by Alison Weir
“Ever heard of Joan of Arc?” she snorted, making a face.
“If only the Queen had borne a prince,” sighed Kat Tilney. “We’d be celebrating now.”
“Who needs an excuse?” Mr. Ashby asked. “Robert, fetch the wine. We can drown our sorrows.”
* * *
—
The only consolation was that the Duchess was chosen as godmother to the Princess.
There were to have been tournaments, but these had been canceled. Nevertheless, on the King’s orders, the Te Deum was sung in churches—including the chapel at Lambeth—in thanks for the Queen’s deliverance, and there was a splendid christening. When she returned to Lambeth afterward, the Duchess told her assembled staff that she personally had carried the Princess Elizabeth in her arms to the chapel of the Observant Friars at Greenwich.
“She was wrapped in a purple mantle with a long train furred with ermine, and a canopy was held over us, with the heralds preceding and my lords of Norfolk and Suffolk walking on either side. She is a goodly child, very serene for one so young, with red hair, like his Majesty, and a good pair of lungs on her when she pleases. She certainly bawled lustily when the Archbishop baptized her at the font. I saw the King afterward; he hides his disappointment well. He was saying it would be a son next time. One can only admire his stoicism. He’s been waiting for a son since he married the Lady Katherine in 1509. We must all hope that Queen Anne will be with child again soon.”
1536
The Duchess’s attempts to secure Katheryn a place as maid-of-honor to the Queen or the Princess had all ended in failure. Katheryn was sure it was because of the King’s exasperation with her father. Lord Edmund’s letters were full of complaints. He had not received a New Year’s gift from the King this year; his Grace had sent inspectors to Calais to make sure that goods were not being smuggled out, which was really Father’s job. Clearly, Father had been remiss. He was always involved in one petty lawsuit or another and was still deeply in debt.
When her brothers came to see her, they told her that Father had again sought Master Cromwell’s help in retrieving his credit with the King.
“He seems to think that Master Secretary will solve all his problems at a stroke,” Charles said. The others laughed mirthlessly. Katheryn wondered how her stepmother was faring, and what Isabel would make of all this. She sighed. It seemed that Father would never become solvent and that he courted trouble after trouble.
But then something happened that made all this look trivial.
* * *
—
Early one evening in May, the young ladies and gentlemen were enjoying a cold repast at a table they had set up in the shade of a tree in the gardens. They were quite private here, well away from the Duchess’s windows and prying eyes and ears—not that there were many people taking the air, Katheryn noticed. There was fowl and salad, and Robert Damport—he was Robert to her now—was filling her goblet with wine when they heard a distant boom from downriver.
“What was that?” Kat Tilney wondered.
“It sounded like cannonfire,” Edward Waldegrave said.
“Are we being invaded?” asked Meg Morton, in mock alarm.
“No,” replied William Ashby, a young man who liked to hide his serious side behind a clownish exterior. “It was some kind of explosion.”
“I think it’s coming from the Tower,” Edward opined. He was knowledgeable about military matters. “They always fire the cannons there when something momentous takes place, like a royal visit.”
They continued their meal, chattering away happily, and some young men snatched kisses from their willing paramours. Katheryn watched them wistfully, strangely moved. She was happy enough, but restless. She had kept her resolve not to entertain gentlemen in the dorter at night, but her awareness of what was going on around her in the dark, and her occasional glimpses of sexual activity, always aroused her, and she was beginning to feel left out. She was fifteen, and still the Duchess had not arranged a marriage for her—or anyone else, for that matter. Her tutor had given up trying to instruct French, and told her he could make no further progress in teaching her letters—which was rather unfair, since she could read and write after a fashion, and much effort—but she was still having dancing lessons and working hard on her deportment. She had gained poise, she knew, and loveliness.
It was spring, the world looked beautiful, and her blood sang in her veins. What harm would it do to indulge in a little flirtation, a few kisses and caresses? For two years now, she had seen her fellow gentlewomen coupling with their lovers, and none of them had suffered for it; indeed, it enriched their otherwise monotonous lives. Must she always remain a bystander, an envious observer of the romancing and lovemaking going on around her?
Of course, she did not want to risk the disgrace of an illicit pregnancy, but she had become aware that not one of the young women had become pregnant, which puzzled her for some time. She had been wanting to ask someone, but hadn’t had the courage, but sitting next to the sympathetic Dorothy emboldened her. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Dorothy, how come none of the gentlewomen ever get with child?”
Dorothy flushed and glanced around the garden as if checking to see that no one else had come within earshot. “Some of us don’t go all the way. Some do, but there are ways to prevent conception. I don’t know what they are, for such practices are forbidden by the Church. You had best ask one of the others. Joan may know, although you might not get a straight answer.”
“What?” said Joan Bulmer from across the table. “Did I hear my name?”
“Mistress Katheryn wants to know how it is that none of you get pregnant.”
“Methinks her grandam wouldn’t want her to find out.” Joan was blushing. “And I’m not telling her.”
Alice intervened. “I think a woman has the right to know. Mistress Katheryn, there are several ways. It’s easiest if the man withdraws before he spends his seed, but some of them don’t want to do that, or just can’t. Taking oils of mint, rue, and savin and honeysuckle juice can work, or you can insert pepper, or wool soaked in vinegar, or certain herbs, inside your honeypot. Or men can sheath their weapons with Venus gloves of lambskin or sheep’s gut. Thus, you can enjoy your sport and not have to worry about conceiving a bastard.”
“And no one would be any the wiser,” Katheryn observed.
“Mistress Katheryn, don’t even think about it,” Margaret Bennet urged. “The Duchess would be horrified. You’re of nobler blood than the rest of us, and you daren’t risk being caught in fornication.”
“But the Duchess never comes near nor by,” Katheryn said. “And I am not planning to bed anyone. I was just curious.”
* * *
—
When they carried their plates and goblets back to the kitchens, they found them empty, which was unusual.
“They’re all in the hall,” said the porter, coming through the back door. “There’s news of the Queen.”
“Damn!” swore Edward. “We didn’t hear any summons.”
“They don’t cry them in the gardens, remember,” Joan said.
Katheryn and her companions hastened to the hall, where the Duchess was seated in her chair of estate, clad in black and looking pale as she spoke to the rest of her household.
“We must await further news,” she said. “You may go now.”
Katheryn grabbed Malyn’s sleeve. “What’s happened?”
“The Queen’s been arrested and taken to the Tower,” Malyn replied.
“Oh, no! Why?” Katheryn was appalled. It dawned on her why the cannon had been fired.
“No one knows for certain, but several gentlemen were taken as well. The Duke himself arrested the Queen.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, what will happen to her?”
“I have no idea,” Malyn said.
Katheryn pushed through the
throng to her grandam, who was rising to leave.
“My lady! What has the Queen done?”
The Duchess sat down, leaned forward, and murmured in Katheryn’s ear, “The Duke informed me that she is accused of adultery and plotting the King’s death. Tell no one.”
This was shocking news.
“What will happen to her?”
The Duchess swallowed. She looked every one of her sixty years. “It’s high treason, for adultery compromises the succession; and it’s treason now even to imagine the King’s death, let alone plot it. If she is found guilty, they will do with her what they always do to traitors. They will execute her.”
“That’s terrible.” Katheryn could not take it in. The love between the King and Queen was famous; that she should betray him was incredible. “She cannot be guilty!”
“The Duke thinks she is, but he would. He is the King’s man and will always put his duty to his Grace before his family—and there is no love lost between him and the Queen since they quarreled. In truth, I do not know if she is guilty. If she is, she has been unbelievably stupid.”
“Can you do anything to help her?”
“Mercy, child, I am just a poor widow; my word carries no weight at court. Now go. I have a powerful headache and must lie down.”
* * *
—
In the three weeks that followed, fresh news reached Lambeth intermittently. Five men accused of adultery with the Queen had been tried in Westminster Hall and condemned to death. It was Charles who came to tell Katheryn that Queen Anne herself had been put on trial in the Tower and sentenced to die.
“Her marriage to the King has been dissolved,” he revealed, looking as crestfallen as she felt. She could imagine how grim the atmosphere would be in the Duke’s household.
That day, some of the young men of the household went to Tower Hill and witnessed the beheading of the Queen’s lovers.
“One was her own brother,” John Bennet said, disgusted.
“They all made a good end,” Edward Waldegrave murmured, crossing himself. “It was a hard thing to watch.” He looked sick.
Katheryn could not imagine what it was like to have your head cut off. She couldn’t even begin to think about it, her horror was so great. Yet, in a day or so, her own cousin, no less a personage than the Queen of England, was to suffer such a death. She could not get the thought out of her mind and spent an hour in the chapel that evening, praying that God would move the King to relent or, if that wasn’t possible, that Anne be given the courage and fortitude to face her end.
* * *
—
Just after nine o’clock, two mornings later, Katheryn was in the dorter, mending a hole in a shift, with just Izzie, one of the chamberers, for company, when the cannon sounded again. She froze when she heard it. She and Izzie looked at each other.
“The Queen…” Katheryn whispered.
The shift fell to the floor as she began weeping, grieved, not only for the suffering of Queen Anne, but also because the Howards had lost their standing at court and in the world, tainted by the crimes of one of their own. For so long, Katheryn had rejoiced with her kinsfolk in having a Howard queen on the throne; now, there was only shame and horror in it.
The Duchess gave the order that no one was to wear mourning. Anne Boleyn’s name was never to be spoken again. Her portrait was taken down and burned in a backyard. It was to be as if she had never existed.
* * *
—
Early in June, the Duchess summoned her household again.
“The King has taken a new wife,” she announced. There were gasps of disbelief.
“And his last one in her grave not three weeks,” Dorothy muttered.
“Mistress Jane Seymour was proclaimed queen on Whitsunday at Greenwich,” the Duchess told them.
Jane who? Katheryn wondered. She had never heard the name Seymour.
“She served the late Queen, I believe,” a chestnut-haired man standing to her left said. She had not noticed him before. “Make of that what you will,” he muttered.
She looked up at him. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. His eyes were a true green, which struck her as very unusual—and attractive. She noticed that he had full lips, too.
“I take your drift,” she said, and looked away, aware of those green eyes on her.
When the Duchess dismissed the household, Katheryn wandered into the gardens, unable to believe that the King had remarried so soon and wondering what the new Queen was like. Would she speak up for the Howards? Or would she regard them as enemies? Was it possible that she had had a hand in the late Queen’s fall?
Those intense green eyes kept intruding on her thoughts. She had no idea who the man was, but he had stirred her fancy and unsettled her. Thoughts of him distracted her all day, until the time came for the dorter door to be unlocked and the young gentlemen admitted.
Edward Waldegrave had heard of Jane Seymour. When the girls began furiously speculating, he said he’d heard a ballad about her being sung in a tavern some weeks past. “It wasn’t very complimentary,” he said.
“I have a friend at court who told me she is staunch in the old faith and a friend to the Lady Mary,” said William Ashby. “He also said she’s as plain as a pikestaff and has skin so pale that it looks white.”
“How chivalrous of him!” Margaret Bennet observed.
“No doubt there’ll be much competition for places in her household,” Dorothy remarked.
“Well, I’m a Howard. I won’t stand a chance.” Katheryn made a face. “I’ll probably be here forever and ever, with no preferment at court and no husband.”
“I’ll marry you,” Robert cried, and flung himself dramatically down on one knee.
“Stop it, fool,” Alice reproved him. “You haven’t a penny to your name. The Howards wouldn’t even consider you.”
“Well, I would,” Katheryn said, winking at Robert, “if my grandam would let me. Now, can you pass me another comfit?”
* * *
—
The next day, the Duchess summoned Katheryn to her private parlor. Waiting with her there was the green-eyed man and another, older gentleman with gray hair.
“Katheryn, this is Mr. Manox”—the green-eyed man bowed—“and this is Mr. Barnes,” the Duchess said. Barnes smiled guardedly. “I have appointed them to teach you music and singing, accomplishments that will increase your chances of securing a position at court in the future.”
Katheryn was thrilled to hear that the man about whom she had been fantasizing was to be her tutor. She had never owned a musical instrument, although she had sometimes tried to play those owned by the other gentlewomen, and she did love to sing. She would enjoy being taught music by Mr. Manox. She wasn’t so sure about the reserved Mr. Barnes.
The first lesson took place the following afternoon. Mr. Manox had set a virginal on the table in the little parlor, by the open window, and Katheryn spent an hour familiarizing herself with the keys, while glancing at him furtively and thinking how handsome he was. After the lesson ended and he went away, Mr. Barnes arrived and began teaching her how to breathe so that her singing voice came from deep within her.
“You have done well,” he said, in his reticent way. Then he nodded and bade her good day.
Katheryn found herself enjoying her lessons. Mr. Barnes soon had her singing like a nightingale, or so he complimented her. He was really a nice, kind man, although she suspected he was flattering her on account of her rank. Yet she did think she sounded pleasing.
She quickly mastered the keys and learned to play simple tunes on the virginal, as Mr. Manox beamed his approval. Catching his passion for music, she sensed something wild in him that answered to the restlessness in her, although he never overstepped the bounds of propriety. He was always courteous and professional.
“My family lives in Streatham, two or three miles away,” he said. “The Tilneys have connections there, which is how I came to the Duchess’s attention. I consider myself very fortunate to have done so.” He smiled, and it was as if the room was infused with brilliance. Katheryn was entranced. She had thought him attractive, yet now she realized he was devastatingly handsome.
No! she admonished herself. He was not for her. He was a music master and far below her in rank. She was grateful for the arrival of Mr. Barnes, which saved her from having to reply to his compliment; she hoped Mr. Manox had not noticed her staring at him in adoration. Thereafter, she avoided all occasion for conversation with him and tried to focus on her music. Only at night, when she heard the muffled sounds of the couples nearby, did she think about him, and always she told herself that she would not stoop so far.
* * *
—
In July, when people were still gossiping about Queen Anne and Queen Jane, the household reverberated with talk of another scandal involving the Howards. Lord Thomas, one of the Duchess’s younger sons, had been arrested with the King’s own niece, the Lady Margaret Douglas, and both were in the Tower.
The Duchess was in grief. She had taken her barge to court to press the Duke of Norfolk to use his influence to save her son, and the gossips were having a field day.
“They precontracted themselves without the King’s consent,” Charles said, as he, Henry, and George sat with Katheryn and the other young ladies sunning themselves by the river.
“Isn’t that treason?” Kat Tilney asked.
“Probably,” Meg replied, crunching an apple. “It’s said that Lord Thomas had designs on the throne, seeing that the King’s daughters are both bastards now. The Lady Margaret is the daughter of his Grace’s sister and could inherit the crown.”
