by Alison Weir
Sir Thomas saw her looking at them.
“These are mine, aren’t they?” she asked.
He did not turn a hair. “Yes, my lady. I thought they would be more fitting for your service than those I have.”
“Well, I don’t mind, of course,” she said pointedly, but the gentle barb fell on deaf ears.
“I knew you wouldn’t.” He smiled. Oh, he was exasperating!
Nevertheless, the food was good, and again Cawarden proved to be an attentive host. Anna was admiring the lavish displays of fruit set out for dessert when a gentleman in a tawny gown—one of the local worthies Sir Thomas had invited, no doubt wishing to impress them—asked if there was any news of the gentlemen at Windsor.
“Which gentlemen?” Anna asked, to be greeted by a bewildering silence.
“The gentlemen who were arrested for heresy in March,” Cawarden said at length. “You had not heard? Or that I myself was arrested soon after? It was that bastard Gardiner—saving your pardon, my lady—who was behind it. Having rooted out what he was pleased to call a nest of heretics in the Chapel Royal at Windsor, he thought he might find more lurking in the court, and I, my dear wife here, and ten others were arrested.”
Anna recoiled. She wanted nothing to do with heretics. It was all too easy for people to believe she herself was one, because of her connection to the German Lutherans, and showing favor to a tenant who had already attracted the attention of Bishop Gardiner might serve only to confirm people’s suspicions.
“But I’d been fore-armed, thanks to Lady Latimer sending advance warning,” Cawarden was saying.
Was this the same Lady Latimer the King had spoken of? Nearly all the guests, except Anna’s own people, seemed to know who Cawarden was talking about. Heavens, there was a nest of heretics here, and she was sitting in the midst of them! He was taking a huge risk in presuming that none of his visitors would report him.
“This Lady Latimer is a friend of yours?” she asked. “And she is a Lutheran?”
“Indeed she is, Madam, one who is zealous for the Gospel.”
The sheer bravado of the man! Surely he knew he could be burned for this—and all his friends, for that matter. He must have seen the images and ornaments in Anna’s chapel at Bletchingley, and realized she could not possibly be the Lutheran she was reputed to be. But evidently he chose to believe what he wanted to believe. She was beginning to think he was stupid.
“Despite the warning, several were imprisoned, including Elizabeth and me. None of us talked. Gardiner was fuming that the Devil himself could not make one of us betray the other, but we knew it was the hand of God, because, when the King found out, he promptly pardoned us all. Yet the poor wretches at Windsor are still under guard, and I fear Gardiner will have his way and make martyrs of them.”
“Aye,” several people agreed, looking distressed.
“Gardiner is the pawn of the Devil!” Cawarden sneered.
Anna said nothing. She was wondering how soon she could make her excuses and leave. Sir Thomas had placed her in an impossible position, for her first loyalty was to God, and then to the King. Yet Henry had pardoned Cawarden and the others. Evidently he did not believe them to be heretics—but he did not know the half of it!
“Was Lady Latimer arrested too?” Otho asked, looking as uncomfortable as Anna felt.
“No. Their inquiries did not lead them to her. And anyway, they could not have touched her. You all know why. We are hoping to see changes when she marries the King.”
Anna’s jaw nearly dropped. Was the King really going to wed this heretic? It must have been she who influenced him to free Cawarden and his friends. Had he not smelled a rat?
“I had not heard the King was to marry again,” she said.
They all looked at her as if she was to be pitied, which had her bristling with annoyance. Cawarden even patted her hand, which she quickly drew away.
“I am happy for his Majesty,” she lied. “He did tell me there was a special lady. And now, if you will excuse me, I have a headache and must say good night.”
* * *
—
Striding home in the dark, her attendants trailing behind her, Anna found herself fretting about the dangerous Lady Latimer. It sounded as if the King knew nothing of her heretical sympathies.
He loathed heresy; he saw it as a canker to be ruthlessly excised. Dare she warn him about the viper he was nurturing in his bosom?
She was still wrestling with her dilemma when they entered the hall and found a messenger wearing the stained livery of the Duke of Kleve waiting there.
“Lady Anna!” he cried in German, his face working in distress. “I bring dread news. The Duke has suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of the Emperor, at Heinsberg, and has been forced to retreat. I am just come from the court, where I informed the King’s Council of it.”
Defeat. Retreat. Such shameful words. And yet Wilhelm’s courage had never been in doubt. As Anna knelt in her chapel, beseeching and bargaining with God to grant a reversal of his fortunes, she wished she could be with them all, Wilhelm and Mutter and Emily. It seemed wrong that she was living in safety and comfort here while they were in peril.
* * *
—
Later in June, Anna welcomed the Lady Mary to Richmond. Mary was good company, and generous in rewarding Anna’s household for the services they performed for her. She even tipped the porters at the gate. She also insisted on giving Anna money toward the extra expenses of her kitchen, buttery, and cellar.
“I would not hear of taking it!” Anna protested.
“My father instructed me to offer it,” Mary told her, and Anna subsided. It was another of Henry’s generous gestures, the latest of several in recent months. Prices were rising higher and higher, and her allowance did not stretch as far as it had just three years before. Henry kept making up the deficit, ensuring she did not lack for comforts. She hoped he would continue to do so after he married—if he married, for there had, as yet, been no announcement.
“I’ve kept the Spanish silk your Grace sent me last year,” Anna said. “I would appreciate your advice on what style I should follow, as I was planning to make it up into a gown while you are here.”
“I’d be delighted to help,” Mary replied. “The stand-up collar is very popular now, so you’ll need some buckram. Do you have any pearls with which you can edge it?”
Having cut out the pattern, they took their sewing baskets into the privy garden and settled down on a stone bench.
“Has your Grace heard of Lady Latimer?” Anna asked, unable to restrain herself.
“Yes.” Mary hesitated. “I assume you’re aware that my father has grown close to her.”
“I heard talk of it, and that she serves you.”
“She does, and I like her. She is a very intelligent woman, warm and attractive. She will probably be good for my father.” Obviously, Mary knew nothing of the lady’s religious views.
“So they are to marry?”
“So people say, although he has not said anything to me. Why, are you disappointed, Anna? I heard speculation that you would be queen again.”
Anna made herself smile. “Not at all. I love the King from my heart, but I’ve known for a long while that he will never take me back. Our marriage was dissolved for just causes, and nothing has changed. I ask only to remain his friend. He has been very good to me, you know.”
“I do know, and I know that he values your friendship too. He calls you his beloved sister.” Mary cast off and began re-threading her needle. “I think we need not worry that Lady Latimer will be another Katheryn Howard.”
“And yet I sense that your Grace has some reservation about the King marrying her?” Anna ventured.
“I heard gossip among my ladies that she loves Sir Thomas Seymour, Queen Jane’s brother. He’s a handsome catch.” Mary s
ounded wistful.
“Overbold too, I’ve heard,” Anna said. Seymour was a rogue, by all accounts. “If the gossip be true, then Lady Latimer is in a difficult situation. For, if the King proposes marriage, she dare not refuse him.”
“I think she is very unhappy about it, but she is too loyal and discreet to say so. She gives nothing away, and she never mentions my father.”
“So you are worried that Sir Thomas Seymour might make trouble for her?”
“I am.” Mary looked distressed. “He could compromise her. He’s outspoken enough to do it—a liability, really.”
Anna could have mentioned something more deadly that could make trouble for Lady Latimer. “Well, let us hope that she puts him off kindly, and firmly—if things progress,” she said.
“If,” Mary added.
* * *
—
Henry’s eyes filled with tears as he kissed his bride, and everyone crowded into the Queen’s holy-day closet in the July heat applauded, including Archbishop Cranmer, who had performed the ceremony.
Anna followed with Margaret Douglas, the bride’s chief attendant, as Henry led the new Queen Katharine through the ranks of wedding guests and out to the gallery beyond, where the avid courtiers thronged. He had himself bidden Anna attend his wedding. It was a signal honor, given how few could squeeze into the closet, yet she suspected that, for the avoidance of any doubt, he wanted her to be there to signify her approval of the marriage, and to show the world she still had no doubts about their divorce.
Her heart was heavy with the morning’s bad news from Kleve, but she was making an effort to appear delighted for the couple. Let none think she was sour at being passed over. She did approve of Henry marrying again; she did not have to feign that. He needed more children, for the good of his realm. It was his smiling, auburn-haired bride, with her unremarkable features and her determined chin, of whom Anna could not approve. What had Henry seen in her? Katheryn Howard had been very pretty, so she had expected a woman with looks, but this one was nothing special—and she was a secret Lutheran. The reformers must have pushed her in the King’s path. Anna was troubled. Should she have warned him? Well, it was too late now. It worried her to see him smiling so jubilantly. Pray God the new Queen never gave him cause to regret this day.
Returning Henry’s smile, she realized that she herself could now think of marrying again—although, with Otho still bound to Hanna, there was little likelihood of it happening. Hopefully, she would be under less scrutiny after today, and could at least indulge in the occasional flirtation with him. And she needed some comfort now, especially after being informed, in a letter from Emily, that Mutter was gravely ill.
Had it been in her power, Anna would have rushed off to Kleve immediately, but Sir William Goring had told her it would take time to obtain a safe-conduct, even if one were to be forthcoming, for the Emperor’s forces were occupying Guelders. It was doubtful, too, that the King would permit her to undertake such a perilous journey, for the war could break out again at any time. So she had put on a brave countenance and come here today to celebrate, trying not to think of her poor mother lying sick, with only Emily to comfort her.
As the guests gathered in the presence chamber to toast the royal pair, Anna turned to Margaret Douglas.
“I am glad to see you, my lady,” she said. It had been a long time since they had met.
“The pleasure is mine. You are looking so well, and most elegant in your English gown. Well, here we are again!” Margaret made a face. “My uncle has grown so large that three men could fit into his doublet!”
“A fine burden the lady has taken on,” Anna observed, more tartly than she had intended, and then noticed Chapuys standing behind her. Pray God he had not heard her speaking so disrespectfully about the King, or it would be all over Europe within a week.
Margaret giggled. “They might have to find other ways of doing it!”
Anna nudged her. Margaret saw who was nearby, and subsided. “Oops,” she muttered. “My uncle will have me in the Tower again!”
Anna peered round surreptitiously. Chapuys was deep in conversation with Sir Anthony Denny. He had not heard them, she decided.
She turned back to Margaret. “Forgive me if I am poor company,” she murmured. “I am in great grief, for I heard today that my mother is very ill.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“I am so sorry to hear that,” Margaret said, looking genuinely concerned. “Let’s slip down to the privy garden for a moment. I will tell my uncle you are feeling a little faint and need some air.” She swept over to Henry, who nodded, then looked across at Anna, frowning.
When they got down the stair, Anna leaned against the brick wall and let the tears fall.
“Sit down,” Margaret said, leading her to a seat beneath a hornbeam tree. “You must be desperately worried.”
Anna nodded. “At this moment, I would give up everything I have to be with my mother in Germany. I wish I could go now.”
“Oh, my dear Anna.”
“And I can’t help it, but I feel humiliated by the King spurning me to marry this lady who can offer him so little. She is not as handsome as I am, she can bring him no great alliance, and there is no hope of her having children, seeing she had none by her two other husbands.”
Margaret was startled. “You really thought he would take you back?”
“First I did not, and then I did. It was as if the wheel of fortune were spinning, and I never knew where it would stop. I did not want it, really. It was the idea of it, the being wanted as queen. And now…I could have been contented if he had married a French princess, say, but…Forgive me, I should not have spoken. I’ve probably committed all kinds of treason.”
Margaret patted Anna’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It helps to unburden yourself, I have found, and I’m the one person who can understand. I know what it’s like to be accused of treason—and condemned.” She shuddered.
Anna wondered if she dared confide to Margaret what she knew about Queen Katharine. Her secret knowledge was a burden she did not relish bearing alone, and if ever it came out that she had concealed that information, she might be deemed guilty of abetting heresy. And it could come out, for Thomas Cawarden and his friends were rashly indiscreet about their dangerous activities, and had already come under suspicion. They might say she had known, and even approved. Oh, what should she do?
“Try not to brood on it,” Margaret said, misreading the cause of her silence. “Queen Katharine is gentle and kind. I am to be her chief lady-of-honor, and she has been most gracious to me.”
Anna deemed it best to stay silent and pray that Cawarden and his associates never fell foul of the law. She could not be responsible for setting in motion a chain of events that might bring him and others to the stake.
“We should return,” she said, rising. “Thank you for listening.”
When they got back upstairs, there was the King, tall, massive, and expansive, coming to embrace his dear niece and his dear sister, and to ask if Anna was feeling better. He beamed as he received their good wishes and presented to them his new Queen.
“Kate,” he said, “this is the Lady Anna.”
Katharine smiled charmingly as Anna curtseyed, and extended her hand to be kissed. Already, Anna thought resentfully, she had the poise of a queen. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady Anna,” she said.
“The pleasure is mine,” Anna answered, in what she hoped was a friendly tone. “Please accept my warmest congratulations. I am overjoyed for you both.”
A week later, Henry came alone to Richmond, to dine with Anna.
“I am glad you like Katharine,” he said, tucking eagerly into a meat pie flavored with honey and mustard. “Mmm, is this another of your German dishes, Anna? It’s delicious. I swear, no one keeps as good a table as you do.”
“I thought your Grace would enjoy it
,” Anna said, pleased. She was delighted that he had come, having feared that such visits might cease now he had remarried.
After dinner, he played his lute for her, and they strolled down to the river and stood there for a while watching the boats pass. A party of merrymakers, playing loud music in their barge, waved to them, then realized who it was they were saluting. Henry roared with laughter when he saw their faces. “A very good evening to you all!” he called.
All too soon, it was time for him to leave. As he kissed Anna on the jetty, he took her hands. “You are still my dearest sister. That will never change. I will see you again soon. And, if you lack for anything, let my Council know.”
* * *
—
In early August, Anna was deeply perturbed to hear that the Windsor heretics had been burned at the stake. She imagined how the news would affect Cawarden and his colleagues, and Queen Katharine, of course, who must never betray her dismay to the King.
She was busying herself making fruit tarts with Meister Schoulenburg when, to her astonishment, a page appeared and announced that Dr. Harst had come to see her. Hastily she took off her voluminous apron, and hurried to her presence chamber.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” she said, extending her hand. Then she saw his face.
“Madam, you must prepare yourself for the worst news. Kleve has been overrun by the armies of the Emperor.”
Anna felt faint. It was almost worse than the news she had long dreaded to hear, that her mother had died. She had known of Charles’s determination to have Guelders, but had never dreamed he would take Kleve itself.
“This is terrible,” she breathed. “What of my brother, and my mother? She is ill, and this will nearly kill her.” And what of my little boy? That was a question she dared not ask.
