by Alison Weir
Wrapped up in their passion, they sought each other out whenever they could. Soon, Katheryn’s friends guessed what was going on and ribbed her about her handsome suitor.
“I’ll wager you make good music together!” Alice Wilkes teased her.
“I can see from your face that you are in love,” said Meg.
Katheryn took it all in good part. It thrilled her to talk about Harry; his name was forever on her tongue. It was good to have her secret out in the open. It made her feel at one with the girls who made merry in the dorter. No longer had she cause to envy them. And they would not tell on her because she knew their secrets.
The young gentlewomen were pleased that she had found a suitor at last and kept urging her to bring Harry to the dorter at night to join in their frolics, but she would not. That which she shared with him was too precious to be debased by exposure to prurient eyes.
She was in love, and the world looked rosier for it. She went about in a daze, counting down the hours until she could next be with Harry. She knew his feelings for her to be strong and true, and reveled in his adoration. Never had she felt so special!
The only sour note was struck by Malyn and Mary Lascelles, who must have heard talk about her and Harry and seemed disapproving. Mary was probably jealous, but Malyn, she knew, had her interests at heart. Clearly, she had not wanted to broach the matter.
“Mr. Manox is a presentable man, but he is a servant, Katheryn, and Howards do not marry servants or dally with them,” she said. “It is best not to become involved with him. I would hate to see you get hurt or your honor compromised. It would not take much, you know.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Katheryn assured her, feeling her cheeks go hot.
Malyn looked doubtful, but said no more. Her words left Katheryn feeling disturbed. She must take more care in future. The last thing she wanted was the Duchess finding out. It could be the end of it for her and Harry, the end of everything that made life wonderful—and that she could not bear.
The trysts in the little parlor and the chapel closet continued. There were stolen kisses and daring caresses, and such sweet rapture that Katheryn wanted to hold back the clocks and enjoy this time forever. All through the summer, she went about on wings, glowing with love.
* * *
—
On a mild August day, Katheryn found a stone bench in the garden and sat down to read a letter from Father. It was unusually cheerful, for, he wrote, he had been elected mayor of Calais. She was so pleased for him. After six years, he and Margaret had clearly entrenched themselves across the Channel and at last it seemed that things were going well for them.
She smiled when she remembered how miserable she had been when they left her at Lambeth. It seemed a long time ago now. She had made a life here, and now had a very special reason to be grateful for having been given a place in the Duchess’s household. Yet she wanted something more. The world was out there beckoning, and she longed to be a part of it. If she were honest, she wanted to marry Harry. They had never discussed it—it was as if they both knew there was no hope of it being permitted—but Katheryn liked to indulge in fantasies in which she wore gorgeous finery and stood exchanging vows with him in a church porch, or of her proudly presenting him with the sweetest baby boy. She felt that time was passing her by. She knew of a lot of girls of sixteen who were already married, and mothers.
The other thing she longed for was to go to court, for she had heard that the Queen was with child, and anyone who gave her good service at such a time would probably reap the benefits, but Father’s promotion had come too late. There would be no places left in the Queen’s household by now, even if a Howard girl was welcome, so there was no point in Katheryn wondering if the King would now look favorably on her. Besides, going to court would mean being separated from Harry.
She got up and trudged back to the house. They would be serving dinner soon. And this afternoon, she must hasten to Norfolk House to show her brothers Father’s letter.
* * *
—
On a crisp October morning, the church bells began pealing joyfully. Leaning out of the dorter window, Katheryn could hear other bells in the distance. The sky was ringing. She ran downstairs.
“Have you heard?” Malyn said, grabbing her as she entered the hall. “The Queen has borne a prince! We have an heir to England! Oh, what a happy day!”
The Duchess was standing on the dais, beaming, surrounded by her daughters, the countesses of Derby, Oxford, and Bridgewater, who all happened to be visiting, and her ladies.
“Lord William brought me the news this morning,” she said. “We must feast tonight.”
Katheryn was aware of Harry standing next to her. “Wonderful tidings!” he said. “It means we no longer have to fear a disputed succession and civil war.”
“Do you think my lady will be asked to carry the Prince at his christening, as she did the Lady Elizabeth?”
He smiled down at her. “I doubt it. The Queen’s relations will have precedence this time.”
If the Duchess felt snubbed, no one was aware of it. When news came that the Duke of Norfolk was to be a godparent, she was all smiles. This was proof indeed that the Howards were back in favor after being out in the cold following the fall of Queen Anne.
* * *
—
Two weeks after Katheryn had heard them pealing, the bells of Lambeth and London sounded again. This time, they were tolling solemnly. The Queen was dead. It was a sobering reminder of the hazards of childbirth and revived painful memories of her mother. At least she had known her mother; the precious little Prince would never know his. Her heart went out to him. Suddenly, she found the idea of marriage not so appealing after all. If they let her marry Harry now, she could be dead within a year. It was a terrifying thought.
The Duchess commanded that mourning be worn until the funeral was over. Soon, she was plunged into her own grief when, having been told, to her joy, that her son Lord Thomas was to be released from the Tower, word came that he had died there of a fever. Ramrod straight in her chair, swathed in black and looking ravaged, yet never shedding a tear, she told Katheryn that the Lady Margaret Douglas had been set at liberty and sent to Syon Abbey. “I am told that she, too, is devastated,” she added. “But God’s will be done!”
For a month, Katheryn was obliged to wear an old black dress that was rather tight under the arms.
“But you look very fetching in it,” Harry said, when she complained. She peered into her mirror that night. He was right. Simplicity suited her. The black gown was low-cut, and with no jewel and her hair loose, the effect was quite striking. So striking, in fact, that she had to keep fighting Harry off.
“We’re supposed to be mourning the Queen,” she chided him.
“I’m trying to forget my sorrow.” He grinned. “Come here, you little witch!”
There was a knock on the parlor door. Katheryn sprang out of Harry’s arms as Will Ashby came in.
“A letter came for you, Mistress Katheryn,” he said, handing it to her with a knowing look before departing.
It bore Father’s seal. As Harry watched, she read it in mounting dismay. It seemed she would never get to court. The King himself had overturned Father’s election. “He will in no wise agree that I shall be admitted to the mayoralty,” Father had written, “and I cannot continue in Calais without some other augmentation of my income.”
She handed it to Harry to read. “I feel so ashamed. What could my father have done to be so slighted? He must be liked in Calais, or he would not have been elected.”
“Maybe the King has some other candidate he prefers. Don’t let it upset you, sweetheart.” He pulled Katheryn onto his lap and began nuzzling her ear. “At least he is still in post. It is no small thing to be comptroller of Calais.”
1538
Father was coming h
ome. As Katheryn sat by the warm fire in her chamber, slowly making her way through his letter, she was delighted to hear it, yet not so thrilled to learn that the King’s Council had summoned him. “They say I do not obey the King’s orders,” he had written, “and now I am to be questioned about the state of affairs in Calais.” There was a lot more, but she was too agitated to read it. Even now, she was not good with words.
Alarmed, she went running in search of Harry and met him in the long gallery.
“Look,” she urged, pressing the letter into his hand, barely containing her impatience as he perused it. “What if Father cannot satisfy the Council? Will he be dismissed? Or could something worse happen to him?”
Harry hesitated, as if searching for the right thing to say. “Reading between the lines, it seems he wasn’t very efficient at his duties, that’s all. I very much doubt it merits a spell in the Tower.”
“But he says he is being victimized.”
Harry sighed. “Darling, it’s an excuse.”
“No, he’s an honest man,” she protested. “Consider what grief it is to him to be thus slandered.”
Harry did not reply. She felt a little let down.
Father’s next letter informed Katheryn that he had been dismissed. He had appealed, reminding Master Cromwell of his poverty and the expenses of maintaining his house in Calais, and was hoping that Cromwell would see that he sustained no loss.
Katheryn felt sorry for him. Everything he did seemed to end in disaster. She was sorry for herself, too. Why couldn’t she have a father who was rich and successful and in favor with the King? She prayed that no one at Lambeth learned of Father’s disgrace. That would be too humiliating.
* * *
—
Lord Edmund came home in April. His sister, the Countess of Wiltshire, mother of the late Queen Anne, had died, and he was in time to join the gathering of Howards and Tilneys that assembled for the funeral. Katheryn was shocked when she greeted him at Lambeth, for he looked so old and drawn. He must be sixty now, she realized, and life had not been kind to him.
When he had greeted her brothers and she knelt in turn for his blessing, he raised her and hugged her tight.
“It is good to see you, daughter. You have grown into a young lady. I hardly recognize you!”
Margaret, her stepmother, was as warm and friendly as ever, but Katheryn noticed that, as they joined their kinsfolk in the Duchess’s chamber, she kept giving Father anxious glances.
“He is not well,” she murmured. “He has trouble with kidney stones, and this latest disappointment was a heavy blow. But he is hoping that he can persuade the Council to restore him.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to convince him that he should retire, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore. He is the toast of the ladies of Calais, and some are no better than they should be.” Katheryn laid a hand on her stepmother’s. It couldn’t be easy being Father’s wife.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be all right,” Margaret said.
They curtseyed to the Duke of Norfolk, who had taken his stepmother’s chair, as of right, and sat there like a basilisk, eagle-eyed and tight-lipped. A stern martinet in his sixties, he did not look like a man to be trifled with. For a moment, those steely eyes rested on Katheryn appraisingly, then the Duke nodded and gave them what passed for a smile.
“Greetings, Lady Edmund, greetings, Katheryn.” He indicated that they should sit, and they took their places beside Father. Sitting on a bench, next to her brothers, Katheryn felt small and insignificant amidst this great gathering of her kinsfolk in their black velvet and their silks and furs.
The talk was all of poor Elizabeth, the late Countess.
“She never got over Queen Anne’s death,” the Duchess said.
“She was ill before that,” the Duke reminded her.
“Losing her children in such a terrible way must have hastened her end,” Lady William Howard added. She was a pretty woman, exquisitely dressed, but light-minded, Katheryn had heard.
“I wonder how the Earl is coping with his loss,” the Duchess was saying.
“Thomas Boleyn was ever a survivor,” the Duke said. “Remember how he was prepared to testify against his own children to save his neck? I doubt my sister had much to say to him after that.”
“I wish I had been here to comfort her,” Father said.
They walked in procession to St. Mary’s Church. In the Howard chapel, Katheryn found herself standing near her mother’s grave. She felt guilty that she had not come to pray there more often, but she still could not bear to think of Mother entombed here in the cold ground. How different her life would have been if her mother had lived.
* * *
—
Father did not linger after the interment.
“I am for St. James’s Palace,” he said, as they stood in the church porch. “I am hoping to see Master Cromwell.”
Margaret shook her head, watching him go. “He never gives up,” she said, as people began making their way back to Norfolk House. Katheryn sat with her stepmother as the funeral meats were served, wishing that Harry was here. He was at Streatham, visiting his family. They had been in love for over a year now, and still she counted down the hours until their next meeting.
“Your father is planning to speak to the Duchess about finding a husband for you,” Margaret said, as they lingered in the hall, where the tables were rapidly emptying. “He thinks she has been dilatory in the matter.”
Katheryn was appalled to hear this. She did not want to be married to anyone but Harry. Dare she confide in her stepmother? If Margaret disapproved, she might take steps to prevent Katheryn from seeing Harry again. He could lose his position! No, it was better to stay silent.
“If I don’t like the man chosen for me,” she said, “do I have to marry him?”
“We women seldom have a choice,” Margaret said, helping herself to a piece of marchpane. “But I doubt your father would consent to a marriage you found abhorrent.”
“He might be grateful to any man who would marry me,” Katheryn muttered, biting her lip. “I have no dowry, so it may be hard to find one who is willing.”
“A dowry would not be the only consideration. Many would relish an alliance with the Howards. And you are very pretty.”
Katheryn smiled at her. “Thank you. I just wish I could marry whom I please.”
Margaret gave her a searching look. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“Oh, no! I just wondered if Father would be amenable.”
“I think, if the man were suitable, he would be ready to consider it.”
Hope began to burgeon in Katheryn’s breast. “What would he consider suitable?”
“There is someone, isn’t there?” Margaret pressed her, looking concerned.
“No! I promise you,” Katheryn protested.
Her stepmother appeared unconvinced. “I suppose some young lord or gentleman of means, with a good reputation, would find favor.”
Of means. Harry would inherit only his father’s house and the modest land around it. He had no title or ancestry to speak of.
“Well, I hope the Duchess finds someone nice for me,” Katheryn said.
* * *
—
She saw little of her father in the days that followed. Lord Edmund spent his days skulking around St. James’s Palace, waiting for an opportunity to speak with Master Cromwell. It never arose. When he received a letter from his superior, Lord Lisle, the Lord Deputy of Calais, summoning him back, he was jubilant.
“They must have thought better of sacking me!” he declared, and began making hasty preparations to return. Katheryn doubted he had even thought to discuss her marriage with the Duchess and reflected that she had had a lucky escape.
“Farewell, daughter,” Father said on the day he departed. “God be with you. I hope I will see you soon.”
Margaret hugged her. “Take great care,” she said, and squeezed Katheryn’s hand.
* * *
—
A letter from Isabel came in May. They had kept in touch, even though Katheryn found writing a chore, and she enjoyed hearing Isabel’s news and reports of young Henry Baynton’s progress. But this letter brought bad tidings. Sitting by the window in her chamber, Katheryn learned that John Leigh, her half-brother, had safely braved all the hazards of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, only to be arrested for treason on his return. “He is a prisoner in the Tower,” Isabel had written. “He is suspected of having been in contact with Cardinal Pole on his way home. Pray for him.”
Near to tears, Katheryn took the letter to Malyn Tilney’s chamber and showed it to her.
“Who is Cardinal Pole?” she wanted to know.
“He is the Countess of Salisbury’s son, the King’s cousin on the Plantagenet side,” Malyn told her. “He went to Italy because he did not approve of his Majesty divorcing the Lady Katherine, and wrote a treatise castigating him for marrying Anne Boleyn. It so angered the King that Mr. Pole had to stay in Italy, where the Pope made him a cardinal. It would be a rash man indeed who entangled himself with so base a traitor, but, from what I hear, Master Leigh is not a rash man. Cheer up, Katheryn. All will be well. Have you heard that we are going to Chesworth for the summer?”
“To Chesworth?” It was the Duchess’s country house in Sussex, and Katheryn had spent two summers there when she was younger. She flung her arms around Malyn. “Oh, that is good news! I love Chesworth! It’s the most magical place!”
She felt much better. All would be well. Malyn had said so, and Malyn knew about such things. And Harry would love Chesworth, too.
* * *
—
It was good to be back in glorious Sussex, and on such a beautiful June day. The Duchess’s train had passed Horsham and Katheryn was eager to reach their destination. Only another mile to go now.
