‘She will consider it an honour. Eliza is happier now, and I am fond of our nephew, Christopher. In fact, Lizzy, I was thinking that we could take him into our household.’
I reached over and took his hand. ‘On this, at least we are agreed. Christopher is a loving child. Very well, Eliza will stand as godmother, and Christopher will join our household when he is of suitable age. Anything else I do not know?’
He looked down on our joined hands, and I thought for a moment that I noticed anxiety in this gesture.
My mother placed Grace back in my arms and we were distracted. ‘Come, Annie, sweeting,’ she said. ‘I promised you we would bake gingerbread this afternoon.’
‘But I want to stay with Grace,’ our three-year-old declared, her face stubborn.
‘You can come back later, sweeting,’ I said. ‘Papa would love some of your gingerbread for supper.’
She looked at Thomas who stood up, grabbed her, lifted her so high I caught my breath, and swinging her around, said, ‘I would indeed like to eat a cake baked by my own daughter.’ He placed her down gently on the rushes.
Annie placed her thumb in her mouth, looked seriously at the baby, removed it again and said, ‘Would Grace like some too?’
Mother smiled. ‘No, I think not, but your mama might, and your new poppet might like to watch you bake.’
She nodded, happy to trip off with her grandmother to the kitchen. I looked from my departing daughter to the midwives who were sewing by the window and smiled to myself. We were a company of women. Thomas was outnumbered. He sat with me for a little longer and told me about home. How I longed for my own home. As I drifted into sleep, I heard him say, ‘You should return home, Lizzy, as soon as you are churched. Your mother can manage now. I need you, and I have missed you.’
My churching followed a month after the christening when I was considered well enough to leave my chamber. We usually enjoyed it and looked forward to the female gathering that followed in the warmth of the parlour; a time for feminine gossip.
My sister slipped the creamy silk veil over my head, wrapping it around me so that my head and shoulders were totally concealed beneath the covering. I wore a white woollen kirtle and carried a purse filled with coin for the priest. I was accompanied by my female companions to the Church where the senior midwife handed me my candle as I entered. Mother lifted Grace from my arms and we stood in a joyful group before the priest, close to the font, all except for Annie who clung to my mother’s skirts, not fully understanding what was happening.
Father Paul sprinkled me with holy water. Cat, Joan, Mother and Eliza waited with Grace and Annie as I followed the priest forward into the nave. He recited psalms and reminded me of how fortunate I was to have a safe deliverance from the perils of childbirth. I thought him kinder than the sharp priest who served at St Gabriel, who had frightened me witless with stern warnings about the sins of women when I was churched after Annie’s birth. With my head bowed over my candle, I said the usual prayers of thanksgiving and presented Father Paul with a velvet purse containing silver pennies. It was over and as we came out into the March sunshine, I felt uplifted, at least, until we returned to the manor house.
***
On our return, we dined on wine and sweet cakes, little pastries and jelly-covered fruits. As we nibbled the fruits and sipped wine, Eliza, who was rarely tactful, remarked that she hoped that Thomas and I had made up our quarrel and that he would permit me to return home to him.
Cat frowned.
Joan, glaring, said, ‘What a lie that is, Eliza. Curb your tongue.’
Mother snapped, ‘Really, Elizabeth Wellifield, I do not know where you picked up such a lie. Thomas brought Lizzy here because an old suitor was making himself troublesome and that is now dealt with.’ She took my hand. ‘Lizzy remained with me because her father was ill and, of late, has been recovering from her childbed. Thomas is often away on the Cardinal’s business. I have been glad of her company.’ Mother turned her eyes on me. ‘Lizzy, I do think though that now you are churched, I must not be selfish and the moment Thomas comes back from Lancashire, you must return home. You need to manage your own house again.’
‘Thank you, Mother.’
If I had thought Eliza changed, I was wrong. Turning to her, I said firmly, ‘There is no quarrel between my husband and myself.’
Eliza had the grace to glance down at her worn shoes and I almost felt sorry for her. Wellifield was a gambling man and not the best of husbands, and this was, I reasoned, why she wished others ill.
‘I must go and find Christopher,’ she said quickly. ‘It is time we were going.’ She kissed Grace who was lying in her cradle, swaddled and sleeping peacefully. She came over to me and bowed her head. ‘I am sorry. Forgive me. My words were uncalled for, Lizzy. Grace is so beautiful, as is Annie. Thank you for allowing me to be a godparent. I humbly beg pardon.’ Her eyes filled with moisture.
I nodded. ‘You are forgiven, Eliza.’ I kissed her, but was not sorry to see her hurry off to find Christopher, her maid and the servant who would drive her cart home.
Cat patted my hand after she had gone. ‘Never mind. Eliza never thinks before she speaks.’
‘I have forgotten it already,’ I said brightly, and we fell to gossiping about ordinary things, including a recipe for a cake and our needlework projects. But I could not forget it and I felt angry and hurt. Eliza’s cruel words had strung me.
Thomas fetched me during the first week of soft April sunshine.
‘Meg has dusted winter away and cleaned every chamber. We are all pleased that you are returning home. Everyone has missed you.’ He patted my hand. ‘I have missed you, even though I have been often with you here.’
‘Not enough, and I need my old life, our life,’ I replied. ‘Mother can manage now.’ I did not speak of his sister’s cruel words to me on my churching afternoon. I tried to put them behind me, but often I wished that I had not agreed that Eliza be Grace’s godparent.
My heart sang because my husband smiled down on me without pain in his eyes. Whatever demon he had carried about with him that winter, he had laid it to rest. I would not pry. I would not allow suspicion or anger to blight our happiness. I determined not to complain of the Cardinal or question his actions and hoped that I could keep my resolve, for I still disliked the Prelate.
As we passed through Chelsea, Thomas pointed to the chimneys of a grand house that stretched up from a house by the river. ‘That is Thomas More’s house. I dined there last week.’
I felt a tinge of jealousy since I had not been included. It was irrational since I never would be asked to dine with Thomas More. More was a devout Catholic who disliked evangelicals and loathed heretics. Tom admired his intellect and the fact that More was a member of the King’s Privy Chamber in equal measure. If he still harboured the slightest evangelical sympathies, he kept them close and was inscrutable. ‘Thomas, did you ask him how Queen Catherine is?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘I do not think he would speak of the Queen to me, Lizzy.’
I did wonder about our queen. The King’s affairs had been discussed at my churching party. King Henry had a mistress called Bessie Blount, one of the Queen’s own ladies, and she was with child. I thought that if my husband took a mistress, I would find forgiveness difficult.
‘If only Queen Catherine could have another child,’ I said holding Grace close to my breast.
‘He wants a son,’ Thomas said. ‘Nothing will do for him but a son and yet he has only little Princess Mary, who might never be accepted as a queen.’
‘It must be a great trial to be married to a king and feel such responsibility,’ I said as I looked down on my beautiful girls. Grace was asleep in my arms and Annie was leaning against me, fast asleep.
Part Three
Austin Friars
Now we have loved and love will we
This fresh flower, full of beauty
Most worthy it is, as thinketh me
Then may be proved
here anon
That we, three, be agreed in on.
Roses, A Song for Three Voices
Chapter Thirty-four
Austin Friars, Midsummer 1526, The Bedchamber Again
WHEN THOMAS FIRST SAT in Parliament four years ago, he rose to be called Thomas Cromwell, Gentleman. I am called Elizabeth Cromwell, Gentlewoman. Despite the strict laws passed by Parliament, I may wear expensive fabrics. The embroidered sleeves I shall wear today drape from the elbows in a graceful bell-like fall, and are trimmed with red squirrel fur. I, who once sold sleeve decorations to noblewomen, can wear a little fur, damask, silk and even velvet without complaint.
‘Bessie, hurry up, my dear, and lace me into my gown,’ I call down the staircase.
I catch the sound of her feet tapping on the tiles below, and her voice speaking to the maids setting the table for dinner. I linger over my jewellery casket, trying to decide on jewels for today. I look hard at an opal in a filigreed setting that hangs on a silvered chain. Lifting the dangling chain, I hold the jewel up to the sunlight that glints through the casement. Almost opaque, it catches the chamber’s reflections as I move it around, threading it through my fingers, bringing it closer to the window; rose, gold and silver gleams.
I hesitate. My hurt whispers to me and catches at my heart when I least expect it. This beautiful jewel is associated with a sorrowful time. Forgiveness has been difficult, but I have, at last, granted it. It was after Grace had been born and I had returned to Fenchurch Street that I became suspicious of Thomas. He made many journeys to the North, to Lancashire and to Cheshire. He said he had cloth business there or that he was working for Cardinal Wolsey but he was always brooding on his return; for a time he seemed unloving, then he was as loving as ever he was. Our lives resumed as happy as they had ever been. I was pregnant again and Gregory was born. I felt our family to be complete and I promised myself that I would not permit suspicion to eat into our marriage.
Waiting for Bessie to mount the staircase, still holding the silky smooth jewel in my hand, I listen to whinnies rising from the courtyard and in through the chamber’s casement. Between the neighs, I catch the sound of Thomas’ voice as he talks to his jennet, Mercury. It is as well this sturdy little horse is walked about the yard for otherwise he would remain restless in the stables all day long. I listen to the fall of hooves and hear an answering whickering from my palfrey. The sparrow hawks we keep in the stable send up their calls. I am laughing now as a cacophony of sound invades our chamber. As if in protest, hunting dogs begin to bark. The animal life of Austin Friars longs to be in the fields beyond the City. I throw away sad thoughts of the past and contemplate our happy future. Since we moved to this house we have been content with each other and our children. I thank God for this.
Tomorrow Thomas will leave off the Cardinal’s business for a second day and we shall join the Midsummer Chase in Chelsea with Thomas More and Master Roper. I am pleased that Thomas will be away from Cardinal Wolsey’s company and I consider that I am privileged because I have received a coveted invitation to visit Mistress More, a woman of whom I have heard nothing but good, and I am as excited about this visit as I am about Thomas’ mysterious surprise.
With a tap on my chamber door, Bessie arrives, apologising for her tardiness. Master Jon has arrived to dine with us. He is in the study with Gregory. She tells me that the maids have spread the cloth and already they have placed our silver knives and spoons on the table.
I drop the pendant back into the casket. ‘Find my pearls, Bess,’ I say to her.
‘Yes, Mistress, the pearls.’ She finds my long string of black pearls and lays them on a side table for me.
Bessie laces me into my yellow gown. The creamy underskirt swishes as I move. It is as pleasing a garment now as it was when I wore it to the Drapers’ feast years before. It recovered well from the storm; mud cleaned away and skirts brushed. It is enhanced by new sleeves. I make a small turn, allowing my skirts to flare out and my gold silk petticoat reflects early afternoon sunlight as I lift my overskirt and make a few happy dancing steps.
‘Mistress Elizabeth, you are so beautiful today. Master Thomas will be very proud of you. Indeed he will.’
‘I hope so, Bess,’ I say. ‘Now, go and see if the girls are ready for dinner. Send a boy for Master Cromwell. The stable lads can finish the exercising the horses.’
She bobs a curtsey and vanishes out through the door, forgetting the pearls. She has only one thought today and that is her Betrothed.
I set them about my neck and place a French hood with velvet streamers on my head and I am ready to go to the study to fetch Gregory and Master Woodall.
Chapter Thirty-five
Fenchurch Street, 1523
GREGORY, OUR SON, WAS born early in 1520. By then, Tom’s clients included goldsmiths, grocers, tailors, drapers, and not only in England. He had new clients abroad and contacts in Paris, Augsburg and Florence. Thomas represented members of the King’s court, such as Lord Grey. Lord Grey was a relative of King Henry. This was a great honour and his legal work for his lordship introduced Thomas to the aristocracy. This brought increased business. As our wealth grew, we agreed to sell our cloth business to Gerard Smith.
Meg and Gerard had a son whom they had called Matthew. Matthew was a tow-headed child with darting brown eyes, and was born in the same year as Henry Fitzroy, the king’s son by Bessie Blount. Following All Hallows, after Gregory’s birth, they moved from Fenchurch Street to the premises on Cornhill. We added a spacious hall to the property and a comfortable kitchen with a great fireplace. In return, they paid us a substantial, though fair, rent.
Thomas entertained clients and took on new secretaries. Our household grew prosperous and fat with servants, children and visitors. Soon we would have to move to a larger house.
During the summer of 1523, Thomas sat in Parliament, as a member of the Commons. This was a huge honour for him, as this position was manipulated by the Duke of Norfolk. Thomas was drawing closer and closer to life at Court and, as ever, I feared for him, for the Court was dangerous.
There had not been a Parliament in some eight years. This time, Thomas said that the King sought money for a war with France. King Henry, ever the imaginary knight in pursuit of a chivalrous cause, still planned to claim France as was his ancient right. Thomas considered this was a poor policy, even though the strategy had been originally been advanced by Thomas Wolsey who wanted to please the king, his master.
I wondered though, if, having planted the idea of a warrior king in King Henry’s imaginative and suggestible head, Thomas Wolsey had changed his mind. I suspected that the Cardinal, whom I have always considered wily, was using Thomas, who could be very persuasive and was a brilliant speaker, to curtail the King’s notion to have another war with France.
Thomas rarely returned home on those days of Parliament before the Angelus bells sounded. Week after week passed without us exchanging our usual daily news. By the time he came to our chamber late at night, I was sound asleep. Then, on the evening preceding May Day, he returned from Parliament in time for supper. The May holiday had begun and I was glad of it. Parliament was in recess. The King and his courtiers would be celebrating at Greenwich, the Cardinal would be with the King and Thomas would be ours again. I hoped in vain.
‘The weather has turned,’ Thomas said, throwing his cloak to a maid who caught it laughing. ‘Not a spot of rain today. It promises to be a glorious May holiday.’
I bade him sit down to supper which had been laid out in the parlour for one person- me. I sent the maids to fetch more food, bread and cheese and an eel pie, always one of Thomas’ favourite dishes.
‘I must see the children first,’ he said, as a servant set out a second place with cup, plate, knife, spoon and napkin.
He hurried off to say good night to the children and on his return, we enjoyed our first supper together since Parliament had opened in March. I talked of the household’s daily life and he described how Norfolk looked that
day, hooded eyes and arrogant bearing, making me laugh as he was a good mimic and he afterwards spoke kindly of the witty Thomas More who as always was masterful as Speaker.
I laid down my spoon and knife and lifted my cup of Burgundy wine. I drank a few little mouthfuls, and in keeping with the mood that had settled on our evening, tried to look my most alluring as I said, ‘We may as well retire early, my dearest, because I suppose we won’t see you for days again.’
With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned over the table and answered, ‘In that case, Lizzy, let the maids come in to clear away now. I shall tell you the rest of my news in our chamber.’
Thomas took me by the hands as if we were young lovers and, with an impatient rustle of dark gown, and with the glint in his eye that I adored, he drew me to the stairway.
He poured us each a cup of malmsey wine. Nursing his cup in his hands, leaning against the bolster, one shapely leg thrown over mine, he turned to me and said, ‘Good news, my love, because I am to accompany Wolsey to Greenwich tomorrow, to court.’
I protested, ‘I thought we would go a-Maying with our children.’
‘Not this year, my love. I cannot, sweeting. I am to help the Cardinal with the pageants.’ He sipped his wine and looked at me with determined coolness. ‘We are not stopping here, Lizzy. One day I shall labour for the King, himself. One day you will be a lady and I, a lord.’
I shook my head at his words. ‘Thomas, I won’t see you for days and I don’t want to be a lady. I am happy to remain Elizabeth Cromwell, gentlewoman.’
He laughed at that, drew me closer and kissed my head. ‘Your hair, still so beautiful, Elizabeth, like a silvered waterfall.’
‘You are distracting me with compliments and trying to appease me, Thomas.’
‘You will make a very beautiful lady one day.’
The Woman in the Shadows: Tudor England through the eyes of an influential woman Page 27
