He turned and kissed me full on the mouth pushing me back onto the bed. “I certainly hope so, Mistress Knollys,” he murmured into my hair. It was another hour before he attempted to leave again, but this time, he had to go. I bid him good luck and blew him a kiss goodbye. After the door shut behind him, I buried myself under the blanket and cried.
With the king on the battlefield, the queen felt it prudent to call Prince Edward to Court. He and his sisters lodged with us at Hampton Court. The queen took to her task with gusto. She met with the councillors late into the night and insisted they confer with her before making any decisions. The queen’s hand was in every detail of the king’s campaign, from musters and finances to making sure provisions were sent when needed. She issued royal proclamations and was in contact with Lord Shrewsbury in Wales, keeping apprised of the situation in Scotland.
The king returned in September after his victory in Boulogne to a stable kingdom and a queen much buffeted by self-confidence. Francis returned to find a wife greatly expanding with child. It seemed that with this pregnancy my belly was eager to show off. Shortly after my first missed courses I was having my skirts let out.
“Catherine, my lovely wife,” Francis called to me as he entered our rooms. “What a goodly belly you have made for me,” he said kneeling down to kiss my protruding stomach.
“Yes, we are quite the fertile pair!” I laughed, giving him my hand to rise up from the floor.
“Of course, just as I get home from campaign, you will be leaving me again,” he sighed, a twinkle in his eyes.
“As long as the weather stays fair, I think I would like to stay another month or so.”
Francis swept me into his arms and planted a kiss on my lips. “I think I should like that too.”
Oxfordshire, Rotherfield Greys:
October 1544 - July 1545
I arrived at Greys Court to find my children crowded into the hall to greet me. Little Harry had grown to my waist and was full of stories about his uncle Henry teaching him to ride the ponies. Mary, almost in her second year, tugged at my skirts. I bent over and picked her up. She buried her face in my neck, thumb in her mouth. Lettice, held in her nurse’s arms, shook her little fist and demanded more milk with a shrill cry. I let out a little laugh. “How wonderful to see you all, my little family.”
Henry nonchalantly wandered into the hall. He was eating an apple, little more than the core remained, but as he approached, he gave me a small nod. “Welcome home.”
I smiled and, with Mary in tow, wrapped him into a hug.
Harry and I spent the autumn months playing in the yellow and brown leaves and as the weather turned colder and the snow began to fall, we moved indoors and spent our days before the fire. Harry played with his wooden toys and I took turns rocking Mary and Lettice. I went into confinement in the first weeks of January. Francis had come home for Christmas celebrations but then headed back to Court to take up his new duties as master of the horse to the prince. He was delighted with his new appointment and I was filled with pride when he told me.
My pains came with the rain squalls in mid-March, and just two weeks before Easter I gave birth to our second son. Francis and I decided to name him William for William Carey and William Stafford. It was our fourth baby in as many years. Our marriage was proving to be a fruitful one.
London, Greenwich:
August 1545 - March 1546
“Welcome back to Court, Mistress Knollys,” the queen greeted me on my return to her service. She smiled brightly and gestured to the gathered ladies. “I trust you remember Ladies Herbert, Lane and Denny?”
They all three stepped out and gave me small nods. I smiled my assent.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. I am pleased to see you all again.”
The queen nodded and turned, going back to her books and conversation.
Nan Bassett sidled up beside me, “What was that all about?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know. Are those her favourites now?”
“Looks like you are the next to be one.”
Nan and I exchanged nervous laughs and hugged. We made our way to the window embrasure to discuss my children and the events I had missed in my confinement.
Later that night I told Francis about the greeting I received from the queen and her ladies. His face reddened.
“That would have been my doing.”
I raised my brow and asked, “Any particular reason?”
Francis sat down heavily on the bed next to me and kicked off his boots.
“Those are the queen’s favourites and they are secret reformers. Their husbands and I are working together to help the Earl of Hertford’s cause. I wanted you to befriend them and learn all you can. The Duchess of Suffolk has been doing much to further the cause as well, even though her husband will never support it. We are on the rise and refuse to let the Bishop of Rome gain foothold in England again.”
I sat back against the pillows and out of habit, rested my hand on stomach. I felt it starting to churn. I had returned to a Court in full faction war. How long before this queen came to an end for her meddling in religious affairs?
Nan and I sat in the courtyard. I was mending shirts for Francis and she was quilting a counterpane for her sister, who was still at Richmond serving Anne of Cleves. As we chatted I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Nan stifled a smile. I turned to see my brother, Henry, standing behind me. I jumped up, dropping Francis’s shirt to the ground.
“Henry!” I shouted, wrapping my arms around him.
He awkwardly patted me on the back. “No need to shout, sister.”
I stepped back and looked him over. He had grown since I last saw him at my wedding. He was wearing matching burgundy doublet and hose in material finer than I had ever seen him in.
“You have gone formal on me,” I chided him, fingering the velvet of his doublet.
He gave a slight nod. “I am a married man now and serve the king with my stepfather and brother-in-law, I need to set a good example.”
I grinned. “Is your wife come to Court, Henry? When shall I meet her?
“She is settling in at Rochford Hall, making it our home.” Then he looked down at the ground. “It’s a fine manor, but I would give it back in a moment if it would bring Mother back.”
I reached out and rubbed his arm.
“Oh Henry, please do not feel guilty. We both miss her but she is reunited with our family.” I pinched his nose and leaned in to whisper, “And it is a far better place than this foul Court.”
Henry allowed a stiff smile, “Don’t let your father hear that or you will be following her.”
I replied boldly, “Let him try. So when will we expect some nieces and nephews?” I proudly patted my now flat stomach. “Is this new wife as fertile as I am?”
“Soon, sister. It has been wonderful to see you and I hope to spend more time with you now that I am at Court. I must take my leave now, the king will be expecting me.”
“Of course.” I gave him a slight bow and watched him walk away.
I turned to Nan. “He is so stiff now. He has always been serious, but never this much.”
Nan chuckled. “He has grown up now, Catherine. He is handsome too. Too bad he is already married.”
“Nan!” I exclaimed. She gave me a devious look. I shook my head, “You are insufferable. Your family had better find you a husband soon.”
I had not been at Court for a month when word came that the Duke of Suffolk had passed away. The king was inconsolable. Charles Brandon had been his best friend since before the king had been crowned. I knew it was only a matter of time before the king would follow him. He was becoming corpulent. Gone was the strident young man who could challenge anyone on the tennis courts or in the jousting lists. In his place was a man who had to be carried through the palace on a lift. He was no longer jovial or charming. Everyone came under suspicion. Our ‘Golden Prince’ was gone.
My stepfather, Stafford, was knighted that autumn for his servi
ces in Scotland. I was ecstatic for him. He looked so handsome and knightly at his creation and I wished that Mother had been there to see it.
At New Year, the Lady Elizabeth gave the king a translation of the queen’s book Prayers and Meditations. Her face looked so hopeful when she presented it to her father as a gift, but I could see his face redden as he flipped through the work. He looked sideways at the queen, but she just smiled serenely, hiding any fear she might have felt. It was becoming increasingly dangerous to have opinions on religion that did not come from His Majesty.
Then in February, a woman named Anne Askew was arrested as a heretic. Francis told me that during her interrogation she named the queen as a Protestant. The king ordered her tortured, but she refused to implicate the queen again. Tensions were high and I was relieved when the month came and went without my courses. I could go back to Greys Court and leave this tangled drama behind.
Oxfordshire, Rotherfield Greys:
April 1546 - January 1547
I had left the court just in time. In July, as the mangled body of Anne Askew was being dragged out to the stake, her body having been racked until she could no longer walk, an arrest warrant was issued for the queen. Queen Katheryn had made the mistake of quarrelling with the king over something in the Bible in front of the leading Catholic at Court, Bishop Gardiner. Gardiner then delighted in whispering poison against the Queen into the king’s ear.
Francis told me later: “Fortunately for her, someone dropped the bill of articles against her outside the door to her rooms and she was alerted to the plot. In her fit of terror, the king sent his doctor Mr Wendy and he convinced her to beg the king for his forgiveness. The next day she came into the king’s rooms and threw herself on his mercy. Of course, he never truly wanted to act against her so he forgave her right away and to teach Bishop Gardiner and that little toad, Secretary Wriothesley, a lesson, he neglected to tell them of the queen’s escape. When they came to arrest her, he slapped Wriothesley full across the face and yelled ‘Knave! Fool! Beast!’ They could not scurry from his presence fast enough.”
Gales of laughter pealed from us both as we pictured the porcine Wriothesley waddling out of the king’s sight. His rise under Secretary Cromwell had been much rewarded, but I still thought he was a weasel.
“Francis,” I heaved, breathless from my mirth. “I wish I had been there to see it.”
He patted my belly. “But I am so glad you were not. The reformers were all terrified for the queen. Court has been a frightful place and I am relieved to know you are safe in our home.”
I put my finger to his lips and then brought them to mine. After a deep kiss, I asked him, “But are you safe, my love?”
His wary eyes stared into mine. “For you, I will do everything I can to keep myself safe.”
And, as promised, he continued to stay in the king’s good graces and was promoted to Chief Steward and Keeper of the Courts in August.
My pains came in the autumn, and as the leaves turned red and gold, our baby, Edward, made his debut. Born on the 12th October, the same day as the prince and on the eve of the feast of St Edward the Confessor, it was only natural that he was named Edward. This labour was easy and the babe came with minimal fuss. He was a fair child with light brown hair and wide emerald green eyes. He took to the nurse’s breast the quickest of all my children by far.
Court was at Greenwich for Christmas, but I was not ready to go back. Looking back now I am glad I did not go. The king, was closeted at Whitehall deathly ill. While the court was celebrating our Saviour’s birth, my father’s closest companions were preparing for his death.
Francis brought news of his passing when he finally came home in February.
“We kept his death a secret for three days while Lord Hertford rode to the prince. He took him straight to Enfield and told both Edward and Elizabeth of their father’s death. He sent for Mary and now all three wait at Court for Edward’s coronation. It is set for the twentieth of this month and your presence is expected.”
I nodded. “Of course, husband. Edward is, after all, my half-brother. I would not miss it for anything.”
He traced his fingers down my bare arm. My poor Francis looked exhausted. I hoped that he could come home for a while after the coronation, but I knew that it would not be possible. As uncle to the new king, the Earl of Hertford would be closest to the throne and all the reformers would be at Court working to influence Edward. Francis would be needed.
The next day my maid Matilda and I tore my closet apart looking for a suitable gown for a coronation. We settled on pale blue damask with cloth-of-silver woven through. Matilda went to my jewel box and came back with a pair of sapphire and pearl earrings, a gift from the king when I first came to Court. I sat on my bed and held them in my hand, staring as they sparkled in the light. Maybe if I held them in my hand and prayed hard enough, my father would come back. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that was not possible. The king was not coming back.
I had rarely spoken to the man in all my time at Court. I had served three of his wives, danced at his masques, walked through his gardens and in all that time, we had barely exchanged words. Why did I grieve so? After a while, I realised it was because when I saw the king I knew that I belonged. He looked like my father. We had the same nose and squinty eyes. My golden red locks matched his. I had none of the Boleyn traits and I looked nothing like the Careys. I always knew Stafford was not my father so it was no mystery to me why we looked so different. Until I knew where my appearance came from, I had felt like a stranger, as though I did not belong in my own family. Then I came to Court and saw myself mirrored back in the faces of the king and the Lady Elizabeth. It mattered not whether the king recognised me as his, my eyes did not lie.
The king’s death was the end of an era. Now we had an untried child on the throne and a bevy of men crowding around to get their piece of the power. Things had been unstable and changing under Henry, but now they were downright frightening. Francis was thrilled, of course, because Edward had been brought up as a reformer. But I had seen enough at Court to know that the situation was never as straightforward as that. My Uncle Norfolk, the leading Catholic at Court may have been locked in the Tower, but there was always another that would rise in his place. The faction wars would continue and they would get even more volatile with a young, malleable boy on the throne.
The door to my room banged open, startling me out of my reverie. In ran my children. Harry, now a tall boy of six, shouted, “Mama, Uncle Henry says I can help him deliver the new pony when it comes!”
“That will be great fun, Harry,” I said smoothing back his hair.
Mary crawled onto my lap. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to give me a smile.
“Beautiful girl,” I said kissing her on the forehead.
Lettice, entering a most rebellious third year, bounded in with her doll in her hand. “Don’t be such a baby Mary! I don’t suck my thumb any more!” she teased as she crawled up on the bed beside me.
I hugged them both. “Girls, we all grow up in our own time. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses and, above all, we do not tease in this house.”
The baby nurse brought in Edward, and William toddled in behind her. I moved Mary from my lap and set her next to me, taking Edward in one arm and William in the other. In that moment, I realised that it did not matter if my father was gone, I would always belong in this house, with the family I had created with Francis. I looked to each of my children and saw how different they were. Each one special and wonderful in their own way, and it occurred to me that I did not have to look like my brother or stepfather. They had loved me anyway.
PART III - A New Era
London, Whitehall:
February 1547 - August 1547
Like our father before him, King Edward spent the week before his coronation in the Tower. Francis and I stayed at Whitehall with the rest of the court. On the afternoon of 19th February, the young king and his retinue left the
Tower of London. Francis was in the procession so I went with Nan Bassett to see the festivities. We traipsed through the streets of London, winter frost crunching underneath our feet. Our layers of velvet and damask warmed us against the biting cold, but our faces were left unprotected. Nan pulled her hand out of her sable stole and covered her nose in a feeble attempt to thaw it. A puff of white breath came out of her mouth and we both laughed.
“Poor King Edward is probably in a worse state than us. Did you see how skinny his legs were? No meat on that young man to warm him. Not like us anyway,” she giggled, patting her voluptuous bottom.
“Nan, do not talk of the king’s skinny legs!” I chided her.
“He cannot hear me.”
I shook my head in mock indignation, but I adored her sense of humour. Nan always brought a sense of levity to a serious situation.
The king’s gentleman, chaplains and esquires of the body walked at the head of the procession. My husband and stepfather were among them. As they passed, Nan squeezed my arm and I beamed with delight. When the trumpeters sounded, the nobility made their appearance on horseback. The king followed close behind.
We were close enough to get an excellent view of our new king. He was dressed in snow-white velvet embroidered in silver. Lover’s knots with pearls trimmed his doublet along with diamonds and rubies. The jewels sparkled in the afternoon sun and shone so brightly it was as if Edward was surrounded in a holy light. Over it all he wore a golden gown and sable cape to keep out the cold. His fine palfrey was covered in crimson satin and decorated with pearls.
The king was flanked by his uncle Edward Seymour and Nan’s brother, John Dudley. Both had been promoted to the peerage and were now the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Warwick, respectively. As the king’s closest councillors they would be the premier nobles now. As the procession wound down the street, Nan and I followed behind. This was likely to be the last coronation we would see in our lifetime and we didn’t want to miss a moment of it.
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 8
