Henry VIII's Last Love: The Extraordinary Life of Katherine Willoughby, Lady-in-Waiting to the Tudors

by David Baldwin

  When everything was in order, the procession began. At its head walked a hundred poor men in black gowns and hoods, each carrying a wax taper, followed by the clergy of the chapel with the cross. Next came barons, knights and gentlemen, the officers of the deceased’s household, Garter and Clarenceux kings of arms, and Lord Powis, Mary’s chamberlain, all on horses draped with black cloth. The funeral car, surrounded by a hundred yeomen with torches, preceded the Lady Frances who was mounted on a horse covered with trappings of black velvet, the Marquis of Dorset riding on her right hand and Lord Clifford (Eleanor’s husband) on her left. Behind them, in single file, rode ten noble ladies on horseback, each bareheaded and attended by a lackey; then came two mourning chariots, the female attendants of the deceased on foot, and lastly, a number of yeomen and servants with ‘all other that would’, i.e. all who wished to follow as unbidden guests.

  At two o’clock in the afternoon the cortège reached Bury and was met by the priests of the parish, ‘in their best ornaments, doing such ceremonies as to the same appertaineth’. Proceeding to the abbey, it was received at the first gate by the abbot and monks and at the second by the Bishop of London and other prelates wearing their pontifical robes. The coffin was transferred from the car to a hearse hung with black sarcenet (fine silk) with fringes of silk and gold, and bearing the deceased’s arms and device in fine gold with her motto La volonté de Dieu me suffit (The will of God is sufficient for me). Draperies of black cloth, garnished with escutcheons, lined the passage and the pillars of the church all the way to the high altar, a mark of respect that would have provided the suppliers and workshops of the town with much employment. When the mourners were arranged in their respective places, the dirge was solemnly chanted by the clergy, and ‘at the times accustomed’ a pursuivant sent from France to assist the English heralds cried, ‘Pray for the soul of the right high excellent princess and right Christian Queen, Mary, late French queen, and all Christian souls.’

  At the conclusion of the ceremony the invited guests adjourned to the great chamber of the monastery where a plentiful supper was provided ‘in goodly order and sort as could be devised with all manner of delicacies’. A chosen company of mourners watched round the hearse that night, and two Masses were said early the next morning. After breakfast the whole party walked to the chapel in order of precedence to attend requiem Mass and present their offerings. The ladies Powis and Monteagle, the two ladies Willoughby (Katherine and her mother), and the ladies Eleanor and Frances Brandon received splendid palls of cloth of gold from the hands of the kings of arms, and carried them to the foot of the coffin where the Garter king placed them in position. The ladies returned to their places, the abbot of St Benet’s preached the sermon, and the service came to an end.

  The coffin was carried to the place of burial, beneath a gorgeous canopy with banners waving, and slowly lowered; whereupon the senior members of the deceased’s household broke in two their staves of office and ‘with great weeping and lamentation’ cast them into the grave. The solemnities of the interment being ended, all departed to dinner, and ‘after dinner everybody took their leave that would, and had great thanks full gently’. ‘There was also provided for the poor people a great dole in four places in the town of Bury, having meats and drinks, come who would, and every poor body [received] 4d’.12

  The funeral of a woman she had no doubt come to admire must have been a sad day for Katherine, but it would have made her realise that she was now old enough to be an active participant in a great ceremony and that her childhood days were behind her. So far, she would have had few opportunities to meet or observe King Henry. Ladies-in-waiting did not take their children to court with them,13 and her first glimpse of him may have been when he visited the Suffolks at Ewelme in Oxfordshire in July 1532. She would have seen him again if, as seems likely, he attended Frances and Henry Grey’s wedding (and her own for that matter), but protocol obliged him to remain aloof from Queen Anne’s coronation and his sister’s funeral. What Katherine thought of him on the rare occasions she did encounter him is not recorded, but she would have seen a man already in his early forties with a figure very different to that of the handsome youth who had ascended the throne twenty-four years earlier. Sumptuously dressed, he was magnificent after a manner of speaking and perhaps rather frightening, a man who could do – and have – what he wanted. She could never have imagined that one day he might want her.

  2

  THE BRANDON MARRIAGE

  1533–1545

  One of the rights Charles Brandon acquired when he bought Katherine’s wardship was to marry her to a man of his own choosing. It was assumed that he intended her as a bride for his son, the eleven-year-old Henry, Earl of Lincoln, but in September 1533, only ten weeks after Mary’s death, he wed her himself. This was an era in which early remarriage, and marriage between youth and age, were commonplace, and the speed with which the wedding was arranged is no more likely to have raised eyebrows than the fact that a forty-nine-year-old man was marrying a fourteen-year-old girl. Catherine Parr was joined to Lord Thomas Seymour a mere four months after Henry VIII died in 1547, and when Chapuys wrote to inform Charles V that the Duke of Suffolk was to marry Lady Willoughby’s daughter ‘next Sunday’, he jocularly remarked that ‘in contracting such a marriage, the duke will no doubt please the ladies of this country, who, imitating his example, will no doubt take their revenge, when accused of marrying again immediately after the death of their husbands, as they are in the habit of doing’.1

  We do not know how Katherine received Brandon’s proposal, but she had been brought up to believe that making a ‘good’ marriage was more important than mutual affection. In his youth the duke had been a fine athlete and had cut an impressive figure; but now he was becoming stout and would be described a very few years later as ‘a good man and captain, but sickly and half lame’.2 He was old enough to be Katherine’s grandfather, but the passing of the years had not affected his ability to flatter or make playful advances to a pretty girl. As early as 1531 rumours emanating from Anne Boleyn’s household suggested that the duke’s interest in his young ward was more than paternal, and although allowance must be made for Anne’s poor relationship with the Brandons there is seldom smoke without fire. Brandon, for his part, surely relished the opportunity to espouse this nubile, attractive teenager, but the attraction was more than sexual. The Earl of Lincoln was ailing – he died six months later in 1534 – and even if he had wed Katherine her estates would have been lost to the Brandon family when she remarried. Instead, they remained firmly in Charles Brandon’s keeping, and Katherine’s youth could only improve his chances of fathering another son to inherit them. Later commentators hinted that young Lincoln died of grief when his father ‘stole’ his intended, but they were probably being wise after the event.

  According to Chapuys, Katherine and Charles Brandon were married on 7 September, almost certainly in London and very probably in the presence of the king.3 We can be reasonably certain of this because only three days later Brandon ‘supported’ the old Duchess of Norfolk when she stood godmother to the infant Princess Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s baptism would have been Katherine’s first formal appearance as Duchess of Suffolk, and marks the beginning of what was to be a long and not always easy relationship with the future sovereign. But no one, least of all Katherine, would have guessed this on a late summer’s day in 1533.

  No detailed account of the wedding has come down to us but we may assume that, in accordance with tradition, the couple exchanged vows and the groom placed a ring on the fourth finger of the bride’s left hand ‘in plain sight’ at the church door. They then entered the building where their marriage was blessed and wine – a symbol of the new bond between the two families – was served to the assembled guests. The ceremony was followed by a feast – usually at the bride’s home but perhaps on this occasion at Suffolk Place – and then by consummation. There was frequently much horseplay as the newly-wed couple were put to bed, but such reve
lries were part of the occasion. Katherine would not have been surprised or alarmed.

  How Katherine coped with her new role and responsibilities can only be imagined, but she cannot have found it easy. Until very recently she had been the heiress to a barony and the ward of one of the most powerful men in England; now she was his wife, a duchess, and the mistress of his household. At court she could allow her husband to take the lead while she basked in his evident pride in her, but she could not expect him to shield her when they were ‘at home’ in London or at Westhorpe. The servants would have been used to treating her with the respect due to a girl in her former position, but how did they respond to this abrupt change in their relationship? Some, no doubt, laughed behind their hands when she made mistakes (as she was almost bound to do in the early days), but they knew their places and Katherine would have learned fast.

  Her relationship with her husband can scarcely have been one of equals, but she fulfilled her principal duty admirably when she presented him with a healthy son two years after their marriage on 18 September 1535. King Henry stood godfather at the infant’s baptism and gave him his own name, but Katherine would not have been present. Contemporaries believed that a newborn child must be baptised at the earliest opportunity (or his soul would not go to heaven if he happened to die), and even if the mother had recovered sufficiently from her ordeal to attend the service she would not have been permitted to do so until she had been ‘churched’, cleansed of her ritual impurity, forty days after the birth. The king gave the midwife and nurse responsible for the child’s well-being the generous sum of £4.

  Giving birth in the early Tudor period was governed by a well-defined ritual. About four to six weeks before the expected delivery the mother-to-be would be confined to her chamber where she would be attended only by women. The room would be richly furnished, fresh air, which was thought to be harmful at such a time, would be excluded as far as possible, and holy relics believed to be efficacious in such circumstances would be borrowed in readiness. The risks involved were considerable – almost everyone would have known, or known of, a woman who had died in childbed – but were perhaps no greater than those posed by the many untreatable illnesses of the period. Katherine would have been confined to bed for three days after the birth and the room kept dark – because labour was thought to weaken the eyesight. She would then progress to ‘upsitting’ and to walking within, and later without, her chamber, but she would not go outside until after she had been churched.

  Katherine’s daily life, the food she ate, the clothes she wore, and other personal matters, would have been akin to those of other great ladies of the era. Fresh food was available only in season, and cooks regularly used herbs and more costly imported spices to improve the flavour of meat that had been salted or was already deteriorating. The number of dishes served at mealtimes was a status symbol regulated by statute – a duke like Brandon was entitled to seven courses, a cardinal nine, and an abbot six, for example. Numerous comestibles were provided – the more unusual and expensive the better – and presentation was everything. A peacock might be served stuffed but whole, with all its wonderful plumage, and confections sometimes achieved architectural proportions. It was the time-honoured concept of largesse – prodigious expenditure to make a point – and nothing could be done ‘on the cheap’.

  Beautiful clothes made from expensive materials also emphasised the wearer’s status, and medieval ‘sumptuary laws’ still determined who could, or could not, wear certain items according to their place in society. Katherine’s basic attire would have consisted of a chemise (the basic undergarment), wool or silk stockings, one or more petticoats, a kirtle (an ankle-length sleeveless dress with attachable sleeves of different patterns), a rich overgown (parted at the front to reveal the kirtle), and a headdress. Jewellery gave her appearance its finishing touches, and perfumes allowed her to mix easily in polite society. How often she bathed or washed herself must remain conjectural. Alison Sim argues that, contrary to popular belief, Tudor people tried to keep themselves as clean as they could in the circumstances. The real problem, she suggests, lay in close-fitting garments made from costly fabrics that could not be laundered and became offensive on hot days in summer.4

  Keeping a large establishment sweet and disposing of waste was as problematic as personal hygiene, perhaps more so, but no one appreciated the extent to which dirt could adversely affect peoples’ health. They believed that bad smells could cause illness, but had no understanding of bacterial infections or of how microbes thrived on filth. If plague or another epidemic broke out the only solution was to move away, although this in itself risked spreading the disease to another area. Katherine was fortunate that none of her pregnancies proved fatal, and that she did not suffer an injury, perhaps while out riding, that necessitated surgery. The only anaesthetics available – opium and hemlock – could kill even before the surgeon had begun to operate, and there was no remedy if gangrene set in afterwards. The two most feared illnesses were smallpox – which scarred the 50 per cent of sufferers who survived it – and the so-called sweating sickness, which is thought to have been brought to England by Henry Tudor’s soldiers in 1485. It recurred at regular intervals until 1551 and would have a devastating impact on Katherine herself.

  Katherine and her husband undoubtedly enjoyed the best of everything that was available, but Brandon’s financial difficulties – coupled with the king’s determination to pursue what were, for them, unwelcome policies – meant that there were periods when life was distinctly uncomfortable. Their main problem was that many of the forfeited estates of the former de la Pole dukes of Suffolk had been given to others or were burdened with dower interests, and Brandon received only approximately 35 per cent of them (in terms of value) in 1514 and 1515.5 The dower interests would revert to him sooner or later and he could try to buy or lease back other properties, but in the meantime he was obliged to maintain a ducal lifestyle on a reduced landed income. The payments he received from his offices and wardships helped of course, but they could not compensate for the loss of his wife Mary’s French dower, worth about £4,000 per annum under the terms of his arrangement with his royal brother-in-law. This had ceased on her death, and to make matters worse he was obliged to surrender property and exchange Suffolk Place together with the reversion of Westhorpe for less desirable houses when Henry demanded a final settlement. Katherine’s lands brought in £900 a year, but her husband, who had had to borrow large sums to make ends meet even when he was married to Mary, would have had little room for manoeuver. There were inevitably occasions when they had to stall creditors and pretend that money was not as tight as it was.

  Then there was Catherine of Aragon, now kept forlorn and isolated at Kimbolton in Cambridgeshire, still stoically refusing to accept that she was no longer Henry’s wife and queen. By the end of 1535 she was dying, and Maria Willoughby’s requests to visit her former mistress fell on deaf ears. Undaunted, Maria left London before dawn on New Year’s Eve, and after falling from her horse and being told (mistakenly) that Catherine was already dead reached Kimbolton at about six o’clock the following evening. The keeper, Sir Edmund Bedingfield, had been told to admit no one to the house without authority, but she showed him the bruises she had sustained on the journey and begged him for the love of Jesus and Christian charity to allow her to come in and warm herself by the fire. Sir Edmund relented, and Maria then pleaded to be allowed to see her mistress, claiming that a letter which would show that the king had no objection would arrive shortly. Once inside the queen’s rooms she was safe; and a week later, on 7 January, Catherine died in her arms.

  So it was that Katherine and her mother found themselves attending the funeral of a second former queen less than three years after that of the first. The obsequies were similar to those performed for Mary, except that on this occasion Katherine was the most senior mourner after Lady Eleanor Brandon. Queen Catherine had requested burial in a chapel of the Observant Friars, but her wishes were disrega
rded and she was laid to rest in Peterborough Abbey. The sermon was preached by John Hilsey, bishop-designate of Rochester, who

  preached the same as all the preachers of England for two years have not ceased to preach, viz., against the power of the Pope, whom they call bishop of Rome, and against the marriage of the said good Queen [Catherine] and the King, alleging against all truth that in the hour of death she acknowledged she had not been Queen of England.6

  Catherine had always rejected the pretence that she had never been more than a dowager Princess of Wales (Henry’s brother Arthur’s widow) – and the sermon would have disgusted the Willoughby ladies as much as it would undoubtedly have offended her.

  Nothing could now right the wrong done to Queen Catherine, but Katherine and her mother may have felt some satisfaction when Anne Boleyn fell from grace and was beheaded less than four months later. Anne was naturally flirtatious, but historians agree that the charges brought against her – having sexual relations with five courtiers, one of them her own brother – were contrived and spurious. It has been suggested that Henry had been fascinated by her unattainability, her refusal to become his mistress, and lost interest in her once the excitement of the chase was over. But her real ‘crime’ was that, like Catherine before her, she had failed to give him a son.

  Henry married his third wife Jane Seymour on 30 May 1536, only eleven days after Anne’s execution, and there was another grand wedding just over a month later when three young noblemen, John de Vere, Lord Bulbeck, Henry Neville, son of the Earl of Westmoreland, and Henry Manners, Lord Roos, were married at Shoreditch. Brandon was certainly present on the second occasion, and it is likely that he and Katherine attended both ceremonies. The chronicler Charles Wriothesley describes how