The Bradgate Heiress

Chapter 7

After a gruelling, heavy winter of ice, snow and bitter, cutting winds, it is a pleasure to walk out from Mincing Lane, along the highway and in sight of the great River Thames. For almost a month over the Christmas season, the river was frozen solid with transport unable to move freely. Snow piled high in the streets and it was raw to set foot outside the house. Raw indeed inside it for much of the time, particularly when we ran out of logs for the fire and could get none for three days. Huddled up in coats and shawls and any coverings we could lay our hands on was no fun at all. Even the work place, Candleman"s shop where he makes his shoes was cold indeed and only the proximity of several bodies wrapped up in heavy garments made it bearable enough to carry on working.

Now, at last, with bright spring weather on the way, the bitter cold evaporated, it is a great joy to step out and cover some considerable distance through the streets. I have to move slowly however, for my mother cannot walk at the speed I normally employ; she is sluggish by comparison. She wanted to come out today though; with the winter as severe as it has been she has been virtually a prisoner in the house for more than a month with me venturing out to buy food and drink in between trying to make a living in the shoe business.

We take it at a slow but steady pace along the road to Westminster. The water is sparkling on the Thames with occasional brief bursts of pale sunshine piercing it. Horses trot by intermittently and an occasional horse and carriage. The air would be fresh and clean were it not for the piles of dung and other vile substances strewn across the roadway at intervals.

As we approach the landing stage at Westminster I become aware of a gradually increasing batch of people all congregating close by, jostling and pushing to get a better look at what turns out to be a very lavishly equipped barge. It has a coat of arms on the side.

"What is it Will, what"s happening?" my mother demands to know; she is much shorter than me and not in a position to see much of the barge.

"Here mother, step forward," I tell her, as I manoeuvre her into a better position, elbowing a couple of young ruffians out of the way to do so. I also use my bulk to slowly shoulder my way into a better position to see what is going on and stand just behind my mother with my hands on her shoulders.

"Fancy boat Will, fancy boat indeed," mother calls out, turning to grin at me.

"Yes mother," I say, politely.

"Must be very important folks indeed comin" down," she murmurs.

Suddenly there is a shuffling and murmurs and mutterings all round and a loud raucous voice calls out: "stand aside there, stand aside. Clear the way now."

A flurry of activity follows with several fancy dressed yeomen and servants clearing a path and along it we see the Dowager Queen Katherine and Thomas Seymour, the Lord High Admiral with two little girls, one about fourteen and the other looks about twelve.

"It"s the old queen," mother says, grinning all over her face. "The Dowager queen herself."

"And the little girls?" I ask.

"Oh you are an ignorant boy," my mother snarls. "The bigger one is the Princess Elizabeth, King Henry"s second daughter and the very small girl is Lady Jane Grey, her cousin."

"Lady Jane Grey," I repeat, still gazing at the pretty young girl dressed in a dark ermine robe that seems too big for her and hypnotized by her serene, white marble coloured complexion.

"And the Dowager Queen is pregnant," mother whispers, as she turns and bids me lower my face to her level.

"How can you know that mother?"

"Oh I can tell, I can tell," she says smugly. "I would say she is two to three months gone."

Mother becomes quite agitated; she is more alive than I have seen her in many a month. She watches spellbound as Seymour, the Dowager and the two small girls walk briskly down to the landing stage and board the large boat. This little outing, walking from Mincing Lane to Westminster has fairly rejuvenated her after a bitter winter season and I am glad that I persuaded her to take a Sunday morning stroll with me. She talks about the Dowager Queen Katherine all the way home, telling me that the four of them must have been visiting the king at White Hall and are now returning to Chelsea. I listen politely and make the odd comment but really I cannot get the sight of little Lady Jane Grey out of my mind. How can a child of about twelve years old look so serene and other worldly, almost as if she doesn"t belong in this world at all? But also so vulnerable!

Mother is grinning all over her face when we get back to Mincing Lane. She is a new woman it seems, at least for a short time as she reflects on having been within touching distance of the Dowager Queen Katherine and her family.

"Go and settle down Will," she bids me, beaming still. "There"s a drop of ale left in the cupboard. I"ll get it for you."