CHAPTER XIX

THE TRIAL OF QUEEN JANE

The writer of the _Chronicle of Queen Jane and Queen Mary_ relates that he dined with Queen Jane in “Partridge’s House,” on 27th August, and incidentally mentions her evident resentment at her father-in-law’s apostacy. This chronicler appears to have been a resident in the Tower, and a friend of Partridge. He writes: “I dined at Partridge’s house with my Lady Jane being there present, she sitting at the board’s end, Brydges, his wife, Sarah, my lady’s gentlewoman and her man, she commanding Brydges and me to put on our caps [_sic_]. Amongst our communications at this dinner, this was to be noted. After she had once or twice drunk to me and bade me heartily welcome, saith she: ‘The Queen’s Majesty is a merciful Princess; I beseech God she may long continue, and send His bountiful grace upon her.’

“After that we fell to discussing matters of religion, and she asked, ‘What he was that preached at Paul’s on Sunday before----’ [a blank], and so it was told her. ‘I pray you,’ quoth she, ‘have they Mass in London?’

“‘Yea, forsooth,’ quoth I, ‘in some places.’

“‘It may be so,’ quoth she. ‘It is not so strange as the sudden conversion of the late Duke, for who would have thought he would have so done?’

“It was answered her, ‘Perchance he thereby hoped to have had his pardon.’

“‘Pardon,’ quoth she, ‘Woe worth him. He hath brought me and our stock in most miserable calamity, and misery by this exceeding ambition. But for the answering that he hoped for life by turning, though others be of the same opinion, I utterly am not, for what man is there living, I pray you, although he had been innocent, that would hope of life in that case--being in the field against the Queen, in person as general, and after his taking, so hated and evil spoken of by the Commons, and at his coming into prison, so wondered at, as the like was never heard by any man’s time? Who was judge that he should hope for pardon, whose life was odious to all men? But what will ye more? Like as his life was wicked and full of dissimulation, so was his end thereafter. I pray God I, nor no friend of mine, die so. Should I, who am young and in the flower of my years, forsake my faith for love of life? Nay, God forbid. Much more he should not, whose fatal course, though he had lived his just number of years, could not have long continued. But life was sweet, it appeared, so he might have lived, you will say, he did not care how. Indeed, the reason is good, for he that would have lived in chains to have had his life, belike would leave no other means attempted. But God be merciful to us, for He sayeth, ‘Whoso denieth Him before man, He will not know him in His Father’s Kingdom.’

“With this and much other talk, the dinner passed away, which ended, I thanked her Ladyship that she would vouchsafe to accept me in her company, and she thanked me likewise, and said I was welcome. She thanked Brydges also for bringing me to dinner. ‘Madam,’ said he, ‘we are all somewhat bold, not knowing that your Ladyship dined before, until we found your Ladyship there.’”

A little later, that is, at the end of September and in October, Lady Jane’s hopes of release may have risen, for Mary had returned from St. James’s Palace to the Tower, for the Coronation. There is no evidence that she ever came into personal contact with Lady Jane Grey after the friendly visit to Newhall in the summer of 1552. If so interesting an event had taken place, there would surely be some trace of it; some account, however brief, of the broken words poor Jane’s trembling lips uttered, when she, the Queen-usurping, and Mary, the Queen-Regnant, stood face to face. But since there is no contemporary mention of such a meeting, we must conclude it never occurred, even at this time, when Jane was awaiting an uncertain fate in one corner of the Tower, while Mary was receiving the homage of the hypocrite Councillors in its State chambers.

A wave of unusual heat swept over England during the summer of 1553, accompanied by storms of extreme violence. Jane must have felt the sultriness in her prison, and have gladly accepted the refreshing walks in the Queen’s garden, which not only brought her amid the last roses of summer,[279] but into contact with the busy life of the Palace-fortress, so that she must have seen many of the preparations for the forthcoming Coronation. It may well have occurred to her that, had fate been less cruel, all this coming and going might have been in her honour, and she, instead of the triumphant Mary, might have gone forth to Westminster, the first Protestant Queen of England. And the Coronation ceremony itself--surely some gossip told her all about that? How stately was the procession of 30th September, in which nearly all the erstwhile ardently Protestant Privy Council of King Edward, now staunch Papists every one, surrounded the most Catholic Mary, garbed in their official bravery, and proclaiming themselves more orthodox than her Papistical Majesty herself; Lord Russell with his big beaded rosary at his waist--that rosary, which on a famous occasion, hearing Mary might very likely order his share of the Church lands to be handed back to the monks, he cast, with a fierce oath, upon the fire! They must have told the Lady Jane how fair and gracious Elizabeth looked in her golden chariot lined with crimson, her robes of pale blue velvet threaded with silver; how Anne of Cleves scintillated with jewels, and how sixty grand dames, in ruby velvet and ermine, with coronets on their heads, rode in the gorgeous procession to Westminster. They must have told her, too, how the charity children, who had sung Calvinistic hymns a week or so ago, now tunefully invoked the blessings of the Saints upon their Catholic Sovereign; how the French Ambassador, Noailles, rode near to the famous Renard, the sly fox who represented the Emperor, and contributed to bring about Jane’s death; how my Lady of Sussex carried the Queen’s crown and the Lord Mayor her sceptre; how the people thought the old Duke of Norfolk looked much changed since he had last appeared in his official robes; how my Lord Edward Hastings had been made Master of the Horse, and led the Queen’s milk-white palfrey; how the Protestant Mrs. Bacon had obtained Cecil’s pardon, and how Mrs. Barnett, Sir Thomas More’s granddaughter, helped to robe the Queen; how Gog and Magog had condescended to leave Guildhall and go to the Tower gates, where they saluted the Queen, and how Gog’s head had nearly wobbled off his gigantic shoulders; how three thousand yeomen, in the apple green and white of the House of Tudor, and three hundred Beefeaters from the Tower, in scarlet and black, had added a brilliant touch to the sumptuous procession; how there were so many giants in the wayside pageantry, along the route from the City to Westminster, that people talked about it as a weird contrast, since the Queen was of such low stature as to be almost a dwarf; how among these giants was a colossal angel ten feet high, all clothed in gold foil, sent by the Florentine merchants to grace a triumphal arch in Fenchurch Street; and how, in conclusion, Noailles, true Frenchman as he was, had waxed excited over the splendours of the Queen’s jewels, and annoyed because Elizabeth walked next to her! And the scene in the Abbey next day, surely Lady Jane heard all about that?--how Gardiner, fresh from the Tower, crowned the Queen--which was deemed an ugly omen, for both Canterbury and York were in prison, and no King of this land had ever yet been crowned by a mere Bishop! They must have told the young prisoner how brilliantly the banquet went off; how Dymoke, hereditary champion of England, rode into the Hall, armed _cap-à-pie_, and championed the Queen’s right; how, no one taking up the challenge, the Queen drank to him; how the old Duke of Norfolk, in true mediæval fashion, rode into the Hall, too, and ushered in the first course of the elaborate meal; how Anne of Cleves, weighed down with heavy pearls, rubies and emeralds, sat next Elizabeth, who had precedence of everybody after the Queen; and how Heywood, the dramatist, had returned from exile to superintend the revels and masques. All that holiday, poor Jane’s ears must have ached with the boom of cannon,[280] and the pealing of bells, and the shouts of the guards and servants, as they sang and banqueted and drank, and lighted a big bonfire on Tower Hill. Probably the gossips told her too of the scandals, the tales of petty intrigues, quarrels, and heart-burnings, the little shames and mortal sicknesses, which the Muse of History has disdained to record, but which were of greater interest, one fancies, to the fair prisoner, than the broader effects of the gorgeous pageant which boded so little good for her.

Jane’s parents and friends, were buoyed up with the hope that soon after her Coronation, Mary would liberate her young cousin, and her husband; and the Queen, her detractors to the contrary, did make a strong effort to save Lady Jane Grey and Guildford. When, either late in July or in August 1553--very soon after Jane’s fall--Renard, the Imperial Ambassador, had an audience with the Queen (probably at Newhall or Wanstead), and opened the question as to what was to become of the little usurper, the Queen answered, “she never could be induced to have her executed, because three days before she left Sion House, she had deemed herself to be the victim of intrigues.” Neither, said she, was Jane the daughter-in-law of Northumberland, because she had been validly contracted to another person; and had taken no part in the Duke’s enterprise, and was “innocent.” The wily Renard, who had formerly backed Jane’s party, but now wished to destroy her, answered that very probably the contract of marriage had been invented as an excuse, and that she must at least be kept a prisoner, as her liberation would give rise to a great deal of trouble and endanger the Realm, and the Catholic religion. The Queen’s answer was, that Lady Jane would not be liberated, without every necessary precaution having been taken to avoid all difficulties. Upon this speech being reported to the Emperor, he reiterated his advice--given in a letter of 20th July--that _all_ who were implicated in Northumberland’s plot should be put to death.[281]

Noailles, also, spoke to Her Majesty about Lady Jane’s position, and she repeated that she “intended to spare her.” “After all,” said she, “the marriage with Guildford is invalid, since she was already contracted to a youth in the employ of the Bishop of Winchester”--_ung serviteur de l’Evêque de Wincestre_. Was Hertford ever in Dr. Gardiner’s employ? Even after she had received the Emperor’s despatch, crying for vengeance on all the participants in the late usurpation, Mary wrote, on 29th August, to Dr. Wotton, our Ambassador to France, “that she would see Jane was kept safe, and that before giving her liberty, she would see that she was innocuous”; but on 19th September, the Imperial Ambassadors wrote rather jubilantly that at last the Queen is determined to execute “the five sons of Dudley and Jane of Suffolk.” There was still hope, however, for on 5th November, Renard writes that being at supper with the Venetian Ambassador, he heard it said that “the four sons of Northumberland, were to be executed, but that Robert might be pardoned, and that he thought Jane, too, would not be executed.” This was as it should be, for Robert Dudley was of all Northumberland’s sons, the least guilty, his share in the conspiracy being a very light one. We may add that in a letter preserved in the Corsini Library at Rome, Cardinal Pole says he has lately heard that Queen Mary was desirous of saving “Lady Jane Suffolk,” as he calls her. There is not a tittle of evidence that Mary at any time gave it to be understood, either to Lady Jane or to others, that she would be pardoned if she embraced the Roman Catholic religion. Religion had little or nothing to do with the matter; the charge against Jane was, that she had usurped the throne--treason--and treason to the Queen was a purely secular offence. The Emperor’s desire for Jane’s death, was actuated by a fear that if she were set at liberty, she might once more be used as an instrument against Mary’s legitimate pretensions, since the late King had named her his successor in his “Devise.” The reason why the Council shared the Emperor’s opinion, and had urged Mary to sign Lady Jane’s death-warrant was, that it was anxious to show its whole-hearted zeal for Mary, and entirely dissociate itself from Jane’s claims. Let it not be forgotten by those who would blame our severe judgment of the Council’s behaviour, that the very men who now urged the Queen to destroy Jane[282] and her husband, and who attended Masses with the utmost unction, had not only been staunch Protestants a few months previously, under Edward VI, but Janeites of the hottest during the first two or three days of Jane’s brief reign. Beset on all sides, Mary Tudor yielded at last, and, when the sentence had been passed, reluctantly signed the death-warrant.

Before that, however, a Writ of _Habeas Corpus_ was issued on the evening of 11th November, commanding John Gage, Constable of the Tower, “to bring up [_i.e._ to Guildhall, two days later, for their trial] the bodies of the accused, to wit, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, Jane Dudley, Guildford Dudley, Ambrose and Henry Dudley.” The document bore the signatures of Thomas White, Mayor, and Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

On 13th November 1553, Jane Grey, Guildford Dudley, Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Lords Ambrose and Henry Dudley, were arraigned at Guildhall for the offences cited in the official indictment already mentioned. The accused left the Tower on foot early in the day, in the company of Sir Thomas Brydges. Lady Jane was attended by her women, and together with her companions in misfortune, was escorted through the thronged streets by four hundred halberdiers. She was dressed in a black cloth gown, the cape lined and edged with velvet. Her coif was of black velvet made like a hood, after the French fashion; a book bound in black velvet--probably it was a Bible or prayer book, hung by a chain from her girdle. She held another open in her hand, on the pages of which she constantly kept her eyes fixed. Her two women, also dressed in black, walked behind her. Cranmer led the procession, walking between two gentlemen, and immediately behind, the Gentleman-Chief Warder, who bore the axe; Guildford, in a black velvet suit slashed with white satin, followed his wife, and with him were the two Lords Ambrose and Henry Dudley, though separated from him by officials and guards. Florio, an Italian writer, who witnessed Jane’s trial, declares her behaviour to have been most dignified. Even the ordeal of passing on foot through the densely-crowded streets did not affect her composure. Within Guildhall there was a great array of lords, prominent among them the old Duke of Norfolk, who after his long and enforced absence from official life, once more enjoyed the privilege of sitting on the Bench as High Steward and Earl Marshal. His aged eyes had mirrored, not only the State trials of two previous Queens of England, Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard, but also the bloody death of the first-named, whilst his ears had heard the fire crackling round Anne Askew.

On entering Guildhall, the prisoners and their attendants and guards were conducted by an usher with the usual ceremony, to the upper part of the fine old hall, where Lady Jane, owing to her royal rank, was granted the privilege of a chair draped with scarlet cloth, and a footstool; her women stood beside her. Cranmer was placed, according to regulation, in a railed-off pew or box by himself, which separated him by a light barrier from the Lords Guildford, Ambrose and Henry Dudley. The “innocent usurper,” although naturally awed by the stately dignity of the scene, may have sought among the many faces present those of not a few she had known all her brief life, and who had even caressed her in her childhood, or been obsequious to her in her ominous Queendom. There sat the aged head of the house of Howard; then came the Earls of Derby, Bath, and Hastings; Sir Richard Morgan, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas,[283] who sat with the other Judges and men of law in their furred robes of office; Nicholas Hare, Master of the Rolls; a little further on, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, in their crimson satins and velvets, and their costly sables and glistening chains; then, a crowd of noblemen and gentlemen and officials, filling up nearly the whole of the space at the top of the hall, the body of which was reserved for privileged persons, whilst the lower part nearest the entrance was given over to the mob, with difficulty kept in order by the halberdiers and other guards. The sacred emblems of the ancient Faith, which had been cast out under Edward VI, were restored by this time; and before a small altar, on which stood a crucifix, and six golden candlesticks, the Lord Mayor’s Chaplain opened proceedings, whilst all knelt, with the “_Veni, Sancte Spiritus_,” and other prayers in Latin. The reading of the indictments followed, and after a pause between each, the prisoners were arraigned to plead guilty or otherwise; but Cranmer, crying out in a loud voice, “Not Guilty!” the other prisoners also pleaded “Not Guilty!” As the counts of the indictment were matters of general knowledge, no witnesses were brought forward on either side, nor were the prisoners cross-examined, nor was any defence made. A jury, consisting of citizens of Middlesex, was empanelled and sworn. After an absence of about twenty minutes they returned, giving as their verdict that the “sufficient and probable evidence” was in favour of the Queen’s Grace, and that they therefore returned a verdict of guilty. On this, Archbishop Cranmer, standing up, reversed his previous plea, and admitted his offence--an example which was speedily followed by the other prisoners, who one and all pleaded “Guilty!” Then sentence was pronounced by Chief Justice Morgan, whose voice is said to have trembled considerably, especially as he came to that fearful portion of it, in which Lady Jane was condemned to be burnt alive, or beheaded, “as the Queen shall please.” The luckless victim heard her doom with sublime meekness and dignity. Cranmer and Guildford were condemned to be hanged at Tyburn, but a pardon was extended to the Lords Ambrose and Henry Dudley. Then, after the recitation of the _De Profundis_, the Court rose,[284] the prisoners were ceremoniously re-conducted to the door of the hall, and escorted back to the Tower, in much the same order as that in which they had come thence--but the axe was reversed; a sign of condemnation which deeply moved the populace, especially with pity for young Dudley and his consort. How weary must have been that tramp back to the fortress, especially to one so young, and in such frail health, as the unfortunate Lady Jane! To Guildford Dudley, too, the journey must have been exceeding painful, for he was in the full vigour of early youth; and the terrible words of the sentence presented to his imagination that awful final scene with which, like most men of his time, he was but too familiar. Cranmer must long since have realised that his days were numbered; but he was as yet mercifully spared the knowledge of the gruesome nature of the end in store for him.

There is, however, no indication that Jane and her husband were treated with any greater severity than hitherto, and Mary, even after the condemnation, was certainly still unwilling to put her cousin to death. She might, in fact, have been saved even then from capital punishment, at all events, if not from imprisonment, if the Wyatt rebellion and the Duke of Suffolk’s indiscreet behaviour had not given colour to the opinion entertained by the Emperor and the Council, that Jane’s freedom and very existence were a menace to Mary’s safety, and compelled the unwilling sovereign to inflict the utmost penalty of the law.

In December, Guildford and his brother Robert were “allowed the liberty of the leads” of the Bell Tower: which most likely means that they were permitted to walk on the terrace-like space on the ballium wall between the Bell and the Beauchamp Tower. Cranmer and Ridley--because they had been “evill of their bodies for want of ayre”--shared the right of walking in the Queen’s Garden with Lady Jane, and Ridley even dined with the Lieutenant; but it is unlikely that either he or Cranmer were allowed converse with Jane Grey, whose spiritual adviser, we know, was Dr. Feckenham--not Abbot of Westminster at this time, as generally stated, but Dean of St. Paul’s,[285]--whom the Queen had expressly delegated to attend on her unfortunate cousin, in the hope of converting her to the Catholic faith.

Towards the end of the year 1553, Lady Jane is said to have written that coarsely violent epistle to Dr. Harding, once her tutor and her father’s chaplain, which will be found in Foxe’s _Acts and Monuments_, vol. iii., p. 27. Harding was a most unblushing turncoat; a Protestant and leading Reformer under Edward VI, under Mary--when his old patron’s power was broken--his Popish opinions were as extreme as his Protestantism had been fierce. According to some historians, this letter is wrongly attributed to Lady Jane, and certainly its wording, of a vulgar polemic type, has nothing in common with the Christian forbearance and piety of her undisputed compositions. It is difficult to believe Jane Grey can have used such expressions as “thou deformed imp of the Devil,” “sink of sin,” “white-livered milksop,” and even worse, hurled at Harding by the writer of this virulent epistle, more likely to have been the production of Hales, that stalwart hater of “Rome,” than of the gentlest of princesses.

Christmas must have been a dismal season for the poor prisoners, whose hopes of pardon were failing, and who realised that the New Year about to open would be their last on earth. Jane’s thoughts flew back, in the long dull evenings, to the merry scenes of her Yuletide at Tylsey, two years previous, and to the cheery games and sports at her father’s mansion at Sheen, only twelve short months ago! And beautiful Bradgate with its lovely park, the scenes of her childhood, her happy lessons with Aylmer, all must have come back to the lonely captive. Before the New Year was a week old, stirring events were happening in the great world beyond the Tower walls. The Queen’s early popularity was already on the wane. Her obstinate determination to marry Philip of Spain had sore offended her people, who, in the Midland counties, began to rise openly against the “Spanish match.” The Duke of Suffolk, thanks to his wife’s intercession, and his own zeal in proclaiming Mary, had been set free after three days’ imprisonment, and was residing at Sheen. Bethinking herself that he would make a good leader of her troops against the rebels, Mary sent for him to take command.[286] The Queen’s messenger reached Sheen on 25th January 1554, and summoned the Duke to Court. His answer was, “Marry, I was coming to her Grace. Ye may see, I am booted and spurred, ready to ride, and I will but break my fast and go.” He then gave the messenger a present and some refreshment, and himself departed, accompanied by his brothers, the Lords John and Leonard Grey,[287]--but instead of going to the Queen in London, he galloped with some fifty followers into Leicestershire and Warwickshire, and made an attempt to rouse the population into open revolt against the Queen’s marriage. That he “proclaimed Jane in every town he passed through” is not true. He swore he had never swerved from his loyalty to Mary, and it seems certain that he told the Mayor of Leicester the Queen was “the mercifullest prince that ever reigned.” He rebelled against the Spanish marriage and against that only. The people of the Midlands, however, notwithstanding his bribes, did not rally to him to any extent--his own men deserted him. The Earl of Huntingdon took the field against him, and after a defeat near Coventry, he had to fly for his life. He reached his own estate of Ashley, and threw himself on the mercy of Underwood, his park-keeper, who saved him, for a few days, by hiding him in a hollow tree in the park, where, according to Pollino, he was nearly starved to death. One of his brothers, who had managed to escape with him, was hidden under a pile of grass or hay. At last, thanks to Underwood’s treachery and to the noise made by a dog which persisted in barking at the foot of the tree where the unhappy Duke was concealed, the two brothers were delivered up to Warner, Mayor of Coventry, who handed them over to the Earl of Huntingdon.[288] They were brought to London, and reached the Tower on 6th February,[289] towards the conclusion of the Wyatt rebellion. As he passed through London the Duke looked, we are told, more dead than alive, “pale as a ghost and shivering.”

Some mystery surrounds the motives of Suffolk’s misguided action. He does not seem to have intended, as has been frequently but wrongly represented, to reconstruct a party in favour of his daughter, Lady Jane.[290] Perhaps, after all, he was sincerely incensed at the Spanish match, fearing it would undo all the work of the Reformation, to which he was honestly attached. It is presumable, too, that a conspiracy existed to place Princess Elizabeth on the throne,[291] which, Suffolk may have hoped, would lead to the release of his daughter and son-in-law. The result, however, was entirely opposite. The knowledge of this movement, combined with Wyatt’s rebellion, enabled the Spanish party to force Mary’s hand and oblige her to put Lady Jane and her young husband to death.[292] Mary affixed her signature to the “Nine Days’ Queen’s” death-warrant on the very day which saw Suffolk led a prisoner into the Tower.

The terror and anxiety with which Jane received the news of her father’s arrest and imprisonment may be better imagined than described. Did she ever see him again? There is no trace of such an interview, but we possess the MS. of a letter she wrote him on the fly-leaf of a prayer book. She was certainly very much attached to her father, but it is significant that she never attempted to see her mother, nor wrote, nor even alluded to her. And whereas the petitions of the wives of the Dudleys--including, by the way, that of Amy Robsart, wife of Lord Robert Dudley--to see their husbands in the Tower, are still extant, and were readily granted--no document exists to prove that the Duchess of Suffolk ever made any attempt to visit either her daughter or her son-in-law in their prison. Perhaps she was otherwise and more agreeably engaged!

There was a great commotion and consternation in the Tower during the Wyatt rebellion, when London presented a spectacle not unlike that of Paris during certain of the greatest outbursts of the Reign of Terror. Lady Jane and the other State prisoners, most of whom had attendants, who, after due ransacking of their persons, were allowed to pass in and out of the Tower and its wards, were well acquainted with the details of that extraordinary attempt on the part of a youth of only twenty-three summers, not to overthrow the legitimate sovereign indeed, but to prevent her marriage with Philip of Spain, soon to be called King of Naples. The Queen’s courage in risking her person in defence of her rights had won the hearts of the people, opposed though they were to the Spanish alliance, and the Wyatt crusade was, in every sense, a useless and a foolish one. Never, however, since the tumultuous days of Jack Cade had London been so disturbed as during the early months of the year 1554. On 7th February Wyatt and his men were as near the Tower as Southwark, where they sacked the shops and destroyed Bishop Gardiner’s library, so that they stood “knee deep among the tattered leaves of his precious volumes.” Later in the day, when the rioting had got as far as Charing Cross, so great and shrill was the noise of the shouts of men and of the cries of frightened women and children, “that it was heard to the top of the White Tower; and also the great shot was well discerned there out of St. James’s field.”[293] “There stood upon the leads there [_i.e._ of the White Tower],” continues the same Chronicler, “the Lord Marquess [of Northampton], Sir Nicholas Poyns, Sir Thomas Pope, Master John Seamer and others. From the battle, when one came and brought word that the Queen was like to have the victory, and that the horseman had discomfited the tale of his enemies, the Lord Marquess for joy gave the messenger ten shillings in gold, and fell in great rejoicing.”

We may imagine the anxiety of the condemned prisoners in the Tower. If Wyatt were victorious, they might yet be saved by a change of administration, that would send Mary flying abroad for her life, and bring Princess Elizabeth to the throne. Wyatt’s object was to seize the Tower, but alas! poor man, when he had approached it as near as the Belle Sauvage Yard, on Ludgate Hill, he collapsed on the bench of a fishmonger’s shop, was swiftly seized and cast into durance, in that very fortress whence he hoped to proclaim his victory over “Spanish tyranny.” The prisoners in the Tower must have heard a hundred tales of the appalling retaliation practised on the promoters of the rebellion; of the scores of men hanged in bunches at the street corners[294]; of the bloody heads stuck on London Bridge, and even in front of the Queen’s palace at St. James’s. They may even have seen Wyatt and his fellows enter the Tower. Guildford, too, since he had the same privileges as Northampton, may have heard the cries of the frightened populace in those days of hot rebellion, from the leads of the White Tower, where he was allowed to take the air, and whence he could see beyond the precincts over on to Tower Hill without.

Jane may likewise have learnt with considerable distress that the Earl of Huntingdon and many other Catholic courtiers--all the Spaniards, for instance--were permitted to attend Mass in the Tower chapel; and that this, to her, idolatrous ceremony had replaced the plain Communion service of Edward VI in most of the churches of London, and indeed, throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom. She must also have heard with disgust that half London was going in procession nearly every day, with banners, copes, “imauges,” and lights, praying for fine weather.

Unfortunately little is known about the death-warrant of Lady Jane Grey and her husband. The date of its signature would seem to have been 6th February--the very day, as we have said, that Suffolk was brought back a prisoner into the Tower--a confirmation of the statement that it was his indiscreet action which eventually decided Queen Mary to put Lady Jane to death. The warrant itself and the text have disappeared. All we know is that the document unceremoniously described the unfortunate young couple as “Guildford Dudley and his wife”; and named Friday, 9th February 1554, as the day of execution. The Queen signed the document at Temple Bar, whither it was brought by the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs. How Mary came to be at Temple Bar on this occasion is not clear, but as Her Majesty is not likely to have performed her dread duty in the middle of the street, it is probable that the warrant received her signature in the office of the Duchy of Lancaster, just beyond Temple Bar. If this is the case, the actual chamber in which the dramatic event occurred still exists, in the upper storey of the quaint old house now used as a barber’s shop and recently restored (externally) to its original condition by the removal of a lath and plaster façade, dating from the early eighteenth century, which masked the fine Tudor front that now lends so picturesque a note of mediævalism to modern Fleet Street. For a long time this chamber was believed to have been of the reign of James I, but a close examination of the scheme of decoration revealed the monogram of Prince Arthur, younger brother of Henry VIII, and from this we may conclude the building to have been the office of the Duchy of Lancaster, of which this young Prince was treasurer, and which is known to have stood hereabouts. This is the origin of the tradition so popular in London a generation ago, that the house in question was “the palace of Henry VIII and Cardinal Wolsey”; who may indeed have forgathered there for business purposes, but who certainly never inhabited the building.