remained at Newhall until the beginning of the seventeenth century, when we lose trace of them, but the portrait of Mary is not improbably the one now in the possession of the Duke of Norfolk, and that of King Henry, that which is in the possession of Lord Leconfield at Petworth House.
A state visit to Newhall must have been conducted on similar lines to such a function at Sandringham or Windsor in our times, being a singular mixture of extreme simplicity and extreme stateliness. The Princess herself, who, had her life been cast in a less exalted sphere, would have been a kindly woman, had a deep hearty voice and a cheery welcome, which endeared her to all who approached her; yet an observation made by Lady Jane Grey to Lady Wharton proves that every time anyone passed before her Grace, they made obeisance by falling on one knee, as if she had been the Host on the altar. Meals were served somewhat after the French fashion: a very light breakfast at what we should consider an unearthly hour—six in summer, seven in winter—a heavy dinner at eleven, and supper at eight. All sorts of sports and pastimes—hawking, tennis, horse-riding, hunting—served to pass the intermediate time, and in the evenings there was card-playing, boisterous games, and dancing. Before retiring for the night, prayers were said, and a loving cup full of spiced wine was passed round, the Princess putting her lips to it before passing it, with a blessing, to her guests. We may take it for granted that during the visit of the Marquis and Marchioness, notorious Protestants, religious controversy did not enter into the conversation at Newhall. To do her justice, Mary at this time at least was very free from bigotry; two of her favourite ladies, Lady Bacon and Lady Brown, were Protestants, and her friendship for the imprisoned Duchess of Somerset and her daughters never failed so long as she lived—and yet the Duchess was an ardent “Gospeller.” That the Princess enjoyed a little “flutter” at cards is proved by her household books, and as the Marquis was an excellent card-player, no doubt “Ombre”—a game introduced into England by the Spaniards whilst Katherine of Aragon was Queen—served to pass the evening, together with “Gresco,” “Mountsaint,” “Newcut,” and “Lansquenet.” Lady Jane and her little sisters may have joined in the romping game of “Trump,” a noisy round game like our “Old Maid,” in which, on the appearance of a certain card, everybody slapped their right hand on the table and cried out “Trump!” those who failed to do so paying a trifling fine. “Gleke,” a primitive sort of whist, was also greatly in fashion; and at this game, we may be sure, the Lady Frances was prudent enough to lose fairly large sums to her august cousin, whose hot Spanish temper was apt to be ruffled when the tide of fortune turned against her.
It was during this visit that the Princess Mary presented the Lady Jane with a rich dress, and Jane, willing to practise some of the precepts which she had received from Zurich, asked the lady by whom her cousin sent the gown, what she was to do with it? “Marry,” replied the lady, “wear it, to be sure!” “Nay,” replied the Lady Jane, “that were a shame, to follow the Lady Mary, who leaveth God’s Word, and leave my Lady Elizabeth, who followeth God’s Word.” This anecdote was recorded by her tutor, Aylmer, long years after this world had closed on Jane—at a moment, in fact, when Elizabeth did not thank him at all for reminding her subjects of the Puritan style she had affected in her youth. Another incident, which may be more certainly placed during this Newhall visit, shows the cousins at issue on those points of belief then so hotly debated. Lady Wharton, a fervent Catholic, crossing the chapel with Lady Jane Grey when service was not proceeding, made her obeisance to the Host as they passed the altar. Lady Jane asked “if the Princess were present in the chapel?” Lady Wharton answered that she was not.
“Then why do you curtsey?” demanded Jane.
“I curtsey to Him that made me,” replied Lady Wharton.
“Nay,” retorted the Lady Jane, “but did not the baker make him?”
Lady Wharton repeated this remark to the Princess, “who never after loved the Lady Jane as she did before.”