Elizabeth was determined to play her part as the benevolent queen during the first Easter of her reign. On Maundy Thursday the guards rounded up twenty of the poorest women and ushered them into the courtyard at Whitehall. We trailed behind Her Majesty into the bright spring sunshine with our offerings, our arms leaden with Elizabeth’s cast-off gowns.
The women sat, anxiously fingering the tattered rags hanging off their scrawny bodies, on beautifully upholstered chairs that had been brought outside just for the occasion. We waited and watched in wonder as Elizabeth knelt down to each one with a bucket of warm water and a rag to clean their dirt-caked feet. When she stood up from her task, she laid a blessing upon each head and gestured for them to come to us for a gown and a silver cup.
This act of contrition was nothing new. Every queen, stretching to as far back as before I could remember, had dropped to her knees to wash the feet of the poor at one time or another. While this seemed commonplace for the ever pious Catherine of Aragon and my aunt Anne, who was ever eager to please the people, it seemed out of place for Elizabeth to be on her knees in supplication. This was the same Elizabeth who had laughed at my morning sickness, the same Elizabeth who had screamed in a dreadful tantrum when things did not go her way. This same Elizabeth looked up at those pitiable ragged women with true compassion in her eyes, scrubbing as though she were shining a gold plate instead of the filthy feet of an unfortunate. She was truly an enigma to me.
Surrey, Nonesuch Palace:
August 1559
I begged and pleaded with the queen to be allowed to go back home to Greys instead of going on progress, but she would have none of it.
“Catherine, of course I need you on this journey,” she said. “It is my first progress and I need to show the people of England that I have the support of my family. As much as I despise her, I have even informed Lady Lennox that she is to accompany me as well.”
I placed both of my hands on my ever-increasing belly and forced a smile. “I will do as you command, Your Grace.”
After a few weeks on the road sweltering in the muggy heat of July and August, our never-ending train of coaches passing through the cheering hoards and being entertained at the finest houses in Eltham, Dartford and Cobham, we arrived at the magnificent palace of Nonesuch to stay as guests of the Earl of Arundel. The earl was desperately hoping to be considered for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage and had gone to great lengths to make his intentions known. For the last couple of months he had been paying off some of the maids-of-honour, inducing them to whisper pretty words about him in Elizabeth’s ear. I avoided him at all costs, but it was nearly impossible once he had taken to slinking around Elizabeth’s rooms uninvited. I imagine he found her first progress the perfect opportunity to show off the purchase of this palace from her now deceased sister, Mary.
My father would have been enraged that Mary had sold his glimmering building. Always wanting to have the best of everything, he had built a castle like no one had ever seen before and christened it with the name of Nonesuch to prove it. In fact, there was nothing else like it. With the exception of Hampton Court, the king’s other palaces looked positively ancient in comparison. He had said that he built it in celebration of the birth of his long-awaited son, Edward, but it had seemed to me to be a monument to his lost love, Queen Jane Seymour. Her death cast a pall over the king. She had not lived long enough to see his love slip away from her like Catherine or Anne and so she would be forever on a pedestal in his eyes. He poured out his grief for her into this lavish, dream-like palace.
Seeing the heavily spired octagonal towers rise up into view as we approached the palace truly was like being in a dream. The elaborate stucco panels gracing the sides of the walls and towers appeared in greater detail as we got closer. Each panel was intricately carved with a scene from mythology, telling those stories of old antiquity. The mullioned windows sparkled in the sunlight. A light breeze blew through the air, fluttering the banners that hung from the onion-shaped roofs that topped the towers. The sight took my breath away.
“No wonder he died broke,” Lady Carew whispered in my ear. Elizabeth was staring at us and as soon as she turned her head to look out of the window of the carriage, I elbowed Lady Carew with a distasteful frown. Elizabeth could not stand to have anyone say unflattering things about our father in her presence. She would not hesitate to repay the unkindness to anyone who dared to voice it.
The train of coaches, horses and carts snaked its way around the palace and through the glamorous wooden gates of the outer courtyard. Once we stopped, the door to our coach flew open and in the doorway stood our host. The earl’s thin lips were stretched into a smile so wide that his eyes were almost squinted shut. His bulbous nose was the colour of a cherry. At the sight of the queen, he dipped into a very low bow.
“Welcome my queen! Welcome to Nonesuch!” he preened.
Elizabeth offered her hand to him and he helped her down to the ground. “It is no small wonder that my father loved hunting here,” she apprised. “I would love to take advantage of your parks while I am here. I made certain Sir Robert brought my best horses.”
The earl’s ears flushed a blood red. He had invited the queen here to further his suit for her hand and there was no way that he was letting his biggest rival, her master of the horse, get the pleasure of taking her hunting in his parks.
“Your Majesty, no one knows these parks as well as I do. I would be honoured to take you out tomorrow morning. First thing!”
“That sounds wonderful, Arundel.” She turned to us. “Ladies, I will see you in my rooms.”
We nodded in unison to their backs as they proceeded on to the inner courtyards.
A grand feast was set up on the front lawn of the castle. Tents were raised in a cluster to hold all the delicacies on display and the fountains dripped with red wine. The earl’s personal musicians surrounded a stage for dancing set up on the grass. A chair of estate sat at the edge of the stage so that Elizabeth could sit and enjoy the entertainment.
Francis knew this was an excellent opportunity to mingle with the most powerful men of the court, but he was concerned about me and spent much of the night making sure I was as comfortable as possible.
“I understand why she insisted on dragging you along, but I am still not happy about it,” he muttered as we sat in the shade of a large oak tree and watched the maids dance.
“She is the queen and I vowed to serve as she commanded. My life is not in any danger and it is still another two months until the child comes.” I shifted in my seat to relieve the sharp pain on the back of my thigh.
Francis chuckled at the scowl on my face, “Think of Arundel’s outrage if you were to give birth on his lawn and ruin all his fun.”
“Ah, yes. I would not dare dream to take the attention away from him.”
Francis was quiet for a moment, staring out at the stage where the queen was alternately being led out in dancing by both Arundel and Dudley, each man trying to best the other with the complexity of their steps.
Finally he said, “It is like watching a duel isn’t it? Each man trying to out-do the other to win her heart. Yet, each one ignores the outrage that her choice of either one of them would cause. Still, she leads them on and, against their better judgment, they dance for her, hoping and praying that she will reveal her intentions.”
“But I thought you supported Robert Dudley in his suit? And with rumours going around that his wife is sick, I am certain it is only a matter of time before he is once again an eligible bachelor.”
Francis replied thoughtfully, “It seems like only yesterday that we attended his wedding to Amy, doesn’t it? They had seemed so in love, marrying in spite of his father’s outrage that Amy was of such low stature. Now that lovely girl wastes away, biding her time, while her husband plays the smitten courtier to the queen.”
“Then why do you support him, Francis?”
“He is my friend, Catherine. All those years at Court, while my own brother was
tending to our lands and watching over you, Robert Dudley was as close as a brother to me. I don’t agree with the way he has treated Amy, but he is my friend and I will support him. He is certainly a much better choice than Arundel or William Pickering. Besides, I think the queen has her mother’s intelligence and ambition and I do not believe she will choose any of those fools to be her consort.”
“Just promise me that you will not fall to the queen’s charms while I am back home at Greys having this child,” I said, giggling.
Francis cupped my chin and kissed my lips. “As far as I am concerned, you are my queen and I fell to your charms long ago. Besides, with my brother still away in the Low Countries, it is high time I head back to our estates and I plan to ask the queen tonight if we may leave together for home instead of going back to London.”
Relief flooded over me. The only birth Francis had attended was Thomas’s when I had almost died of fever. The fact that he would leave the court behind to attend this one told me how much that incident had affected him. Unlike Robert Dudley’s wife, I would never have to worry about Francis setting me aside. His love was not just pretty words said in moments of passion. His love was in acts of compassion and kindness. His love was sitting under an oak tree with me instead of socialising with the powerful men of the court and coming up with an excuse to leave the queen to be with me as I gave birth to his child when other men would have preferred to be in the luxurious halls of her palace. My marriage may have been arranged, but it truly was a love match.
Oxfordshire, Rotherfield Greys:
October – December 1559
True to his word, Francis went to Elizabeth that warm evening at Nonesuch to beg leave. The next morning, while she rode out with Arundel and Dudley to chase down the enormous stag that was rumoured to roam the park, Francis and I borrowed one of the earl’s litters and hitched up Francis’s beloved horse to take us home.
It had been months since we had seen the children. Thomas now toddled around beneath our feet and Anne had begun to learn her letters. They all looked so grown up and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw just how much I had missed. I realised then how spoiled I had been for the last decade. Unlike most of the women I knew, my presence had not been demanded at Court for many years. I had been able to stay home and watch my children grow up. Now that Elizabeth was on the throne, my days with them would be few until they were old enough to come to Court. I was determined to make the most of it while I could.
Francis and I spent the balmy evenings lying in bed talking about the future while the cool breeze through the open window ruffled the tapestries and played over our bare skin slick with the day’s sweat. The leaves finally began to change and the muggy heat that had blanketed the countryside started to dissipate. We revelled in the first rain of the season, huddled together before the fire while the fat drops of water pelted the windows. The world felt so safe and warm at Greys that I found myself dreaming up excuses to stall the return to London.
In mid-October our new baby girl arrived. It was a short and easy labour and I could see the relief in Francis’s eyes once it was over. He insisted that we name her Katherine.
“After all of the children you have borne me, you deserve to have a namesake. Besides, she may be the last child we have,” he said, putting an end to my resistance.
“Are you calling me old?” I exclaimed. The startled look on his face caused me to dissolve into laughter. “I guess you are right, I am in my thirty-fifth year. I am sure that my baby childbearing days are coming to an end.”
So I gave in. I was honoured that he felt that way, but I did feel a little silly naming my child after me, so I let him believe that Katherine was named for me, but in reality, when I looked at her honey-coloured eyes and the natural blush of her rosy cheeks, I thought of my cousin Katherine Howard. We would call her Katherine but, as I watched Francis scribble the date of her birth in the Latin dictionary he had brought with him from the Low Countries, I instructed him that her name was to be spelled with a K. I laughed when I realised later that he had spelled my own name with a K many years before when he had begun to list the names of our children. The secret would be safe with me.
Lettice and Harry both came home for Christmas and we celebrated as a family with a lovely roast, several meat pies, fig pudding and a tower of sugared subtleties. Harry and his father drank warm malmsey before the roaring the fire and caught up on the news of the court while Lettice and I did needlework in my bedchamber. Ten year-old Bess hummed a carol and practised her dance steps in the corner. It was lovely to be surrounded by my children.
Lettice stopped moving her needle for a moment and stared out of the window as if waiting for someone to appear at the end of the snow-covered lane.
“What has caught your eye, my darling daughter?”
She shook her golden red curls and furrowed her eyebrow. “I think someone is coming down our road. Are we expecting guests?”
She rose out of her seat, interest piqued, and walked to the window.
I anchored my needle in the fabric and tucked a stray hair back under my linen cap. “I will go down and let your father know.”
Lettice drew a sharp breath, “It is him! What is he doing here? Are you planning to marry me off to him?”
“Who are you talking about, Lettice?” I questioned her back.
She stomped her dainty foot and curled her hand into a fist at her side.
“Walter Devereux,” she whined. “The Viscount of Hereford.”
I set down my embroidery and carefully headed down the stairs. Bess had already run to the window to stare out next to Lettice.
“Francis ...” I called out.
He rushed over to the bottom of the staircase.
“Are we expecting a visit from the Viscount of Hereford?
Francis grinned, “Ah! He took me up on my invitation. Did you see him from the window? I should go and meet him.”
He started to turn around, but I reached out and grabbed the back of his doublet.
“What is going on? Why is Hereford here and why is our daughter so upset about it?”
Francis frowned. “Why should Lettice be upset? I would think Hereford would be an excellent match for her. He is a viscount and a baron, not to mention that he is descended from Anne Woodville, sister-in-law to Edward IV. He comes from a respectable line and I am certain Lettice will enjoy his manor at Chartley. He really is quite enamoured with our girl.”
I shook my head. “Francis, our daughter loves being the centre of attention at Court. She will be intolerable if she is trapped in the countryside.”
“Catherine, Lettice is sixteen now. The same age you were at our marriage. She is no longer a little girl. It is time she learned that she does not always get her way. Besides, once she realises that she will be able to dress in the newest fashions and take precedence after her own parents, she will thank us for making her such a good match.”
“All right, I shall speak to her. I promise she will be on her best behaviour.”
I climbed back up the stairs to find Lettice lying face down on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. Bess was rubbing her back and whispering to her.
I sent my younger daughter downstairs and sat down on the bed next to my eldest one.
“Lettice, why are you crying? This match is far beyond what you should expect. You will be a viscountess. Please tell me why you are so upset.”
Lettice sat up and, after a few sniffles, finally confided in me. Hereford had gone out of his way to be very kind and pay her special attention, but she was desperate to stay at Court. She loved her special treatment by Elizabeth and it seemed that she had grown quite popular while her father and I had been home at Greys. Another man had been paying her attention as well, a man that she fancied far more than poor Hereford.
At first she would not reveal to me who had been showing her favour, but eventually broke down and admitted that it was Robert Dudley.
“Lettice! Have you gone mad?” I shouted. “Robe
rt Dudley is a married man. He is not on the table for marriage negotiations. And even if he were, the queen would never allow it. You need to put him out of your mind immediately!”
Lettice pouted. “But his wife is very ill and they say she may not make it much longer.”
My blood boiled at her callous remark. Being among the chattering and self-important maids at Court was turning her into a person I did not recognise.
“Lettice Knollys,” I said very slowly, trying to keep my voice low. “I did not raise you to be so cold-hearted. You will put Lord Robert out of your head this instant and then you will go to your room to put on your best gown. You will come downstairs and you will entertain your future husband with a smile on your face. Then, tonight, you will get on your knees to say your prayers and you will thank the Lord that you have a father who would make you such a wonderful match and then you will pray for Sir Robert’s wife, for her health and well-being. Do you understand?”
I had never needed to speak to my daughter in such a way and I could tell by the stricken look on her face that she was as startled as I was. She swallowed hard and then nodded.
“Yes Mother, I understand,” she whispered. “I will have my maid help me change.”
She got up without further protest and left the room. I sat for a moment composing myself, and then I marched downstairs, determined to be an excellent hostess to my future son-in-law.
Francis shot me a questioning look when I entered the hall. Hereford had already joined him and Harry in front of the fireplace. All three stood as I approached.
“Lady Knollys, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Hereford said, dipping into a small bow.
I offered him my hand and he placed a light kiss on the back of it. “Welcome to our home. Lettice should be down in a few moments. Please say you will stay for supper.”
“Of course, thank you for the invitation,” he said graciously.
I looked him over carefully. I found him far more handsome than Robert Dudley. His soft brown eyes were earnest, even his nose was straighter than Robert’s. He and Lettice would have fine children. I wanted to shake my daughter for her insolence, but then I remembered Richard and how desperate I was to marry him before I found out that I had been promised to Francis. Then I thought of her comment about pitiful Amy Dudley and I reminded myself that while I had loved someone I should not, never once did I wish ill upon anyone to fulfil my desires.
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 19
