Katheryn Howard, the Scandalous Queen

by Alison Weir

  They dropped off the boys at Norfolk House first, and waited until they had walked through the archway at the entrance and disappeared into the courtyard beyond. Then they walked along by the diapered brick wall to a gateway near the river. A porter admitted them and led them through a timber-framed arch that opened onto a paved courtyard. They followed him to a door at the far side and found themselves standing in a vast hall where liveried servants, officers, and ladies were all hurrying hither and thither. An usher stepped forward and invited them to accompany him upstairs to the great chamber.

  The Dowager Duchess must have been apprised of their coming, for she was regally seated on a richly upholstered chair beneath a canopy of estate bearing the Howard arms. Edmund and Margaret made obeisances to her and Katheryn dropped a careful curtsey.

  “Welcome, Lord and Lady Edmund,” the Dowager said in a dry, reedy voice.

  “Greetings, Madam,” Edmund replied. “I trust you are in health. We have brought Mistress Katheryn to you.”

  “Let me look at her.”

  Margaret gave Katheryn a little push, and she stepped forward. When she dared raise her eyes, she saw that the Dowager was much older than she remembered, but refined in her appearance and dress. Her face was thin and hawk-like, her eyes sharp, her manner serene and assured. She was dressed in black silk, but glittered with jewels.

  “Well, child, what have you to say for yourself?”

  Katheryn knew her manners, and Margaret had told her what to say. “Greetings, my lady. You do me much honor in welcoming me to your household. I am very grateful.”

  The Dowager smiled. “Prettily said, child. I hope you will be happy here. Now, Mother Emmet will take you to your chamber. She is mistress of the maids here.” A plump, dark-haired woman who reminded Katheryn of a docile cow stepped forward and took her hand.

  “Say goodbye to your parents,” the Dowager commanded.

  “Farewell, daughter,” Father said, and kissed her heartily. “Be a good girl and do as you are bid. God willing, we will see each other again before long.”

  “Take care of yourself, child. You will be well looked after here.” Margaret smiled as she kissed her.

  Katheryn was too overcome to say much. “Goodbye,” she said in a small voice. Then Mother Emmet was leading her away, away from everything she knew, and taking her through a door in a corner and up lots of stairs to a gallery hung with many pictures. At the far end, she opened a door and Katheryn stepped into the loveliest room she had ever seen. It was better than the cozy chamber she had slept in at Oxon Hoath, better even than Father’s grand bedchamber. There was a carved oak tester bed set against a wall hung with a tapestry covered in flowers. There were white walls, crimson velvet curtains at the latticed window, through which Katheryn could see the gardens below, a dainty table and stool, and a blue chest, cunningly gilded, for clothes. Her own chest was standing beside it.

  “You like it, I can tell,” smiled Mother Emmet, and proceeded to inspect Katheryn’s few items of clothing, pausing to admire the green gown. “You should wear this when the Duke comes,” she said, laying the cloth doll on the pillow. “Haven’t you got any other possessions, child?”

  “Only these.” Katheryn showed her the little bag she had brought with her and took out her skittles and her sewing pouch, which she had made from old scraps of velvet.

  “Mercy me!” exclaimed Mother Emmet. “I’d heard your father was poor, and now I believe it. Well, I dare say we’ll find some toys in the attic for you. The other young ladies here are all quite a bit older than you.”

  “Other young ladies?” Katheryn echoed. She had seen herself living all alone here with the Dowager.

  “Yes, quite a lot of them. My lady keeps a grand household and supports many relatives and dependents. Married ladies of rank have their own rooms. Chamberers sleep with the unmarried gentlewomen in the dorter next door. The young ladies attend the Duchess as waiting women and look to her to find them good husbands, as she will do for you one day. You are fortunate in having been so well placed.”

  For all the kind welcome and the beautiful bedchamber, it still did not feel like it. Yet Katheryn had heard laughter as she passed along the gallery, which gave her hope that her older companions might be a merry bunch who would be kind to her and help her to get to know this bewildering new world.

  * * *

  —

  That evening, at six o’clock, Mother Emmet washed Katheryn’s face and hands, combed her hair, brushed her dress, and took her down to the great hall for supper. There, overwhelmed by the sheer number of chattering people seated at the long trestles, she looked in vain for the Duchess at the high table.

  “Her Grace dines in her parlor,” Mother Emmet explained. “Her chamberlain and chief household officers preside at the board. I have arranged for two of the married ladies to take care of you.” She led the way to a seat on one of the side tables, which was occupied by a lively group of women and girls, all much older than Katheryn. “Lady Tilney and Mistress Bulmer, this is Mistress Katheryn Howard, my lady’s granddaughter by marriage,” she said. “She knows you will be looking after her.”

  The two women rose and made quick curtseys. “Of course,” one said. She seemed nice, with her sweet voice, pretty face, and brown hair. “Welcome, Mistress Katheryn.”

  “Lady Tilney is the wife of the Duchess’s nephew, Sir Philip Tilney,” Mother Emmet told Katheryn, who hurriedly curtseyed. “We have many Tilneys here!”

  “You may call me Malyn, child,” Lady Tilney said. “My husband is an usher of the King’s Privy Chamber, and I came here earlier this year to bear my son. He is out at nurse now, in Stangate.”

  “How old are you, Katheryn?” asked Mistress Bulmer, her plump companion, as Mother Emmet moved away to her own seat at the top of the table and they all sat down, making room for Katheryn. There was something Katheryn did not like about Mistress Bulmer; the woman smelled musty and had a whispery voice, so she had to strain to hear her.

  “I’m ten,” she said. “My father is Lord Edmund Howard.” The women exchanged glances, like most people did when Father was mentioned. “The King has sent him to Calais. He’s a very important man.”

  Another girl sitting by giggled. Malyn nudged her. “This is my lady’s granddaughter, so show some respect. Katheryn, would you like some rabbit pie?”

  The food was not as nice as Margaret had served at Lambeth, and definitely not up to Aunt Margaret’s standards, but it was edible, and plentiful. Katheryn could not eat much, though. She wanted nothing more than to go home. But, after tomorrow, someone else would be living there, and Father and Margaret would be on a ship bound for Calais. There was no home anymore. Suddenly, she was crying great gulping tears.

  The young ladies hastened to comfort her. Malyn cuddled her and stroked her hair, and Mother Emmet came running. “It’s been a long day for her,” she said. “Come, my lamb, let’s put you to bed. A good night’s sleep, and you’ll be right as rain.” She lifted Katheryn up and carried her past the staring company and out of the hall. Soon, Katheryn was in bed, with a candle left burning on the table. She lay there quivering, racked with the occasional sob, and at length dropped off.

  * * *

  —

  Mother Emmet was right. In the morning, she did feel a little better. She was called early, for Mass in the chapel and breakfast. Everyone was kind to her, and a group of the young ladies took her into the gardens to play tag. Most of them were older than she—she judged them to be between fifteen and their midtwenties—but they were willing to indulge a ten-year-old.

  “Mind you don’t get untidy,” Mother Emmet called after her. “The Duchess wants to see you after dinner.”

  “I wonder what Old Agnes wants with you,” a girl called Dorothy Berwick said, as they walked along the path that led down to the Thames. Katheryn was startled to hear her stately gra
ndam referred to in such a way.

  “She probably wants to find out if Mistress Katheryn is feeling better now,” Dotty Baskerville, one of the chamberers, speculated. She was a dark-haired beauty, buxom and chatty.

  “Is the Duchess nice?” Katheryn asked.

  “Old Agnes?” Kat, one of the pretty Tilney cousins, a slender girl with flawless skin, chimed in. “Some call her hard and malicious; at least, her children do. She’s always quarreling with them over one thing or another. But she’s too preoccupied with her own affairs to pay much attention to us. She leaves us to our own devices, which suits us very well. Mother Emmet’s in charge, but she’s soft; she’d let us get away with murder.”

  “Not that we’re neglected,” Dorothy said. “We have our board and keep, we get new clothes every Easter, and our duties are light. Old Agnes isn’t one to sit with her maids in a sewing circle from dawn to dusk, thank God! One day, maybe she will bestir herself to find us husbands. In the meantime, we make our own pleasures.” The girls started laughing. Katheryn wondered what they found so funny.

  Soon, she was running about with them, dashing behind hedges, hiding in arbors or shrieking at the top of her voice with the hunters. No one came to tell them off for making a noise or summoned them to some task. Katheryn was beginning to think that, if life was always going to be like this in the Duchess’s establishment, she might just learn to like it here.

  * * *

  —

  Later, she stood before the Duchess, trying not to think of her as Old Agnes, although she feared the name might be stuck forever in her mind.

  “Well, Katheryn,” the Duchess said, “I hope you are feeling better today. I was sorry to hear that you were so upset last night.”

  “Yes, I am, thank you, my lady,” Katheryn replied, not sure if it was true. She still felt abandoned and unloved, and she was wary of her daunting grandam.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” the Duchess replied, sitting straight-backed in her great chair. “We will keep you occupied and banish your sadness. From tomorrow morning, you will spend two hours taking lessons. I have engaged a tutor who will teach you your letters and some French, and a dancing master, so that you can learn the accomplishments befitting a daughter of the Howards.” Dancing! Katheryn’s spirits began to rise, although she was not too keen on learning French. “These are the things that will increase your chances of making a good marriage, which is a necessity, seeing you have no dowry,” the Dowager was saying. “But, with your pretty face and noble blood and connections, that can be overcome.” That was encouraging, and praise indeed from the formidable old woman. “Anyway, we won’t have to worry about it for some years yet. Now, child, make sure you are in the chapel closet tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

  * * *

  —

  Katheryn made her way there the following morning in some trepidation, frightened that the lessons would be too hard for her to master. She was dismayed to discover that Master Chamber, the tutor, was a young clerk with a distant manner and no empathy with a child, especially a female one. Under his vigilant eye, she labored monotonously, yet made little progress. She knew some of the alphabet, but the letters, when put together, made very little sense.

  “C-A-T,” Master Chamber repeated for the umpteenth time. “Write cat!”

  “T-A-C,” Katheryn wrote. It looked untidy, even to her.

  The tutor sighed irritably. “We’ll leave it for today and have more practice tomorrow.”

  She did much better with her dancing master. He told her she had a natural grace, and she had no difficulty learning the steps of the pavane, the basse dance and the passemezzo. She loved these lessons, loved the music of lute and shawm that the Duchess’s consort of musicians played for her, and the evident admiration of those who came to watch.

  When she was not at her lessons or joining in the rough-and-tumble in the gardens, though, she felt miserable. Malyn Tilney remained friendly, and Joan Bulmer was amiable enough, although there was some mystery about her, for Katheryn had heard one of the other girls saying that she had left her husband to serve the Duchess, and no one knew why. But, although the young ladies played with Katheryn sometimes, and asked how she was getting on, they had their own concerns and interests, which were not those of a child. Most of the gentlewomen took little notice of her. She often heard much merriment from behind the door of their chamber, but was never invited in to share the fun.

  She was lonely, an outsider. Mother Emmet was kind, but she was busy with her many duties, which seemed to consist of acting as maid to all the young ladies, who treated her as if she was purely there to be always at their beck and call. She did not neglect Katheryn—she saw that she had clean linen, minded her manners, and was tucked up in bed at a reasonable time each evening—but she was often preoccupied.

  At mealtimes, much of the conversation at the gentlewomen’s table went over Katheryn’s head, but she did hear a lot about the Lady Anne Boleyn, who was still riding high at court and in the King’s affections. There was much comment about Queen Katherine being banished from court in the summer, and the young ladies spoke of placing wagers that the King would marry Anne soon. Only a few looked disapproving. Katheryn knew she should be pleased that her cousin was to be queen, for it would be a triumph for the Howards, but she felt sorry for poor Queen Katherine, and one day she heard things about the Lady Anne that troubled her.

  They were at dinner in the hall, eating roast beef and avidly discussing the King’s Great Matter of his marriage, when Joan Bulmer mentioned that Anne was of the new religion.

  New religion? Katheryn had no idea what that meant. She had been brought up to say her prayers, go to Mass, know her catechism, confess her sins, revere the Pope in Rome, and, above all, love God.

  “What’s the new religion?” she asked.

  “It means she is a follower of Martin Luther,” Joan Bulmer said disapprovingly, which enlightened Katheryn not at all, for she had never heard of Martin Luther. “They reject most of the sacraments of the Church and place great reliance on preaching.”

  Malyn came to Katheryn’s rescue. “The sacraments are baptism, confirmation, Mass, penance, anointing the sick, Holy Orders, and marriage. Martin Luther rejects all but baptism and the Mass. He has also spoken out against wrongdoing within the Church and, though he be a monk, he has taken a nun to wife. That’s why the Church is very angry with him.”

  “He sounds quite wicked!” Katheryn cried, shocked. She turned to Joan. “Does the Lady Anne reject the sacraments?”

  “We don’t really know,” Malyn said quickly, spearing more meat on her knife. “It’s said that she is hot for reform of the Church.”

  Katheryn was puzzled. The churches she knew and the priests she had met were perfectly all right and had no need of reform. “Why?” she asked.

  “You are a one for questions,” observed Joan.

  Malyn was patient with her. “There are some bad priests who sell forgiveness for money, and many clergy are very rich, even though Our Lord was but a humble carpenter. Some think they should follow His example.” That sounded very fitting, and Katheryn nodded, feeling reassured about her cousin Anne.

  “I hope the Lady Anne becomes queen,” she said, and several pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction, not all of them friendly. She felt wrong-footed, when she hadn’t meant to offend anyone. Yet she was entitled to her opinion! Anne was her cousin, after all. She’d bet no one else here was so closely related to her.

  She was ignored for the rest of the meal and, as often happened, began to feel so unhappy and bereft that she ended up weeping. Already she had the reputation of being a crybaby.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Mistress Katheryn, cheer up!” Dorothy reproved her. “All of us have left our families to come here, but you won’t see us sobbing and moping. We know it’s for our own good.”

  “Some of us weren’t as young
as Katheryn when we arrived,” Margaret Bennet, one of the Duchess’s married gentlewomen, reminded her. Her husband was my lady’s groom of the chamber and they were happy together. Margaret was so fair that she had no eyebrows, but she had a quiet, unassuming, kindly manner. “You ladies ought to remember that the child is missing her father and mother. Katheryn, the homesickness will pass, I promise you.”

  The way Katheryn felt just then, this was hard to believe. She was glad when Malyn and another young lady, Meg Morton, offered to teach her chess.

  1533

  In February, Katheryn turned twelve. She had been at Norfolk House for almost two years now, and Margaret Bennet had been right: the homesickness had worn off. Gradually, she had become accustomed to the bustle and routine of the Duchess’s household, and memories of her earlier childhood had dimmed. Father and Margaret were still in Calais, but Charles, Henry, and George sometimes came to see her. She no longer missed Isabel so much these days. Her half-sister was living in Wiltshire, immersed in the affairs of her stepchildren. She still wrote regularly and took an interest in Katheryn, yet it seemed now that she belonged to another world.

  Katheryn had come to enjoy her life here. The young ladies had grown friendlier, and she had become the special pet of her grandam’s male officers, who ran her household and could be quite frosty toward the young ladies in it, and even of the crusty old porter. She was a favorite with the Dowager’s gentlemen and grooms of the chamber, relatives and dependents who, like her, relied on the old lady for a roof over their heads and preferment. The Duchess summoned her from time to time and asked how she was faring and if she was saying her prayers and being diligent at her lessons. The answer, quite simply, was no, but she always said truthfully that she was doing well at her dancing and trying her best with her letters and her French. Then it was as if her grandam forgot about her till the next time.