The Lady Carey

by Anne R Bailey

  The injustice of Anne’s death was overwhelming Catherine now. How could all these people stand by and let her die?

  Where was the King?

  Catherine clutched at the necklace in her hands the gold B digging into her palm. Anne had turned around and was repeating “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul.” Over and over again as they tied the blindfold.

  Then she knelt.

  It was over in a pitifully quick moment. True to his words, Henry had hired a professional swordsman to remove the head of his beloved wife.

  Catherine must have fainted, for she woke up propped up beside an alcove on a makeshift wooden bench. She blinked and saw Madge beside her, the Master of the Tower was standing a bit farther away. The hundreds of onlookers had begun dispersing and it looked chaotic.

  “Sorry, I didn’t grab you in time,” Madge apologized.

  Catherine wasn’t sure what she was talking about but her hand rose to her head and she winced at the pain.

  “You hit your head,” Madge explained, seeing the confusion.

  “Oh.”

  “Let me see her,” a deep voice demanded and Catherine saw a familiar man push his way through the crowd and past the Master of the Tower.

  “Father!” Catherine called out in a moment of childish delight. He knelt by her side and looked her over.

  “I saw you fall. Are you alright?”

  Catherine nodded. “And Anne? Where is she?”

  “They’ve taken her away to be buried.” He spoke softly. “And I’ve come to take you home.”

  At the word home, Catherine began crying in earnest. More than anything she wanted to be there, away from the horrors of court and the Tower.

  “I’ll fetch her things,” Madge offered. A surprisingly kind gesture.

  “I’ll leave her in your care then, Sir.” The Master of the Tower gave him a small bow and then left to see to his other duties.

  Trying to calm herself, Catherine dried her eyes repeatedly.

  “You were very brave.” He tried to assure her.

  “No, I wasn’t.” Catherine admitted now that they were alone. “I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to believe it and then I fainted. I couldn’t be strong like her.”

  William Stafford patted her hand. “Don’t dwell on it. Now can you get to your feet?”

  It took her a moment to steady herself, but, as the dizziness and sickness dissipated, she felt more resolute that she wanted to leave this place immediately.

  As if summoned by her thoughts Madge appeared with her bag of things.

  “There you are. The maid said everything should be tucked away.” Madge held out of the sack and William thanked her.

  “Take care. I should go find my mother.” Madge looked right and left to see if she could spot her, but the large crowd of people had not yet departed.

  “I have horses waiting by an inn if you are well enough to travel,” William said as he led her away, letting her lean on his arm.

  “I am,” Catherine promised and seeing his skepticism she added, “I could not stay in the city another night. I want to be with my mother.”

  She knew how childish it sounded, but she also had another purpose. She wanted to tell her mother everything she had seen and heard. Anne was innocent — at least she believed that. She wanted to tell her the last words she spoke, for they were ingrained in her mind forever now.

  Chapter Three

  At length, they reached an inn and found the horses were saddled and ready to go. Catherine would ride pillion behind her stepfather and they would make their way home.

  They had no trouble on the road, though passersby would ask them for news from London.

  “Is the Queen dead?” was the frequent question.

  William would nod and not stop, though they would have more questions. Some cheered while others shook their heads in wonder. King Henry had driven two women to their graves now.

  By the time the sun had set, they reached Exeter. Catherine jumped down from the horse before William could help her down and was in her mother’s arms in an instant.

  Mary was crying into her hair as she held her daughter. Catherine’s tears by now were spent, and she was able to tell her mother the last words of her sister at the end of her recounting of the last days she spent with Anne. She handed the pearl choker to Mary who blanched at the sight of it.

  “No, she gave it to you.”

  “Mother, I believe she would have wanted you to have it.”

  Mary shook her head. “It is yours to remember her by.”

  Knowing it would be pointless to argue now, Catherine tucked it away in her jewelry box. A tiny but precious box filled with all her keepsakes collected over the years. It had a small lock and she kept it hidden under the fake bottom of her trunk. Now there would finally be something of value inside of it.

  As she hoped, life in Exeter was as quiet and peaceful as she remembered it. The days were long and filled with work to keep her busy. If she wasn’t helping feed the geese, or stir the pottage, she was mending shirts and watching her half-sister.

  News didn’t travel that fast but it didn’t take long for word to reach them that the King had remarried a mere ten days after Anne’s death. Mary had been expecting the news, but Catherine had balked at the maid when she repeated what she had heard in the village square.

  Not long after two messages arrived.

  The first was from Lord Cromwell confirming that the wardship of Harry Carey was reverting back to Mary Boleyn. The small manor home in Plashey was given to her as well. Unfortunately, she also had to write back asking for permission to sell the home to pay for Harry’s tutors and other debts in the household.

  The second letter was a surprise. After years of silence and neglect, Sir Thomas Boleyn had finally found it in his heart to forgive his daughter for her impudent marriage and invited her to come visit. The earlier conciliation had barely skimmed the surface of mending relations between the families, but it had been a beginning.

  William looked pleased if not apprehensive about the news. He was notoriously stubborn and refused to give way to his father-in-law, especially after they had abandoned them to poverty.

  When Catherine made her way to the kitchen, she found her mother’s maid, Maggie, plucking away at a chicken, preparing it to be roasted. Removing feathers was always a pain and even the most skilled cooks couldn’t get to them all. The smell of burnt feathers would permeate the kitchen.

  Therefore, roasted chicken had to be seasoned to perfection.

  Her mother was kneading, bread the one chore she found truly enjoyable. Catherine was sure it was a way for her to vent her frustrations. Whenever things went wrong or she argued with William, Mary would claim they were running low on bread and went to the kitchen to make more.

  “Oh, Catherine, since you are here, why don’t you help with the meat pie?”

  This wasn’t exactly what she had come in here to ask. She wanted to see when they were to go to Hever, but she supposed it would be better for her not to argue. Taking an apron, she wrapped it around herself, though she thought the dress was hardly worth protecting.

  Her mother had much nicer things tucked away in trucks with heavy locks — carefully preserved with herbs to keep the moths out and the clothes smelling fresh.

  For her part, Catherine was not too interested in learning how to run a kitchen.

  She remembered when they had servants to do this sort of work. But as her mother said, she should be grateful for what they had. There were others with far less. Unbidden, an image of her aunt in the Tower entered her mind, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from crying or having another panic attack. She had been prone to those since returning. At night, she was haunted by dreams of the swordsman, and then there was the sound of the axe that ended her uncle’s life just as quickly.

  She stirred the pot of meat, adding the seasoning as her mother called out instructions to her. The pie dough was already laid out over a dish, ready to be
filled.

  Outside she could hear Harry returning from a ride in the woods.

  Only he seemed to escape the chores on the farm. He was either busy with his tutors or taking lessons with other noblemen’s children. His only duty was to watch William put together the household finances and taxes for the King. In his spare time he would practice jousting or riding in a makeshift pen that William set up.

  What he really wanted to do was go hunting or hawking. Unfortunately, this was an expense that could not be afforded.

  Their younger half-sister, Anne, was only two years old, and, though she was beginning to walk, all she could help Catherine do was throw feed to the chicken and geese they kept.

  So the majority of the extra work fell on Catherine.

  Once the planting was done, William agreed to pack up their small family and travel to Hever. Catherine was the only one more unwilling to go than William. She had dug in her heels at the thought of leaving the safety of the quiet farmhouse. But regardless of her opinion they were on the road towards the family estate.

  The walled bailey was a predominant feature that stood out as the party approached. Catherine recognized it from her early childhood. The old gatehouse was reminiscent of the chivalric tales she heard growing up. Inside the walled gatehouse was a more modern family home. This was the house where her mother and aunt had grown up in while they were in England.

  William helped Mary, who was dressed in her finery, down from her horse, and they greeted her mother and father who had been waiting patiently by the entrance.

  There was no need for grand entrances or especially formal introductions here. They were no longer part of the royal family but rather they were a family of ill repute.

  “You children must be cold.” Elizabeth hurried them inside. Catherine, who was clutching to the tiny Anne, carried her in. Anne was shy and scared of this new house, and it took her sometime to be able to smile for her grandmother and father.

  The adults retreated, leaving a maid to sit with her and Harry, who quickly grew bored waiting in the hall. He picked at books and stared at the portraits hanging from the wall. Catherine teased him about the conceited way he seemed to carry himself with his nose up in the air.

  “I cannot help it if I was taught by the very best at court. Now I am here.” He sniffed as if it did not matter much. Catherine scowled.

  “I was at court too, and I’ll have you know I’d rather be here than back there.”

  “You are nothing but a country bumpkin,” Harry teased, but, for once, Catherine held back from sticking her tongue out at him or responding to his insults in any way. She was far more mature and grown up than Harry now.

  Let him be a child.

  Anne was trying to suck on her thumb, a habit of hers whenever she was nervous. Catherine scolded her and took her around the room to explore.

  Eventually, the adults returned and they went to dine in the hall. Though they ate far more richly than they did at home, the conversation was stilted and they mostly ate in silence.

  After their meal they enjoyed listening to a musician sing a ballad and then were whisked off to bed.

  Catherine knew how stressed her mother and stepfather had been on the first day. She was sure she found the second day just as grueling. They had been interrogated on their health, what they were doing and all the things they might have wished to avoid discussing from their finances to the state of their house.

  Catherine had been in the room, distracting her sister with silly games. So she heard Thomas Boleyn’s extended an invitation for them to take up residence in Rochford Hall.

  “What about Jane?” Mary practically spat out the cursed name.

  “She is at court.”

  “Still?” Mary was shocked Jane had managed to hold on to a position.

  “She has a powerful benefactor.”

  “Who?”

  “Your uncle,” Thomas Boleyn said with a shrug. “But while she may be serving the Queen, she does not have any rights to Rochford Hall. That property reverted back to me.”

  Mary looked to William, but it was clear they would have to talk later.

  One topic was glaringly not discussed. Anne and George. Perhaps the topic was too fresh and painful or her parents had moved passed it as if they were failed projects.

  But Catherine knew that upstairs in one of the many rooms of Hever was a small portrait of Anne. She had walked passed it and had felt her heart clench in painful remembrance. Anne had become more popular in death than she had ever been in life.

  The common people pitied her now, but that would do her little good.

  They had the luxury of a private sitting room, and Catherine was tasked with serving her parents wine and fetching things for them. She stood up against the wood panels of the room and waited for a request but also listened as they spoke.

  Mary, who was lounging on a couch, had turned to him, ready to talk about what her parents had said.

  “This is a wonderful opportunity for us and the children, don’t you think so?” Mary began coyly. Even Catherine knew he had reason to protest. He treasured his independence, which would be threatened if they did move to Rochford Hall.

  “I think this is your family meddling with things they shouldn’t be meddling in.”

  “What do you mean?” Mary propped herself up on her elbows.

  “Your father probably has some far-flung hopes of regaining influence.”

  “I would never return to court nor serve them in any way.” She jumped to reassure him, causing him to put a hand over hers.

  “Peace, wife. I know you wouldn’t, but there are your eldest children to consider. They will be made into courtier’s one way or another, and little Catherine has proven that she is no fool. The future lies with them. They are the next generation of Boleyns and Howards.”

  Mary bit her lip. “It could be a profitable future for them. It could give us a reprieve too.”

  His eyes darkened at what he saw as an insult, and she hurried to add, “Let us use them as they would use us. As they have taken advantage of us in the past.”

  He leaned over and kissed her brow. “Of course, if this is what you want. But I shall not have your father hold it over my head that I have taken his charity.”

  “I am his heir, it is my right. This would not be an act of charity.”

  William seemed reassured by this and eventually they retired for the night, sending Catherine to her room as well.

  They were pampered at Hever that summer. Besides not doing any hard labor, they were treated to sweet meats, pastries, cakes, puddings and plenty of entertainment.

  One night, Catherine found herself pretending that she was dancing before the King. She was pushing thoughts of the Tower away and focusing on the happier stories she heard about court. She came out of her thoughts when her brother gave her a pinch. She was no longer dancing with a handsome stranger, she was prancing around with Harry. He liked to tease her about the faraway look she got when she danced, and she would pinch him in return.

  It took all her nerve and restraint to keep from hollering or yelling at him. She had to act the part of the lady and saw it as a personal victory when she got through a set without making a peep.

  The adults applauded as the dance ended and they took a bow. Catherine smiled radiantly, although underneath the smile she was thinking about how she could pay back her brother.

  As the men retreated, the women settled down for a game of cards.

  Her grandmother called her over. “You can play with me child.” She winked. “I’ll teach you all my tricks and you shall make your fortune.”

  “Isn’t gambling a sin, Mother?” Mary asked.

  “Only when you lose. Besides it is better to have the skills to defend yourself. Ignorance is also a sin.” Elizabeth cracked a weary smile towards her daughter shuffling the cards.

  Catherine was not completely ignorant of courtly entertainment, but her grandmother proved to be quite deft with her cards.


  “This game is called Imperial. You need to make a suit of cards to win,” she explained and played a round with Mary; then she invited Catherine to join in the game. “Polite conversation is also always essential when one plays cards.” She prompted her to speak, but Catherine was tongue tied, leaving her elders to pick up the conversation.

  Finally they turned back to her. “And how are you at chess?” Elizabeth asked, seeing how poorly Catherine was playing.

  “I play a fair bit.” Catherine felt awkward about the interrogation.

  “She beats Harry all the time,” Mary bragged, but Elizabeth turned the compliment on its head.

  “Is that because of her skill or your boy’s lack of it?”

  “He’s a smart boy.”

  “Too foolish.” Elizabeth shook her head.

  “He is only nine years old.” Catherine defended him.

  “At least we know she is loyal to the family.” Elizabeth then called for some wine and they returned to playing cards in earnest.

  All sorts of questions followed the next few days. From her skill with the lute — which she barely had any — to her other strengths and weaknesses.

  “She has a good head for numbers and can read and write in French, Latin and English.”

  “Barely, in Latin.” Catherine corrected her mother who was bragging so much that she was sure she had to confess every day.

  The two women seemed to be conversing about something more than just her abilities. She got the sense that they were two fishwives at the market bartering over the quality of their wares.

  Could her grandmother be thinking of a betrothal for her? Or to find her a position at court?

  Her heart pounded at the thought, and she willed it not to be so.

  She wasn’t ready to leave her mother. Catherine knew that her own mother had married for the very first time at the age of fourteen. This meant that she could be betrothed in a year and married in two herself.