Daughter of Time

August 1536

Hampton Court

The enormous, imposing building that is Hampton Court stands looming before me. In spite of the warm August sun beaming down on my face, a slight shiver of nerves tickle me. My stomach has wound itself into so many knots, I can barely breathe. I felt nervous enough when I left Beaulieu, but now I feel something far beyond that. I feel genuinely terrified.

Taking a deep breath, I ride my horse through the gatehouse taking in my first sight of the formidable building that my father now owns.

I am greeted by Queens Jane's chief Ladies: Her sister Lady Ughtred and my childhood friend Anne Stanhope, now Anne Seymour, having married Queen Jane's eldest brother, Sir Edward.

The protocol of the English court has changed so much since I was a child. In the old days when I arrived at court, my mother would appear on the steps of the palace to greet me herself. Now it is so different. Everything about the court has become a part to be acted out in front of the intense eyes of the court, even my return.

I walk into the palace, and immediately catch the familiar feeling of eyes upon me, though there is only a small number gathered. The majority bow their heads as I pass, but a small number fall to their knees, as I am escorted up the large stairs.  There is no possibility of Anne, or Lady Ughtred talking to me to steady my nerves; they are not here to welcome me as their friends. They are here as a sign of the highest favour from the Queen.

I am taken into a small room. Empty, save for a carved bench and large looking glass. This is the room that I am to make ready to be received in. The feeling of the butterflies becomes stronger as I walk to the mirror to inspect my apparel. Under advice from Cromwell, who tells me that the Queen follows only the English fashion, I have dressed myself in the same style to compliment her and hope that it will please her. 

A page in the Tudor livery colours of green and white appears in the doorway, and I turn to Anne and ask her if it is time.

She replies with a nod of her head "Yes, Your Grace."

I hand my travelling cape to Margaret Baynton, smooth down my skirts, pausing to take a deep breath, before the big double doors are thrown open. Anne and Lady Ughtred take their positions behind me, whilst Susan and Mary Brown stand behind them. I nod to the page that I am ready. Ready to be announced, and be among my father's court once again. The court that I once believed had loved me for being their Princess, but who quickly abandoned their loyalty when Elizabeth was falsely named Princess in my place. I cannot think of them now. Those dark days are gone. I must forget. Our Lord requires us to forgive those that have wronged us. I pray he might give the strength to forgive those who were so faithless. As I pray he helps me to be a daughter whom my father can be proud. I shall certainly give the Queen no cause to regret the favour she has bestowed upon me.

The doors are flung open. I take a step forward. This is it. The noise from behind the heavy oak doors falls silent and the page calls out my repugnant new title and style, which I have sacrificed much to settle for.

"Her Grace, the Lady Mary, the King's daughter".

At first, I cannot see them. As I enter the Presence Chamber, the great throng of courtiers is still littered about the room. They filter into clean lines to either side of me as I come forward, so I can, at last, see their Majesties. The King looks magnificent. He is sat with one hand on his hip, the other in his lap, fiddling with something I cannot make out from the distance I am at. I can see through that he wears no smile on his face, but nor does he frown. His expression is neutral, unlike Queen Jane. My new stepmother is seated beside him in a gown of light blue silk, decorated with gold, and ropes of pearls at her throat. Her smile beams across her face. A smile of support. I feel fortunate that I have an ally who can, at last, help me rebuild my relations with my father. As I walk closer to the King, I curtsy again. But this time I do not rise. I sink to my knees and ask for that which I longed for. "Your Majesty, Your most humble daughter asks for your blessing."

My father rises and walks over me; he brings me up by my hand and kisses me with a smile.

"Good morrow Mary. Queen Jane and I are pleased to make you welcome."

I drop the Queen a deep curtsey, just as I did at Beaulieu, and she offers me her cheek to kiss. A public display of our respect and affection. The whole court must see me acknowledge her as Queen.

The smile of satisfaction upon my fathers face signals his contentment and he turns to the privy councillors stood by his side. "I remember some of you, were desirous that I should put this jewel to death," He says accusingly.

My gaze immediately shoots to him. It was true! The women I heard talking at Hatfield had not lied. Although I had been threatened with death, I did not believe it. I would never have. Not my own father.  I would never have believed he would consent to my death.

I begin to feel very hot. My head feels as if it is floating. The room is being swallowed by darkness.

"That would have been a great pity," I hear Queen Jane say; as if she is she is far away. "To have lost your chiefest jewel in England."

I hear no more, all that engulfs me is blackness.

I am gently shaken back to my senses, and I quickly realise, with abject horror that I have fainted in the king's arms. "Be of good cheer Mary," he whispers close to me as he walks me gently up and down the room, holding me tight by my waist. "I swear nothing will go against you now."

He walks me slowly back over to the Queen, who is now standing in front of the canopy of estate.

"And how does Your Grace now?" She asks, inviting me to sit on the stool beside her seat.

"I am quite recovered madam. But mortified."

"It is very warm in here." Her Majesty suggests kindly. She holds out her arm for me to take, and she leads me out to the court, presenting me to the lords and ladies that are assembled. Some of them I can remember. But others are new. They all greet me with enthusiasm and welcome me to the court. I am asked how my health does, what are my pleasures. The ones who know me, and have met me before, compliment my transformation from girl to woman. Yet none dare to mention my mother. She is consigned to the abyss of history, except in my heart. This is not a court that dwells on the past.

I had half been dreading my return to court, to see everything that had changed since I was last there, to know what kind of lifestyle my signature on the submission had brought me. I had expected to be confined to this heretical idea of private religion that the Lutherans have embraced so enthusiastically. However, I find that there is much of the true religion still evident at court. Mass is performed with as much solemnity and dignity as ever it was before. Though there are no more references to His Holiness the Pope. My father is Pope of his own church, second only to God.

Queen Jane tries to make my transition as smooth as possible. She ensures I am treated with every honour the Court can provide. She never asks that I carry her train, or walk as much as a pace behind her, insisting I walk by her side whenever we are together. She does not even allow herself to walk through a door before me.  It pleases her to keep me close, and the more time I spend with her; the more I enjoy her company. 

Knowing my love of music, she commands me and my ladies to dance for her and the Kings entertainment when he comes to visit her in her rooms, and I find a renewed joy in performing for the king and his retainers. We share a love of hunting and often accompany the king on one of his favourite past times in the extensive woodland that borders Hampton Court.

She is an expert needlewoman. Her needlework is the most accomplished I have ever seen. I had always considered myself a good needlewoman, but my efforts pale next to those of Queen Jane. We spend a good deal of time together in the evenings sewing and gossiping together, and discussing designs for gowns, for my new stepmother loves fashion. She does not care for the French style as that woman did. Queen Jane is a Queen of England and it is English designs that she favours, and which she instructs her household to adhere to.

I knew it would be hard to attend her in my mother rooms. To see her sit in my mother's chair, her emblems and badges where my mothers were once displayed. Her presence is only a reminder that my mother is no longer here. Yet I still give thanks for Queen Jane. She is goodness itself and a true friend to the Roman faith. The Lord could not have sent the king a more gracious wife, nor a kinder stepmother to me. I like to think my mother looks down on us from heaven and gives her blessing Englands new Queen also.