My Lady Jane

Long, long ago, in a land not that far away,

a succession of kings believed God granted them the right

to rule England however they chose.

You know Henry the Eighth? Giant redheaded Tudor King.

Treated his wives like Kleenex: one blow and you're out.

Divorced, beheaded, died,

divorced, beheaded, survived.

Whew.

Next on the throne was his son, Edward.

Oh dear.

When he died, the Kingdom expected the crown to go to his half sisters,

Mary, or even Elizabeth.

But instead, came a total bloody shocker.

Lady Jane Grey.

Intellectual rebel, a bit of a pain in the ass,

and a political pawn for her ambitious noble family.

Jane was married without her consent and crowned Queen against her will.

Then, just nine days later, she was branded a traitor.

And...

wham... off with her head.

Jane could have been the leader England needed.

But instead, history remembers her as the ultimate damsel in distress.

Fuck that.

What if history were different?

Never do anything you don't want to do.

I do want it, though, Lady Jane.

Well, then my advice is, if his member looks pustular...

-Don't shag him. -Wise words, Susannah.

-I made this salve to cure your itch. -Aren't you clever?

Isn't she clever?

So, when's my cunny set for shagging?

A few weeks.

I can't abstain for a few weeks. Could you?

I couldn't. But Jane wouldn't know.

She's a lady. Saving herself for marriage.

I'm saving myself for myself, actually.

In fact, I may never marry.

Yes, mock the person who's curing your vagina.

But how will you live?

What will you do? What would your mother say?

-Lady Frances doesn't know. -And I don't really care what she thinks.

I've got bigger plans.

Go on, tell her.

I'm writing the world's first complete compendium

of England's medicinal herbs and their uses.

-Herbs? -Herbs.

Herbs.

Text, and drawings for those who can't read.

I intend to publish it and sell it.

- -Perhaps I can make enough money to actually live independently.

Where is the bloody Calendula officinalis?

- Jane? -Found it.

-The Duke of Leicester is coming. -Bollocks. Is that today?

-She told me to get flowers. -

Use it twice a day!

Jane, look.

New stable boy. Lush.

He's teaching me how to ride.

- - Whoa!

- -Whoa.

Did you chew them?

-Shut up, Margaret. -They're lovely.

-Shut up, Katherine. -Shut up, all of you.

And smile. Earn your keep.

When Jane's father died with no male heir,

his great-uncle once removed, the Duke of Leicester,

inherited everything,

leaving the Grey widow and daughters dependent on Leicester's charity

for their very survival.

Ghastly crowds on the London Road.

A hanging at Chepstow.

Oh, no, what a bother.

-I think we should burn them all. -Margaret.

Quite agree, poppet.

The latest Division Laws stipulate death for the trespassing Ethian menace,

but not method,

and interpretation is the enemy of efficiency.

You've grown up, haven't you?

Bless you, child.

You'd be prettier if you smiled.

Would I?

Your Grace, now do you have the...

Elevation eases my gout.

Cherries are good for that.

-You know, I read that... - You read?

In a book?

I never permitted my wives... all dead in childbirth...

The fruits of my loins are very large.

I never permitted any of them to read or even own any books at all.

Yes, why did you burden us with all this education, Mother?

Because stupid women are tedious.

What about stupid men?

-Eh? What's that? -Oh, nothing, nothing, Your Grace.

Leicester, pray tell, do you have the confirmation?

Ah. Yes, indeed I do.

Jane!

Sweet child, we have secured for you

the most thrilling honor one can bestow upon a young noblewoman.

Your marriage.

Oh, shit.

My marriage?

What modesty! To believe that you are going to die...

Shut up!

-I'm sorry? -You should be!

You're wrong about everything.

I do not look prettier when I smile,

and I am not destined to be wretched.

-I am... -Overwhelmed by the wonderful news.

Now I will escort Jane to her chambers.

Come along.

-Forgive her, Your Grace. -

How dare you plot my life with that cretin?

-You drove me to this. -But I don't want to be married.

You no longer define your life by what you don't want.

You refuse to discuss suitors.

Or hunt or dance or do anything except for gossip with your servant

and fiddle with those infernal herbs and books.

Lord Guildford Dudley will be your husband.

Guildford Dudley?

Guildford Dudley?

I've heard of him. The girls at Court say he's vile.

He-he drinks, fights, gambles.

He cavorts with women of ill repute.

He is the last man I would ever marry.

Jane, this marriage protects us.

Leicester will soon tire of his charity towards us,

and I do not intend to leave my house for a wretched hovel in Croydon.

Your father left us nothing.

Our only wealth is blood.

And you are pure Verity and cousin to the King.

The Dudleys will do anything for power,

and they are very, very, very rich.

You mercenary bitch.

We do not do that anymore.

In three days' time, you will be wed.

I will do everything in my power to get out of this marriage.

Jane.

You have no power.

My book.

Where is my book?

What did you do?

I threw that wretched thing on the fire.

There comes a point in everyone's life

when you realize you simply cannot put up with your mother's bullshit

for another moment.

Tell me what pleases you.

Yeah, this works.

Psst.

Psst!

No.

Now.

-We're leaving. -I was rather enjoying that.

-Wait, what did you say? -We're leaving. Now. Right now.

We'll go north, find a village where nobody knows us.

I'll make my cures, and you can sell...

-Are you crazy? -I have been trapped here my entire life.

If I marry, I will be trapped somewhere else.

Now, that is crazy.

-Jane, you don't know what it's like out there. -You sound like...

...like my mother.

-It's nearly dawn. We must hurry. -It's dangerous.

Ethians, the Pack. People talk of civil war.

You don't really believe that, now, do you?

I mean, when's the last time you even saw an Ethian?

What do you know? You don't go anywhere.

Jane.

When I was a kid, I...

Your family kicked you out.

-Yes, you told me. There was a man involved. -No, that's not...

You won't be safe.

I will never be safe while my mother is trying to barter me.

I want my life to be mine, forever.

-Jane... -Then stay.

I'll be fine on my own.

You'll be dead in a week.

We'll need some money.

Do you like my ring?

My sweet mother is a sound sleeper.

We'll follow the old path to Marlow, hop the river barge, start our lives.