by Alison Weir
The midnight banquets continued, despite the tensions among the participants. Food and drink would be smuggled in and Francis would play his lute. Tongues loosed by wine, the men and girls would talk of intimate matters.
“I saw you two leaving the Duchess’s bedchamber,” Robert Damport said.
“Well, it’s much more comfortable than here,” Francis grinned, his arm around Katheryn, “and, anyway, there was a gaggle of women sorting out their attire. The matter was urgent. You see, my sweetheart here was suffering from the green sickness.”
Katheryn dug him in the ribs. “I was not! You were in a lustful mood.”
“You’ll have heard of the green sickness,” Francis went on, ignoring her. “They call it the disease of virgins. It’s caused by bad blood in the body in the days before a woman’s course arrives, when she has a green pallor and feels weak and nervy. And there’s only one way to relieve it.”
“Shut up, Francis,” Katheryn muttered, for others were listening in to the conversation.
“What’s that?” Robert wanted to know.
“Well, green-sick maidens are dangerously prone to lust, and only fucking can dislodge the bad blood. Believe me, she was insatiable.” He flapped his hand in front of his face.
Katheryn smacked it away. “Don’t believe his nonsense. He’s making it all up.”
“But I can believe it!” Robert grinned. “I’ve heard you blowing and striving to have your will of her several times, Francis!” Katheryn smacked him, too.
“No, I swear it’s true about the green sickness,” Francis protested, laughing. “Ask any of the ladies here.” But Robert declined and, chuckling, got up to fetch more food before going to sit with Kat Tilney. Francis pushed Katheryn back on the bed and began kissing her. Other couples were getting amorous, too.
From the next bed, Katheryn heard Alice ask, “You know what to do if my lady comes in suddenly?”
“Francis will go into the little gallery with the other gentlemen,” Katheryn replied, between kisses. It led off the dorter at the far end.
“But Francis wants to stay right here,” her lover murmured, flinging out an arm and drawing the curtain.
* * *
—
Toward Christmas, Katheryn and Francis took advantage of the Duchess’s absence at a banquet at court and met in her gallery, where there was a wide cushioned window seat. They lit no candle, just in case someone should see a glow through the window or under the door, and made love there in the dark, their passion enhanced, as always, by the thrill of being on forbidden territory.
Afterward, having straightened their clothing, they sat talking, sharing reminiscences of their past lives.
“You know, Katheryn, I knew I would love you the moment I first saw you,” Francis said, caressing her cheek. “And I do love you. It’s not just lust that drives me to you.” He bent forward and kissed her long and gently.
“And, I promise you, I do love you with all my heart,” she replied, returning his kiss with fervor.
“I want to marry you,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “Let us stay as we are. My lady might say no, and that would be the end of everything.”
“But I want you—I want you for my wife. And I know you want me, so we will have each other, whatever anyone says!”
Katheryn was about to reply when the door opened and Joan Bulmer walked in. She gave a little shriek when she realized they were there.
“Oh, I thought I’d seen ghosts!” she gasped. “What are you doing, sitting here alone without any light?”
“We were just talking,” Katheryn said. “We wanted some peace and privacy.”
“What my lady would say if she knew you were here, I don’t know!” Joan exclaimed, and hurried out.
* * *
—
Francis did not cease urging Katheryn to marry him. He asked her every time they met, and still she said no. It only made him all the more insistent. He came every night now to the dorter and began giving her gifts: a string of beads, a twist of ribbon, and an exquisite silk flower.
“I was told that there was a little woman in London with a crooked back, who was skilled in making flowers of silk,” he said. “I went to her and chose a French fennel, as I thought you would like it.”
In the morning, Katheryn showed the flower to the other girls.
“Not the wisest choice!” Joan observed. “Doesn’t he know that fennel stands for flattery and foolishness?”
“And for sorrow,” Mary added.
Katheryn did not care. She owned so few pretty things and was thrilled with her gift. The others were just jealous!
* * *
—
On Christmas Eve, when the gentlewomen were helping to sort the greenery that had been brought in to decorate the hall, Mary sidled over.
“So Mr. Dereham is set on marrying you, Mistress Katheryn,” she murmured. “I heard him bragging to his friends, only this morning, that he is in such favor with you that he could wed you if he wished. Fortunately, Mr. Damport talked sense into him, and warned him to beware, for entangling himself in such matters would place him in no little jeopardy.”
Katheryn was fuming. She dropped the holly she was threading with ribbon and went looking for Francis, whom she found quaffing Christmas ale in the otherwise deserted buttery.
“How dare you go telling all and sundry that you might marry me!” she stormed.
He laughed. “How beautiful you look when you’re angry.”
“No, Francis, I mean it! You had no right.”
He stood up and pulled her into his arms. “If your grandam was in favor, you’d marry me tomorrow.”
She struggled and beat his chest with her fists, but he held her fast. “Admit it, my sweet lioness.” He kissed her hard on the mouth, silencing her protests, then drew back and smiled at her. “Better?”
“Not until you promise to be more discreet! Someone might come in.”
“I’ll behave if you admit that you do want to marry me.”
“Oh, you are impossible! All right, yes, I do want to marry you, but I’m frightened of what the Duchess will say.”
“Then, for now, let us just promise each other that we will marry in the future,” he urged.
“If that will satisfy you, I will promise,” Katheryn agreed, her anger abating. It was, after all, wonderful to have this man she loved begging for her hand.
“Say you promise, by your faith and troth.” His eyes were dark with intent.
“I promise! I promise, Francis, by my faith and troth, that I will marry you.”
“And you will have no other husband but me.”
“And I will have no other husband but you.”
His smile was triumphant. “And I promise, by my faith and troth, that I will marry you, Katheryn Howard, and will take no other to wife. Now we are troth-plight and I may call you ‘wife’!”
“I don’t know about that,” she said doubtfully, but inwardly her soul was singing. She was going to be his—she would be his forever. They would contrive a way to wed, she knew it. “It might be best to keep our plighting a secret for now.”
“I’ll be as discreet as you wish,” Francis vowed, still with that air of jubilance.
That night, he took her with renewed joy and vigor. It was one of the few nights when they lay fully naked in each other’s arms, and it was heavenly bliss.
* * *
—
When he came to the dorter on New Year’s night, Francis gave Katheryn a gift. She had not expected it, and when he presented her with another exquisite silk flower, she was delighted.
“It’s a heartsease, for remembrance,” he told her. “I hope that when you wear it, you will think of me.”
“How could I ever forget you?” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.
Thank you! I will stitch it onto my best bodice. But alas, Francis, I have nothing for you.”
“Nothing?” He looked crestfallen, but there was a smile playing about his lips. “Don’t the Howards observe the custom of New Year’s gifts?”
“We do—but I have no money.” She felt mortified. Suddenly, inspiration came and she drew a thin silver bracelet from her wrist. “But I want you to have this. It was a present from my half-sister Isabel, and is precious to me.”
Francis took the bracelet. “Are you sure?”
“Of course!”
“Then let me show how grateful I am…”
1539
Despite his promise, Francis would not keep quiet. There was already talk in the household that he and Katheryn would marry, although some who disliked him for his overbearing and cavalier ways were making cutting remarks, saying they could not believe that Katheryn had stooped so low, or asserting that Francis had no intention of making an honest woman of her. The gossip spread. One afternoon in early January, Harry—who had not attempted to see Katheryn since that dreadful meeting by the porter’s lodge—turned up at the Duchess’s house and demanded to see Francis, as Francis related to Katheryn afterward when they lay on the bed in the deserted dorter.
“He was pretty angry and acting as if you were pledged to him!”
“I never was,” Katheryn protested.
“I know that. The fellow’s a fool, and just envious. I saw him off, don’t worry. I showed him these.” He made two fists. “He won’t disturb us again. But, darling, we have to still these malicious tongues. Please give me leave to call you ‘wife,’ and call me ‘husband.’ Then people will know that we truly belong to each other and that my intentions are serious—honorable, if you will.”
It could do no harm, she reasoned.
“Very well,” she agreed, “husband!”
He kissed her greedily, exploring her mouth with his tongue until she drew away to catch her breath. Then he kissed her again, longingly.
Dorothy walked in. “Mr. Dereham,” she declared, “I trow you can never kiss Mistress Katheryn enough!”
“Are you going to stop me kissing my own wife?” he retorted, coming up for air.
“I can see something coming to pass very soon!” Mary chimed in.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Marry!” she laughed. “That Mr. Dereham shall marry Mistress Katheryn Howard!”
“By St. John!” Francis roared. “You may guess twice and guess worse!”
“Shush!” Katheryn cried, pressing her hand over his mouth.
“I’m just jesting!” he told her, pulling her fingers away.
She bent to his ear. “What if they gossip about you calling me your wife and it comes to my lady’s ear?”
Dereham pulled the curtain, shielding them from the others.
“Well, then we will have to tell the truth,” he whispered. “The fact is, Katheryn, we are as good as wed and there is nothing she could do about it. Making a promise to wed and bedding together afterward is as good as being married in church. Lots of people do it. It would take a church court to loose us now.”
She stared at him in amazement. She had never heard of such a thing. The Howards all got married in church and, for all she knew, probably waited until afterward to consummate their unions.
“You mean, we are as good as married?”
“Yes!” He began nuzzling her neck.
“And I’m entitled to call you husband?”
“You are. And I can lawfully use you as my wife!” To prove his point, he began doing so.
* * *
—
Katheryn awoke to find that there had been a light fall of snow in the night. The gardens looked beautiful and, wrapping herself in her cloak, she went outdoors and crunched along the paths, admiring the white vistas around her. Francis found her down near the river. Their breath mingled in the cold air. Around them, the snow-covered world seemed an enchanted place.
“I have brought you a present,” he said. “Betrothals should be marked by gifts.” He placed in her gloved hand a delicate neck chain of gold.
“Oh, Francis, it must have cost a lot of money! You are too generous.” She looked around to check that no one was about, then hugged and kissed him.
“Nothing is too good for my wife,” he said.
Releasing him, she pulled off her glove. There, on her finger, was her mother’s ruby ring. She had worn it every day since it had first fitted her.
“This is your betrothal gift,” she said, giving it to Francis.
“I can’t take this,” he said. “I know it is very precious to you.”
“All the more reason to give it to you,” she insisted and slid it on his little finger.
“I love you,” Francis said, suddenly serious.
“And I love you!” she cried, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him.
* * *
—
They exchanged gifts and love tokens frequently after that. Francis even gave Katheryn money when he had it to spare, for she had none and was entirely dependent on the Duchess’s bounty. She used some of it to buy him a collar and sleeves for a shirt, which she had made up by a sewing woman in Lambeth. In return, having reproved her for spending his money on him—although he was very pleased with his gift—he gave her a length of pink sarcenet, which she had Mr. Rose, her grandam’s embroiderer, make up into a quilted cap. When she wore it, Francis admired the pattern of friar’s knots.
“What, wife, here are friar’s knots for Francis!” He grinned. “An inspired choice.”
Katheryn smiled. In truth, she had not specified a pattern. “Mr. Rose said they are a symbol of true love,” she said.
“Aye, indeed they are,” Francis said, and took her in his arms.
* * *
—
Katheryn had not dared wear the silk flowers in the presence of the Duchess, but she wore them on other occasions and she had one on her bodice when my lady came unexpectedly into the parlor where the gentlewomen sat playing cards, looking for her lapdog.
“It’s under the table, Madam,” Katheryn said, and bent down to retrieve the naughty creature. When she placed it in her grandam’s arms, she saw the old lady looking at the French fennel. She said nothing, but Katheryn knew she might wonder how she had come by so rare a thing.
She went seeking Lady Brereton, the friendliest of the Duchess’s ladies. Katheryn felt sorry for her because her husband had been among those beheaded for committing adultery with Queen Anne. She had always taken care to be especially nice to Katheryn, who tried to perform little kindnesses for her whenever she could.
Katheryn found her in the still room, a lone soul in the black garb she always wore.
“Mistress Katheryn!” Lady Brereton smiled.
“I have a favor to ask,” Katheryn told her. “A gentleman who admires me—a very good man—gave me this flower as a token of his esteem. I think my lady has noticed it, and if she asks, I pray you will tell her that you gave it to me.”
“I shouldn’t, but I will,” Lady Brereton agreed. “You have been good to me.”
Katheryn skipped off, much relieved, only to have her good mood shattered by a summons from her grandam. She approached the Duchess’s chamber in trepidation, praying this was not to do with the French fennel.
It was.
“That flower you are wearing,” the old lady said, sitting straight-backed in her chair. “Where did you get it?”
“Lady Brereton gave it to me,” Katheryn told her. “She said I had been kind to her.”
The Duchess shook her head. “I will ask you again. Who gave it to you?”
“Lady Brereton, my lady.” Katheryn felt her cheeks flaming.
“Don’t lie to me, child. It was Mr. Dereham, wasn’t it? I’m
not blind. I know what goes on in my household. People do talk.”
Katheryn could not speak.
“Tell me! Was it Mr. Dereham?” the Duchess barked.
“Yes, my lady, but please don’t dismiss him. He’s a good man, and kind.”
“I know that. He is my cousin and I like him, and he may be a suitable match for you, but this is a most improper gift. Virtuous young ladies do not accept presents like this from gentlemen.”
“He is my cousin, too, Madam,” Katheryn said. “We have done nothing wrong.”
“I am very glad to hear it, but you will give that flower to me now and I will return it to Mr. Dereham.” She handed Katheryn a small pair of scissors.
Reluctantly, Katheryn cut off the flower. “May I see him again, my lady?”
“Is there a particular affection between you? I am told he has given you money. That too is unacceptable.”
Katheryn could only nod, her eyes brimming with tears. Was this to be the end for her and Francis?
“We are very fond of each other, and he did give me money, but only because he was concerned that I had none of my own.”
“Then I assume he did it from the affection that grows between kindred,” the Duchess persisted. “Is there love between you? I mean, love that does not proceed from kinship?”
“Yes, Madam,” Katheryn admitted.
“You know what people are saying? That, if one would seek Mr. Dereham, one would find him in Mistress Katheryn Howard’s chamber or the gentlewomen’s chamber. Child, he has no business being there, and you must not entertain him there. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Katheryn murmured miserably.
The Duchess gave her a penetrating look. “I want your assurance that nothing improper has passed between you. I remember that you misbehaved with Mr. Manox, and I’d hoped you had learned a lesson from that.”
“Oh, I have, Madam, and I have done nothing wrong with Mr. Dereham.” They were all but married, weren’t they, so how could their lovemaking be wrong or improper?
