CHAPTER I

[Frontispiece: "WE MUST HIDE HERE A LITTLE WHILE," SAID MY RESCUER]

A QUEEN OF NINE DAYS

BY HER GENTLEWOMAN

MARGARET BROWN

EDITED AND DONE INTO MODERN ENGLISH

BY

EDITH C. KENYON

LONDON

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

4 BOUVERIE STREET & 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, E.C.

_Made and Printed in Great Britain by_

Butler & Tanner Ltd.,

_Frome and London_

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

Prologue

I Leaving Home

II My Champion

III Hiding from the Enemy

IV Better Happenings

V Lady Caroline talks with Me

VI Papistry or Protestantism

VII Sir Hubert and I

VIII Lady Jane Grey

IX Plato

X Queen of England

XI By the River

XII In the Tower

XIII At St. Paul's Cross

XIV The Crown Resigned

XV At Sion House Again

XVI In The Power of Sir Claudius

XVII The Prisoner in the Dungeon

XVIII On the Point of Being Wed

XIX Escaping from the Enemy

XX A Trying Experience

XXI Queen Mary's Boon

XXII With Lady Jane

XXIII Wyatt's Insurrection

XXIV Lady Jane's Death Sentence

XXV Some of Lady Jane's Last Words

XXVI Lady Jane's Execution

XXVII Conclusion. Home Again

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

It has been laid upon me as a very solemn duty by the late Lady Jane

Dudley, or Grey as she is usually called, to whom I owe obedience and

fealty born of love, which is all the more insistent because she is

no longer here to claim it, that I should set forth, in the best

language possible to one of my limited education, the stirring events

that my eyes have witnessed and the true story, as it is known to me,

of the short, sad tragedy of her life and death. And this being so,

I will make no excuse for my boldness and presumption in attempting

work which might well be left to learned and authoritative

historians, especially as I remember that my dear lady said to me,

Margery, others may write more learnedly on the matter, but _loving

eyes see further and more truly_ than those of the mere critic, and I

would fain be represented to posterity as I am rather than as I am

supposed to be. And, fear not, child, for though you are weak and

humble in your own eyes, His grace and help are to be had for the

asking, Who gives power to the faint, and to such as have no might

increases strength.' For my lady knew that this is a righteous task

which she was setting me--the representation of truth, as we know it,

is always righteous--and to those who do the like His promises never

fail.

MARGARET BROWN.

CHAPTER I

Leaving Home

It was in the month of May, in the year 1553, and I was a young girl,

only seventeen, when my dear father--my mother being dead--astonished

me beyond measure by disclosing the fact that I was to leave my home

in Sussex and proceed to the city of London, there to become

gentlewoman to a lady of high degree.

That was not the sort of life I should have chosen by any means, for

my freedom was as dear to me as to any of God's creatures of earth,

or sea, or sky. Having no mother, and with a most easy-going father

and a brace of madcap young brothers, I had run wild all my life, and

could ill brook the idea of being confined within four walls for the

most part of my days, attired in the fine clothing of a grand lady.

What compensations should I have for such joys as lying for hours on

the soft turf of the Downs, looking up to the blue sky and making out

pictures in the white clouds flitting across it, whilst I listened to

the singing of the skylarks, or sitting beneath an overturned boat on

the seashore, hearing the lapping of the waves and gazing across the

Channel, with wondering speculations of the lands beyond those fair

blue waters, or, on the other hand, rowing out upon the sea with my

brothers, or riding with them at breakneck paces over hill and dale?

What would they do without me, little Hal with his endless scrapes

and foolhardy schemes, and Jack with his love of fighting and

passionate essays to assert the manhood latent in him?

Notwithstanding my wildness, I was a softening influence in their

lives, for there was in me ever, even then, the consciousness which

is not very far from any of us that there is a Higher Law than even

the sweetest promptings of our own fond wills. I never talked about

it--father used to say, 'Many words show weakness in a cause'--much

less preached to the boys, but I knew it was so and they were aware I

knew it, and that was quite enough. They were good lads, and, as the

serving men and women said, I had them at a word.

I did not like the thought of leaving my brothers, or my father, or,

as I have said, my freedom and the skylarks, turf, sky, clouds,

seashore and mystery of wild sea-waves, with the unknown lands

beyond, but never thought of opposing my father's will, and,

easygoing though he was, dared not question it; however, I went down

to the parsonage to speak to Master Montgomery, our curate, of the

matter, and, after listening to all I had to say, and cheering me

with descriptions of wondrous sights to be seen in London, he uttered

wise words, which stilled my trouble mightily.

'Child,' he said, laying his hand gently on my head, 'listen to me.

This call which has come to you is not of your own seeking, therefore

it must be from Him Who alone was found worthy to hold the Book of

Life--the lives of His people--in His hands. He Who called Rebekah

from her water-pot and David from his sheep, Elisha from his

ploughing and the praying women of Jerusalem to follow Him to the

Cross, is surely calling you to do some special work. It may be

lowly in its nature, or it may be great, but whatever it be, it is

surely work that you and no one else can do. Like the little maid

who was carried away into captivity and did great things for her

master Naaman, the Syrian, so, it may be, you, too, may carry help

and healing to some afflicted one amongst those whom the world calls

mighty. And remember,' he added very earnestly, 'remember that you

can do nothing in your own strength, but that with the help of the

Holy Spirit, which is given to those who ask for it, all things will

be possible.'

I went away, feeling very solemn and almost more frightened than

encouraged, and it was a relief to my over-charged heart when, as I

was going home with great soberness, I encountered Hal, bareback on

his black pony, tearing along like wildfire, and calling to me to

follow, as there was a ship passing in the Channel, and so I ran

after him down to the beach; and what with one thing and another, I

did not give Master Montgomery's words their full consideration until

the time came when, being far away from him, I found my thoughts

recurring to them.

Before I set off to London City there was great to-do amongst the

women servants in making me sufficient garments for a lady's

wardrobe, and it was a wonderful sight to see the things they got

together and the way they wished to dress me. I did not like it very

much, for I did not think I should ever be able to skip and play and

ride bareback attired in that fashion, but my father said I was a

child and knew nothing about it, and they were women and ought to

know what they were doing; so we left it all to them, and I put off

the thought of wearing their handiwork as long as possible.

The day before I went my father informed me about those to whom I was

going. It seemed the Duke of Northumberland, knowing my father, Sir

Henry Brown, with whom he had been in battles in their younger days,

had sent for me to come and be one of the gentlewomen of his

daughter-in-law, the young Lady Jane Grey, newly married to his

fourth son, Lord Guildford Dudley, in London City. My father said

that it was a great distinction for me to be selected out of scores

of other country maidens for the work, and that if ever I had speech

with the noble duke I was to thank him heartily for his favour

towards us--this I promised readily, not knowing what manner of man

that was whose doings were afterwards an enormous factor in working

dire woe to those I loved. And then my father went on to say that

business of importance would prevent his going with me on this my

entrance into the big world--oh, father! I saw through that, for was

it not from you I inherited the nature which loved home and freedom

better than the life among great people of exalted rank?--but he said

he would send me with old and trusty servants, who would take me

safely in a horse-litter from our town of Brighthelmstone[1] on the

south coast, all the long way to Sion House, in Isleworth, near

London City, where my Lady Grey was residing at that time.

[1] Now called Brighton.--ED.

And the next day, after a troubled leave-taking from all I loved so

dearly, I suffered him to bestow on me his blessing, which he did

with many words of touching kindness, and put me in the litter.

I must confess that I did not perceive very much of the road we went

over during the first part of my journey, owing to a weakness which

came on in my eyes and a sickness and dejection of spirit such as I

had never previously known, and my good maid Betsy proved to be very

annoying for talking over much, which was indeed her wont when

excited, and making doleful laments about the dangers of the way and

the roughness of the roads that, without doubt, somewhat impeded our

progress.

But afterwards, after a long while, I felt better and could think

less miserably of my father's tender blessing and of the sudden

breakdown and loud crying of poor Jack and the afflicting

disappearance of Hal, who I knew had hidden himself in order that he

might get over the parting in secret, and the crying of the woman

servants we left behind, and solemn faces of the men and the waving

of Master Montgomery's old hat as we passed the parsonage, so that by

the time we neared a neighbouring castle I could even look admiringly

upon it. We stayed that night at Horsham, in a queer little inn kept

by a monstrously fat innkeeper and his exceedingly thin wife, who at

another time would have amused me greatly by her fussiness and

servility.

And the next day we proceeded on our way, passing many strange and

curious places, but meeting with no brigands and no mishap at all

until it chanced that, on the King's highway, we came upon a group of

unruly, wild-looking men and boys, who were dragging a poor old

woman, with great violence, towards a large pond.

'What is the matter? Oh, Betsy, see!' I cried. 'What are those men

doing to that poor old woman? Look! they are dragging her to that

pond! Poor creature! They will hurt her!'

'Mistress, 'tis only a witch!' cried Betsy, who had been told to call

me Mistress now that I was going to be a great lady. 'Suchlike do

much harm,' she continued. 'They sell their souls to the devil for

gold; they meet each other on broomsticks riding through the air, and

plot mischief. From such may we be delivered!' she went on

fervently. 'They had better be drowned!' she concluded.

'No, no. 'Tis cruel! Tell Humphrey to stop.' And I myself called

to the men to stay the horses bearing my litter, and looked out full

of sympathy with the poor old creature. Was there no one to stand up

for her, no one to stay this rough horse-play which was going on?

Master Montgomery had always taught us to treat the aged with

reverence, and therefore it seemed truly shocking to me, as also most

alarming.

'Forsooth, Mistress Marg'et,' said Joseph, my lacquey, coming to my

litter, ''tis the country roughs that are just wild to drown yon old

witch.'

'But they shall not!' declared I vigorously; 'they shall not! Stop

it, Joseph! Stop it at once!'

'Mistress, I cannot! The men are just mad! Hark at their shouts!

They are wild to do it.'

'They shall not do it!' cried I. 'Tell them, Joseph, that Mistress

Margaret Brown forbids it.'

Joseph and Timothy, the head man, and John, the other lacquey, looked

timidly towards the crowd of excited men and boys who were shouting,

gesticulating and urging on each other to drag along the old woman

with cuffs and kicks.

I got out of my litter and looked round. It was such a beautiful

country, on one side great woods just bursting into leaf, on the

other green meadowland, threaded by a silvery stream and studded here

and there with blossoming hawthorn trees. Nowhere could I see a

house, yet some there must be not far distant, judging from the crowd

of men and boys. Alone, with my few servants, what could I do? Who

would have suspected that in such a lovely place there could be

doings so outrageous?

'I must speak to them, Betsy,' I said, and across my mind flashed the

thought that perhaps Master Montgomery was thinking of some such work

as this when he spoke of that to which he believed I was being

called.[2]

[2] Young people are usually in haste. They always aim to reach the

end of things at once; they cannot wait.--ED.

'Oh, no, mistress! You must not, indeed you must not interfere!'

cried the terrified woman.

'Hold thy tongue, Betsy,' said I. 'I shall go to them and speak,'

and in my heart I prayed for help where Master Montgomery said it

would never be denied.

And then I advanced towards the roughs, who turned to look at me in

amazement.

In a tone and in a manner of authority, for my father always said

that it was no use speaking otherwise to knaves, I bade them cease

from persecuting a poor old woman who might be innocent of all

offence, and passionately adjured them to refrain from violence.

The effect of this was marvellous. Releasing their victim, they fell

back, and she, poor soul, knelt on the grass before me, crying out

for mercy and catching hold of the border of my gown.

'What has she done?' I asked.

A Babel of voices answered. The old woman had brought disease on

Farmer North's cattle. She had turned her evil eye on a young woman

who had straightway sickened and died. She had looked on a man as he

rode to market and his horse had run away, thrown him off and killed

him. Last of all she had spirited away her own orphan grandson, a

boy of great promise, who had been committed to her care by his

deceased parents and of whom she had professed to be very fond. This

young man was believed to have been sent through the earth to the

abodes of the lost.

'I did not do it, lady! I did not! Saul was the darling of my old

age. I know no more than they where he has gone. I am no witch.

Ask the minister; he knows.'

This and much more cried the poor old dame in quavering tones.

'Listen to her. She is innocent,' I said authoritatively to the

rascals, who were recovering themselves and again holding out

threatening hands. 'She is a poor old woman, very lame and infirm.'

That did not touch them, so I seized a weightier argument.

'Have you not heard,' I said, 'of One Who laid His hands upon the

sick and lame and made them whole? Jesus had compassion on the

multitude. He took pity on the infirm. He laid His hands on them

and blessed them. He----'

'He sent the devils into the swine, so that they ran into the sea,'

interposed a man's voice grimly.

'The devils? Yes. But not the man out of whom they were driven. He

sat at Jesus' feet, clothed and in his right mind.'

'True! true!' cried several voices.

It really seemed as if mercy were going to win the day. But at that

moment, with a tremendous noise, a number of men and boys came round

a bend in the road, dragging forward a wretched object whose head was

hidden in a man's jacket.

'A witch! A witch!' yelled the newcomers, brandishing their sticks.

'And we have another! Ha! ha! ha!' laughed and shrieked the men and

boys beside me.

Then I perceived that the newcomers were led on by as evil-looking a

young man as you could see anywhere. His dress showed him to be a

knight, but anything more unknightly than his manner and his conduct

could not well be found; he seemed just like the knaves who formed

his company, and an ill-looking lot they were, with scarcely a whole

garment among them.

'Oh, mistress,' said Timothy, who had left his horses that he might

have speech with me. 'Yon is Sir Claudius Crossley, who is said to

be your father's sworn enemy. I pray you make haste and get into the

litter before he recognizes you. Then we will drive away as fast as

the horses can take us.'

'Save me! Save me, lady!' cried the old woman, clinging to my feet,

as my hands tried to drag her away.

How could I desert her? It was hard on my servants, but I would not

listen to their advice. For I saw nothing, heard nothing but that

pitiful old woman, with her despairing cries to me to save her, and

the menacing crowd of villains thirsting for her life.