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January 4, 1536
-JANE CURTSIED low before Queen Anne.
She stood alone in front of the Queen, and she was scared out of her wits. Jane was never truly a scholar; but she had enough education, sense and manner to not stutter nervously in greeting this new Queen and curtsying to her.
Queen Anne surveyed her rather queerly, her dark eyes sliding over Jane's frame. "Jane Seymour," Anne said, as if tasting the name. "I have heard you are a good, pleasant girl, and I certainly hope you stay that way. I expect you to serve me well, my dear." She stretched out a dainty hand, and Jane took it and kissed it.
"You may rise." Anne still surveyed her. "You don't need to be nervous, Jane. I shall not bite...if you do not give me cause to."
The other ladies laughed lightly, and Queen Anne smiled, not unkindly, at Jane as she stood. Jane smiled back, still quite nervous.
With that, Queen Anne turned and headed towards her private rooms.
This new Queen was certainly more taller than the previous; more darker, more attractive and charming, but her temper, if the rumours were true, was something to behold.
Jane had loved Queen Katharine more, in truth; but then, she was sure everyone did. She wasn't quite sure what to think of this demanding, dark-eyed young Queen, especially with rumours surrounding her like a thick, dense fog.
Jane remembered being in service to Katharine of Aragon; the Queen had smiled graciously at her, with soft eyes and a smiling mouth. "Jane, I have heard you are virtuous in character, and I hope to see that for myself," Catherine had said, kindly but sternly. Jane had nodded, almost speechless before such a person. "Y-yes, your Grace," she had managed politely.
Now Katharine was in exile, Henry was the Head of the Church, and Anne was his new wife. Jane couldn't make head or tail of it.
"You needn't bother," her father had told her when he saw her off. "The King might ask for you...be virtuous, docile and heed his will as best as you can." He leant closer.
"Katharine of Aragon was strong-minded, and thought for herself. This new Queen is a fierce, whirling gale. The King might have need of a more gentle, more composed woman who holds herself well." Her father drew back and gave her a look pregnant with meaning. On the whole trip to court, Jane kept puzzling over his words.
She had seen the King and he was certainly something. He was big, and tall, and broad-shouldered. He was still quite handsome, with his golden hair and light beard, and twinkling eyes. Others said, though, that the King was changing. He had broken free of the Roman Catholic Church, rid himself of his faithful wife of more than twenty years, just for a dark-haired, dark-eyed, attractive girl.
The other maids tittered and gossiped in darkly-thrilled voices that it was because Ann Boleyn could give the King what he wanted most: a son.
"It's something the King never got from the old Queen," one maid had whispered later that afternoon. Jane was nearby, dusting off the mantle of the fireplace, and pretended not to hear a word.
"And, of course, our new Queen is quite the charmer," another maid said as she wiped down a table. "Have you seen her with her brother? Quite the good-looking pair, they are."
"Oh, yes, her brother," the first maid who had spoken said, smiling widely. "Did I tell you the rumours?" She leaned in closer to the other maids, peeking over her shoulder. "According to some, our lovely Queen's handsome brother has stopped going to brothels and instead visits his friends' chambers."
"Friends?" One of the maids looked confused. "You mean other ladies in court?" "His male friends," the first maid said confidently. They erupted into peals of scandalous laughter and shocked gasps.
Jane had scurried away in disgust. She didn't like it. It was all about who was sleeping with who, it seemed. No-one spoke about the old Queen Katharine and how she was doing in exile and her poor daughter Princess Mary who now had a new mother.
There was something in her father's command, too. The King might have need of a more gentle, more composed woman...Jane was sure she knew what that meant, but she wasn't all too sure about it.
You needn't bother, Jane told herself, her father's voice echoing in her head.
The days merged into each other, and to Jane it didn't seem long before, one night, the King asked for her presence.
He had sent her jewellery, lovely pretty things, even letters, over the course of the past weeks. Jane put on a strong face and denied accepting them profusely, sending them back. She was rather confused, and overwhelmed at all this unwarranted attention. The other maids, she noticed, would whisper profusely but stop abruptly whenever she'd walk by.
It seemed denying the King only made him more enamoured with her, or else why would he personally ask for her?
Shivering slightly, she donned a blue cloak around her shoulders, covering her nightgown. Her fair hair hung loose around her. Jane went through the quiet hallways, to the King's chamber.
The King might have need of a more gentle, more composed woman who holds herself well. Jane stood before the King's door, and shivered again. The guard placed a firm hand on her shoulder; she felt comforted, but then the door swung open, the sentry called, "Lady Jane Seymour," and her fears came back.
Henry was sitting on a velvet chair when she came in; at the sound of her name he smiled. "My lady," he said, standing and waiting as the door closed.
Jane stood, still shivering, not quite knowing what to do. The King might have need of a more gentle, more composed woman who holds herself well. Jane forced a smile, and curtsied low. "Your Majesty, I am honoured," she said through dry lips.
The King stood before her and raised her, touching her cheeks. "You look very well," he said. Jane smiled graciously, her mind whirling. The King...a more gentle, composed woman...not strong-minded, not a fierce gale, but me, Jane. Jane Seymour. Jane swallowed, and the King must have felt her shiver, because he smiled.
"Are you cold, Jane?" "Y-yes, your Majesty."
Henry went over to the fire. "Come, sit with me. I want some company tonight. My wife is...indisposed."
Jane noticed the dark look that suddenly clouded his face, and she saw her chance.
With a flourish, she curtsied low, bowing her little head. "I am bound to obey and serve," she said as clearly as she could, "Your will is mine own."
Jane looked up, and Henry smiled.
YOU ARE READING
The Six
Historical Fiction'Divorced, beheaded, died; divorced, beheaded, survived." In this way, the six wives of Henry VIII were remembered not for how they lived, but in the way they died. It is impossible to know exactly what they were thinking or had to go through, in h...
