by G Lawrence
Think me shallow if you wish. Perhaps I was, but to me there were few pleasures to compare to good cloth and nice clothes. When I was a child, nothing I owned had been new; all of it had clung to another back before mine. Even in my grandmother’s house, many of my gowns had been old ones of hers or my aunt Katherine’s, cut and pinned to fit, but always the scent of another lingered, reminding me the clothes were not meant for me. These clothes were mine, made for my new, bright future.
I loved them. I buried my face in the folds of dresses and breathed in the scent of newness. I put my cheek to bodices of my court gowns, and trailed ribbons of gay colour through my fingertips. I had a farthingale of Spanish fashion to make my hips look bigger and waist smaller, and I was now routinely laced into a corset to make my waist like that of a wasp. My outer gowns contrasted with the colours of kirtles worn underneath, and my sleeves were slashed, revealing bright fabric of another shade underneath. Black veils to hang from French hoods covering my hair were slick and silky, cascading down my back like dark water. Lace, fine and delicate, was sewn to hems, cuffs and about the breast of my gowns.
I looked like a new woman, a confident, happy soul, and I was determined to become her in truth. No more would I be that scared child, that fool. I would become new, shedding the skin of my past.
And there was more. I was to be loaned articles of my grandmother’s jewellery; stunning stones set into golden rings and necklaces. Only to be worn at important functions, most were to be locked away in a chest kept with the Queen’s Chamberlain, but a spare few, two silver rings and one of gold with a garnet in it, along with two bejewelled edges for hoods, I would be trusted to keep safe and wear each day.
So lost was I in enjoyment, I hardly had time for sorrow. And for once, Norfolk seemed to be of mind with me.
“The Act of Six Articles has passed,” he said to my grandmother, throwing his hat to Ned with uncharacteristic gaiety.
I had heard them speaking of it several times. It was, my uncle said, a step back in the right direction for faith, and Norfolk had been selected by the King to lead it through Parliament. Reformers, or heretics as my uncle called them, were distraught. They had been pushing for further reform. This Act stopped them in their radical tracks.
The Act confirmed that God was present in the Host at Mass, something radical reformers denied. The rest of the articles ruled on other disputed issues: Communion in both kinds, blood and bread, was unnecessary, which distressed Catholics who took both at Mass; Priests were not to marry and monastic vows were to be upheld, meaning monks and nuns had to remain celibate even if released from their orders; Masses for the dead were permitted and confession to a priest was necessary and desirable.
The presence of God in the Host, many people agreed with, Lutheran or Catholic. The other five articles went against what were, by that time, widely held beliefs. It was a strike against reform. The King, both for fear of invasion, and the private wishes of his heart, was keeping England as Catholic as could be.
“Who went against you?” asked my grandmother.
“Cranmer, of course,” said Norfolk, grinning like a cat. “But he surrendered after Cromwell talked to him.”
“Cromwell supported you?” Her tone was astounded.
“Cromwell knew the King was backing this, and understood he and Cranmer would fall if they fought him. Cromwell told his friend to remain silent so they might fight another day, but that day will not come. The King has seen sense on religion at last. I thought, when that woman died, he would see, but Cranmer and Cromwell and all her bishops were still there, whispering the wishes of her infernal ghost in the King’s ear.” He laughed, taking a goblet of wine from me. “But her bishops fell today. Shaxton and Latimer resigned their Sees in return for pensions, but Latimer made the King so angry I am sure he will not live to claim a penny. He will swing, or burn, before then.”
The punishment, Norfolk said, for disobeying these new religious laws was death. It came in many forms, but death was what would be expected. Anyone who tried to escape England because of these new measures would be held as a traitor, and would also die. Priests who had married would have to cast off their wives, and those who married now the law was passed would be put to death. Men who had married former nuns would also have to abandon them. Norfolk said nuns who had married after being released from their vows of celibacy three years ago were to be prosecuted for incest, and taken from their husbands.
I wondered how these women were to live. They had surely married because they had no family to go to, and the pensions of former nuns were tiny. Most had no homes and could not support themselves.
“And do you think this was a real crisis of conscience,” Agnes asked, “or that the King wishes to appease Rome by confirming his Church is just as Catholic as theirs?”
“I know not,” said my uncle. “But it is good. We just have to ensure he does not slide back the other way.” He glanced at me. “That is why we need Howards in the Queen’s chambers. No one seems able to guess which way this fabulous wench of Cleves will sway in terms of religion, and we have seen in the past that the Queen, if influential, as this one is sure to be if she turns out to be all that is promised, can push the King one way or the other. Cromwell and Cranmer are thinking the same, I’ll wager, and they will have spies in those gilded rooms too, watching for what I will watch for, the religious sympathies of the new Queen.” He nodded to me whilst looking at my grandmother. “I want all women of our house in her chamber looking out for her sympathies, so we know if we have an ally or enemy.”
“You speak as though it is done already.”
“It is. The King wants her.”
“He wanted the Duchess of Milan and did not get her.”
Norfolk waved a hand. “The Emperor was never going to agree, which is why the lady felt safe to insult the King. The Duke of Cleves has nothing. A crown is too tempting a prize for him to refuse. The only problems thus far is that we heard the lady speaks only High Dutch, no French, English or Latin and does not play an instrument or sing, for that is thought scandalous for women in her country. But aside from that, the King is utterly charmed. They say she is modest, tranquil, yet charming and shows wit. She works a fine needle and has a gentle disposition. She is said to be intelligent and can read and write in her own language, but is pious, godly and obedient.”
“She sounds like Jane Seymour, aside from the wit,” mused my grandmother. “The King needs some fire in his women.”
“Fire he can find in a mistress. He is entranced with the idea of this delicate, protected flower he will draw from her secluded life so she might blossom in his hand.” Norfolk paused. “There is word of a pre-contract with the heir to the Duke of Lorraine, but that can be dissolved if it existed.”
Let it be dissolved, let it be dissolved, my eager mind prayed. Let her come! Let her come! I would be my uncle’s spy. I would do anything, anything for this new life.
But if I was determined to go there was one who wanted me to stay.
Francis.
Although he had ceased to say I was his wife after Joan’s warning, there was still talk in the household that he had a hold on me. He sent me a note, begging me to meet him. He had heard I was leaving and wanted to talk to me. I took it to my grandmother.
“Go to him,” she said. “Tell him all is done between you. Inform him that I know all, and he is to desist or suffer the wrath of the Howards. I will send your uncle William to stand at the edge of the orchard. He will keep an eye on you.”
I did as instructed.
In the orchard, apparently the ending place of all my affairs, I met him. He bounded towards me with glee on his face, which swiftly dropped away when he saw my uncle standing not far away. “They will not let me be alone with you,” he said.
“It is over,” I said. “I am to tell you to desist, Francis. What once was between us is no more. I am to be sent to court, and a marriage will be arranged for me.”
“But you are mine.”
“No more am I, if ever I was. I cannot promise myself to a man. I belong to my grandmother and Norfolk. They will arrange my marriage, and my future.”
“What have they done to you?” he asked, his face pale. “They have coloured your brain with their lies. You are mine, Catherine, as always you were.”
“If you value your future, and indeed, your life, you will say such things no more,” I said. “You are no match for me, Francis.”
“And you care nothing for me now, is that it? Care nothing for what will happen to me, to my future?”
He went on for a while, agonising about his future and as he did, I saw something I had always missed before. Dereham was only interested in himself, not in me. My grandmother had been right; I was nothing more than a licence allowing him access to a grander life.
“What will become of me?” he wailed.
“You may do as you list,” I said curtly, and he stared in astonishment. In truth, I could barely contain my anger. All this time I had been such a fool, falling for lies upon lies. All his sweetness had been but another tool to keep me his prisoner and, used alongside insults and aggression, it had worked. My grandmother had been right. I had been blind, brainless.
“I will not tarry here if you are gone,” he said, threat creeping into his tone.
“Then do not,” I said. “Do as you like. We are not bonded to each other.”
I might have laughed at the look on his face, but I felt for him. It is hard to lose a dream, no matter how little deserved.
“Then I will go,” he said. “But I would leave something in your possession.”
“Why leave anything with me?”
“Because I trust you. Please, Catherine. I have some money saved, and I would leave it with you for I know you can be trusted to keep it safe.” He looked at me with eyes that would make the Devil’s heart break. “It was to be for our future. If I do not come back, it will go to yours alone.”
I hesitated, unsure if this was a way for him to keep a hold on me, but it was true he could trust few. Ned had a wild way with money and drink. He would wager it away within a week. Robert was much the same, and if he sent it home, his father would claim it. That was what fathers did with money earned by their children.
“I will look after the money, but as your friend,” I said.
“That will satisfy,” he said. “But one day, I will look for you again.”
“Then look for me in the halls of my husband,” I said.
And with that, I left.
Chapter Forty
Norfolk House and Greenwich Palace
Summer 1539
Just before I left the bounds of my grandmother’s house, there was a pageant upon the waters of London which became famous.
It started because of a death. The Empress Isabella of Spain had died, weakened by fever after a miscarriage, and although her husband was apparently considering invading England on behalf of Rome, the customs required for a royal death were upheld. The court was ordered into mourning for fifteen days, and there was a service at St Paul’s. Five heralds carrying banners of the Virgin Mary and Saint Elizabeth, the Empress’ patron saint, entered the Cathedral and the service was led by the archbishops of Canterbury and York. Melding with hangings in shades of night about the church and dappled with the fire of thousands of candles, dark-robed lords of England stood together, mourning the wife of our enemy.
Each church in London was ordered to light candles for Isabella, to ask God to carry her swifter to Heaven, and requiems were sung, voices lifting to combine in sorrow, real or not, for this woman.
But beneath all this pageantry was tension. French and Imperial ambassadors turned up for the ceremonies together in a display of troubling unity, and the King sent Cromwell to represent him rather than attending in person.
And then, came the pageant.
Eleven days after the service at St Paul’s, two galleys took to the Thames to enact a mock battle. Rowing up and down the churning waters, the galleys blazed against one another with all their guns. On one ship were the King’s men, resplendent in Tudor green and white, and in the other were players dressed as men of Rome in papal purple. The King and his court watched from the water stairs of Westminster, cheering on the men of England. Amongst garlands of roses and oak leaves, they watched, jeering at the papal ship. From above, the garlands trickled rose perfume on the heads of courtiers, washing away the rank smell of the river, anointing all present with the scent of England.
Two more barges floated on the water, pennants of England fluttering from their masts, and sails snapping and cracking in the wind. A man playing Saint George cried out words of victory to gathered masses on the slippery banks, and musicians played songs of glory, battle and triumph over the enemies of God.
At the end, the players dressed as the Pope and his cardinals were thrown headlong into the river.
The message was clear. Our King cared not a fig for the Pope or Rome.
More talk of invasion that followed immediately after led to the question of the King’s next wife being decided once and for all. France and Spain, the old, if also always temporary, allies of England could no more be relied upon. It was time to make new friends.
“Cromwell thinks this England’s chance to finally unite with the Schmalkaldic League, if only through marriage,” said Norfolk a few days after the pageant. “He tried, years ago, but the King did not like the League’s demands. Now, if England unites with Cleves, we will have a connection to the League.”
“And would you support that?” asked my grandmother.
Norfolk rubbed his troublesome belly, emitting a small moan. “England is short on friends. I would prefer we made peace with Spain and Rome, but if that is not possible, concessions may have to be made.” Norfolk shrugged, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Besides, there seem to be no other candidates. According to the King, she is the only woman of the world, incarnate with every virtue.”
“You do not think she is?”
“I believe not in fictional people,” he retorted. “Everyone has flaws, or they are not real.”
The King’s only reservation had been the looks of his potential bride, but with Holbein’s miniature now at court, that issue was settled. “The King finds it enchanting,” said my uncle, “and carries it with him everywhere, showing it to people, asking if she is not the most perfect woman ever they have seen.”
“And is she fair?”
“Comely enough, if the portrait is accurate.”
Not long after that meeting, I made ready to leave for court.
I was not alone. Many people in my grandmother’s house were leaving for new lives, or to witness the end of old ones. Joan was to reunite with her husband, who was sick, said to be near death. She was going to York, taking with her one of the younger maids who had been found a new position there.
“You will be a nursemaid,” I said. “And are you sure you will be safe?”
She nodded. “He could not write himself, for he is so sick,” she said and sighed.
“You would sorrow to lose him?”
“I sorrow he is to die. I loved him once, when we were young and he wanted me as I was. When we married, I was to change and when I would not he beat me.” She shrugged. “That is the way of marriage. The wife must alter for her husband, and if not he chastises her, or she gets away.”
“And Ned?”
“He swears he will wait for me. The Dowager has said I may return if she has space, and that will keep me close to Ned whilst he is at court.”
Ned, like me, was entering royal service, set to join the household of Prince Edward. Norfolk had spoken for him, and Ned was mightily pleased with his new position. I had no fear of Ned being at court. He had always been a friend to me, and had saved me from Manox once, so despite his continued friendship with Francis, I was not ill at ease.
We three were not alone. There was a generation leaving my grandmother’s household, and more girls were to arrive, soo
n to begin the adventures we had enjoyed. Alice was to wed Anthony, and my uncle William had found her a new post in Calais, as Anthony was to go there. Margaret and John had married, and were to be placed in the household of a noblewoman close to my grandmother. Mary Lascelles had been found a husband by her family, and was to become Mary Hall, with a house to run in Suffolk. As usual, anything that was Mary’s was the best. Her husband was the most handsome, most godly, and most wonderful of all men. We all nodded as she talked and breathed a sigh of relief when she went away. I could not think of a single person who would miss her.
But there were some I would miss, Joan was one and Kat another.
Kat was to become my grandmother’s chief lady of the maidens, as Joan had been before her. “So it will be your task to ensure all the girls find husbands they like,” I said to her.
