In March of 1541 the chronic ulcer on his leg again suddenly closed and for almost a week it was thought that the King might die. Henry recovered, but the dream of renewed youth that had been symbolized by his marriage to Catherine had vanished, and it was reported that ‘besides the bodily malady he had a mal d’esprit.’ Nothing was able to please him; he complained that he ‘had an unhappy people to govern whom he would shortly make so poor that they would not have the boldness nor the power to oppose him’; he lectured his privy council, accusing them of ‘temporizing for their own profit’; and in a huff he spent the festival days before Lent without music, dancing, or company, so that ‘his court resembled more a private family than a king’s train.’21 More and more Henry fluctuated between extremes of moody and introverted nagging about his ailments and encroaching age, and vigorous bouts of youthful vitality. In one breath he demanded as a wife a nursemaid and companion to his dotage, while the next instant he craved a symbol of his youth, a doll upon which to lavish all the luxury and display of Tudor imagination. At twentyone Catherine Howard, temperamentally, was quite capable of acting the role of the pampered and irresponsible child bride, but she lacked the wit, patience and understanding to play the companion.
There is an old sixteenth-century adage that a woman is ‘an angel at ten, a saint at fifteen, a devil at forty and a witch at eighty’.22 Catherine was precocious; at twenty-one she was ambivalent – both saint and devil. Cheerful, plump, and eagerly indulging in each new caprice, but totally incapable of appreciating the consequences of her actions, the Queen had most of the characteristics of the pampered child. Sulking when crossed, constantly demanding assurance of her own importance, and hysterically gyrating between poles of tearful remorse and haughty indifference, she existed in a hothouse environment that tenderly fostered most of her worst traits of personality.
Just before the King’s progress to the northern shires in the summer of 1541, Catherine was thrown into a fit of gloom. When her husband inquired after the reason for such sadness she answered that, ‘it was owing to a rumour that he was going to take back Anne of Cleves’ as his wife. The Queen only regained her usual high spirits after Henry had assured her of his undying love.23 She was slighted by the fact that the ladies of the court paid homage to the King’s eldest daughter, the Princess Mary, and Catherine complained that Mary had offended her by failing to treat ‘her with the same respect as her two predecessors’. In a fit of spiteful revenge the Queen endeavoured to have two of the princess’s maids removed from court.24 It was almost inevitable that the two ladies should have clashed, for they were temperamentally the antithesis of each other. Mary was like her father – strong-wiIIled, oddly masculine, with a deep, mannish voice and athletic frame. She had all the inherited ‘pride of a Spaniard from Aragon’, conjoined with a Tudor flair for learning. In contrast, Catherine was ignorant of all languages save her own, and even that she handled with the clumsy mentality of a juvenile. The mercurial and infantile temperament of the Queen could have found little to love or admire in the granite determination of a stepdaughter almost four years her senior.
On the other hand, Catherine discovered in her rival from Germany a more congenial companion. In a way they were kindred spirits, for it was noted that the phlegmatic Lady Anne, who had since the divorce become the King’s ‘beloved sister’, did not seem in the least put out by the abrupt termination of her reign. In fact she was ‘as joyous as ever’, and happily amused herself by appearing every day ‘in a new dress of some strange fashion or other’. Society was unable to decide whether the lady was ‘preternaturally prudent in concealing her feelings’ or ‘utterly stupid and insensible’.25 Whatever the truth, she endeared herself to Queen Catherine when, at their first meeting at Hampton Court, she insisted on kneeling to address the new Queen. The two ladies made much of each other, and danced together; then Henry joined them and all three dined together in an atmosphere of connubial bliss.
The happy meeting of Henry and his two wives may have been a ridiculous farce, but it concealed the very real dangers to which Catherine was constantly exposed. The gilded cage had many of the characteristics of a goldfish bowl, and Catherine was shortly to learn that activities that could be carried out in relative secrecy in the Duchess of Norfolk’s residence at Lambeth, could not be concealed at court.
From the start the Queen’s position of regal grandeur masked the existence of a fatal weakness, for Catherine proved herself unable to produce the single bond that might have withstood both the studied intrigues of political and personal enemies, and the cooling ardour of an ageing husband – a male child. The world watched, waited, and made periodic inquiries as to the state of the Queen’s health, and it was whispered abroad that because Catherine was still unfruitful, Henry might seek yet another wife.26 The rumours were vigorously denied, but they were not without an element of truth, for Henry had signally failed to bestow upon his bride the royal title. Though the King ordered that his subjects make room for her in their prayers, and she was ‘proclaimed Queen of England’ on the eighth day of August, Catherine was never crowned, and remained Queen consort only.27 Coronation evidently was contingent upon fertility, and in April of 1541 the French Ambassador noted that the Queen was ‘thought to be with child, which would be a very great joy to this King, who, it seems, believes it and intends, if it be found true, to have her crowned at Whitsuntide.’28 For Henry, as with most of his age, the burden of proof rested with the wife, who had promised at the wedding ceremony to ‘be bonair and buxom in bed and at board’, and at the time of Catherine’s disgrace, one of the many crimes arrayed against her was that ‘physicians say she cannot bear children.’29
Insecure as the position of the royal spouse was, the danger was immeasurably increased by the fact that a queen was something more than ‘part of the state furniture’ and a fruitful bedmate to the monarch. Catherine was also essential to the successful operation of party and family politics. For all the exorbitant and abundant favours lavished upon her by a doting husband, the Queen was never her own mistress. She remained a Howard, and now that that ‘foul churl’, Thomas Cromwell, was disposed of, the Howards and their allies fondly expected to reap the harvest of their sowing, for policy and patronage – those two words that held the secret of political success – were now finally theirs. The Bishop of Winchester had regained his seat on the council, and as ‘the King’s own bishop’ set the course of conservative action. Norfolk remained Lord Treasurer and a year later was appointed Lord-Lieutenant of the North. Robert Rateliff, Earl of Sussex, Norfolk’s old ally and relation, became the Great Chamberlain; and another conservative by blood, if not by politics, William Fitzwilliam, Earl of Southampton, assumed Cromwell’s key post of Lord Privy Seal. Thomas Cranmer still retained his place upon the council, but the Archbishop was marked by his enemies for destruction. Finally Thomas Audley, Anthony Browne and Thomas Wriothesley all made their peace with the conservative faction, while Gardiner and Tunstal, Sussex and Norfolk, ruled the roost and controlled the approaches to the royal presence.
The Howards were quick to grasp the fruits of power, and dutifully Catherine filled her household with Howard friends and relations. Every claimant to the new Queen’s affections, every acquaintance, kin and servant who could conjure up a right to Howard patronage, now hoped for preferment, and even the family tailor said that ‘if she [Catherine] were advanced he expected a good living.’30 Joan Bulmer, the Queen’s old associate and confidante of those almost forgotten days in the Dowager’s dormitory at Lambeth, immediately wrote wishing Catherine all honour, wealth and good fortune, and suggesting that she share some of that prosperity with her childhood friend. The lady in question begged that the Queen recall the ‘unfeigned love that my heart hath always borne towards you’, and she beseeched Catherine to save room for her at court, for the nearer she was to the Queen the happier she would be.31 Catherine, unfortunately, did not ignore Mistress Bulmer, and a place was found for her as one of the Queen’s
chamberers.
Generosity and family patronage were carried to the point of dangerous idiocy when, in August of 1541, Catherine remembered Francis Dereham and made space for her former paramour as her private secretary.32 On all sides, former friends, servants, and relations made good their claims, and the Queen’s household rapidly became a Howard stronghold. Three out of the six ‘great ladies’ of her court were close family relations; Catherine’s sister, Isabel Baynton, became one of the ladies of the privy chamber; and Sir Edward Baynton was made governor of her household. Those three old friends from Lambeth and Horsham days, Katherine Tylney, Alice Restwold and Margaret Morton, received favoured and intimate positions as chamberers, and so close was their association with the Queen that the other ladies of the chamber began to complain that they were being ignored and replaced in the Queen’s affections. Finally Lady Margaret Arundel, the Queen’s aunt, and Lady Dennys, cousin to Catherine, were added to the growing family control as gentlewomen attendants.33
The good things of political life were not limited simply to the Queen’s household. Catherine’s brother, George Howard, was named one of the gentlemen of the King’s privy chamber, and her brother-in-law, Sir Edward Baynton, received possession of the manor of Semleigh. The grants and favours bestowed by the Crown upon the Queen’s immediate family are almost endless; the Howard brothers, Charles and George, acquired licence to import 1,000 tuns of Gascon wine and Toulouse timber into England; uncle William Howard and cousin Henry, Earl of Surrey, received new gowns and jackets from the royal wardrobe; brother George was presented with lands formerly belonging to the monastery of Wilton; brother Charles was appointed to the exclusive and coveted position of one of the King’s spears; and the Queen’s sister, Lady Baynton, received a gift of 100 marks in fee simple.
Catherine’s influence did have its limits, however, and she soon discovered that the clamour for patronage far exceeded her ability to oblige. When, for instance, she wrote to the Archbishop of York asking him to bestow the advowson of the archdeanery of York upon one of her chaplains, he firmly but politely refused. The Archbishop explained that he never granted an advowson, ‘saving at the King’s command’, and complained that those who conspired for such positions were like vultures who espy aged ecclesiastics and then ‘hearken and gape every day’ waiting for them to die.34 On the other hand, the Queen, at the Duke of Norfolk’s request, succeeded in persuading Henry to send her uncle William Howard as ambassador to France. The Queen’s influence was felt in yet other ways – she could play the lady merciful as well as the lady bountiful, and on occasion interceded with her lord and husband to pardon those who had fallen foul of the law. It was reported that it was Catherine’s tender tears that saved the life of a spinster lady by the name of Helen Page; her intercession rescued her cousin John Legh from the Tower and the suspicion of treason; and her efforts preserved the family friend, Sir Thomas Wyatt, from the unpleasant consequences of his follies.35
The price that Catherine paid for power, success and proximity to the King was the envy and hatred of those less favourably stationed. A wiser and more imaginative woman might have observed the mounting enmity and tension that began to close in about the Queen. Catherine was now absolutely essential to the fortunes of her party and family. As a consequence, she was caught up in the vicious game of political intrigue and manoeuvring on the part of those who sought vengeance upon the conservative faction and upon the Howard tribe, by striking at the source and symbol of their authority – the Queen herself. The French Ambassador sagely put his finger on the truth about Henry’s court and Catherine’s environment when he wrote that ever since Thomas Cromwell had sought to liquidate the conservative forces of Norfolk and Winchester, ‘others have arisen who will never rest till they have done as much to all Cromwell’s adherents, and God knows whether after them others will not recommence the feast.’ The jackal of politics constituted an omnipresent threat to any party in power, and ever since the forces of vehemence and change had been set loose by the King’s Great Matter, bitterness, religious passion and personal hatred had risen to plague the English political scene. Marillac was absolutely correct when he concluded that ‘as long as they are making war on each other they will innovate nothing against France.’36
The Queen not only had her political ill-wishers; she also had those who hated her for herself and who saw her as an instrument of Satan. Protestant malice was a constant menace, and the man who eventually betrayed the secret of the Queen’s intimacies with Francis Dereham undoubtedly did so out of religious fervour. This was John Lassells, whose sister had been one of the Duchess’s servants at Lambeth. At the time of the conservative triumph, Lassells left no doubt about his position when he asked two friends what news there was pertaining to ‘God’s holy word’. He was informed that the faith languished and the forces of the Devil triumphed. The worthy Lassells proved himself a zealous, if cautious, Protestant, for he urged his colleagues to have faith and ‘not to be too rash or quick in maintaining the Scriptures’, for the enemies of God would shortly destroy themselves.37 He was quite right; within a year, his sister, Mary Hall, had placed in his hands information which, if it did not restore ‘God’s holy word’, at least led to the disgrace and overthrow of the Howard Queen of England.
Added to Protestant hatred was personal animosity, for Catherine never seems to have inspired loyalty or devotion in others. From the beginning she was surrounded by enemies, and at Lambeth John Lassell’s sister, Mary Hall, was heard to remark in reference to the Dereham affair: ‘Let her alone, for if she holds on as she begins we shall hear she will be nought within a while.’38 Later, the same Mrs Hall was delighted to gossip about the Queen’s evil and unchaste youth, and her brother was quick to perceive that here was the means by which the enemies of God might be brought low. Both for the ‘discharge of his duty’ and the welfare of his soul, John Lassells hastened to communicate to the council in London the story of that ‘puffing and blowing’ that had gone on at Lambeth.39
Mary Hall was not alone in her distaste for Catherine. There were plenty of others among the Queen’s immediate household who also cordially disliked their Howard mistress. On all sides were animosity, spite and intrigue, and Catherine, in life as well as in death, became the victim of that malice. Almost everything we know about the girl stems from the mouths of enemies or colleagues frantic to dissociate themselves from the Queen’s disgrace and to oblige their interrogators by painting as vicious a picture of Catherine as possible. Everywhere the evidence is confusing, contradictory, and on occasion downright dishonest. If the testimony purporting to prove the Queen’s carnal desires and activities demonstrates anything, it indicates that imagination largely supplemented memory, and that almost everyone concerned lied like a trooper.
On the other hand, it was almost inevitable that Catherine should have played into the hands of those who conspired against her. To a girl who had many of the characteristics of a juvenile delinquent, who was spoiled, fawned upon, and flattered, the role of a meek, patient, dutiful and efficient wife and queen was extremely unpalatable. Once the first flush of novelty had disappeared, there was little left to occupy her time except to gossip and intrigue. If Catherine played at the risky game of courtly love and romance, she had plenty of examples before her. While she was still a maid to Anne of Cleves, it was a notorious bit of gossip that Dorothy Bray, another of the Queen’s maids, had an accepted lover over whom she exercised absolute rule.40 At the same time, Catherine’s brother, Charles, was carrying on his dangerous flirtation with Lady Margaret Douglas, the King’s niece. In the circumstances, it was inevitable that Francis Dereham should reappear on the scene and that Catherine should lose her silly head over the dashing Mr Thomas Culpeper.
Francis Dereham had been left fretting in the Dowager’s service at Lambeth, while Mistress Catherine – as one of the Queen’s maids – had moved into the new and vivid world of the court. He had endeavoured to get a release from the Duchess, and finally took l
eave of her service without warning or permission. Rumour had it that he had fled to Ireland to nurture a broken heart, since Catherine had refused his pleas for marriage. This was the story that the elderly and romantic matriarch of Norfolk spread abroad.41 Since Dereham left Catherine the custodian of £100 to be kept for him until his return, and took himself off to Ireland to win a fortune by activities that the government later chose to view as piracy, it would seem that the basis for the tale that he had run away to ‘Ireland for the Queen’s sake’ originated in the Duchess’s fanciful imagination. Moreover, Dereham seems to have been somewhat surprised at the notion. Whatever his true sentiments, Catherine herself certainly did not know where he had gone, and did not contact her former paramour until his return to England some time in the late spring of 1540.42
The young gentleman arrived in London to discover a markedly changed state of affairs. Catherine Howard was no longer one of the maidens of the Dowager’s dormitory, a country girl with whom a young man of birth but of no particular prospects might safely dally. Instead, she was the centre of attraction and eagerly sought after by a swarm of eligible suitors. How many youthful gallants of the court were caught in the circle of her admirers is not known, but certainly two were noticeably smitten by her charms. These were two gentlemen of the King’s privy chamber, Thomas Paston and Thomas Culpeper, junior; and Francis Dereham shortly learned that in his absence rumours had spread that the fashionable Mr Culpeper and Catherine Howard were shortly to be married.43 Dereham may possibly have felt that his own prospects were not entirely blighted by this new development, but all calculations were promptly upset by the evidence of the King’s obvious infatuation for the young lady. The lesser suitors inconspicuously and judiciously faded into the background, leaving the field to royalty. Dereham, on the other hand, refused to take warning. Despite Catherine’s blunt order not to trouble her further, ‘for you know I will not have you’, he still persisted in publicly stating that ‘I could be sure’ of Mistress Catherine, ‘if I would, but I dare not,’ for a simple country squire could hardly hope to compete with his sovereign. Dereham was willing to bow out to Henry but not to Thomas Culpeper, and he very unwisely remarked to friends that, were the King dead, ‘I am sure I might marry her.’44
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