Jane Eyre Meets the Tudors

                                                 Jane, Whitehall Palace
                                                       Summer 1533
         It was to be the summer of all summers. The court was brimming with excitement; King Henry and Anne Boleyn had just gotten married after years of courtship. She glowed with happiness and was already pregnant with the hopeful heir to the throne. Queen Anne and King Henry had the most beautiful wedding. My Queen was fashioned in the most expensive satin and all the jewels King Henry had given her in their courtship. Henry wore Tudor green and looked like the same young, handsome prince who wedded Katherine all those years ago. The wedding put the court in a lively, flirtatious mood. 
         
    Since I arrived to court, one of the King’s men had been writing me letters imploring me to meet with him. He was young and charming, but I had not the courage to meet with him because I was afraid of my Queen’s reaction. Anne’s temper was as changeable as the wind; she despised any flirtation that did not revolve around her. She prided herself on being the most beautiful woman at court and scorned other women who got male attention; it was a sting to her vanity.
         
    “Jane dear, what do you think of these?” she held up a pair of garnet earrings (undoubtedly from the King) against her dark cheek for examination.
         
    “Simply lovely, your Grace,” I said.
         
    “I want to look perfect for tonight,” she examined herself in front of the mirror in search for flaws. She sat down in front of her looking glass, and beckoned me over with her long, delicate fingers. I walked over and picked up her delicate gold chain and draped it over her collarbones with the golden “B” settled at the hollow of her throat. She wore that same necklace everyday to remind everyone in the court that a Boleyn was indeed in power.
         
    “There,” she sighed. “I am going walking in the gardens with Allison, I shall see you at dinner.”
         
    With a swish of her gown, she was gone.
         
    There was a quiet knock on the door, “Lady Jane?”
         
    I went to the door to find one of the squire’s. “A note miss,” I took the note and noticed the familiar coat of arms at once; a dagger and shield in the top section, and a mighty lion in the bottom section “He expects an answer straight away, should I wait?”
         
    “No thank you. I should like some privacy,” after the door clicked shut, I sat down and carefully lifted the sealing wax off the letter to read its contents.
                   My dearest Lady Jane,
         I am writing to you for what seems like the hundredth time. I desire your company this evening after dinner for dancing. You have evaded me too long and I can no longer bear the rejection. You see, my sweet little bird, I am in love with you and cannot stand any length of separation from you and longer! I must insist that you share at least one dance with me tonight.
                                                                                         Your humble servant,
                                                                                                   Sir Rochester
         
    I felt a hot flush creep up my neck and into my face. I wanted desperately to go to him after dinner tonight. But I always had a nagging, gloomy afterthought; how were we ever to be a match? We were of different classes and I knew that I would not sacrifice my position for being a mistress to him. I was there only through luck; I was to be a scullery maid upon arrival.  My aunt sent me away to find a position so I could keep myself through my own means. Since my childhood, we had always been at odds, so she decided the best thing for me to do would be to find work. When I was introduced before the court, Queen Anne caught sight of me and immediately demanded that I join her service. In confidence, she revealed to me that I was too plain for any of the men to notice my presence. I would make a wonderful companion to her because no one would ever be paying me the slightest of attentions. So, through my Queen’s vanity, I was able to secure a position above my class. I wanted to keep my accidently acquired life through any means possible. I walked to dinner, my thoughts filled with Sir Rochester.
         
    Queen Anne was in high spirits that night, boasting of the supposed heir in her belly.
         
    “Darling,” she trilled across the table. “I think the name ‘Henry’ would be lovely, or perhaps ‘George’, or ‘Edward’?”
         
    “My dear!” he replied, in mock astonishment. “George? Preposterous! ‘Henry’ or ‘Edward’ his name must be. He must have a name filled with greatness!”
         
    This was a game they always used play during dinner. Queen Anne would pick a small or playful fight with the King and play the part of the flirtatious mistress, as she had done when Queen Katherine sat in her spot.
         
    “Of course, my dear,” she said bowing her head with a slight smile.
         
    The hall was lavishly decorated in Tudor green and white. On all the tapestries, there were tiny A’s and H’s embroidered into the cloth with golden thread for Henry and Anne. Queen Anne sat at her throne next to King dressed as exquisitely as the hall was decorated.  Since her pregnancy, she has given herself the slogan of “The Most Happy.” She certainly did look the part on that night.
         
    The King paired me with Sir Oliver, one of his most decorated knights, for dancing. He was handsome enough, but was far too interested in himself for me to pay much attention to what he was saying to me.
         
    “Sir Oliver, may I have the Lady Jane for the next dance?” Sir Rochester cut in suddenly.
         
    “Of course Sir Rochester, I am sure Lady Jane will tire of me soon enough,” Sir Oliver said.
         
    I stared at Sir Rochester in disbelief and felt the color rising in my face. I tried to quickly rearrange my face so Sir Rochester would not notice the change in my color.

    As soon as the Pavan ended, Sir Rochester marched over and held his hand out to me in the most gentlemanly manner. I had no choice but to take it, I looked at the high table and saw that Anne was much too preoccupied with the courtiers to pay any attention to the dance floor. Relieved, I grasped his hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.
As the Volt started, Rochester immediately pulled me in, almost uncomfortably close. It is customary for the dance; however, the closeness to Rochester instantly made me feel lightheaded.

    "You look stunning, Janet.” He said. “I have never been so vexed by a woman. You, such a small creature, have left me in shambles.”

    I did not know what to say to this, so I fixed my eyes on the rich decorations of the hall.

    "You are trying to ignore me, aye Janet? You cannot keep quiet for long, my little bird, I know you cannot,” he said triumphantly. “I have a proposition for you,” he said, pulling me slightly closer to him.

    “What are you proposing?” I asked.

      “I would like you to marry me, Janet. Right here in Whitehall Castle, do not answer me just yet, because I know you will give me undeserved rejection. I love you, Jane and would like you to be my life-long companion.” He said.

    My throat constricted involuntarily. Reader, I did not know what to say to this. Please do not judge me, but I must confess that my love for him had been growing in the few months that we had known each other. I was so afraid of what the Queen would think that I always pushed it away from my mind, deeming it mere fantasy, never to come to anything during my life as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne.

    “Well, Janet, what have you to say? Will I be rejected by your bullheaded ways? Come Jane, speak!”

    Stunned by abruptness I replied “I do not know what to say to you sir.”

    “Sir? You call me ‘Sir’ after I confess my love for you? You have hurt me, Janet.”

    “I did not mean to hurt you; I am only overcome by your confession to me. I know not what to say. The Queen would be angry if we were to court each other,” I said.

    “That is why I proposed that we get married- we will have a short engagement. Only one month, and after we shall be married. Do you love me, Jane?” he asked.

    “Yes,” I said barely above a whisper.

    “Then it will be done. In one month we shall be married and happy together,” he said.

    “What shall I say to my Queen?” I asked suddenly aware of the dangerous position my station might be in if the Queen was displeased with the match.

    “I will talk to the King, even if the Queen is displeased, she cannot outright disobey her husband. Do not worry Janet, I will take care of it,” he said reassuringly.
                                       
                                                                          One Month Later

    The month with Edward (he asked me to call him birth name as a mark of our comfort with each other) had gone by like a fairytale. We met every day since the night we danced together for either a stroll or dancing after dinner. My Queen was not pleased when she heard about the match, but the King told her that he wanted his favorite hunting companion to be happy. She could not say anything against his will, and eventually consented to the marriage.

    Queen Anne had already gone away to the birthing chamber, so I had not seen her very much since Edward spoke to the King. So Edward and I were to get the marriage we had been yearning for. King Henry was to perform the ceremony himself, a great honor I had not expected. Preparations for the wedding had been tedious, but in truth, I quite enjoyed the work. If I stayed idle for too long, I would feel myself getting agitated and anxious. My duties around the castle had been lessened since the Queen went into the birthing chamber. Only the higher-ranking ladies-in-waiting were allowed at her bedside, so most of my time was spent keeping the drawing room fresh and ready for her arrival back to daily court life.

    When the night before the wedding came, I was a little nervous, but mostly calm because I knew that being with Edward was the right decision. I went to sleep that night with a note from Edward clutched to my breast, anticipating the next day.
The next day, the hall was beautifully decorated, and everyone was dressed in their best. Only a few of the higher-ranking ladies and gentlemen were allowed to come so the Queen would not get jealous of the festivities. Edward looked stunning and Henry was dressed in his best robes. As Henry started to speak, the most peculiar thing happened. Another of the King’s close men burst through the door of the little chapel.

    “Stop! I cannot allow for this wedding to take place!” he said. I recognized him as Richard Mason, the King’s Master of Horse. He had been away on an expedition to acquire faster horses for the King.

    “Why ever not?” asked Henry.

    “Nothing! Nothing can unhinge this wedding!” cried Edward. “Please, keep going,” he said to Henry.

    “This man is a bigamist!” Richard cried.

      Reader, you must think the worst of me, but I had no idea of what this man was speaking of. I felt a cold fear coursing through me and looked up at Edward. He was avoiding my gaze completely, and staring at the man in the middle of the hall with fierce, angry eyes.

    “Preposterous!” cried Henry. “Have you ground for your accusation?”

    “Yes my Lord, this man is married to my sister, who I have seen alive and well only two weeks ago when I went to visit her in one of Sir Rochester’s summer homes,” he said with defiance.

    There was a collective gasp in the chapel; all eyes fell upon me. They surely thought that I had been a part of the scheme. A wave of faintness washed over me like a choking noose. I looked from Edward to Richard, hoping that Edward would look at me in his reassuring manner and explain what was happening. No such reassurance came. The truth slowly, painfully, and terribly set in as I looked upon the unfolding circumstances.

    Henry regained some of his composure and asked, “What is the name of this alleged woman?”

    “Bertha Mason,” he said. “She is alive and in good health with her caretaker. Do not let this lying bigamist tell you otherwise.”

    Edward’s face was contorted in rage.

    “Is it true?” I asked. He turned toward me with such an abruptness that I shrank back in surprise.

    “Yes, little bird,” he said wearily. “It is true, but it is not what you think!”

    Oh reader, I knew not what to do. It seemed impossible that my Edward was already married, but the evidence in front of me was indisputable. I had no choice but to believe that he was married already to a woman named Bertha Mason. My surroundings disappeared in suffocating darkness.