by Jean Plaidy
At this time, I was in a sorry state. I was kept confined to my apartments where I alternated between fits of terror and anguish and moods of optimism. These last were very brief, for I could not really believe in them. I had been very indiscreet with Derham, but that was before my marriage. That was not really criminal, was it? I had deceived no one. Most of the women knew what was happening.
I tried to shut out of my mind all thoughts about Thomas. Thomas must never be mentioned. It must seem as though I knew him only as some vague figure in the King’s household.
If only I could get to the King, talk to him! I promised myself that I would find some way of doing this. I would explain to him those misdemeanors of the days before I had married him. I would remind him how young I had been. I would explain how I had wanted to confess everything right from the beginning.
I saw very little of my ladies with the exception of Jane Rochford. She kept me from sinking into utter melancholy.
I was afraid to sleep, for sometimes dreams could be more frightening than reality. When I was awake I could persuade myself that the King would come to see me soon. I could imagine myself sitting on his knee, cajoling. I believed he must be hating this situation as much as I was. He would want to return to those comforting pleasures of the old days. I would force myself to picture the reconciliation. I would plan what I would say. I would delude myself into believing that it was real. And then I would see the utter absurdity of it and be plunged into despair.
Jane told me what had happened to my grandmother, which added to my misery.
“Poor lady! It all happened under her roof. They have visited her.”
“Who?”
“Those who came to you—the Duke, her stepson, among them. She knew they would come. Derham had left some coffers in her house and she was afraid they might find in them something concerning you … letters or goods. She had the coffers opened. That is against her. And there was Damport. Do you remember Damport?”
“No.”
“He was a close friend of Derham’s.”
“Was he the young man with the beautiful teeth?”
“That is he.” Everyone knew Damport by his teeth. He was very proud of them and he smiled perpetually so that everyone could see them.
“Yes, I do remember now. I have seen him with Derham.”
“The Duchess gave him money.”
“Why?”
“Mayhap because she thought he might tell something which Derham had confided in him.”
“Tell me what you know about my grandmother.”
“It is only a rumor, but everyone is talking of it. They are amazed that the Duke should work against his own family. Some say he aims to show the King that he is his most loyal servant … even if it means working against his own flesh and blood.”
“He does not care for any but himself, I believe.”
Jane nodded. “Your uncle Lord William Howard has been arrested with his wife … and … I know how you will feel about this … and I hesitated before telling you … but the Duchess, she too has been arrested. She is in the Tower.”
“Oh no! That cannot be. Not the Duchess … oh, my poor, poor grandmother. And why Lord William?”
“Mayhap because he was at the Duchess’s house often when you were there. They are saying that he could not be unaware of what was going on … as the Duchess could not have been.”
“I cannot bear this. It is too much.”
“I can but tell you what I heard. It could be that it is only gossip.”
“I fear this is true. And Norfolk does nothing to help them.”
“All he does is hold up his hands in horror and distance himself from those who are in deep trouble.”
“My poor grandmother. She is old … she will die.”
“They say she is frantic with fear. She talked of the old Countess of Salisbury. She believes that what happened to the Countess will happen to her.”
“Oh, Jane, what will happen to us all?”
Jane could not answer that. There was fear in her own eyes. How far was she involved? They had arrested my grandmother and Damport. What of Jane Rochford?
There were some matters of which even she could not trust herself to speak. Thomas! That had happened after the marriage. That was the greatest sin of all. For that there could be no excuses.
We were both caught up in a terrible fear.
Derham was brave. They put him to the torture. They would be ruthless, I knew. The torture would not stop until they had the answers they wanted.
He had told the truth. He had admitted that he and I had regarded ourselves as husband and wife, and that we had lived as such. What they wanted him to admit also was that our relationship had been continued after the marriage.
Derham was indeed a brave man. He had lived an adventurous life. He would be fully aware that these men were bent on destroying me and wanted to bring a charge of treason against me.
Treason! I thought. Little Katherine Howard, who knew nothing of such things—a traitor! If I had been unfaithful to the King and there was a child, that child could be heir to the throne. It was the first time this thought had occurred to me.
I was horrified. I thought of those meetings with Thomas. What had I done?
This was the unforgivable crime. This was indeed treason.
I had not thought of it in that connection before. When did I ever think before I acted? Thomas had not thought either. Our emotions were too strong for us.
Of one thing I was more certain than ever: no one must ever know what happened during those nights on that journey. And now they were trying to force Derham to confess.
The rack was one of the most excruciating instruments ever devised by man; and Derham was its victim. He was in the hands of ruthless men who cared nothing for human suffering, human dignity and human life. All they wanted was to gain their own ends. What were they doing to Derham? He was jaunty, carefree, a pirate who had loved me. He still loved me. But surely even he could not stand out against the torture of the rack.
But when they took his poor broken body from that cruel instrument, he had said no more than that he had already told them. He regarded me as his wife and had acted accordingly. After he had returned from Ireland and I was the King’s wife, there had been no communication between us other than that which involved his work.
Damport was less brave. I saw him as a victim caught up with something with which he was not in any way concerned. He had merely had the misfortune to be a close friend of Derham. All they wanted him to do was betray some confidence which Derham had given him. I was sure there was nothing to betray, for Derham would only tell him what he had already confessed. Derham did not tell lies.
Damport thought he was safe. He had done nothing wrong. But they insisted that there must be something Derham had confided in him, and if he would not tell them willingly, they must force him to do so.
I wondered what the poor young man felt when he heard those sinister words. They had noticed his beautiful teeth, and he had betrayed his pride in them.
He had remarkable teeth, they told him. He was naturally very proud of them. It would be a pity if anything happened to spoil them. Now they must ask him what it was that Derham had confided in him.
There was nothing, he insisted.
Did not Derham say that the King was an old man and, when he died, he, Derham, would marry Katherine Howard?
No, Derham had said no such thing. Would he think again? It was very important. Derham had said that, had he not? No, no. I could imagine his voice—high-pitched, insistent—Damport would not lie on such a matter.
I could picture those cruel men admiring his teeth. Such a great pity. How often did one see such teeth?
I was horrified when I heard what they did to Damport. They took out those beautiful teeth with an ugly instrument and reduced his mouth to a bleeding mass.
I could imagine his agony.
“Yes, yes!” he cried. “He said that to me. When the King, who wa
s an old man, died, he would marry Katherine Howard.”
It was too late. He had lied to them for no purpose. And it had not saved his beautiful teeth—for they were already ruined.
They had taken Manox too. Merely a humble musician, he had not been seen in my presence since he arrived at Court. He immediately admitted to a certain intimacy a long time ago. There was no evidence that he had even spoken to me since.
He was not a man of good character. They questioned him and did not feel that it was necessary to apply the torture.
All their hopes were fixed on Derham.
My Uncle Norfolk came to see me. My hopes rose slightly. It was true I had known little kindness from the Duke, but I deluded myself into thinking that he might help me—for he was, after all, my uncle. I was of his blood. He must in all reasonableness do what he could to save me. He had some influence with the King. He was one of the foremost men in the land. I was in such an abject state of misery that I clung to any hope.
That was soon dispelled when he stood regarding me with scorn and obvious dislike. There was no trace of pity.
He began by upbraiding me.
“You wicked creature! Do you realize how the King is suffering because of your lewd conduct?”
I began to stammer that I knew he would be grieved, and I was sorry for it. I had wanted to tell the King what had happened right at the beginning, but had been prevented from doing so.
He waved an impatient hand.
“Have done with your babbling. You have brought shame on your family. You have disgraced us all. A curse on the day you were born.”
“Please … please,” I cried, feeling the hysteria rising within me. “I am sorry … I am …”
“Sorry! You will be sorry, without doubt. The King is sunk deep in sorrow. He gave you much and how did you repay him?”
“I did all I could to please him.”
“God help me to endure this,” he murmured. “You graceless girl! The King wept … wept indeed … tears of anguish … when he heard the truth. He says he will never marry again. You are a wicked, lewd girl … to have brought him to this. You are a disgrace to your family.”
I was feeling angry now. It helped soothe my wretchedness a little. I whipped it up, for I did not want to break into one of those fits of madness which had beset me since I had feared what my fate would be; and because I was as terrified of living as much as dying, I did not know which way to turn. I was like a trapped animal. I was a fool to have thought that Norfolk would have brought a spark of hope to my desperate plight. So I fanned my anger against him.
I cried: “Should you condemn the rest of us?”
He stared at me. “What mean you, insolent girl?”
“I am aware of your friendship with your laundress. Can you really be so very shocked by me?”
He stared at me, and I was pleased to see he was taken aback.
He stammered slightly: “I am not the wife of the King.”
I laughed sardonically.
“Pray do not seek with insolence to excuse your loathsome faults.”
“You can add hypocrisy to yours, my lord.”
I thought he was going to strike me, for he came toward me, hand raised. But doubtless he thought I was a pitiful creature, not worth his venom.
“I’ll have none of your insolence,” he said. “Do not attempt to prattle of what is beyond your understanding.”
“That is not beyond my understanding. It is, after all, a simple enough matter. I may be a foolish girl, but you, a man of rank and mature age, are an adulterer.”
His face was suffused with purple color. I did not care. I was too much afraid of death to be afraid of him; and I knew by now that he would have done nothing to help me. Indeed, he was on the side of those who would destroy me.
I said: “Then does it depend on who commits the act whether it is a sin or not? What of the King himself? The Duke of Richmond was his natural son.”
“Be silent! Do not add idiocy to your immorality. If you talk thus, there will be short shrift for you. I told you that when the King heard of your conduct, he wept … yes, bitter tears. Think what a future you could have had. The King believed in you. You deceived him completely.”
“I did not. I did not. I was myself… all the time.”
“You … a low wanton, sporting with a servant!”
“A higher rank than a laundress, and he is a Howard.”
He glared at me, ignoring the reference to his Bess Holland.
Then he said: “There are more than one claiming the name who are unworthy to do so. Your grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, has with her son behaved in a most unseemly manner. What a sad day for the family when they joined it. You have spurned my help, as has your grandmother. She is a foolish old woman. She is in the Tower now and this could cost her her head.”
“Oh no. She has done nothing … nothing.”
“She is a traitor. She knew of this … this intrigue between you and Derham and she accepted it. She allowed you to marry the King, when she knew full well that you were unworthy to do so.”
I was silent. It was true, in a way. She had known what had taken place between Derham and me. She had not allowed me to mention it. Then she had shown her guilt by opening Derham’s coffers, for fear something incriminating might be found there. She had given Damport money to persuade him not to reveal anything he might know against Derham. I could see that she had behaved in a very guilty manner. But she was old and tired and frightened. And the Duke would do nothing to help her—any more than he would for me. He would show himself to be against us more vehemently, in order to ingratiate himself with the King.
I could see that he was indeed our enemy.
There was only one who would help me: and that was the King himself.
I cried out: “I will speak to the King. I can explain to him. He will understand. He will listen to me. He will not be cruel … as you are.”
“You talk like a fool. Do you think the King will see you now that he knows you for the slut you are?”
“He will … he will. I know he will.”
“You have done enough harm already. Why am I plagued with such a family? And you are worse than any. To think that you are a niece of mine! There was that other niece. You know what happened to her, do you not? And here you are, proving to be such another. Your Uncle William and his wife! We have always been a great family … and these intruders!”
I wanted to tell him that the family had not always held high honors, even before his father married a second wife, who was his own stepmother. I felt wretched, thinking of her in that cold prison—she who had always felt the cold so keenly, and now she was old, infirm and very, very worried.
I wanted to shout at him, to tell him how heartless he was, how he cared only for himself, but what was the use? I was terrified that I would fall into one of my wild moods, when I became hysterical and in an even worse state than I was now.
I was greatly relieved when he went. He left me with a firm resolve. I had been right when I had said I must see the King.
I must. He was the only one who could save me. A word from him and everything would be well. I believed he would help me, if I could only talk to him.
I was obsessed with one thought. I had to find a way of seeing the King. I realized that no one would help me reach him. I had to find my own way to him. I would kneel to him. I would beg. Did I not know how to enchant him? I would appeal to him, remind him of what we had been to each other. Had he not said he had never had such pleasure in a woman as he had had in me?
I knew how to cajole and caress. I knew what pleased him. I would enchant him again, just as I had when we were first married.
I could do it. I knew it. The most difficult part was to reach him.
Although I did not see most of my ladies-in-waiting now, and Jane was the only one who talked with me, they were still in the household. They must not know what I intended to do.
Jane had said: “You know the King sti
ll loves you. They say he is very melancholy. He does not take pleasure in his food, as was his wont. They are saying he would have you back if it were not for his ministers. That is what he really wants.”
“I’m sure … if I could only speak with him …”
“They have sent messengers to France informing King Francis of all that has happened, and Francis has sent his condolences and sympathy. If only they had not done that.”
“What then?” I asked eagerly.
“The King would not want King Francis to think that the King of England could keep a wife who behaved as they say you have and then mildly forgive her. That is why they sent those messages to France, before the King could make some excuse for having you back.”
“Oh, no … no,” I said.
“But yes. It would destroy the King’s dignity … his standing. It would show him to be too dependent on you. Oh, they have made it difficult for him, but the fact that he wants you back should put heart into you.”
“It does. It does indeed, for, if he wants to … surely he will.”
“Well, you see, these people who are responsible for putting you where you are now … well, it would go ill with them if you were taken back to favor. They would think you would have your revenge.”
“Oh, I would not. I would not. I would be only too happy to forget.”
“Poor Derham. He will never be the same again. He is destroyed. Innocent Damport … you see, you could not forget.”
“Oh yes, poor Derham. He was so handsome. Oh, Jane, what can he be like now?”
“It is for you to think of getting back. If the King loves you enough … it could be so. They are saying he is more unhappy now than when he was ridding himself of Anne Boleyn, and that his feelings were no stronger for her than they were for you … in the beginning.”
“Oh, Jane, if only I could speak to him.”
“If the opportunity should come, you must be ready.”
“I swear I will, Jane. I swear it.”
