by Alison Weir
Katheryn basked in her praise. She so wanted to make a good impression.
“It goes without saying,” Mrs. Stonor said sternly, “that while you are serving the Queen, you will be models of virtue and exercise impeccable discretion. You will not be bold or loud or do anything to bring discredit upon yourself and your companions. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stonor,” they all said, in unison.
“Good.” She smiled. “Some of the others are here already. I will take you up to the maidens’ dorter. Your chests will be delivered shortly. Lady Tilney, please wait here. I have asked your husband to come and show you to your lodging.”
Bidding a temporary farewell to Malyn, Katheryn went ahead of Meg and Kat up a spiral stair in a corner of the presence chamber and came to a large, airy room in which she counted fifteen beds. There were four girls there already, unpacking their clothes. It was not so very different from the dorter at Lambeth, save that it was bigger and a lot tidier. Evidently Mrs. Stonor was efficient at supervising her charges. Katheryn could not imagine the goings-on at Lambeth happening here.
“Now, I will leave you ladies to get acquainted,” Mrs. Stonor said. “Choose any bed you like.” As she bustled off down the stairs, Katheryn smiled at the other maids, who came over to introduce themselves.
“I’m Anne Bassett,” the pretty blond one said, “and this is Mary Norris.” A tiny girl of about fourteen, with chestnut hair and a proud bearing, smiled graciously at the newcomers. Another very pleasant young lady introduced herself as Kate Carey, then the fourth newcomer, who was a little older than the rest and had a thin face and wiry, dark hair, said she was Dorothy Bray, but that people usually called her Dora.
“We’re cousins, I believe,” Katheryn said to Kate Carey. “I’m Katheryn Howard, and these ladies are Meg Morton and Kat Tilney, another cousin.”
“I’m sure I’m related in some way, too,” Meg pitched in.
They fell to chattering, and soon Katheryn learned that Anne Bassett had served Jane Seymour and that her stepfather, Lord Lisle, was the deputy governor of Calais who had shown kindness and forbearance to her own father. Anne had a sister who was desperate to be at court, but had not secured a place. “So my lady mother expects me to make suit to the King for one,” Anne giggled. “Fortunately, his Majesty has always been kind to me. He even permitted me to stay on at court after Queen Jane died.” That sounded odd, as even Katheryn knew that there was no place for ladies at court when there was no queen; she wondered if there had been more to it than that. She sensed that Anne would have told them if she could.
Dora revealed that it was her first time at court. “I’m so glad you are familiar with it,” she told Anne. “I’d be all adrift on my own.”
“Mrs. Stonor would soon put you right,” Anne said. “This evening, as certain as death, we’ll all get a lecture on the rules we must observe and the necessity for being virtuous young ladies and not gossiping or getting too familiar with the gentlemen.”
Mary looked at Kate Carey. “I’m sure your mother told you all about that.”
Kate colored. “I think it unkind of you to say that, Mary.” She turned to Katheryn and the two chamberers. “You may as well hear it from me, since the whole world knows that my mother was sister to Queen Anne, and that she was the King’s mistress for a time.”
“There was no need to taunt Kate with that,” Dora rounded on Mary.
Mary shrugged. “I, too, come in for my share of taunts. You ladies may have heard of Sir Henry Norris, who was beheaded for adultery with Queen Anne. He was my father.”
“You know what they say about two wrongs,” Anne put in, unpacking what seemed to be an endless pile of clothes. “You two should be supportive of each other.”
“I never taunted you, Mary,” Kate said. “I have great sympathy for you.”
“I don’t need anyone’s pity,” Mary said. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kate, I meant no offense. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Forgive me.”
“Of course,” Kate said, somewhat offhandedly, and drew out a gown from her chest. “I have a hem to sew.”
Katheryn was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the tensions in the maidens’ dorter. She hoped there wouldn’t be unpleasantness like this all the time.
“Our chests are arriving,” Meg said brightly. “Shall we all choose our beds and get unpacked?”
* * *
—
By the time dusk fell, the other young ladies had arrived. The grandest entrance was made by Lady Lucy Somerset, a haughty fifteen-year-old who boasted of her kinship to the King, which in fact sounded rather distant.
“My father is the grandson of the last of the Beaufort dukes of Somerset,” she told them all.
“Aye, on the wrong side of the blanket,” Anne murmured in Katheryn’s ear. It all meant nothing to Katheryn, for she had never heard of the Beaufort dukes of Somerset. “How is she related to the King?” she whispered.
“His Grace’s grandmother was a Beaufort,” Anne told her.
Katheryn soon noticed that Mary Norris would not speak to Lady Lucy.
“And small wonder,” said Anne, who seemed to know everything. “Lucy’s mother was the first to lay evidence about Queen Anne. There is bad blood between those families.”
“Well, I’m staying out of it,” Katheryn decided, and made a point of going over to chat to the other new faces, who introduced themselves as Ursula Stourton, Margaret Garnish, Margaret Coupledike, and Damascin Stradling. She also spoke to two chamberers, Mrs. Frideswide and Mrs. Luffkyn, but found them standoffish and awkward in the presence of noble girls.
Later that afternoon, they were all sworn to the Queen’s service in the presence of the Earl of Rutland and the chief officers of the household. Katheryn pledged herself to be loyal, true, obedient, and virtuous, and meant it with every fiber of her being.
Supper was served in a large hall at three rows of trestle tables, with the royal officers sitting at the high table on the dais. Katheryn had thought Lambeth a great household, but it was nothing compared to this. She had never seen so many people gathered together at one meal. It brought home to her the magnificence and wealth of the King, of which she had heard much. Now she could see for herself that gossip had not lied.
The grandeur of the setting did not extend to the table. The plates and utensils before her were made of wood, the bread was wheaten and dark, and ale, not wine, was being served in a leather jug. The food, in large dishes, came in messes, each sufficient for four persons.
“You mustn’t finish all your food,” Anne told Katheryn. “It’s uncharitable. The leftovers are collected in a voider and given to the beggars at the gates.”
There seemed to be a lot to learn about life at court.
The great ladies of the household were seated at the higher end of the room. Anne, basking in her superior knowledge of the court, pointed them out. “The one with red hair is the King’s niece Lady Margaret Douglas.” Katheryn could not help staring at her. The last she had heard, the Lady Margaret had been rusticating in grief at Syon Abbey. Now she was chattering and laughing as if she had not a care in the world.
“Next to her is the Duchess of Richmond,” Anne pointed out. Katheryn recognized Uncle Norfolk’s daughter Mary, whom she had last seen at Lady Wiltshire’s funeral. “Opposite is the Duchess of Suffolk, and the lady in the tawny gown is your step-aunt, the Countess of Sussex.” Lady William Howard needed no introduction, for Katheryn had met her often at Lambeth. Lady William had seen her, too, for she nodded and smiled.
There were many other ladies of the Queen’s privy chamber seated further down the table. Anne continued to identify them, as more messes of meats and sauces were carried in and placed on the table. “My Lady Rutland is the wife of her Grace’s chamberlain, and beside her is Lady Clinton.” She lowered her voice. “She, too, was the King’s
mistress and bore him a son, the late Duke of Richmond. You’ll know, of course, that he was married to your cousin.” Katheryn did know, although she had never met the Duke, who had died at the age of seventeen about four years ago.
“The lady in the crimson gable hood is the Lady Rochford.” Anne indicated a slender woman past her youth, yet still comely, with a heart-shaped face and pouting lips. She bent close to Katheryn’s ear. “Her husband was brother to Queen Anne.” Of course. Lord Rochford had been executed for committing incest with his sister, and Katheryn had heard it said that Lady Rochford had laid evidence against them. She wondered if it was true.
“There’s Lady Edgcumbe, and opposite, on our side, Lady Baynton.”
Isabel! Katheryn had not realized she would be here, having been too preoccupied with other matters. She leaned forward and saw Isabel’s face break into a smile as she caught sight of her. She stared at her half-sister’s faintly lined features, realizing with a shock that Isabel must be in her midforties now.
Isabel rose at once, came over, and hugged her.
“How lovely to see you, sister!” she cried. “I heard you were appointed maid-of-honor, but did not know when you would be arriving. Edward is again made vice chamberlain to the Queen—did you know? We are all serving her together!” They embraced warmly as Katheryn congratulated her.
“Let me look at you,” Isabel said. “In faith, you are grown very pretty, and that gown becomes you well. We must talk. I’ll find you later in the maidens’ chamber.”
Katheryn sat down, glad to have her half-sister with her at the court, which suddenly felt like a friendlier place. She was aware of Lady Rochford’s appraising eyes on her. She gave her a tentative smile, and the woman smiled back.
“Watch her,” Anne muttered. “She’s a strange one.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s just odd. Ever since that bad business with her husband. You’ve heard the rumors, of course?”
“Yes.” Katheryn did not like to say too much.
“She’s been looked after since, if you take my meaning. It seems to me that she did Lord Cromwell a favor.”
Even Katheryn had heard—who had not?—of Lord Cromwell, the King’s chief minister.
“Do you mean she—”
“Not here!” Anne shook her head.
At the next table, she told Katheryn, were seated the gentlewomen of the privy chamber, far too many for her to mention, but she did name those nearest to them, Mistress Anne Parr and Mistress Cromwell, who was sister to the late Queen Jane. Beyond them, Katheryn thought she recognized another of her own half-sisters, Margaret, Lady Arundell, whom she had not seen since she was a child. At the far end, she saw Malyn, Meg, and Kat, chatting animatedly to the other chamberers.
It was at once exhilarating and daunting to be part of such a large household—Anne had not even attempted to name the male officers and servants who sat at the far table—but Katheryn reminded herself that she was a Howard, and Howards had long graced the court of England. This was her rightful place, and she would make a success of it.
* * *
—
She had expected an endless round of dancing and revelry, but soon found that life at court was rather boring. With no queen present, they were expected to keep to the apartments set aside for her and amuse themselves. Mrs. Stonor explained that the court was the domain of men and it would be a breach of propriety for any young lady to venture there. Katheryn was beginning to appreciate how much freedom she had enjoyed at Lambeth.
They had no duties. Everything was ready for the Queen’s coming, down to the last stitch and coat of polish. They occupied themselves as best they could, which meant sewing or making music or playing endless games of dice. Isabel had a backgammon set, and she and Katheryn played together in the evenings. Sometimes Margaret Arundell joined them with her cards. Katheryn, who was always lamenting her own diminutive height, was not a little envious to see how tall her other half-sister had grown.
She was praying that things would liven up when the Queen arrived.
“I wonder what she is like?” she mused, as Margaret dealt the cards one dark, chilly evening.
“The Queen?” Isabel asked. “Beautiful, I think, and virtuous. The King would not have chosen her otherwise. Edward says his Grace fell for her portrait. Master Holbein went to Cleves to paint her.”
“Well, we’ll know soon enough what she is like,” Margaret said. “She’s expected to arrive before Christmas.”
“I hope she’ll be a kind mistress,” said Anne Parr, who was watching the game.
“I hope she can speak English!” Katheryn added, and they all laughed.
* * *
—
It was at Yuletide that Katheryn first saw the King. Anne of Cleves was still in Calais, delayed by adverse winds, and Christmas was kept at Whitehall in an atmosphere of eager expectancy. Many lords had brought their wives with them to greet the new Queen, and the presence of so many noblewomen ensured that the rules were relaxed and that the Queen’s maids were free to mingle with the crowds that thronged the palace and enjoy the feasting and revelry.
On Christmas Eve, the Yule log was carried into the great hall and ceremonially lit, and wassail bowls were passed around. Then a voice rang out, “Make way for the King’s Majesty!” and a small procession entered through the doorway. There was no mistaking the King: he was taller and broader than everyone else, magnificently dressed in cloth of gold and black velvet, and laden with jewels. Oh, but he was so old—and fat! Katheryn was shocked. He was nothing like his portrait at Lambeth; it must have been painted years ago, when he was a slim and handsome young man, the envy of all. Now, the red hair beneath his velvet bonnet was streaked with gray, and his doublet and padded short gown encased a massive bulk. If he had not been smiling jovially as he greeted everyone, you might have thought he had a permanent scowl on his face, for it looked cruel and sour in repose. And he was limping. Beneath the white hose, Katheryn could see bandages.
She felt sorry for the poor Queen. Had Anne of Cleves any idea what awaited her at the end of her journey? King or no, this aging, obese man had little to offer a young woman. She even found herself feeling pity for him because of what he had once been and what he was now.
He was approaching. Katheryn and the other maids sank into curtseys as he greeted them, then rose at his command.
“Here’s a pretty bevy of beauties!” he observed, his eyes full of merriment. “You must all be as bored with waiting for the Lady Anne as I am.” His eye rested on Katheryn for a moment. “God grant she will be here soon. A merry Christmas to you all, ladies!” Then he was gone, leaving in his wake the hint of a sweet stink. It came from his leg, Katheryn was sure.
He reminded her of someone, but she could not think who.
After he had passed on, the young women simpered and blushed, thrilled to have been noticed. But Katheryn’s thoughts were elsewhere. She had just noticed Tom Culpeper among the gentlemen attending the King, and he had smiled at her.
* * *
—
Later that night, as the maids prepared for bed, Katheryn got a glimpse of Kate Carey in profile and realized who the King had reminded her of. The resemblance was striking. Kate was his daughter; there was no doubting it.
1540
It was freezing in the chariot, and the young ladies were all huddled together for warmth. The weather was foul, wet and windy beneath a gray sky, and Katheryn’s fur-lined cloak was no proof against the chill. They seemed to have been on the road for hours, but, God be thanked, Dartford was now in sight.
Katheryn was so stiff when they arrived that she could barely clamber out of the chariot. She stood there, stamping her feet, as the Queen’s household officers and ladies assembled outside the town gate, buffeted by icy winds. A haughty lady swathed in sables approached the maids-of-honor.
“I am Lady Browne,” she informed them. “I have been appointed to help Mrs. Stonor supervise you until we return to Greenwich. The Queen’s party has been sighted. You will not be detained here long.”
“She looks like a dragon,” Anne murmured.
“I heard that!” reproved Mrs. Stonor behind her. Katheryn giggled. Her teeth were chattering.
The Queen’s retinue was at last coming toward them. Katheryn saw Uncle Norfolk and the Duke of Suffolk riding on either side of a wondrously carved gilded chariot. When it drew to a halt, Uncle Norfolk dismounted and offered his hand to the lady who was emerging. She, too, was wrapped in furs, but the hood of her cloak was down and Katheryn could see that she had on a most peculiar golden headdress that covered her hair and seemed to have wings of gauze. Then the Lady Anne turned to greet the Earl of Rutland and her other officers, and her face came into view. She was not beautiful—her long nose and jutting chin put paid to that—but her eyes were kind and she had a smiling mouth.
“Hmm,” murmured Anne Bassett in Katheryn’s ear.
“Shh!” Katheryn hissed, for Archbishop Cranmer and the Duke of Suffolk had begun presenting the ladies and maids to the Lady Anne. When her turn came, she made a graceful reverence and bent to kiss her new mistress’s extended hand, which was freezing to the touch. As she did so, she smelled a most unpleasant odor. Heavens, did they wash in Cleves? One thing she had learned about the King was that he was overly fastidious; Mrs. Stonor had warned them all not to put food or sticky hands on counterpanes or tapestries, and Katheryn had giggled when it was explained to her that the red crosses painted on the walls of the palace courtyards were meant to deter men from pissing there. Certainly, the King would not appreciate a wife who smelled badly.
