by Alison Weir
“My lord, I have come to ask if the King’s Majesty will graciously consent to my marrying a German gentleman of my household.”
“Indeed!” The lords exchanged looks. “And who might the gentleman be?”
“Otho von Wylich. He is the son of the Lord of Gennep in Limburg.”
The Duke paused, before murmuring something in Paget’s ear. She saw Paget nod. Then Somerset conferred with Wriothesley, who also seemed in agreement. The Duke turned back to Anna. His eyes were cold.
“We are sure his Majesty will make no objection to your Highness remarrying. However, your divorce settlement was made on the understanding that you remain in England, and it follows that, to retain that settlement, you must marry an English subject. Has Mr. Wylich been granted letters of naturalization?”
“No, my lord,” Anna had to admit.
“Then I am sorry, but I do not see that his Majesty can approve your marriage to an alien and allow you to keep your settlement. You may, of course, wish to consider returning to Germany.”
She had known they would put an obstruction in her way. They just wanted to be rid of their financial obligations to her.
There was no point in making a scene. “My lords, you have made yourselves very clear,” she said. “As you force me to choose, I will stay in England. I have not the means to support myself in Kleve, and Herr von Wylich has no inheritance or expectations.” She could not resist a little dig. “I had, my lords, hoped to find a little happiness after all my troubles.”
They said nothing, but just sat there, waiting for her to leave.
“Good day to you,” she said.
She was nearly in tears when she found Otho at the end of the gallery, where the press of people was not so great.
“They said no,” he muttered, searching her face.
“They said yes, but I forfeit my settlement if I marry an alien. I’m not even sure it’s legal.”
He took her arm and steered her toward the door. “No matter. We have each other, and Johann, and that is what is important.”
He was right, and yes, they did now have Johann. It was a constant joy to see him daily, to drink in every detail of him—her beloved boy. It was hard not to favor him above everyone else, and thus betray, by any word or gesture, that he meant so much to her.
Johann, however, soon proved worthy of reward, so it was possible for Anna to allocate to him privileged tasks that would keep him near her. He must serve her at table, or drive her chariot, or wait on her when she received guests. If anyone thought he was enjoying too much favor too soon, let them. The lad had earned it.
* * *
—
Standing in the December sunlight, amid her household, wrapped in her fur cloak, Anna watched with some emotion as the young couple made their vows in the porch of the parish church of Hever. Katherine Bassett was marrying Henry Ashley, the local Member of Parliament, and looked radiantly happy.
Anna glanced across at Otho. She knew that, like her, he was wishing they too could know this peaceful happiness; that life could be as simple as this, and they could go to church and be married in the eyes of God. Tears welled as she took her place in her pew. Assisting in the preparations for the wedding had been difficult for her, and she had been tempted to break her resolve and damn the consequences. She had resisted the temptation. Now she made herself keep smiling, genuinely pleased for Katherine, who was kneeling before the altar with her bridegroom.
What could not be mended must be endured! Sad thoughts should not mar this happy day.
* * *
—
The letter arrived in May, when Anna was in the still room, helping Mother Lowe to distill some physick. It bore the King’s seal.
She read it in mounting dismay. “The Crown has repossessed Richmond Palace!”
Mother Lowe’s jaw dropped. “Why?”
“The King likes it, and wants it for himself,” Anna replied. “Isn’t it bad enough that they forced me to rent out Bletchingley? Hasn’t the King got enough palaces?”
They were both bristling with outrage.
“I love Richmond!” Anna declared. “I’m not giving in without a fight.” It was time for another visit to court.
Again she found herself before the Lord Protector, this time with Sir Anthony Browne and her former master of horse, the bull-faced John Dudley, who had risen high since leaving her service and lately been made earl of Warwick. Of them all, she sensed that Sir Anthony alone was sympathetic to her.
“My lords, I am deeply unhappy about losing Richmond,” she said, “especially after it was granted to me for life by his late Majesty.”
Somerset shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. “Alas, Madam, it was the King’s will, and we may not deny it.”
“But I have been given nothing in compensation!”
Dudley spoke, or rather growled. “I am surprised you expect it, Madam. You did nothing to maintain the palace in the eight years of your tenure, and it is now in a state of dilapidation.” It was true. There had not been the money for repairs. “We have had to allocate the surveyor of the King’s works two thousand pounds to cover what needs to be done.”
“I could not afford to repair the house, my lords. The extra allowance granted me last year is now barely sufficient to cover my outgoings.”
“My lady has a point,” Sir Anthony said. Bless him.
“Which is why his Majesty is giving your ladyship his house and manor of Dartford in exchange,” the Protector said, as Dudley sat there scowling. Anna remembered staying at Dartford soon after her arrival in England.
“King Henry had the priory pulled down,” Sir Anthony told her, “and built in its place the King’s Manor. It is large and luxurious, most suitable for your Highness. And with it are houses, gardens, and orchards, a great park, and even an inn at the gate.”
“It is newer than Richmond, and more convenient in many ways,” Somerset said.
Anna capitulated, knowing herself bested. “Please thank his Majesty for his goodness to me.” The words nearly stuck in her throat.
If only Henry were here. He would never have taken away her beloved Richmond. How she missed him still.
* * *
—
The autumn of 1549 was as cold as winter, and the trees were bare, apart from the odd brave golden leaf. It was time, Anna thought, to make another visit to Bletchingley. She had been meaning to do so for a while, but had repeatedly shrunk from it, not relishing the prospect of seeing Sir Thomas Cawarden lording it over her house, or of crossing swords with him. She had visited on five occasions now. Twice he had been mercifully absent; the other times he had flouted his agreement with Anna, and been at Bletchingley when she arrived, only very reluctantly withdrawing to Hextalls, which—he made no secret of it—was not grand enough for him these days. Anna hoped he would not be in evidence this time.
She rode out from Hever with Otho at her side, her four grooms riding ahead. Among them was Johann, quite the man now. Anna never tired of looking at him, marveling that he seemed genuinely to like her, and to be happy in England. He was learning the language far more quickly than she had, and making friends. She fancied there was a special, unacknowledged rapport between them. When she’d mentioned this to Otho, he had laughed.
“All your people love you, Anna. Why should Johann be any exception?”
“I think there is an instinctive bond between mother and child. He feels it too, I am sure.”
Passing through the gatehouse of Hever, Anna was reminded of Elizabeth, cantering through it on her palfrey. Her heart grieved for the girl, now sixteen and enduring the aftermath of a great scandal in which her reputation had been torn to shreds.
“It’s hard to believe it is six months since the Admiral was beheaded,” she said. She had found it shocking that he had tried to seduce Elizabeth, without
a care for the honor of the Queen his wife; and that, barely a widower, he had plotted to marry her. The man must have been crazed. Well, he had paid with his head for it.
“Thank God the Queen did not live to see it,” Otho said.
Anna almost crossed herself at the mention of Katharine Parr, who had died in childbed last year, but such Popish gestures were forbidden these days. She was silent for a moment, thinking hard. “Sir Thomas Cawarden had dealings with the Admiral. I thought they were friends.”
“If they were, Sir Thomas quickly abandoned him. Sir John told me he helped to sequester the Admiral’s confiscated estates.”
“Sir Thomas is one who will always bend with the wind,” Anna said tartly.
It still galled her to see the great gatehouse Sir Thomas had built in front of the house at Bletchingley. There had been other changes too. She had not forgotten the complaints made to her last year by the villagers, who were appalled by his determination to rid their parish church of all trace of its Catholic past. She had seen for herself the rood loft he had torn down lying in the nave, the crucified Christ crushed and broken beneath it. The building had been stripped of statues and vestments, the walls whitewashed, covering the old paintings of scenes from Scripture, and the altar horribly defaced.
“All the gold and silver plate and the furniture and carvings have been carted off to his house in London,” the innkeeper had grumbled. “He called them the symbols of idolatry.”
“If y’ask me,” an old man said, “he just wants ’em for hisself.”
Anna had been powerless to do anything beyond sending four of her servants to help clear up the mess. If she had tried to have the church restored, Cawarden would only have desecrated it again—and might have lodged a complaint against her with the Council.
Mercifully, he was not in occupation when she arrived. Everything, she had to concede, was in immaculate order. Surfaces gleamed, glass sparkled, plate shimmered, and the larder was bountifully stocked. Sir Thomas lived like a king.
As Anna and Otho inspected the gardens and grounds—which were also in perfect order—she noticed that a large barn had recently been refurbished. Pushing open the door, she gasped, for it was crammed with armor, guns, and weapons of all kinds.
“Otho, why is Sir Thomas keeping an armory?” she asked, perturbed.
He stared around the barn. “He does represent Surrey in Parliament, and he is also High Sheriff. Maybe he needs a store of weapons for keeping the peace.”
Anna was not convinced, for she could never believe that Sir Thomas was the upright public servant he aspired—or pretended—to be. She suspected his influence hereabouts was malign, rather than benign. And he had amassed a very large arsenal of weapons.
She tried not to think about it, and enjoyed her stay; and she did not hesitate when her servants asked if they could fell timber in the park. It was hers, after all.
“Why should I not make a profit from it?” she asked Mr. Carew. “We need it more than ever now. My allowance is once more in arrears, and I am so low in funds I have been obliged to ask my brother for aid.”
That evening, Sir Thomas Cawarden returned to Bletchingley. There was about him less of his usual swagger, and more of a sense of elation.
“My Lady Anna, lords and ladies all!” he said, sweeping off his bonnet and bowing, as if he had every right to be at Bletchingley while Anna was there. “I have news. The Duke of Somerset has been forced to step down as Lord Protector.”
“Why?” Anna asked, as those around her gaped in astonishment. “What has he done?”
“What has he not done, you might ask! I could mention his overweening ambition, his vainglory, his entering into rash wars, enriching himself with the King’s treasure, and doing all by his own authority. The lords were sick of it, and decided he had to go. And good riddance, I say.”
“So who will replace him?” Sir John asked. “Who is to govern England?”
“I think you can look to see my lord of Warwick advanced to that honor,” Sir Thomas said, drawing up a stool and sitting down uninvited at the end of the high table. “Is there any wine here?” Unsmiling, Jasper passed the ewer.
Anna had not liked Warwick when he had been her master of horse, and he had known it. But Sir John Guildford looked pleased. “My lord of Warwick is married to my cousin. I hope he will remember me.”
Sir Thomas smiled at Anna. “I too am hoping Warwick is promoted. I am also a kinsman by marriage, and I look for great things at his hands.”
Oh, no, Anna thought. You are not having Bletchingley. Only over my dead body.
* * *
—
Sir Thomas rode out in the morning, and Anna had hoped that would be the last they would see of him. But he was back late in the afternoon, in a glowering temper.
“Have your people been cutting down my trees again?” he snarled at her, without any courtesy or proper greeting.
“My trees, I think,” she corrected him.
“I pay you rent for them!” he countered.
“And I own them. And yes, I did sanction the felling of some of them.”
“I shall complain to the Council!” he flared.
“What about? People chop down trees all the time, for firewood, building, and all sorts of things. The lords will laugh at you! But pray go ahead, make a fool of yourself.”
She could hear her officers stifling their mirth.
“You’ll have nothing to grin about when I’m done with you!” shouted Sir Thomas, stamping out and banging the door behind him.
Anna sighed. He would never concede defeat. If only he would leave her alone!
* * *
—
In the midst of December, Anna was overjoyed to hear from Sir John Guildford that her brother had sent envoys to the English court.
“They sought me out at court, Madam, and told me to inform you that they are here to obtain payment of the arrears of the pension owed you by the Crown. They said also that the Emperor’s ambassador is supporting them in this, at his personal instance.” Maybe, Anna thought wryly, there were advantages to having Kleve under the heel of his Imperial Majesty. “They are to have an audience with the King tomorrow.”
“This is good news,” Anna said. “Who is their spokesman?”
“Dr. Herman Cruser, Madam.”
“I know him. He is a doctor of law and a councillor to my brother—a very learned man, and a good one, I assure you.”
Yet the good man’s efforts were apparently of little avail, for she heard nothing more, and had to start making further economies. The sale of the timber helped—at least it afforded them some cheer at Christmas—but, as the new year loomed, Anna began to panic about the future.
It would be the year of our Lord 1550. A new decade was about to dawn. Ten years ago, she had been in Calais, waiting for a fair wind to take her to England. How hopeful she had been, anticipating a glorious future as queen. Now she was thirty-four and nearly middle-aged—loved, it was true, by all the good people who depended on her, but with not enough money to support them.
Chapter 26
1550–1552
Sir Thomas’s prediction had been correct. The Earl of Warwick was now Lord President of the Council, ruling England in Somerset’s place. When she’d heard the news, Anna’s spirits had sunk even lower, for she knew she could expect nothing from him.
Sir Thomas, by contrast, was riding high. When Anna visited Bletchingley that spring, the estate was agog with talk of the signal proofs of Warwick’s confidence in him. He had been given the house at Blackfriars, which he had long held as Master of the Revels. He was away just now, arranging for the reinforcement of the Tower garrison, so that prisoners of state could be held more securely. Probably the government had anticipated some protests at Somerset’s downfall—or maybe it was just nervous after the great uprising against la
nd enclosures last year. When she took a surreptitious look, Anna noticed that the store of arms in the great barn was a little depleted; yet there was still enough here to equip a small force.
Cawarden had also been made keeper of Nonsuch Palace, which had been built by King Henry in what Anna had heard was the most fantastical style—hence its name, None-such, or the Pearl of the Realm. She had never seen it, so when Sir Thomas, in his usual high-handed way, sent a messenger bidding her and her officers join him at a banquet he was hosting there, since he had missed having the pleasure of her company at Bletchingley—the impudence of the man!—her curiosity got the better of her.
To her surprise, the banquet was not held in the palace, which was smaller than she had expected, and much like any other great house, with its turrets and battlements—at least from the back view. She would see it later, when she went there to sleep. For now, she and Otho were escorted some way across the park to a banqueting house set high on a stone platform on rising ground. It was a small, octagonal, timber-framed building that looked like a fort, and was surrounded by a low brick wall. Lifting up her silver skirts, Anna ascended one of the three staircases up to the entrance, and was surprised to find the interior brilliantly lit with candles and sumptuously hung with tapestries that she suspected had been brought over from the palace. A table was laid with all kinds of delicacies, and wine spouted from a little stone fountain set in the wall. Such luxury was an uncomfortable reminder that she could no longer afford to entertain lavishly, as she was deeply in debt. She brushed the unpleasant thought aside, smiled at Otho, and joined the throng. She would forget her troubles for this one evening.
Soon, all the guests were chattering away, and growing merrier by the moment. Anna stood by the fireplace, talking to Katherine Ashley, who had come up from her home near Hever for the occasion. They were reminiscing about Katherine’s wedding, when Anna became aware of her host standing next to her, waiting for her to notice him. Reluctantly she excused herself and extended her hand.
