Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  But Sir Anthony was genial; she had always liked him.

  “We came to tell you, Madam, that his Majesty thinks it requisite to have this abominable slander thoroughly examined. I regret I must ask you a delicate question, since he has instructed me to inquire whether your Highness has indeed had any child.”

  She had not expected this. She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I am astonished his Majesty should even ask. It’s bad enough that one of my servants has been spreading this rumor, without it being taken for the truth. Of course I have not had a child.” There, the lie was out, but she had had no choice. After the dread sentence passed on Francis Dereham for misconduct outside marriage, she would defend herself even unto perjury.

  There was a pause. Panic welled in her. What did they know?

  Sir Richard broke the silence. “Taverner is in trouble because, in conversation with his wife and Lilgrave, he said the Queen’s treason seemed like a judgment of God, since you, my lady, were still the King’s wife, and you had gone away from London in the family way, and been confined last summer. I should tell you, Madam, that this rumor has been widely circulated.”

  She was a whisper away from disaster. Someone had known her secret; someone had told Frances Lilgrave. Yet surely the Council could have no proof that the story was true?

  “Again, it is a wicked calumny,” she declared, looking her visitors directly in the eye. “You, Sirs, like everyone else, saw how greatly the King loved Katheryn Howard. To suggest he had relations with me in that time is implausible in the extreme. It must be plain to you how baseless these slanders are.”

  “We are more concerned with where they originated, Madam,” Sir Richard said, “but, before we proceed to charging Lilgrave and Taverner with treasonously slandering his Majesty, we have to establish that there is no truth in what was said.”

  “Of course,” Anna said, her fears receding a little. “I understand that. But I am shocked to hear that such vile things have been said about me, and about his Grace.”

  “Taverner has been committed to the Tower, with Lilgrave and his mother-in-law, who is a devil, for she took pleasure in spreading the slander, but Lilgrave appears to have been the first author of the bruit.”

  That was too close to home for comfort. If the slander had originated from someone close to Anna, and in a position to know the truth, it would be the more readily believed.

  “What of Lady Carew?” she asked. “Her name means nothing to me.”

  Sir Anthony Browne answered. “She is the widow of the traitor Sir Nicholas Carew, and I assure you, Madam, your name means much to her. Through no fault of your own, you now possess her former house at Bletchingley. Thus she had a motive for desiring to slander you. When her husband was attainted, his property forfeit to the Crown, she sought refuge with her children and her mother-in-law in one of his lesser houses at Wallington, which the King, in his mercy, permitted her to keep. Mrs. Lambert’s people live nearby, and the families know each other. But it was Lilgrave who broke open the slander to Lady Carew. She, however, refuses to reveal her source. Taverner is charged only with concealing it.”

  Taverner was lucky not to have been accused of treason for speaking out in favor of her marriage. Yet he had not concealed the slander for long. If they were being this harsh with him for such a small offense, what might they not do to Anna if the truth came out? And why would Frances refuse to reveal her source? Was she protecting someone? If so, who?

  “We will be summoning your officers for questioning, Madam, and we would like Mrs. Ratsey to accompany us back to court now,” Sir Richard said. Anna wondered what, if anything, Jane and the other members of her household knew. Had she talked to Frances Lilgrave?

  “This is ridiculous!” she snapped, thrusting down her fear. “It’s just idle gossip.”

  “His Majesty thinks otherwise,” Sir Richard said stiffly, “and if you, Madam, are not concerned about your honor being sullied, he is!”

  Stung by the insult, Anna glared at him and summoned Jane Ratsey, who looked terrified, and burst into tears when told that she must go with the councillors. Sobbing, she was escorted from the presence chamber, leaving Anna to her tumultuous thoughts.

  * * *

  —

  Naturally, the visits of the councillors and the absence of Jane Ratsey gave rise to much talk in Anna’s household. Two royal scandals in the space of a few weeks—everyone was agog, and some fearful lest they themselves be taken away for questioning.

  The very next day, Sir William Goring came to tell Anna that he had received a formal letter commanding himself, Mr. Horsey, and the amiable, inoffensive Dorothy Wingfield, a gentlewoman of her chamber, to repair to the Privy Council. Anna knew Dorothy to have been an acolyte of the garrulous Frances, and wondered if Jane had mentioned her under questioning. It pained her to see Dorothy’s fright when informed she was to be interrogated.

  Anna could settle to nothing. How could she prepare for Christmas with this dread matter hanging over her? Yet, if she was to maintain an innocent stance, she must not be seen to let it touch her. Summoning all her resolve, she began drawing up lists of the gifts she needed to buy and food for the Christmas table. There would be no going to court this year, and certainly the King would not be making merry.

  Daily, she waited for news, barely able to suppress her trepidation. Her household were still excitedly anticipating that the King would take her back, but she was more concerned about the continuing absence of Frances and Jane. The others had returned, having—they told her—been unable to assist the lords. The councillors had given little away, apart from telling Sir William that Jane had admitted she knew of the gossip, but had refused to say more.

  “I told them that was more than I knew,” said the chamberlain. “Nevertheless, the Lord Chancellor is keeping her in custody, for clearly they think she knows more than she admits to.”

  But how could she have known? Anna wondered.

  * * *

  —

  When Dr. Harst arrived a day later, Anna thought he had come to discuss the slander, but it soon became clear that he knew nothing about it. In fact, he was unusually ebullient and full of purpose.

  “Madam, I have this morning received letters of credence from the Duke your brother, and also a letter from Dr. Olisleger to my lord of Canterbury. I now have the authority to seek a reconciliation between your Highness and the King. I have already seen my lord of Southampton and asked if I may declare my charge to the Council and wait upon the King; but I wanted to tell your Highness the good news before proceeding further.”

  Now that the moment had come, Anna shrank from the prospect of being reconciled to the King. Besides it seeming like a betrayal of her love for Otho, she could see herself facing the same fate as Katheryn Howard. Yet, she reassured herself, it was unlikely Henry would consider a reconciliation with this slander under examination. She calmed down a little.

  “What did the Earl of Southampton say?” she asked.

  “He undertook to show my letter of credence to the King. This afternoon, I am for Lambeth, to see the Archbishop. Being of the reformist persuasion, I have no doubt he will support a reconciliation.”

  “You will let me know what he says?”

  Harst looked pained. “Madam, if I may say so, you could look a little more pleased about the remarkable change of fortune that might come to you.”

  “Would that I could feel pleasure in it, Dr. Harst, but something is troubling me deeply. The King has ordered the Council to investigate a slander that I have borne him a child. Two of my women are in prison. One is the person who first spread the bruit, but she will not name her source. What with that, and this dreadful business of the Queen, I feel quite upset. The worst of it is that, at one point, the Council, and perhaps even the King, seemed to believe there was some truth in the slander.”

  Harst’s eyes had widened i
n dismay.

  “You have, of course, told them there isn’t.”

  “Of course I have. I think they are more concerned to discover the author of the slander.”

  “I’m sure they are. But do not let the malicious actions of envious rogues trouble you, Madam, I pray you. Think on this advantageous chance that has come your way.”

  “I will, Dr. Harst,” she promised, forcing herself to smile. “I will.”

  * * *

  —

  The next day he wrote to her as he had promised, but the news was not what he had hoped. Archbishop Cranmer had spoken to the King, but his Majesty had asked him to state most firmly to Dr. Harst that there could never be any question of a reconciliation. “He thought it not a little strange that Dr. Olisleger should urge for a reconciliation in regard to a marriage that had justly been dissolved,” Harst had written. Anna could imagine how dejected he was feeling. She felt offended that Henry had rejected her so categorically, and wondered anxiously if it was because he entertained suspicions about her morals.

  Harst had tried to see the King, but had been told his Majesty was too grief-stricken over the treason of the Queen to receive him. He had then approached Monsieur de Marillac, hoping the French would back Anna’s reinstatement. Marillac had been eager to help, but had advised him to defer the matter until it was known what would happen to the Queen. So Harst had gone before the Council, declared Duke Wilhelm’s gratitude for the King’s liberality to his sister, and prayed the lords to find some means to effect a reconciliation and restore Anna to the estate of queen.

  “I am sorry to report that they answered, on the King’s behalf, that his Majesty had seen you graciously provided for, and had asked them to remind me that the annulment had been made for such compelling causes that he prayed the Duke never again to make such a request.”

  It was painfully clear to Anna that Dr. Harst had little influence at court, and that Henry would never take her back. Part of her was saddened to realize he still did not like her enough; the other part could feel only relief. Harst, though, sounded defeated. “I can do no more here, Madam. I am not welcome, and no one pays any attention to what I say. If you or the Duke need me, I will be at my new lodging in the Bell Savage Inn on Ludgate Hill. There is no point in my being at court.”

  Anna felt sorry for him. He had done his best for her, and championed her interests. It was not his fault that Henry had been prejudiced against him from the first and the councillors deemed him of little account. Now, she supposed, she must fight her own battles.

  Chapter 22

  1542

  They had done their best to make merry at Christmas, but for Anna, the season was overshadowed by anxiety as to what the new year of 1542 would bring. She had sent Henry a gift of some lengths of fine crimson cloth, and was relieved to receive presents from him. She exclaimed in delight over the exquisite glass bowls and flagons he had chosen, having half expected to receive nothing.

  A few days after Twelfth Night, Sir William Goring surprised her as she was kneeling on the floor, playing with her dogs.

  “Madam, I have heard from the Privy Council.” He sounded unusually excited. “You will be glad to hear that Mrs. Lilgrave has finally admitted to having slandered you and touched the King’s person. She maintains she heard the report from others whom she refuses to name, I think she is lying. Since she has admitted her offense, the Council has refuted the rumors publicly, stating that the King did not behave to you like a husband, and it was not true that you went to the country and bore him a son.”

  The relief was overwhelming, yet Anna was angry that Frances had taken so long to make that admission, and caused her weeks of worry. Personally she doubted that Frances had lied, and feared someone else had talked. It was disconcerting to realize she might never know who it had been. She could never ask Frances, lest Frances guess the truth. Always she would be looking at those close to her and asking herself: Was it you?

  “What is to happen to her?” she asked Sir William.

  “She is to remain in the Tower, and Taverner also, for concealing the slander. I imagine they will be detained for as long as it takes to teach them a salutary lesson.”

  “I will not have Frances back in my employ,” Anna said, “or Jane Ratsey. They have done me a great disservice and caused me and the King much grief.”

  “That is quite understandable, Madam,” Sir William agreed. “I will have their service formally terminated.”

  * * *

  —

  Proof that Anna was still in the King’s favor arrived later that month, in the form of a royal grant bestowing on her estates in Berkshire and Yorkshire. She wondered if this was compensation for his having given credence to the slander. How lucky she had been, she reflected, still unable to believe that the horrible business was behind her and that she had escaped unscathed. She prayed that Fortune would be as bountiful to poor Katheryn Howard, of whom there had been no word for weeks.

  Her household were elated when they were told of the King’s gift and, predictably, saw it as a sign that he might take Anna back. She merely smiled to herself. They would soon realize that it would never happen.

  * * *

  —

  It was the second week of February, and Wymond Carew had, as usual, been about his business at the court. He was still wearing his cloak when he returned, slightly out of breath, and intercepted Anna as she was going to supper.

  “The Queen was executed this morning,” he told her, his face grave, “and Lady Rochford too, for abetting her adultery.”

  Anna crossed herself. Even though she had half expected this news, she was still shocked. That poor girl. Yes, she had been foolish, and unfaithful, yet she had paid a terrible penalty—as had Lady Rochford. Anna had not known that she was involved. She had not liked the woman, but would never have wished this on her.

  “God rest their souls,” she whispered. “Do you know how the King is taking it?”

  “The word is that he is looking very old and gray, and will not yet hear of taking another queen, although his ministers beg and urge him to marry again. They say he is now very stout and daily growing heavier, yet many believe he will not be long without a wife, on account of the great desire he has to have more children.”

  “No doubt some will be speculating that I will be restored to my former place.” Anna sighed.

  “They are, but there is, as yet, no sign of it.”

  A page appeared. “Madam, a letter has arrived from Dr. Harst.” He handed it to her with a bow.

  “Thank you for bringing me the news, Mr. Carew, unwelcome as it was to me,” Anna said, hoping he would take the hint and depart, leaving her to open her letter.

  Carew looked pointedly at it. “I trust I will be seeing that later, Madam,” he said. If Anna hadn’t been so shocked by the news of Katheryn Howard, she would have given him a tart answer, but she let it go.

  Seating herself at the table, she broke the seal. She had not been expecting to hear from Harst, so clearly his missive contained something of import. She raised her eyebrows as she read that he was still hopeful of her being reconciled to the King. He had received many letters from German princes, saying they were urging Henry to reinstate her, and he was waiting only for Monsieur de Marillac to inform him of King François’ support before he handed them over to the King. He added, somewhat gleefully, that Monsieur Chapuys was in torment at the prospect of England allying itself in a joint pact with France and Kleve.

  The good doctor was building castles in the air. To be honest, she wished that everyone would leave her be. She did not want to be restored as queen, especially after what had happened to Katheryn Howard, or be wife to a prematurely aged man who was not in the best of health, fond of Henry as she was. What price a crown!

  In the middle of March, Anna fell ill. It began with a simple ague, but soon she had to take to he
r bed, suffering rigors, vomiting, headaches, bitter bile, and painful waves of heat and thirst. The odd thing was that, the next day, she would feel well enough to get up, but the symptoms would recur two days later.

  “It is a tertian fever, my lady,” Dr. Cepher pronounced, holding up his glass and examining her urine. “So called because it comes in three-day cycles. I’m told it’s common in these southern parts of England.”

  “It’s a misery,” Anna groaned, so exhausted she barely had the strength to get up to the privy.

  “Just rest and keep warm, Madam. It will pass in a few days.”

  “That’s not soon enough.” She managed a weak smile.

  Dr. Cepher turned to Mother Lowe. “Heap the bedclothes over her Highness to make her sweat, and give her plenty of posset ale through a goose quill, if you have one.”

  “We do.” Mother Lowe nodded. “What is posset ale?”

  “Hot milk mixed in equal parts with ale. A sovereign remedy for fevers.”

  “Very good, Doctor,” Mother Lowe said, bustling over to the window to fetch more blankets from the chest.

  Anna was alarmed when the nurse came into the sickroom the next morning to say that Sir Anthony Browne and Sir Anthony Denny, the head of the Privy Chamber, were below, but relieved and touched when told they had been sent by the King to inquire after her health. “They say his Grace has offered you the services of his own physicians.”

  How good it was of Henry to remember her when he was, by all accounts, in very low spirits. “That’s very kind, but Dr. Cepher is highly competent, and might resent other doctors being called in. But please say I am deeply grateful for his Majesty’s thoughtfulness, and will certainly call on his physicians if I have need.”