The Catherine Howard Conspiracy

by Alexandra Walsh

  “This is an incredibly long letter, though,” said Kit looking up from the manuscript. “How do historians explain it?”

  “That she asked someone else to write it for her, probably Jane Boleyn.”

  “But there must be examples of Jane Boleyn’s writing,” he said. “Surely that would clear things up?”

  “You’d think, and yet no one in all the books you read about Catherine has ever suggested that simple test.”

  “No way!” exclaimed Kit.

  “Which makes it possible that this could be a contemporary fake, created to incriminate her,” said Perdita. “Even though it’s supposedly signed by her.”

  A look of excitement suddenly suffused Kit’s handsome face. “The codex — doesn’t your grandmother suggest the bulk of it was written by Catherine Howard? So we have a comparison at last.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Perdita, “but stick with me. There are a few other discrepancies before we start going through Granny Mary’s theories.”

  Kit’s earlier flippancy had now turned to enthusiasm. “What else did Mary suggest?”

  “There are a number of things and one of the more recently dismissed myths is in here too,” said Perdita.

  “Which is?”

  “When she went to the block, Catherine supposedly gave a speech saying she regarded herself as the wife of Thomas Culpepper.”

  “Even I know that’s unlikely,” laughed Kit. “The Tudors were obsessed with having a good death in order to send them on their way to heaven. If fear hadn’t consumed her and she could speak at all by then, I suspect she would have followed the more traditional: ‘Henry is a good and righteous prince, I deserve to die for my transgressions…’ line that Anne Boleyn and pretty much everyone else took on the scaffold.”

  “Of course, it has been utterly dismissed and put down to Victorian romanticism, but there is another odd thing. One biographer has claimed that while other wives were known for certain things — Katherine of Aragon for her piety, Anne Boleyn for her interest in theology and music — Catherine Howard was renowned for her style and her love of fashion. If this was the case, why are there no records stating what she wore at her execution?”

  “There must be records,” Kit said.

  “Nothing of any great detail, which is odd because even poor little Lady Jane Grey, who was queen for nine days, even less time than Catherine, is recorded as wearing a simple black dress at her execution. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that when Catherine Howard, the Tudor trendsetter, went to the block, no one recorded what she was wearing? I know it sounds frivolous but when combined with the other anomalies, it can’t be ignored.”

  “You’re right, history is in the detail,” mused Kit.

  Encouraged by Kit’s growing conviction, Perdita continued. “It isn’t only Catherine that provokes questions, though. There’s Jane Boleyn too.”

  “Who was she?”

  “She was the wife of George Boleyn, who was the brother of Anne Boleyn,” said Perdita.

  “And she was executed with Catherine Howard?”

  “Yes. The thing is, most historians have always been baffled by Jane’s behaviour. Why would she put herself in such danger? Jane had survived the biggest political scandal of the Tudor age: the trial and execution of Anne Boleyn. Her husband, George Boleyn, who was by then Lord Rochford, was beheaded — accused of incest with his sister; Anne died in the same way. Jane survived this storm and was forgiven. She was even allowed to return to royal life and was given a position in Jane Seymour’s court, the woman who replaced Anne Boleyn, which is possibly why some historians view her as heartless. I suspect she felt she had no choice; it was that or go back to her parents’ home and live in poverty, as the king had confiscated all her and George’s lands and manors.

  “Anyway, this woman was a consummate survivor. So, why, five years after making it through the terror of Anne Boleyn’s fall and having spent that time rebuilding her battered reputation, would she throw it all away to help Catherine Howard have an affair with Thomas Culpepper? She was a career courtier, her father was Henry Parker, 10th Baron Morley, and her mother was Alice St John, who was connected to the influential Beauchamp family, making Jane half-second cousin to Henry VIII. The family was wealthy, respected and, most importantly, respectable. As seasoned courtiers, they were adept at surviving the politics of court life by learning to move with its endless, dizzying ebb and flow. So, why did Jane become involved in such a dangerous game with Catherine? She must have known it would end in disaster.”

  Kit was silent as he considered this wealth of information.

  “Is there more?” he asked, no longer joking. Perdita suspected he was beginning to understand the far-reaching consequences of their endeavour.

  Perdita bit her lip and nodded, absorbing some of Kit’s sudden unease.

  “There is also the strange lack of portraits of Catherine,” continued Perdita. “Even now, historians argue over a number of different unnamed women in paintings trying to decide which one might be Catherine Howard. For many years, there was one particular Hans Holbein miniature, Henry’s favourite court painter, that was considered to be Catherine. It’s in the Royal Collection at Windsor. However, doubt has now been passed over that assumption and it’s been suggested it may actually be a portrait of the king’s niece, Lady Margaret Douglas, who was the daughter of Henry’s elder sister, Margaret Tudor.

  “Likewise, another image painted by Hans Holbein that was considered to be the young queen has again been dismissed. It’s now thought to be an image of one of Henry VIII’s nieces: again, possibly Lady Margaret Douglas, or Lady Frances Brandon or Lady Eleanor Brandon. In fact, records show this portrait was originally identified as being Eleanor Brandon, countess of Cumberland. It’s even been suggested it may have been a portrait of Henry’s daughter, Mary. It isn’t Catherine, though.

  “There are portraits of the other five queens, including poor old Anne of Cleves who was on the throne for even less time than Catherine. If Catherine was a beauty and the absolute love of Henry’s life, why didn’t he commission her portrait? He kept images of Anne Boleyn, Thomas Cromwell and various other courtiers whom he had sent to the block, why would he behave so differently towards Catherine? Did he have her images destroyed? Or have they been removed from history by someone else?”

  “Put like that, it is odd.”

  “A few more things, then you need to read the manuscript yourself,” she said, and Kit nodded in agreement. “The first is the anomaly of the Bill of Attainder which was passed, stating that Catherine Howard and Jane Boleyn were guilty of treason. It’s also colloquially referred to as her execution warrant.”

  “And there was one of these for everyone who was executed?” questioned Kit, but Perdita shook her head.

  “No, in most cases, people stood trial and were found guilty or not, then they were sentenced — there are court transcripts going back hundreds and hundreds of years — and not everyone was condemned to death. Anne Boleyn was tried in a court — a kangaroo court of men who knew she must be found of guilty of every charge — but nevertheless, she was at least given a chance to defend herself. However, Henry didn’t really like being questioned over his decisions to murder people, so when he really wanted someone killed, he would issue a Bill of Attainder. This bill would be presented to Parliament and would be passed, generally the first time it was read out, sentencing the person named in the bill to death, usually for treason. By charging people this way, it meant Henry neatly bypassed a trial of any kind.”

  “And were many people sentenced like this?”

  “A few — years before Henry was king, George Plantagenet, 1st duke of Clarence, was executed this way. Then, during Henry’s reign, Thomas Cromwell and Margaret Pole, countess of Salisbury,” said Perdita. “Anyway, the bill for Catherine and Jane was first introduced to Parliament on 21 January 1542. However, a contemporary witness — who is unfortunately anonymous — claims there was: ‘uncertainty among the judges’.
It was read again on 28 January and postponed once more. Finally, on 11 February 1541, it ‘received the king’s assent given in absentia by letter patent under the great seal of England’. So, in other words, the vital document condemning Catherine to death was never signed by the king,” she said. “It was issued under the Royal Seal in his absence. Apparently, this was so as not to cause the king further distress, but it seems remarkably convenient that he never actually signed the document.”

  “But that’s bizarre!”

  “Like so many other unfortunates, Catherine was said to have been buried in the chapel of St Peter ad Vincula within the walls of the Tower of London,” she said. “However, when it was excavated in 1876, other bodies were found that could be matched to those known to have been beheaded, but Catherine Howard’s skeleton was never found.”

  Perdita looked at Kit. His blue eyes were hard as he thought through everything she had explained, “There’s something else too,” she said. This time, though, her tone was tentative. “It’s not something of Granny Mary’s, it was something I noticed last night.”

  “Go on,” said Kit.

  “Remember that silly rhyme: divorced, beheaded, died…”

  “Divorced, beheaded, survived,” he finished. “What about it?”

  “Have you ever thought about how perfect it is?” she asked. “Almost too symmetrical?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Perdita grabbed her notebook and drew a two-columned chart.

  “In the first column, there’s Katherine of Aragon who was a foreign princess. She was divorced and replaced by a Howard girl, the Boleyn family being part of the clan, who was beheaded and replaced by a Seymour girl. In column two, the pattern repeats itself: Anne of Cleves was a foreign princess whom Henry divorced, then he married Catherine Howard before beheading her and marrying Katheryn Parr, who was part of the extended Seymour family.”

  Kit stared down at Perdita’s chart, examining her evidence. When he did not speak, she continued, “It’s so balanced, it’s almost as though someone created it afterwards.”

  “So, what do you and Mary conclude from all this information?” he asked, his body tense.

  Perdita took a deep breath, “That Catherine Howard may never have been executed at all.”

  Kit sprang to his feet and began pacing the room.

  “You told me there were extraordinary things in Mary’s manuscript, Perds, but this is explosive. You never suggested that Catherine Howard might not have been executed.”

  Perdita was surprised by his outburst. He was usually so easy-going that to see him so agitated was disturbing.

  “I wanted to see the codex first,” she explained, confused at his reaction, “rather than drop such a massive bombshell. Now we’re working together, it seems important you should know.”

  “Catherine Howard’s execution is a fixed point in our national identity. If Mary has found information that proves she wasn’t, it could have serious repercussions.”

  “Why?” asked Perdita.

  “It changes our collective past,” he continued. “If it transpires the story we’ve all been told about one of England’s most infamous monarchs is untrue, what else have we got wrong?”

  “But it isn’t a question of getting things wrong,” Perdita replied. “It’s about the continual unravelling of our past, reinterpreting and rewriting it as we discover more information. This is a new chapter in the study of the Tudor monarchy. You of all people should understand that, you spend your time buying, authenticating and restoring ancient, lost or suspect documents. You know history is fluid, each new discovery adds another layer to the past. This is a huge and important discovery.”

  “So why didn’t Mary publish it?”

  Perdita shrugged. “Perhaps your father could tell us,” she replied, irritated by his dramatic reaction. “Kit, it’s a new discovery, it’s exciting and academically interesting, but it isn’t the end of the world.”

  “It feels wrong, Perds,” he said, dropping back into his seat and putting his head in hands, burying his fingers in his dark, floppy curls.

  “Why?”

  “Because, when was the last time you heard of anything new being discovered that changes the story of Henry VIII and his wives?”

  “Never?”

  “This does, though. So why didn’t your grandmother, a noted scholar and historian, publish her findings and receive the accolades it would have brought? I don’t know, for some reason — call it instinct after years of chasing documents, this feels…” he hesitated as he searched for the right word, “dangerous.”

  Perdita considered him, then stood up and returned to the codex. She was unsure how to react to Kit’s outburst. Once more, she slid on the white cotton gloves. Kit had not moved, his head still in his hands, so when he spoke, his voice was muffled.

  “If Mary suggested Catherine wasn’t executed, what did she say happened?”

  “Read the manuscript,” snapped Perdita. She could not bear any more histrionics and returned to the document, carefully turning the pages to see what else it contained.

  Kit sat up, pushing his hair out of his piercing blue eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know where all that came from, I overreacted. You’re right, I should stop behaving like a brat and read Mary’s manuscript.”

  “She does have a theory about what happened to Catherine, several, in fact, but it might be better if you read it as a whole, then perhaps they won’t be so shocking.”

  Perdita continued to study the codex. Kit watched her for a while, then his eye fell on the other foam wedges.

  “What are these?” he asked, walking over to examine them and drumming his fingers on the table. He picked up the ornate library book and, after shooting a look at Perdita, opened it. He laughed when he saw the painting of his family. “I was so cute,” he smirked, holding the page up to the side of his face as a comparison.

  “Are you being deliberately annoying?” replied Perdita in a bored sounding voice, not looking up from the intricate design she was studying in the codex.

  Kit laughed. “Actually, yes. As the youngest of three, being the annoying little brother is what I do best.”

  Perdita tried to keep a straight face but a tiny giggle escaped her. Finally, she looked up. Kit gave her an elaborate wink and a lopsided grin.

  “It’s the book of local legends Granny listed in the bibliography but I’m not sure it has much relevance, she doesn’t note any specific sections. The other is an, as yet, unexplored Book of Hours that Mary bought from her old friend, Lady Pamela Johnson. It’s suggested it may have belonged to Lady Kathryn Knollys. Jenny said her team have dated the book and it’s the right time frame. If you want to make yourself useful, use your document detecting skills and see if there’s anything inside it that we might be able to use to corroborate Mary’s manuscript.”

  “Aye aye, cap’n,” he said, taking the seat next to her and reaching over for a pair of white cotton gloves. “A Book of Hours was a prayer book, wasn’t it?”

  “A book of illuminated devotions, but yes, if you like, a prayer book. They were usually owned by high-status women,” confirmed Perdita, “and often had notes written in them: household staff, guests, shopping lists, births, marriages, deaths, that kind of thing. Jenny’s team hasn’t started transcribing it, so it’s virgin territory.”

  “Leave it with me,” he murmured, taking an A4 notebook and, to her surprise, an expensive fountain pen, out of his bag.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Perdita watched as Kit began to study the small, leather-bound book. Within moments, he was absorbed in his task, the tip of his tongue protruding through his teeth as he concentrated. Perdita grinned, then returned her attention to the codex. For the rest of the afternoon, they worked in companionable silence, occasionally checking references or showing each other things they had discovered.

  Beyond the reinforced glass of the windows and the air-conditioned interior of The Dairy, the summer afternoon blazed gol
den and inviting. After several hours, Perdita stretched and looked over at Kit, who was still deeply engrossed in his work. A shaft of sunlight fell across his dark hair, making it dance with red and gold highlights, and for a moment she appraised him as she would any other good-looking man. There was no doubting Kit was attractive, as well as funny, intelligent and considerate when he was not being annoying. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought sharply. One row with Warren and I’m eyeing up the local talent. I need to pull myself together.

  She also knew her concentration had peaked for the day and, with the thought of Warren, all the fear and doubt of the morning’s argument flooded through her again. Pulling her phone, which she had put on silent, out of her bag, she glanced at it, hoping to see a string of missed calls from Warren, but there was nothing, not even a text message or email. Feeling her heart could sink no further, she threw her phone back into her handbag and stood up. Kit looked over and smiled.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “For today — you were right, my concentration is limited, but at least I’ve seen the codex. Tomorrow, I can begin crosschecking Granny’s references and try to work out why she abandoned the project. There must be a reason. How are you doing?”

  “Pretty well, the Book of Hours is quite fragile so I haven’t pulled it about too much, but from the dates written on what I assume are Lady Knollys’s comments — although, I’m making an academic guess until we can corroborate the writing with other known examples of hers — it was something she owned for years because it starts with her signing herself as Kathryn Carey which was her maiden name, but goes on to list all her children.