Daughter of Time

January 1537

Greenwich

Our hopes for a peaceful New Year are quickly dashed within the first two weeks of January when news arrives at Greenwich of another rebellion that has broken out in Cumberland and Westmorland. The promises of a Parliament and Queen Jane's coronation ceremony to also take place at York are not enough for some northerners, who resort back to insurgency.

Queen Jane grips my hand as we learn the news. We both know there will be no chance of mercy for any of the pilgrims now. His Majesty will deal with them as he has dealt with traitors in the past. Swiftly, ruthlessly and without mercy. He dispatches that seasoned warrior, the Duke of Norfolk, a champion of many battles, to put down the uprising. Which he manages within a month and with ruthless ease. I am not surprised by his swiftness. After all, this is the same man who stood before me, snarling like a beast at a bear-baiting, that he would smash my head against a wall for disobeying my father. Why would a man who so brazenly threatened a princess of the blood baulk at putting down men considered by many to be traitors?
Queen Jane and I are desperate to intervene to try to save Robert Aske and the other pilgrims who sought to help put down this latest rebellion. No member of the council will speak in his favour to the king, who is determined to exact the full force of the law upon everyone of note. Including Aske, who is promptly arrested and sent to the Tower.

Good news arrives at last as February nears its end, with the announcement that my dear friend Anne Seymour has been safely delivered of a healthy baby boy. Queen Jane and I are named as Godparents to the little one, and I realise, as I hold the precious little life at the baptismal font at Chester Place, that I am longing for a child of my own. I find myself hoping that if my betrothal plans to Don Luis can be concluded soon, God willing, I too will be a proud mother. Smiling with joy as my little prince is welcomed and blessed by God at his christening.
I recognise the same longing in Queen Jane as she takes her turn to hold the baby. For all the king's devotion and generosity toward her, she has yet to show signs of being with child. She confides in me that her lack of pregnancy is a strain on their marriage. She prays daily for the Lord to send her a son, so that she may feel more secure in her role and be more effective in championing the cause of the true faith.
"Take comfort, Your Grace," I assure her. "Your marriage is surely blessed by God. He will send you a son. I am sure of it."
Her pain is further compounded when my cousin, and my father's favourite niece, Frances, now the Marchioness of Dorset, announces in March that she too is with child.
His Majesty makes a point of rewarding her fertility by gifting her with jewels that once belonged to his sister and her mother, Queen Mary and doting on her with such lavish attention, anyone would think she were his own daughter.
Only I can see the Queen's pain as she is continuously ignored by my father, whilst he makes much of Frances.

"Lady Mary," the Queen rushes hurriedly into my apartments at Richmond, a broad smile beaming across her face.
"Good day, your Grace." In the surprise of the unexpected arrival, I almost forgot to curtsy.
"Please, come and walk with me."
With only Anne, Susan and Lady Cromwell for company, the Queen and I slip into a private gallery.
"I wanted to tell you first," She says rapidly through her happy smile. "Really, it should be His Majesty I tell first. But he is gone hunting, and I cannot wait to share."
"Your Grace, what is it?"
"I am with child!" She declares joyously. "I know it now, for certain. I have suspected for weeks but never dared to say in case I was mistaken. But now I know it for sure. I am with child."

For a heartbeat, all I feel is warmth. Relief. Even joy. She has waited so long for this, endured so many whispers about her place in the royal household. To see her eyes shining with hope... it softens something in me. "I'm so happy for you," I told her, and I mean it. "The Lord is good. Thanks be to God," I cross myself and offer my thanks to the Lord for the Queen's condition. I pray He sends her a prince. But as I hold her hands, sharing in her joy, another feeling creeps in — thin as a shadow, but impossible to ignore— the quiet rearranging of my future.  A royal heir. The line of succession, once a distant but steady path before me, now blurs like ink in water. Yet inside, I had always known the crown was not promised, only possible. Now,  that possibility slips further from reach.