A/N: Slightly earlier this week as we escaped the office at lunchtime today to start the Christmas break. Thanks again for the comments.
I'm a fair bit further on in the story than this (which is why I can publish on a weekly basis), but I've also come to the conclusion that I need some 'guide dates' in my manuscript to show where we are, so I've started adding a date to the first chapter of each part. At the moment, we're still in 1536, though quite late on - so much has happened that it probably gives the impression that we've moved on far more quickly than we really have. The pace will get less frantic in due time as things start to settle - so each part from here on will have the aforementioned guide date to keep things grounded.
And on we go - Mary's about to leave the protective cocoon of Hunsdon, and Brandon's going to find out who else is on her council-to-be...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The St Albans Proclamation
Cromwell is busily reading through a long report as Rich returns to his own work from the midday meal. Not normally a particularly aware or generous individual, he has noticed that his colleague - and slowly emerging friend - was not in the hall, and has thus returned with a leg of fowl, a chunk of bread, and an apple: all wrapped up in a napkin. There is already claret available, so he has not bothered with that.
Depositing the package upon Cromwell's desk, he is immediately intrigued, "News of our Queen's rival?" He is not fool enough to speak overly loudly.
Cromwell nods, "Our various spies have reported much. Wiltshire has visited the Lady, and she has swallowed his false conversion absolutely. As we thought, her own conviction is such that she assumes all men share it - and it is a simple matter to deceive her if one knows the right words to use. He is - of course - a most wily individual, and knows well what must be said in order to win favour in such circumstances." He pauses, opens the napkin, "Ah - thank you. I had not noticed the passage of time." Clearly pleased, he hands the paper to Rich and transfers his attention to the victuals.
Rich sits down nearby, "So she has Wiltshire - and Suffolk. Do we know if she has approached any other nobles?"
"She would be a fool to try it," Cromwell advises, prior to biting into the leg.
Rich nods, "Indeed so. It was my concern that she would not be suitably subtle."
Cromwell swallows his mouthful, "If she is to win over the newly landed gentry, then she shall be forced to leave the Abbey lands they have purchased in their hands. Given her commitment to rob them of it and hand it back to the monks, that shall be troublesome - unless she makes a promise with one hand, and withdraws it with the other."
"I cannot see her doing such a thing. Not if her previous dealings are evidence of her behaviour. To her, a promise is absolute and must not be broken on pain of eternal damnation. Such is the way with all who are as pious as she."
"In her case, however, that piety is absolutely true." Cromwell reminds him, "She has clung to it tightly as her one consolation in a great reversal of her fortunes, and thus there is no pretence. To claim otherwise would be to offer her a great disservice. Enemy though she is to our Queen, she is still the child of the King, and thus worthy of respect."
Leaving his colleague to eat his meal, Rich returns his attention to the document. As they have surmised, the prospect of losing their newly acquired lands shall drive them to look to the Regent for aid should Mary declare her intent to take the throne. While there is no firm commitment, the rumours are already abroad in the shires, and those who shall lose if Mary wins are already concerned that they shall be evicted from their homes and given nothing to compensate them for the loss. Equally, higher ranked nobles are profiting well from peace in the realm, and there are few who seem interested in inspiring upheaval - particularly if to do so invites foreign interference. That innate suspicion of foreigners is, perhaps, their greatest ally.
The only noblemen that Mary might consider likely to flock to her are those who are as determined for the Catholic faith as she. Even so, they may well balance the possible benefits of gaining from her success with the dangers of falling with her loss. They are thoroughly aware of the political lay of the land - and the danger of losing all that they have might well stay their hands.
"Mr Cranmer has instructed his bishops to ensure that the churches preach upon the scripture from chapter sixteen of the first book of Kings." Cromwell advises, "They shall liken Mary to Zimri, who killed all of the royal family and stole the throne for himself - but who ruled a mere seven days, and died for his sins against the Lord, in causing Israel to worship idols."
"And he is sure that they shall not liken the Regent to Zimri instead?"
"Only those priests who are not tainted by Popery shall be requested to preach. Most parishes have already gained some benefit from Royal endowment, and so her Majesty the Regent continues to gain favour as 'mother of the Realm'. Certainly, I have not heard talk of Jezebel in the parishes at this time. Once, perhaps, but no longer. Besides, we have been blessed with an excellent harvest, and there was no outbreak of the sweat during the summer. Even the plague seems to have been in abeyance for much of the season - for there were but a few small clusters of sickness in some towns, but none took hold. It shall be hard to claim that God has turned his face from England when grain prices are low, and fewer families than in previous years have been obliged to bury those who are dead from plague."
"And Mary believes that she shall win over the people of England in such times?"
Cromwell sighs, "I fear so. She is young, and has never been granted the opportunity to accumulate political experience. Furthermore, she has been kept from capable advisers - and, for all his skill, Wiltshire's ulterior motives are likely to cause him to advise her poorly, for he has always been keen to grasp all that he can, as quickly as he can - and lacks the patience essential to play the longer game."
"Suffolk shall dissuade her, though." Rich muses, "He has sat at the Council table, and knows - as Wiltshire does not - that she shall be a fool if she thinks she can snatch England purely because she is who she is."
"He is too late for that." Cromwell shakes his head, "Far too late. The plans she outlined in her letter were plans that were clearly made, not suggestions of what she might do. She is headstrong, and proud - gifts from both of her parents - and once set upon her course of action shall be all but impossible to divert from it."
"So she shall do it? Declare herself Queen at St Albans?"
"Of course she shall. Then we shall prove that she is not."
From a distance, Hunsdon House looks no different from any other country residence: a wide parkland, a long lane down which one must ride to approach, and a fine house surrounded by carefully tended formal gardens. To most who approach the place, the ride is a simple affair along that lane, watched by those who reside within, as there is no means to conceal oneself. To others, however, it is a more careful business, and Suffolk is obliged to rely upon the assistance of Seymour to deliver him safely to Mary's presence without the Regent's spies being aware of it, particularly as he has taken care to depart from the City via the Aldgate to give the impression that he was travelling north-east. Neither of them appreciate that the Regent is, in fact, entirely aware of it, and has been for more than a day.
September is halfway towards its end, the feast of the Archangels a mere two weeks off - and in that time they must gather what men they can, and depart to St Albans without being challenged. Worse, with no sign that God is displeased with England for their choice of ruler, Mary must rely upon her name and lineage alone to inspire people to follow her to London and sweep away a usurper.
In all honesty, Suffolk is not at all convinced that they shall succeed in such an endeavour.
Thus he must attempt as best he can to act as a voice of reason, persuading a determined young woman that her ignorance of the state of England may well prove disastrous, as the people have no reason to turn against the Queen and her Regent other than sentiment. With their bellies and their purses equally full, it is more likely that they shall ignore her call - or watch, then walk away. If she is lucky, then she shall accumulate a rabble of vagabonds and displaced cloister-folk. And what use are they against a royal army? With so many newly landed men owing their fortune to the Regent, if they cannot provide men at arms, they shall provide the funds to pay for them.
It is a cruel situation in which Mary is now trapped - for if she does nothing, then she shall be forgotten as Elizabeth grows and comes into her inheritance. If she acts, then she is almost certain to fail - regardless of whether or not men sympathise with her, they shall not fight against a well organised government and a Queen whose inheritance of the crown has been set out in both the late King's will and his laws. A bad harvest, or a widespread outbreak of some contagion or other might well have tipped the balance in her favour - but without great hardship in England, she has no foundation upon which to build herself as a worthy alternative. Yes - she is the daughter of the late king, but so is Elizabeth.
Mary's letter did not apprise him as to the identity of this unexpected aid - and thus he wonders who has emerged from the shadows to give her such hope of success. As they wait in the darkness, Seymour turns to him, "Her Majesty has decided to make her escape this night. It seems that accommodation has been secured some three miles from here in a quiet house that is owned by my Lord of Sussex, but is not occupied. They shall not think to look for her in the house of a loyal Lord."
"We are to depart tonight?" Suffolk stares, shocked, "But I have not had the opportunity to offer my counsel - I do not think it wise to act in so precipitous a manner as this - there is much that her Majesty does not appreciate about the political lay of the land in England."
Seymour seems disinterested in such advice, though it is too dark to see his face, "It is her Majesty's wish and command that we make our escape this night. Already, Jane has overseen the removal of the finer of her Majesty's gowns to be transported in secret to the new house. None of the Regent's spies have seen what we have done - only the chambermaids that have been with Mary prior to her removal from Court have aided us."
Suffolk sighs inwardly, but says nothing. Already he can hear the muffled sounds of horses hooves as a number of animals have been carefully led from the stables, their iron shoes covered with thick cloth to reduce the clatter upon the stone cobbles of the mews.
"We are to depart first, my Lord." Seymour advises, "To prepare the way for her Majesty's arrival. She shall meet with us there."
It is clear that no argument shall be heard against this escapade - none whatsoever. Mary has set her heart upon claiming her crown in St Albans, and not even the harsh truth that England has no worthwhile reason to hear her call shall stop her. Wondering what on earth he has allowed himself to walk into, Suffolk mounts up to depart.
Anne reads the report that Cromwell has provided to her with a look of horror, "She intends to flee from Hunsdon!"
Cromwell nods, "I suspect that, if she has not done so, it shall not be long before she does. Given her intention to issue her proclamation upon the old feast of the Archangels, if she does not leave imminently, then she shall not achieve her intention."
"And you intend to allow this?"
"Yes, Majesty. As long as she believes herself free to do as she wishes, she shall remain under our scrutiny, and we shall be prepared to counter her. At present, she appears intent upon making good her threat to confiscate properties from the nobility, for she has already done so with your manor at Cole Green, my Lord Sussex - I am given to understand that she intends to move there."
Sussex stares at Cromwell, "What? That is not a former monastic property! She has no right to take it!"
"I suspect that her primary intention is to conceal herself in a property that is owned by a man loyal to the Regent." Rich muses, also having seen the report beforehand, "Thus it is less likely to be searched."
"In that case, I think it an appropriate time to inspect it, and turf out any vagrants that have taken up residence within." Sussex growls, crossly, then turns to Anne, "Majesty, I ask that you grant me command of the forces that shall counter any rabble that that ungrateful creature attempts to raise against you. My honour has been impugned, and I wish to demonstrate absolutely that I am truly loyal to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, and to you as Regent."
He is unaware that, alongside him, Cromwell nods very slightly. Returning Sussex's gaze, Anne catches that slight movement in her peripheral vision. As she has already decided to ask the Chancellor to do so, it is a simple matter to agree, "Thank you, my Lord. I am most grateful for your offer, and I charge you with the task of securing a suitably sized and armed militia to counter any threat that this ungracious usurper might see fit to raise against us."
Her tone is remarkably menacing. Rising, Sussex bows, steps back, and departs.
"It shall take him a month to do it." Cromwell says, quietly, "As we are likely to have but a scant two weeks until Mary proclaims herself, it shall aid us a great deal if her words attract only a few - but if they do not, then we shall at least be prepared to stand against her."
Anne sits back in her chair, her expression pensive, "Do you think she can do it? Raise England against Elizabeth?"
"It shall be most difficult for her to do so - but it is likely that there shall be traitors and malcontents who shall seek to work mischief, and use her as a means to an end. The wounds inflicted upon England by the wars of the Plantagenets have healed over, yes - but there are still tales told of rivers that ran with blood as the youth of England died over which cousin should wear a crown over all of the others. Mary has nothing to offer England but sentimental memories of a dead mother, and promises made to the wearers of habits and cassocks. The people of our realm are unlikely to see any reason to throw in their lots with hers. Unless she can demonstrate that she intends to do more than confiscate land from the Gentry and send Papal Legates into the shires to bind innocents to stakes, she shall find that England has no interest in her."
"And what if you are wrong?"
"If I am wrong, then we all die." His voice is calm as he speaks, "But I think that we shall live."
"God have mercy - I should have imprisoned her long ago."
Cromwell shakes his head, "We cannot easily justify such an act, Majesty. While we know that she plots, up to this point she has done nothing against her Majesty. She is the daughter of the late King, and we must take great care to avoid stirring memories of two other royal children who found themselves imprisoned, and not seen again. Should she take overt steps against the Queen, that shall change. But at this time, we risk being compared with the Crookback - did he not send his own nephews there upon the pretext of tradition, only to bury them there? Even now, his name is blackened for the act."
"I know, Mr Cromwell. I know..." Anne sighs, "While most Englishmen accept that I exist, and ignore my presence in favour of Elizabeth and a united Government, such a state has been hard won, and is easily lost. I cannot - must not - act in such fashion that I cause disorder that my daughter must perforce overcome."
There is little else to discuss, and Anne dismisses the few councillors she admitted to the meeting. Wingfield and Tunstall are still at Court, though it is likely that they shall be on their way soon - it would be impossible to win a place upon that girl's council if they were not at her proclamation. Audley, on the other hand, seems to blow hot and cold - uncertain whether to join the very small pilgrimage to St Albans, or remain with the majority in London. Suddenly very tired, Anne removes from the Presence Chamber to her Privy Chamber, and sinks down with relief upon a long couch as Nan Berkley comes in with comfits and sweet wine, "Majesty, Mr Smeaton is without and seeks an audience."
Instantly, Anne is tense. What does he want? He is naught but a musician - his status as a groom of the Privy Chamber died with Henry, "I am very tired, Nan - please advise him that I am engaged with matters of State and thus cannot see him. If Lady Rochford is present, send her through to attend me."
"She is, Majesty. I shall do as you ask."
The comfits are of little interest to her - but she is grateful for the wine, and even more so when Lady Rochford enters the chamber, "Has he gone?"
She nods, "Yes, Majesty - though he was most disappointed. He claims that he has obtained some new French ballades for you; but his garments were most astonishingly garish, and he was surrounded by a great wafting cloud of scent that suggested it had been poured upon him from a pitcher."
"God's wounds - do you think he intended to pay court to me?"
Jane shakes her head, "Even he is not such a fool as that; though I fear it was certainly his intention to capture your attention through his manner of dress."
"If he was as badly dressed as you claim, then he would not have failed in that intent." For the first time this morning, Anne smiles, but not for long, "I think we shall be obliged to dispense with his services if this continues. Rumours aside, the embarrassment that shall ensue should he attempt to seek my favour - thereby obliging me to turn him down - would be most grievous. I have other matters to concern me at this time, and I have no wish to be distracted."
"We shall be most ostentatious in our chaperoning of your Majesty." Jane smiles, cheerfully, "We shall continue as always, but we shall dress more brightly, and thus none can claim that they did not see us."
"Thank you, Jane. Could you call Lady Bryan, please? I should like to ask her how Elizabeth's latin is coming along."
"Yes Majesty."
Suffolk is most uncomfortable. While the house is of excellent aspect, well furnished and in good repair, it is the property of another man, and they are essentially vagrants taking up residence within it. The paintings upon the walls are of the Radcliffe family, and the bundled dust-sheets that have been abandoned in various corners do little to ease his sense of discomfiture.
Seymour, on the other hand, seems utterly unconcerned. His adherence to the Catholic faith is lighter than some - and his primary interest is to gain political power in the light of Mary's reign. He shall certainly get it; for he has proved loyal and cunning in equal measure; though he shall likely be required to accumulate at least a barony before he can claim priority in the Government.
There are few servants in the house - kept there only as caretakers in the absence of residents. Obliged to remove dust sheets and open shutters, they are in now hiding in the servants' hall, fearful that they shall be harmed by those who have taken the house, or punished by the man who owns it for not protecting it. Not the most auspicious of starts to a reign.
Dawn broke nearly two hours ago, and still there is no sign of the Queen. The horses had been made ready - so it should have been a simple matter to follow as quickly as Seymour and he had done. Was her escape seen? Has she been apprehended already? If so, then her reign is over before it has even begun - the Regent requires only the lightest of pretexts to act against her.
Then, at last, he can hear the crunch of hooves upon gravel, and looks out of a window to see that she has arrived, surrounded by her ladies, and a single guardsman who must've declared for her. In the distance, someone else is approaching - but at present Suffolk is relieved that her Majesty has escaped Hunsdon safely, and is quickly at the door to welcome her inside while Seymour hastens below stairs to chivvy the servants into providing water for her to wash her hands and face - and some wine for her to drink.
"Forgive our tardiness, my Lord of Suffolk," she says, as he bows deeply, and she holds out her hand for him to kiss, "One of the horses threw a shoe, and thus we were obliged to travel more slowly."
"I am pleased that you are well, Majesty, and grateful that God has delivered you safely from your imprisonment."
She smiles, "Indeed, my Lord - he has looked upon us with favour. In spite of a lame horse, we are here, and can rest briefly until we move on to St Albans." He stands aside and allows her to enter, "I shall rest for an hour, and then we shall have our first Council meeting."
"Yes, Majesty." In spite of his fears, he cannot help but smile at her - for she carries herself as a true Queen should, even in a mud-spattered riding habit. Bowing low, he watches her depart, and then rises, wondering where this supposed unexpected aid has got to.
And finds himself face to face with the Earl of Wiltshire.
There is an awkward silence as the two men stare at one another for an uncomfortably long period of time. Suffolk has no idea how to deal with a man who had, until recently, been implacably opposed to the accession of Queen Mary to her rightful throne. Now, however, he is standing at her door, and has taken great care to sport a crucifix that hangs from about his neck. While the cross itself is not particularly ornate, the manner in which he wears it more than makes up for that lack of ostentation. To the Queen, it is doubtless a symbol of his contrition and newly re-acquired faith in the true Church of God. To Suffolk, on the other hand, it is a symbol only that he has done what he needs to do in order to win her favour. Wiltshire is a man who shall say, or do, whatever is required to gain that which he seeks to obtain - and thus he gives the impression of a contrite sinner who has returned to the fold, in hopes that his own daughter shall be destroyed, while he profits. Perhaps he aims to obtain a Dukedom? Or accumulate additional properties for himself? Perhaps both…
Wiltshire eyes Suffolk uncertainly, but takes care to maintain an inscrutable expression. This is a man who has maintained his loyalty to the girl from the beginning - and thus she sees him as her first and foremost councillor. Much as he wishes to be at the forefront of Government, he has no choice but to play second fiddle to a man who is almost as well known for his philandering as he is for his friendship with the late King, "Your Grace." He bows - a very shallow inclination of his head and shoulders - and waits for Suffolk to enter ahead of him.
Once he has found a means to undermine the Duke, of course, things shall be different - but first they must get the crown on the brat's head, and thus he shall bow and scrape as he needs to.
As agreed, Mary emerges from her chambers after an hour. She has exchanged her spattered habit for a fine gown of black damask, upon which have been embroidered a multitude of seed pearls and crystals that glisten in the sunlight that is filtering in through the windows, "At this time, my Lords," she advises, as Suffolk, Wiltshire and Seymour bow before her, "I wear mourning both for my late mother, and my late father. I shall continue to do so until such time as I am enclosed in the garments of a Queen at my coronation. I was not permitted to do so when in my gilded prison - but I am now free, and I shall reclaim England in the name of my House, that of Tudor. The illegitimate line shall be wiped out, and my own sons shall continue the legacy of my parents before it was disrupted and diverted from its true path."
"We shall stand with you, your Majesty." Suffolk says, with quiet sincerity, "As the true daughter of our late King, and your most sainted mother, Queen Katherine, the Crown is yours by right. I swear to you that the advice I give to you shall be honest, frank and truthful."
"Indeed it shall, my Lord of Suffolk." Mary smiles at him, a radiant smile of true joy, "And thus I appoint you my Lord Chancellor, and you, my Lord of Wiltshire shall be the Lord President of my Council. Mr Seymour, as soon as it is in my power to do so, I shall raise you to the Peerage, to complement your rank of Lord Privy Seal - your loyalty to me in my captivity shall be rewarded by the responsibility of handling my personal seal, when such time comes as it can be struck.
"My first order of business shall be to compose my Proclamation, which I shall then declare to my subjects and Council in the Abbey Church of St Albans. Mr Seymour, let it be known that the Queen of England shall travel there forthwith, and all who come to her shall be pardoned of any sins against the Queen's Majesty, and God's holy Church."
Seymour bows, "I shall see to it, Majesty. It shall emerge as a rumour, and thus spread amongst the people, who shall come to you in St Albans."
She smiles again as he withdraws.
"Majesty," Suffolk looks most uncomfortable, "Forgive me, but I cannot stay silent. The political situation is not as far in our favour as I would wish it to be - and we must be most careful if we are to prevail."
The smile falters, "In what way, my Lord? I am the true Queen of England - and thus it is my right to claim it. My Subjects shall see that."
His expression gentle, Suffolk indicates that she take a seat, "Majesty, your faith is true, and strong - and for that you are to be commended by all of Christendom. That you are the legitimate Queen of England is not in dispute; but you must know - the usurper Elizabeth has the support of Parliament, and a large proportion of the higher nobility. They can muster large forces to dispatch against us - and thus we must be careful."
"I shall have the love of my Subjects, my Lord." Mary reminds him, "They shall remember me, and my true rights - and thus shall stand with me. What can mercenaries do against that?" She pauses, seeing the expression upon his face, "What, my Lord?"
"The number of people who shall look to you to rescue them from the misrule of the Regent and her Government may not be as great as you hope." He admits, "The harvest this year has been most bountiful, the weather benign. Peace in the realm has led to greater trade, while the closure of the smaller religious houses has given wealthier gentry-men the opportunity to obtain land, and thus become more politically powerful. Discontent is in short supply - and there is little evidence to the realm that God is displeased with the woman who wears the Crown."
"That, I cannot countenance, my Lord of Suffolk." Mary's eyes narrow as her temper is sparked, "I am the Queen, and my Subjects shall welcome me, for I am the true daughter of the late King."
"My Lord of Suffolk speaks wisely, Majesty." Wiltshire recognises the danger even if Mary does not, "There is no disputing that the Kingdom has prospered in this first year of the usurper's reign - and it is essential that we take that into account. We cannot claim that your reign shall overcome hardship and misery when there is little to none - but instead we should look to the dispossessed, for their hardship has not been touched by a good harvest, or by the support of Parliament. Where once they might have looked to the religious houses for succour, now they have naught but the poor laws, which are not applied with the loving will of God. Consequently, as our Lord looked to the truly dispossessed when he walked among us, so should you."
Intrigued, Mary thinks over the suggestion, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She says, quietly, "Yes - as our good Lord gave hope to those with nothing, so shall I. Thus shall my reign begin - bringing succour to the poorest and meanest of my subjects."
Suffolk eyes Wiltshire, bemused. Of all the things he expected, an agreement with his consensus was not at the forefront. The man is hardly known for his patience, after all - but his suggestion is sound. If those who have gained from the current reign shall not heed the Queen's call, then those who have lost shall certainly listen.
"She has gathered a council of sorts, Majesty." Cromwell advises, as he peruses the chessboard, "Suffolk, Wiltshire and Seymour. Of those, only Suffolk truly appreciates the political situation, but I have no doubt that Mary shall disregard his warnings. While the majority of the great Lords of England have no wish to overturn the stable government of the realm, those who might think otherwise are too far away to be of any aid - for they are in the North and shall hear nothing of her proclamation until after it has failed. Similarly, the Gentry shall see only the prospect of the loss of their lands, while those who have less even than that have the infirmaries and almshouses to which they can turn. Only the very poorest of men are likely to see benefit in following her - and those who were once within the cloisters. Most who were once in habits have fled to other houses, and thus are not amongst the dispossessed." He has taken great care to ensure that the young woman he has installed in Mary's household has a means of alerting him of the girl's activities as quickly as possible, housing a small group of riders in the city to deliver messages by fast horse that she can easily approach upon the pretext of securing items for her mistress.
"Have your commissioners been busy in St Albans?" she asks, quietly, watching as he moves his bishop, "If the people who might most closely listen to that girl have no reason to hear her words, then even they shall not rise to her call."
"Indeed."
"It is my hope that they shall not, Mr Cromwell." She says, firmly, "Not merely because I wish her to fail, but because I have no wish for blood to be spilled. The ordinary folk of this realm do not deserve to be slaughtered while those of higher estate squabble about whose head has a crown set upon it. We both know that it is not the wealthy and privileged who shall pay the price of this."
"I fear that, no matter what we do, that shall happen, Majesty." Cromwell sighs, "The Lady Mary is intent upon the Crown, for she thinks it to be hers - and thus we have no choice but to confront her. She is acting without the support of the Princes of Europe, and without the support of much of the Nobility - but still she acts."
"And so I must fight her." Anne sighs, "Somehow, my enmity seems a very little thing in the face of such a threat."
Cromwell regards her as she, in her turn, peruses the pieces on the board. That she seems to have finally appreciated the pointlessness of her hatred for a misbegotten child of a former rival is pleasing - but it has been quelled by the reality of an impending battle - and they must hope that the matter is settled before the weapons are deployed.
The ride into the town of St Albans has been a small procession, and Suffolk watches the few people who have abandoned their work in the fields with concern. While the harvest has been brought in, there is still work to be done to prepare those fields for the next growing season, and people are busy with those essential chores. As he feared, even those who till the soil have earned well from the their labour, and see God's blessings in their fortune. The lack of a large retinue has also not aided them - for the Queen looks to most to be merely a grand Lady traversing between her homes.
She has no canopy of Estate, of course; nor a guard in royal red. Thus her procession lacks the grandeur of the great Progress of Elizabeth, which came this way not a month ago. Then, of course, the presence of guards, Ladies, Lords, fluttering pennants and banners called the folk from their fields like a siren's song. Now, however, they see nothing of interest, and continue with their toil.
Mary seems not to be concerned at the disinterest; his warning that only the most utterly dispossessed would see her as a scion of hope has prepared her for it. Even now, she is convinced that her reign shall start with the love of the poorest of her subjects, and thus she shall ride into St Albans like Christ into Jerusalem - accompanied only by ordinary folk, while those of grand estate look away and smirk.
It is his best hope that she shall be right.
Matters seem not to improve as they enter St Albans. They are accompanied, yes - but by children who cheer and laugh delightedly at the display of horses and finely dressed riders; while not even the few beggars they pass seem interested. Nonetheless, Mary smiles at those she passes, and they process to the gates of the great Abbey.
Knowing that it shall look most poor if the Queen is obliged to wait, Seymour has ridden ahead to the gatehouse and pulls at the bell-chain to summon someone to admit them.
"Who is without?" It is, of course, a lay brother - none of the cloistered monks would attend the door to the outside world.
"Her Majesty, Queen Mary of England, France and Ireland approaches, and shall Proclaim her rule within the bounds of your great Church. Summon the Abbot to admit her."
The man stares at him in shock, "Queen Mary?"
"Yes. The true Queen of England, who shall protect your House from the ravages of Cromwell's commissioners, comes from confinement to claim her Crown. Thus I ask that the Abbot is summoned to welcome her to God's holy Church."
The promise of protection from closure seems to win the argument, and the brother turns to one of his fellows, "Hurry - send for the Abbot, the Queen of England has arrived. I shall admit them to the precincts."
"But it is Lectio Divina - what if he does not come?"
"He shall come - the Commissioners were here not a week ago, and she shall stem their tide of heresy against us. Go!"
Seymour turns his horse and watches as the great Abbey gates are opened, just in time to admit the entourage, which has - at last - gathered something of a crowd. The news is spreading that it is Mary - though the cheers seem so far to be for the 'Lady Mary' and 'Queen Katherine's Bairn'. Not that it matters: she has not yet proclaimed herself, so they shall be present when she does - and shall soon cheer her as their Queen.
The Abbot, Robert Catton - a rather dithery man of little apparent talent - is hastening towards them from a passageway between the abbey church and the Lay Brothers' quarters as Mary pulls her horse up, and one of the Lay brothers assists her as she dismounts.
"My Lady…er…your Majesty?" he looks most confused; to his mind, there is already a queen in England, and - no matter how deeply she wishes to have the Crown, the one who wears it has been granted that right by the King's will and the law, "Welcome to the Abbey - how can we be of service to you?"
He is terrified - and understandably so. By welcoming her to his Abbey, he is committing treason - but not if what follows leads to the banishment of the Queen already in London.
"I am come as your Queen to make myself known to my Subjects, your Grace." She says, with infinite courtesy, "As the true Queen of England, I shall reverse all the acts against God's holy church, overturn this heretical reformation and restore my realm to the Holy Father."
"Then enter, great Queen, and be most welcome." The Abbot bows at once, "History shall be made here, as England returns to God, and to her true place in the Church. Heresy is already in our streets, and we pray daily for its eradication. Thus God has sent you to us."
Mary nods, and smiles. Behind her, Wiltshire conceals the snort of disdain - is that all that matters to them? It seems to him that they care for nothing else but that: perhaps they believe that, if they do so, all else shall follow as a matter of course. Not that it matters to him, of course; as long as he gets a Dukedom out of it, and regains control of the Queen's personal seal as he once held Henry's, he shall kiss the rosary, or the feet of a Cardinal, and say as many Hail Marys as anyone demands.
At the Abbot's invitation, Mary follows him through the great West Door into the Abbey Church. While she had made a commitment to pronounce her proclamation in front of the High Altar, she is unlikely to be admitted beyond the great stone pulpitum that separates the cloistered brothers from those who deign to mingle with the ordinary folk of the town. Certainly the look of consternation upon the face of the Abbot as she makes it clear that she intends to pass through the small gateway that pierces that enormous stone edifice suggests that it is a step too far in his mind. She is neither a man, nor vowed to follow the rule of St Benedict.
As she looks about her, Mary can see that the church is in something of a state of disrepair. She knows little of the Abbey's affairs, but Wiltshire has told her that the great site is in debt, and its income has fallen drastically. Thus she is keen to ensure that the works that have so far been undertaken to suppress such houses shall be stopped. It does not do that those who have opted to live a contemplative life so close to God should do so in a church that is falling into decay.
"Your Grace," she turns to Catton as he shuffles nervously beside the gates of the pulpitum, "I note that England has not been good to your Abbey. In exchange for granting me a place in which I can make my proclamation, I shall secure an annual endowment for this great House, and I ask that a chantry chapel be established, and masses said daily for the repose of the souls of my late parents."
He bows, "Majesty, I am overcome - we shall set aside the nearer chapel in the South Transept, and rebuild it for that purpose." Then he turns, "Majesty - please step forth."
Smiling, she follows him through into the Monks' Choir, and on to the Presbytery, followed by her retinue, and a number of those who have followed - but not those who are too meanly dressed; they shall stay in the lay brothers' Choir. In her joy at being admitted to the place she had aimed to reach, Mary does not notice that the very people she sees as the subjects she shall claim first have not been permitted to enter her presence.
Drawing herself up, she steps up to the dais upon which the Altar has been set, and turns to face those who have entered. It is not, perhaps, the sea of faces she had hoped for, but there are enough to form a reasonable crowd, and thus she begins to speak, "Mary, by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith: to all our most loving, faithful, and obedient subjects, greeting.
"Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to call unto his mercy the most excellent Prince, King Henry VIII, our late father of most worthy memory, whereby the crown imperial of the realms of England and Ireland, with the title of France and all other things appertaining unto the same, do most rightfully and lawfully belong unto us:
"We do signify unto you that according to our said right and title we do take upon us and be in the just and lawful possession of the same; not doubting but that all our true and faithful subjects will so accept us, take us, and obey us as their natural and liege sovereign lady and Queen, according to the duties of their allegiance.
"As we stand before the shrine of England's first, most blessed martyr, St Alban, we commit unto you that we shall end the grievous injustices wrought upon our realm. Therefore, we shall restore England to the Holy Mother Church, and there shall be no Head of the Church in England. Furthermore, we shall return those lands stolen from the Church to those from whom they were taken; and act to cleanse England of heresy through the welcome of all sinners back to the true faith, assuring all our good and faithful Catholic subjects that in doing they shall find us their benign and gracious sovereign lady, as others our most noble progenitors have heretofore been."
Catton's expression is rapturous, and there is no need for Seymour to prompt an answer to her statement, for he does so quite spontaneously, "God save the Queen Mary!"
To the relief of her Lords, the few that have been able to make their way through to the Presbytery join in the throng. It is not much - but it is, at least, a start.
A/N: Mary's proclamation is a combination of the one she actually made, and some amendments I've made to work with the story. I really do owe her an apology, as I've taken out her commitment to recognise both the old and new faiths in her Kingdom when she first came to the throne - as she actually did state that she would do so; realising that Protestantism was a fixture of post-Edwardian England. It was one of the good intentions with which she started the reign, only for it to fall away as her insistence on marrying Philip of Spain killed her popularity and started to turn people against her.
For the purposes of this AU, however, she hasn't learned that essential pragmatism, and clings to the old faith with the tenacity of her mother. Like most people, she struggles with seeing things as they are, instead seeing things as she wants to see them, and she hasn't learned that, just because things look like they're going well, it doesn't mean that they are.