Katheryn Howard, the Scandalous Queen

by Alison Weir

  In the afternoon, she felt better and got up. She walked in the gardens with her ladies for an hour, then sat doing some embroidery in her chamber. Around six o’clock, she heard horses’ hooves and the hunting party returning. Going to the window, she saw Henry riding into the courtyard and waved to him. He raised his hand in salute and dismounted, disappearing into the house. Amidst the crowd of men and horses, Katheryn caught sight of Tom. She could not draw her eyes away from him. He looked so gallant in his leather riding clothes with his dark hair blown about by the wind. He glanced up and saw her, then quickly looked away. She watched him until he was out of sight. As she left the window, she saw Meg Morton watching her in no very friendly manner. It occurred to her that Meg, and perhaps Kat Tilney, was beginning to suspect something. She should not have looked upon Tom for so long. She would not do so again, she vowed. How easy it was to give yourself away.

  * * *

  —

  “We went out on the river,” Henry told Katheryn afterward, eating his supper with relish. “We took a great quantity of young swans, two boatfuls of river birds, and as many great pikes and other fish.” He was very pleased with himself.

  She sat there fretting about Meg, hoping the girl had not jumped to conclusions. But that could only be speculation, she reminded herself. She had not done anything wrong in looking, and her gazing at Culpeper could be interpreted in other ways. She could always say that she looked tenderly upon him because he was her cousin and was dear to the King.

  “Are you all right, darling?” Henry said suddenly. She realized she had been miles away, distracted by her fears.

  “Perfectly!” she said, recovering herself. “I was thinking that I might ride out with you tomorrow, if I may?”

  “Of course!” Henry beamed. “We’ll have good sport, sweetheart.”

  He did not come to her bed that night or the next; he never slept with her when she was having her courses. On the third night, he himself was indisposed with one of the blinding headaches he suffered intermittently. It was then that Jane brought Tom to her room and stood guard outside. That night, Katheryn and Tom lay together for five or six hours. They were lovers now in all but the most intimate way and knew the secrets of each other’s bodies.

  “I want you, Katheryn,” Tom sighed, holding her tightly against him. “I want all of you. It’s killing me, having to hold back.”

  “I want you just as much!” she breathed. “I want to feel you inside me.”

  “I will have you one day!” he vowed.

  She wanted to say that she longed for that day, but knew it would make her feel guilty again, because that day could only come when Henry died. “I mind to have you, too,” she told him. “I long for you all the time.”

  He was touching her now, quickly bringing her to such a pinnacle of pleasure that she cried out. They slept a little afterward, until Katheryn woke with a start.

  “Heavens, what is the time? I didn’t mean to sleep!”

  “Hush, my love,” Tom soothed. “Our good friend is watching out for us.”

  “I should go back,” she said, still nervous. He helped her to dress and held her tightly before kissing her goodbye.

  When Katheryn emerged from the bedchamber, she found a very agitated Jane.

  “Morton was here,” she said. “She heard you cry out. What were you doing?”

  Katheryn felt her cheeks redden. “What do you think? Oh, dear God, did she say anything?” Coming on top of what had happened the other night, this was too much! They would be discovered!

  “She asked if you were all right, and I had to think quickly,” Jane said, clearly shaken. “I said you were suffering terrible monthly pains, but I know that’s not true.”

  “It’s not! She’ll know that I put out the last stained clouts for the chamberers to wash two days ago. You don’t think she’s guessed what’s going on?”

  “I hope not. And what is going on?” Jane asked sharply. “You’ve lain with him, haven’t you? I’ve heard you.”

  Katheryn resented being spoken to as if she were a naughty child; she was the Queen, after all, and she was no fool, for had she not refused Tom the ultimate favor?

  She rounded on Jane. “I swear in the name of God and His Holy Angels that I have not given myself to him. I would not so abuse my sovereign’s bed.” As she said it, she knew that she had abused it, and that there were more ways than one of being unfaithful.

  “That’s a relief,” Jane said. “And I pray you never will! But in future, Madam, take care. If there’s the merest hint that others suspect, it will have to stop!”

  1541

  Henry and Katheryn had been hunting and were clattering through the gatehouse at Hatfield when Katheryn spied a familiar figure in the courtyard, just entering the house. It was Francis Dereham!

  She felt faint and gripped her saddle to steady herself. What was he doing here? The last thing she wanted was Henry noticing him—or Tom, for who knew what Tom might do if he saw him?

  As the groom came forward, she slipped from the saddle.

  “I must hurry to my chamber, Sir,” she said to Henry. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much ale at dinner!” They had eaten in the open, enjoying the sunshine.

  As she went indoors, she looked around warily, expecting to see Francis waiting for her, but he was nowhere to be seen. She mounted the old stone stairs to her presence chamber—and there he was, bowing. Her ladies were regarding him with interest, for he was a handsome man. But his rumpled looks no longer held any appeal for Katheryn.

  “Mr. Dereham!” she said crisply. “What do you here?”

  “Your Majesty.” There was a slightly ironic emphasis to the words. He bowed again and handed her a letter. It bore the crest of the Dowager Duchess. They had kept in touch but rarely since Katheryn’s marriage to the King, and Katheryn wondered why her grandam would be writing to her now and why she had chosen Francis, of all people, as her messenger. Had she taken leave of her senses?

  She broke the seal and read, in mounting disbelief. The Duchess asked a favor. Her daughter, the Countess of Bridgewater, and Lady William Howard had made suit to have Dereham in the Queen’s service and begged her to speak to Katheryn for them. “Therefore, I most humbly ask your Grace to grant my request, on account of the good service Dereham has rendered to myself and Lord William. I pray you be good to him on my account and renew your favor?”

  The Duchess had done much for her and had never asked her for anything, so she could hardly refuse; it would be churlish. She wondered if Francis had put pressure on Lady Bridgewater and Lady William to make suit for him and, if so, what his motive had been. Surely he did not hope for any special favor at her hands—or, God forbid, a resumption of their relationship? Had it never occurred to him that she might not want him in her household? Pray God he would not resurrect that nonsense about them being man and wife!

  He was standing there nonchalantly, looking at her with that rakish grin. Had he no idea of the danger in which he was placing them both? But there had always been a streak of the devil-may-care in him. He liked taking risks.

  “Walk with me in the garden, Mr. Dereham,” she said. “Lady Cromwell and Lady Herbert, please attend me.” There was no way she was going to be alone with him.

  He bowed again—he really was overdoing it—and she led the way outside, then walked ahead with him, her ladies following at a discreet distance, just out of earshot.

  “Why have you come here?” she asked. “Is it to ill intent?”

  “Why would you think that of me?” he asked.

  “Don’t imagine for a moment that I think of you as I once did.” She must make that plain right now. “I would not have you thinking that I wish to return to my old life.”

  He made no answer, only smiled knowingly at her. She had forgotten how infuriating he could be.

  “I don
’t know what my lady of Norfolk was thinking of when she recommended you,” she said.

  “It’s simple,” he replied. “You remember that letter Manox wrote to her, about some young lady dallying with a Mr. Hastings, whoever he was? Well, back in the spring, I told her the truth, that it was about me and you. She should have realized that—she knew how close we were—but she got very angry and commanded me out of her gates.”

  “So how come she recommended you to me?”

  “I asked Lady Bridgewater and Lady William Howard to intercede for me. I reminded them how close you and I had been.” He turned and smiled at her. “My lady changed her tune then!”

  Katheryn recoiled from the implied threat. By such means, Joan Bulmer had tried to inveigle herself into the Queen’s household. And Francis had come all the way to Yorkshire to press his suit; clearly, he meant business. If only, if only she had never let him love her. Because of her great folly, he had power over her. He knew too much about her past for her to risk offending him by a refusal. He could do untold damage to her reputation and position. And she had no way of knowing if she could trust him not to exploit that knowledge and use it to his advantage. Was this but the beginning?

  She dared not refuse his request.

  “You hesitate, Madam,” he said. “Do not forget that this marriage of yours is a sham. You were my wife before you were the King’s. But, not being content with that, you have looked upon another with favor, I hear. I have my friends in your household. They keep me informed.”

  She froze at his words. Who knew? Who had talked? She and Tom had taken such pains to keep their love a secret.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said coldly. “I have looked upon another? It is nonsense. Who told you that?”

  “Surely you don’t think I would betray a confidence, Katheryn?” He smirked, and she noted how he had omitted to address her by her title. “But, if you think to betray the King, you may as well do it with your lawful husband!”

  “I love the King; I would not betray him!”

  He looked at her quizzically, as if he thought she was lying. Oh, God, who had betrayed her? And to Francis, of all people!

  “This is not the way to go about getting a post in my household,” she reproved him. “You presume too much upon our past association, which is over.”

  “We are still married,” he said. “You made your vow to me. And I am a jealous husband.”

  “What vow?” She glanced nervously behind her to check that her ladies were still out of earshot.

  “You promised to take me for your husband; that is as binding as a marriage made in church.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Ask any priest. Ask Archbishop Cranmer, if you will!”

  “Oh, stop bothering me with your nonsense!” Katheryn snapped. “I want you to leave—now.”

  “That would be a pity,” Francis said, giving her a sly glance. “One word from me and your marriage would be exposed for the charade it is.”

  His words chilled her to the marrow. She knew he had it in him to do it. She dared not refuse him. “If I give you a post, you must promise me never to speak of the past to anyone. I want your word of honor.”

  He chuckled. “For what that is worth, I give it. You ever were naive, Katheryn.”

  * * *

  —

  The next day, she summoned him before her as she sat on her chair under the great canopy of estate and waited as he bowed low with exaggerated grace.

  “Mr. Dereham, I have decided to make you an usher of my chamber,” she informed him. “You will receive visitors and petitioners, perform errands for me, and write letters when my secretary is away.”

  He smiled and bowed again. “Your Highness is most gracious,” he said. “Please accept my humble thanks.” He was laughing at her, she knew.

  “My treasurer will give you money to buy a new gown,” she said.

  “I will inform my lady of Norfolk of your Grace’s goodness to me,” he replied.

  Within a day or so, she realized that his duties would occasion his attendance on her in her privy chamber more often than she would have liked. The maids-of-honor, and even some of her younger ladies, were all aflutter whenever he appeared, for he was so good-looking in his rakish way and always had a wink and a cheery word for them. They had been told the bare truth, that he was their mistress’s cousin who had been recommended for a place by the Duchess of Norfolk.

  “Who’s that new usher?” Henry asked, after Francis had announced his arrival for supper and departed.

  Katheryn felt a tremor of fear. It was disconcerting to have Francis in such close proximity to the King, not to mention Tom. “He is kin to me and my lady of Norfolk. He served her at Lambeth. She asked me to be good to him—and so I will.”

  “He looks like a popinjay in that coat of white satin!”

  “Yes, indeed.” She had been annoyed that Francis had spent the money she’d given him on such a showy gown. “I mentioned it to my chamberlain, but he said that ushers at court are permitted to wear satin.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Henry said. “Don’t let him get above himself.”

  If only you knew, she thought.

  * * *

  —

  Annoyingly, Mr. Huttoft, Katheryn’s secretary, happened to go down with a fever soon afterward, so she was obliged to rely on Francis to deal with her personal correspondence and write confidential letters. That necessitated him waiting on her in private, in her closet, with no one else present. Wary of him as she was, she took care to keep strictly to business and did not respond when he came out with the occasional familiarity.

  That first morning, as he was writing, she noticed that he had on her mother’s ruby ring. Anger burned in her that such a villain should be wearing it. And yet she herself had given it to him, at the height of her passion for him. Was he sporting it to remind her of that?

  After a while, he laid down his pen, stretched, and stuck out his leg. “See, my hose are in holes; for old times’ sake, Katheryn, could you give me a little money to buy more?”

  “Will five shillings suffice?” she asked.

  He chortled. “You never did have any idea of how much things cost. I could not get good hose for less than three pounds.”

  “Three pounds?” She was sure he was wrong.

  “I buy mine from Master Cotes of Lambeth; he’s the best. You have to pay for quality.”

  Wondering why she had agreed to this, she gave him the money out of her privy purse.

  * * *

  —

  Katheryn could not sleep. She was being used again, she knew it. It had dawned on her that Francis had never exposed her because it would have rebounded on him, too, if they really had been precontracted, as he insisted. Henry would take a stern view of them both for not confessing it and thereby compromising the succession. No, Francis was using their so-called precontract to gain power over her and extract favors. Like Tom, he was probably hoping to marry her after the King died, which was another reason why he kept bringing up that wretched precontract. Well, she would not be manipulated thus. If she married anyone after she was widowed, it would be Tom.

  * * *

  —

  Toward the end of August, the court arrived at Pontefract Castle. Henry decreed that they would lodge there for six days to recuperate after enduring two months on the road. Pontefract was a mighty, forbidding stronghold, yet one, Katheryn discovered, with many secret stairs and disused rooms—perfect for assignations with Tom.

  She and Henry were lodged in the King’s and Queen’s Towers at either end of the great hall. Each tower had four floors, and a spiral staircase leading off Katheryn’s bedchamber gave access to the floors above; another door led to a passage to the hall. Jane’s chamber was on the third floor—and the rooms above that were empty
. Yet, Katheryn enjoined, they, and Tom, must all take great care to be even more discreet than before—especially, she thought fearfully, as someone in her household had got wind that she had a lover.

  “I don’t like it here,” Damascin confided on their first night at Pontefract, as she helped to prepare Katheryn for bed. “It’s too dark and eerie. They say a king was murdered here.”

  “Richard the Second,” Anne Bassett supplied. “My stepfather told me he was brought here after he was deposed and starved to death.”

  “Ooh, don’t tell me that!” Damascin shuddered. “He might haunt the place.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense!” Lady Rutland chided her.

  “It happened a long time ago,” Anne said.

  Katheryn was glad when they had gone and left her in peace. She lay in bed, wondering if Henry would come. When a distant clock chimed midnight, she knew he would not. He had been tired at supper after hunting all day.

  Rising from her bed, she pulled on her night robe, crept up the stairs past the room where Lady Rutland was sleeping, then ascended to Jane’s chamber and tapped lightly on the door. Jane, still dressed, beckoned her inside and closed it.

  “I have been expecting you,” she said. “The upstairs door is unlocked. Do you want me to take a message to Mr. Culpeper?”

  “Yes,” Katheryn whispered. “Tell him that it is open and that it is safe for him to come.”

  Jane left her there and tiptoed downstairs. She was soon back.

  “I found him outside and gave him your message, but there was a watchman lingering at the bottom of the stair.”

  Katheryn’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no! Are we discovered? Has the King set him to watch at the back door, the way Tom would come? My God, are we undone?”