I suppose a man cannot remain infatuated with his wife forever. Had I married Elizabeth, I might have tired of her too. It is her unattainability, the thrill of taking the forbidden that intrigues me. That is her attraction. I must learn to be content. Once the child is here, Kate will be herself again. A few months more and all will be well. I frown, unfamiliar with the feeling of guilt, but I know myself for a selfish, shallow fellow. I should recognise my good fortune and be happy with what I have. Yet, as is ever the case with me, that which I possess seems shabby and tarnished compared with that which I desire.
***
“Oh Thomas!” Katheryn exclaims when she sees the lavishness of Sudeley Castle. No sooner have we arrived than I take her to our private chambers. I have spent weeks quietly arranging to have the rooms refurbished. There is new furniture, crimson velvet curtains, gold cushions and hangings. The nursery is likewise red.
“My favourite colours.” She clamps both hands to her cheeks and looks about the room with brimming eyes before breaking off to smile at me. It is the first authentic happiness I have seen on her face for weeks.
“I thought you would like it. I – Kate, all I want is to please you. From now on, I swear, there will be no more …”
She holds up her hand, closes her eyes, stemming my words. “Don’t say it, Tom,” she says at last. “If you make me no promises, you cannot break them. I cannot bear it again.”
Leaving me speechless, she moves among the new furniture, examines the cot, rocking it gently with her foot. I stand at the window that looks across the gardens to the small chapel.
“We will be happy here, Kate. Away from the court and all the nonsense and intrigue. Here you can nurture our son and, once our little knave is born, everything between us will be as it was before.”
Her smile is gentle and sad, but she makes no reply.
It takes me a few weeks to realise the vastness of the household that has followed us to Sudeley. Where I had anticipated a quieter life, I find Kate and I are still the centre of a huge train of people. It is not the intimate escape that I craved.
It seems to me that each time I seek the company of my wife, she is with Coverdale or attended by Dr Huicke. She surrounds herself with her ladies-in-waiting and sometimes it is as difficult to see her alone as it was to see the king.
I hate the conversations they hold, religious theories, learnéd stuff that I cannot hope to follow. They make me feel like a fool and, as I am forced to listen, I grow more and more alienated, more uncertain. And when I do get her on her own, she constantly harps on about her jewels, haranguing me to sort out the business with my brother. She should not be worrying about such things. Her concentration should all be centred on producing a lusty and healthy boy.
When I visit court, my brother Edward is resistant to all my attempts to see the king. We argue, as always, and he even threatens me with gaol. I accuse him of disrespecting my wife. “Disrespecting your wife?” he bellows. “She is the only thing keeping you out of gaol. You have no place in the council; I will not make you governor of the king’s person. Go home and look to what you do have, you ungrateful whoreson.”
It is on my tongue to taunt him. I have ever loved to raise the issue of his first wife, Catherine Filliol, who made a cuckold of him with our own father. She bore Edward two bastards before the idiot discovered he was their brother and not their sire. I cannot hide the smirk that the recollection brings and as if he can read my mind, his face shutters against me.
“Get out, Thomas. Go back to your royal brood mare and leave me alone.”
My arm lashes out as if to grab him but he flinches away, raising his hand in supplication like a coward. With a mocking laugh, I tuck my thumbs in my belt and saunter from his presence.
On my return to Sudeley, I find Kate in relative solitude. As soon as she notices me at the door she looks up from her writing, puts down her pen and nods to her women to leave us. As they scuttle out I throw my hat on a chair and join her near the window, put my hand on her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I lean over, examine the fine script.
“I am writing to Elizabeth. I had a letter from her this morning. She misses us.”
A suitable reply jams in my throat. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, I hold my breath, wishing I hadn’t asked, but unperturbed she picks up her pen again and signs her name with a flourish. Then she pushes the parchment toward me. “Why don’t you send her word too, and let her know we are both thinking of her?”
I hesitate, unsure whether I should decline or not. If I refuse she might think I have something to hide, but if I oblige I may be deemed just as guilty. In the end, finding no answer, I pull up a chair and pick up the pen. I scrawl a few words and push it toward Kate for her perusal but she shakes her head.
“I do not wish to read it.” She pushes the paper
back to me, and before I fold and seal it, I add another line, apologising for breaking my promise. I cannot add more and I hope she will understand what is written between the lines, and hear the regret with which I write.
A few days later a reply arrives, folded in with a message to Katheryn. Assuming a casual attitude, I tear it open and absorb her words. Elizabeth writes with an artful hand, each stroke is carefully considered, each sentence conscientiously dotted.
My Lord,
You needed not to send an excuse to me, for I could not mistrust the fulfilling of your promise to proceed for want of goodwill, but only that the opportunity serveth not: wherefore I shall desire you to think that a greater matter than this could not make me impute any unkindness in you. For I am a friend not won with trifles, nor lost with the like. This I commit you and all your affairs in God’s hands, who keep you from all evil. I pray you make my commendations to the queen’s highness.
Your assured friend to my power,
Elizabeth
Katheryn looks up from her own letter. “She misses us.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat and look down at the note again. Kate won’t shut up; her persistence sets my teeth on edge, and all my nerves a jangling.
“I miss her too, and I am sure Jane does.”
“Yes,” I say again. Like a fool I am tongue-tied, and unable to add my own feelings to the matter without bringing down Kate’s wrath upon my head.
I tuck the paper within my doublet. “I, I have some business to attend to.” I bend over and leave a kiss upon her cheek. Her face is a little too warm and slightly damp. “Perhaps you should get some rest before supper.”
I stride through the house and into the garden and with each step Elizabeth’s letter rubs against my skin, a scratchy reminder of her absence.
As the weeks pass, I grow more and more irritated by Katheryn’s bevy of friends. I am worried about her and fear they tire her. I want her to myself, to lie back in the privacy of our apartments and put my feet up. She looks peaky and pale, and her eyes are dimmed with dark circles. I am losing faith in Huicke who, with his usual pomposity, declares that all will be well. He puts her megrims down to her age, tells her to exercise more, although she can scarcely place one foot in front of the other. One afternoon I lose my temper and drive him from the chamber.
“I will have no more of it, Kate. I am sick to death of his face, and his treatment is having no effect on you. Look at you, you are worn out.”
Kate sighs, too cast down to argue. She reaches out her hand and I take it, join her on the bed. As we lie together and watch the scudding clouds outside the window, I feel the tension seep away.
“Things will be better soon,” she promises, “just as soon as our son is born.”
“He will be a match for his cousin. Just as I’ve been with my brother. I’ve always run rings around Edward.” I laugh as I gently pass my hand across her belly. My brother’s wife has just spawned yet another boy. They’ve named him Thomas, to appease me perhaps, but I’m damned if I will name my son Edward, after him. One of the most satisfying things about fatherhood will be ensuring that
my son turns out to be twice the man of my brother’s spawn. “We must make sure he has the best of everything. The best horses, the best armour …”
Katheryn laughs suddenly.
“Tom, the little knave is not yet born, let alone ready for all that. Let the child learn the art of sitting up at least before we choose him a mount.”
I grin sheepishly. “My thoughts were running away with me.”
“I should say they were. A horse indeed. And of course, Tom, there is always the possibility that he might be a girl.”
She looks up at me wide-eyed, afraid of my answer, but I shrug my shoulders. “No. It is a boy. I am sure of it.”
A letter arrives from Mary. Kate’s eyes fill with joyful tears as she takes it and opens it quickly. She reads a few lines before looking up, her face alight with joy.
“Oh, Thomas. I think I am forgiven.” I notice she makes no mention of Mary’s pardon being extended to me. While she ducks her head back to the letter, I stroll to the window and look out across my fine estate. Of all the property I own, Sudeley is my favourite. There is something tranquil in the rolling countryside, the soft fragrant gardens. I long for that peace to seep into my skin and dilute my raging soul.
Kate looks up again. “Mary sends her good luck for the delivery and bids me extend her commendations to you.”
“Really?” I wander over and take the letter, my eye travelling over the script. “Hmm, that is good of her.” I toss the parchment onto a table and return to the window.
“It is almost time for my lying in, Thomas. You …you will keep out of trouble while I am …busy?”
“Of course,” I reply, but I do not turn for I am aware that my cheeks have grown very red. She is inferring that I shall not ride to be with Elizabeth, or that I should not come to blows with my brother and end up in gaol. “I am not a child, Kate. I know how to behave.”
August 1548 – Sudeley Castle
Kate takes to her lying in chamber and I am kept away, only her women may enter. I lurk close by, keeping an eye on who enters and who leaves. She is a vessel carrying my most precious cargo and I must see her safely brought to harbour.
I am sitting in an alcove not far from her chamber in case I should be summoned when a footstep alerts me. When someone comes creeping toward my wife’s chamber I stand up, my hand to my dagger.
“Dr Huicke.”
He stops and turns toward me. “Ah, My Lord, I did not see you there.”
“Where are you going?”
He smiles a slow infuriating smile, strokes his beard and issues a string of medical terminology I cannot hope to follow. He is making a fool of me and anger unfurls in my belly, curling like fire through my veins.
“No. You are not going to see my wife, Sir. She has no need of you. Your constant visits tire her.”
He stands open-mouthed for a while before conceding defeat and bowing his shiny bald head.
“As you wish it, sir, but I must warn you, at her age your wife is at greater …”
“She is at more risk from bumbling quacks than from anything else. Get away from her door, man, before I have you thrown from the castle.”
His face blanches and he backs off. I hope I’ll not see him again.
***
I wake suddenly and lie staring into the dark, unsure what has disturbed me. The wind has risen outside, the ivy blowing and tapping against the window. Perhaps it was that. I roll over again, bury my head in the pillow, but something won’t let me sleep. I turn onto my back again, stare into the darkness. And then I hear footsteps, and muffled voices. I spring from bed and throw open the chamber door to find two of Kate’s servants scurrying past. They stop when they see me and, averting their eyes from my naked chest, bob a curtsey.
“What is it?” I ask, scratching my head, making my hair stand on end. “Is it your mistress?”
One of them steps forward, bobs again. “It is the babe, My Lord. He is making himself known.”
I swivel on my heel and begin to struggle into my clothes, swearing at the laces that insist on tangling. In the end, still half clad, I hurry along to Kate’s chamber where I am turned away at the door by her outraged nurse. I don’t know why I expected anything else. It is hardly acceptable for me to be there. I point to a chair in the outer chamber.
“I will be right there. You are to summon me the moment my son is born.”
She nods her agreement and I sit down, my hands to my head. My son. The thought of him makes my heart surge with gratitude. Once I have a son, things will begin to go my way. I will have someone to fight for, someone who will always be on my side. I lunge into a dream where this child is the first of many. I see myself surrounded by strong sons and pretty daughters. It is a happy thought.
Few sounds issue from the room but every so often a woman appears, takes a look at me and scurries past as if I might bite her. I sit down. I stand up. I pace the corridor. I go to the window. Return to the chair. Sit down. I stand up. I pace the corridor … for long tortuous hours. And then the door opens. A dour-faced maid tells me I can go in.
The chamber is dark and there is a strange smell in the air, some herbal concoction I do not recognise. Women with no faces are tidying the chamber, carrying bowls covered with cloth, armfuls of linen, trays of potions and dark-hued bottles. A fire burns unnecessarily hot and in the bed, Kate is looking down at the bundle in her arms.
She looks up when she hears my soft tread and her face opens like a flower … like a lily. "Look Tom,” she says, and looks down at our sleeping son again.
The babe is tightly swaddled, its puce face crushed, its lips pouting, his eyes shut. It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen. Gently I lower myself to the edge of the bed.
“How are you, Kate? Are you well?”
“I have never been better,” she says, as a tear drops onto her cheek.
“I was worried. It took so long.”
“No,” she laughs, gently. “It wasn’t long. My women have been telling me it was indecently quick, and easy.”
“Hmmm, let’s hope next time will be quicker still.”
I lean over for a closer look.
“Do you want to hold her?”
I nod and she places the child in my arms. She is no weight at all. I look down at the snub nose, the pursed lips, the bald head still coated with grease. And then the impact of Kate’s words hits me.
“A girl?” I whisper, and Kate nods, her eyes nervous for the first time. With a slightly shaking finger I trace the line of my daughter’s cheek. “A girl,” I murmur. “Just what I wanted.”
September 1548 – Sudeley Castle
I have never been happier or prouder. I receive a letter from my brother Edward, who cannot help but sneer a little at our failure to produce a son, as his wife has done. But even that does not spoil my mood. I order the wine casks to be opened and spare no cost in celebration.
We name her Mary, in honour of the princess. I cannot keep away from the nursery. For the first time I have a girl I can worship, one who will love me back, unconditionally. Long years of adulation stretch before me. I see her toddling toward me with outstretched arms; mounted on her first pony; donning her first silk gown.
I will spare no effort in finding her a high-status husband. Why, she might even make a match with King Edward. I am the brother of a queen; husband to a queen; uncle to a king; why not the father of a queen too? The future is bright. For the first time in years the smile on my face is relaxed, and I no longer have cause to be looking constantly behind me. With gusto I begin to arrange the christening, lingering long and hard over who will make the most suitable Godparents.
I am at my desk compiling a list of names when I hear a slight knock on the door and little Jane Grey sidles into the room. “Jane!” I greet her heartily, throw down my pen.
Her face flushes scarlet as it always does when I speak to her. She takes two steps closer, stops, clutches her hands before her and blurts out, “My Lord, Katheryn is sick. She has taken a fev
er.”
Cold dread floods through my body, making my head spin and my belly turn sick. I am on my feet before I know it and thundering up the stairs. As I storm across to the bed, Kate’s women part, their skirts whispering like a dying breath.
The child sleeps peacefully in her cradle. After a cursory glance at her I turn to Kate and approach the bed. Her face is red, and she is sweating, her hair tangled and damp, the veins at her temple pulsing. “Sweet Jesus,” I groan. “How long has she been like this?”
“It started last night, My Lord. She was thirsty and headachy. Then, early this morning, we woke to find this.”
“What did Huicke say?”
The woman blanches. “We did not dare send for him, since you forbade him the chamber.”
“Get him now.” I speak through tight lips. As the woman rushes from the chamber, I sink onto the mattress and take Kate’s burning hand.
“Hush, sweetheart. Hush. All will be well.”
She looks at me, doesn’t seem to see or recognise me.
“Lady Tyrwhit, Lady Tyrwhit.” Her voice is anxious, querulous. “Where are you?”
“Here, Your Majesty.” The woman steps forward to the opposite side of the bed and leans over my wife. Kate grabs her arm, straining forward, her words issuing from spittle-coated lips.
“I am not well handled, for those that be about me care not for me, but stand laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them the less good they will to me.”
She is mad. Delirious. I look desperately around the chamber. “Where is that damned doctor?”
A maid bobs a curtsey and runs from the room to hurry the tardy physician. I place a hand on my wife’s brow and it burns beneath my fingers.
Intractable Heart: A story of Katheryn Parr Page 21
