The figure in the bed stirred minutely, Isabel and Margaret immediately turned towards her.
“Thirsty,” she croaked through swollen lips.
Isabel took a fresh cloth and dipped it into a goblet of sweet wine, then gently put the dampened linen to Catherine’s lips, squeezing it to allow small drops to moisten her mouth. After a few moments, Catherine turned her head away and drifted back into a fitful sleep. Isabel put the cloth in the bowl Margaret held up for it, then stood up.
“She’s sleeping, let’s get some air.”
They glided silently to the door and let themselves into the outer chamber. Isabel blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Margaret Howard, Lady Arundell, another of Catherine and Isabel’s sisters, hurried forward.
“I’ll sit with her, Issy,” she said and slid into Catherine’s darkened bedchamber.
Margaret Douglas led Isabel to a soft chair near the fireplace, then turned to the table where the other women were arranging plates of food.
“Victuals for Lady Baynton and myself,” she commanded, and one of the maids of honour hurried to load up two trenchers and pour them sweet wine.
“Eat, Issy,” said Margaret. “You won’t be able to help Catherine if you weaken yourself by not taking nourishment.”
“I know, my dear, but it’s so difficult while she hovers between life and death.”
The two women were silent for a moment, picking at the food in front of them.
“Has the physician given any indication when we might be able to move Kitten?” asked Margaret, eventually.
“The day after tomorrow,” said Isabel. “The king is eager to move on, this is his summer progress after all. He wants to show Kitten off to the world, his beautiful, young wife with her incredible sense of style…”
“…who is lying broken and beaten in bed, thanks to him,” interrupted Margaret, tears in her bright brown eyes.
“Hush, now,” said Isabel, nervous that someone would overhear Margaret’s outburst.
“All my uncle cares about is travelling to York to have words with my brother, the Scottish king,” whispered Lady Douglas. “Well, I hope James leaves Uncle Henry standing alone at the altar at York Minster. He deserves to be publicly humiliated after what he’s done to Catherine and Tom.”
“Say nothing more, my dear,” warned Isabel, “or you may put us all in danger. We must remain strong and get Catherine through this. The king sent a gift today to show Catherine how much he misses her company.”
“What was it?”
“A diamond pendant in the shape of a heart, encased in a gold filigree cage.”
“And is my uncle finding comfort elsewhere?”
“The duke of Norfolk and my dear husband have found him a companion,” said Isabel, her eyes and tone glacial.
The morning after Catherine had been beaten, Thomas Howard had fabricated the story of her riding accident and offered to send the king a comely maiden to walk with him in place of the queen while she recovered. Delighted, the king had accepted what he saw as a kind offer, so the duke of Norfolk had sent one of Catherine’s maids of honour, Katherine Tilney, accompanied by Joan Bulmer and Mary Lascelles.
“At least, if he is going to bed another woman, we should make sure she is a member of the family,” he had reasoned to Edward Baynton. As an afterthought, he had sent young Francis Dereham, another member of the extended Howard clan, freshly returned from Ireland and betrothed to Katherine Tilney, to act as a calming male presence should the king begin to display signs of violence again.
“Is Tilney still with the king?” asked Margaret.
Isabel nodded. “She seems to think she’ll be the next queen if Kitten dies.”
“The heartless little strumpet.”
“Exactly,” scowled Isabel. “Tilney lacks many of the abilities necessary in a queen.”
“Such as?”
“The ability to keep her legs shut!”
Margaret raised her eyebrows and a sly smile played around her lips.
“Has she bedded the king already?”
“Among other things, according to Edward,” said Isabel. “Apparently, she has quite exotic tastes and the king seems to be more than amused. For now, at least — you know how quickly he can start to believe someone who delights him is a traitorous witch and demand their head.”
They finished their meal in silence then Isabel excused herself, wanting to visit her husband and children before once more closeting herself in Catherine’s bedchamber. After instructing the maid to clear their table, Margaret returned to Catherine’s bedside.
“Has there been any change?” she asked Lady Arundell.
“No, she sleeps. Occasionally she’s restless, but she seems very far away.”
“If only we were all a long way from here,” said Margaret. “When we reach York and my brother, the King of Scotland, Charles and I may return with him to Holyrood.”
“Margaret, you can’t!”
“I’m a princess of Scotland, as well as England, we’ll be safer there and James has promised Charles a place in the privy chamber.”
“And you?”
“I will serve his wife, Queen Mary,” she replied. “One court in exchange for another. But when I am there, it will be harder for my uncle, the king, to stop my marriage to Charles Howard. Then we can somehow get Catherine to the Scottish court too, and safety.”
“It’s a lovely dream, dear,” she said and patted Margaret’s hand. Then a soft voice distracted them.
“Margaret?” whispered Catherine.
“Yes,” they both replied, leaning avidly over her pale face on the pillows.
“The child,” she gasped. “Did I lose the child?”
The two women exchanged a horrified glance.
“Oh, Kitten,” said Lady Douglas squeezing her hand. “I think you did.”
Catherine said nothing; turning her head away as tears slid down into her hair.
Chapter Two
“She was with child?” the duke of Norfolk asked again. “She definitely said she was with child?”
“Yes, your grace,” confirmed Isabel. “However, due to the king’s beating, she is no longer carrying the second in line to the throne.”
“But don’t you see,” beamed the duke, “this is marvellous news. We know Kitten is fertile and, more importantly, we know the king is still able to father children.”
“Are you completely insane?” snapped Isabel, observing Thomas Howard with disgust. “She may never recover and, if she does, who knows what damage he may have done when he whipped and kicked the child out of her?”
The duke of Norfolk glared back at Isabel.
“Your words could be construed as treason, Lady Baynton,” he said, his pale grey eyes harder than granite.
“Yes, and your words could be construed as heartless. It’s been nearly two weeks and Catherine has barely spoken. She’s still slipping in and out of consciousness and when Lady Douglas tried to read her the note the king had sent, Catherine began to weep. It was several hours before she stopped.”
“What are you saying?”
“Catherine has been taking beatings for nearly a year, but we’ve always been able to conceal any injuries. This time, the king’s madness has reached even greater heights. Something must be done to protect her.”
“You know as well as I do, Isabel, a man is allowed to beat his wife,” replied Norfolk, dismissively.
“But if he beats her to death, it will be another opportunity lost to place a Howard on the throne.”
Isabel hated herself for saying it, but she knew the duke would respond to the potential loss of dynastic ambition rather than any form of sentiment. Her words, she was sickened to see, had impact. She did not care though — if it meant Catherine was protected, she would say anything. The duke considered for a moment.
“We need to discover if anything particular provoked this episode,” said Norfolk. “Do you think she may have told him about the child?”
“Why would that send him into a rage? It’s what he wants!”
The duke of Norfolk shrugged.
“Why does the king do any of the things he does? Is Katherine Tilney still keeping Henry amused?” Isabel nodded. “Good, let that silly girl run wild so the king remains interested, while I decide what can be done to protect Kitten. Incidentally, how’s Tom Culpepper?”
“His wounds are not healing, Jane is becoming increasingly concerned.”
“Keep me informed of his progress too,” said Norfolk, dismissing her with a nod.
Isabel was relieved to leave the duke of Norfolk’s oppressive rooms for the fresh air of the courtyard. She knew the king was eager to be away; his sights focused on his meeting with his nephew, James V, the Scottish king, in York. Even his wife’s injuries would not halt Henry’s desire to assert his dominance.
As she rounded the corner, Isabel’s heart sank. Walking towards her was the dowager duchess of Norfolk, Agnes Tilney, accompanied by a smug-looking Katherine Tilney, the ever-present Francis Dereham and a slightly more pale-faced Joan Bulmer. Mary Lascelles was nowhere in sight. Isabel suppressed a shudder. Despite the many hours Katherine Tilney had spent with the king, she had obviously not yet seen his darker side. Although, on closer inspection, Isabel noticed a bruise on Bulmer’s neck — perhaps she was the one who received the beatings while Tilney watched, or God forbid, maybe held her down with Dereham’s help. There had always been a cruel streak in the Tilney girl.
“Lady Baynton,” said the dowager duchess, nodding a greeting. Isabel replied in kind. As the small group passed by, she heard the duchess comment, “Not so grand now, is she?” Katherine Tilney giggled and Francis Dereham snorted; only Joan Bulmer remained tight-lipped and silent.
Isabel sighed. They were welcome to their silly games, she thought. Her only concern was keeping her younger sister safe and, while Tilney might have the dubious pleasure of bedding Henry, as his current mistress, no matter how much the Tilney-Howards crowed over their perceived success at bagging a king, it was still Catherine Howard who was the queen. If she survives, thought Isabel gloomily, but as she entered the queen’s chambers her mood lifted. The women were smiling. Had a miracle occurred? Was Catherine awake at last?
“Issy, come quick!” gushed Kathryn Knollys. “Kitten’s awake and sitting up…”
Lady Knollys dragged Isabel by the hand into the inner chamber. Her face still swollen and bruised, Catherine was propped up against a pillow and her sister, Lady Arundell, was gently spooning broth into her mouth. She managed a small smile when she saw Isabel. Margaret Douglas, sitting on the other side of the bed, nodded to Isabel, a look of relief on her face.
“Where’s Jane?” whispered Catherine.
“She’s nursing Tom,” replied Margaret, squeezing Catherine’s hand. “Tom saved your life but he took quite a beating too.”
Catherine closed her eyes again and shook her head when Lady Arundell offered the spoon up to her lips again.
“And the king?” she gasped.
“Uncle Norfolk told him you fell from a horse after it was stung by a bee and went wild,” said Isabel. “He said the horse was trampling you when Culpepper came to your rescue, hence the reason you were both so badly injured.”
“Lies,” Catherine hissed. “All lies. He did this to me when I told him I thought I was with child.”
“What happened, Kitten?” asked Isabel, taking Margaret’s hastily vacated position by the side of the bed.
“He summoned me to his room and wanted to bed me but I explained my suspicions. At first he was delighted, then suddenly he changed, said I was lying or it belonged to another man. He had a horse whip…”
Her voice tailed off and Catherine closed her eyes again. Isabel did not want to hear the rest. She gathered her sister into a gentle embrace.
“Tell Lady Anne, the former queen,” whispered Catherine into Isabel’s ear. “Use the code in my Bible, you’ll find it in the book of Esther, chapter one, verse 17, ‘For the queen’s behaviour will become known to all women, so they will despise their husbands in their own eyes’.”
Catherine sank back, exhausted, into her pillows, her face ghostly. Isabel stared down at her younger sister, then with a breaking heart that Catherine’s life had become such a web of subterfuge, bustled off to find the Bible and fulfil the queen’s request.
Chapter Three
The king’s progress northwards was inexorable. Neither torrential rain and muddy roads, nor his wife’s ill health, halted the march of Henry and his court. For some weeks, Catherine was carried in a curtained litter but as her bruises faded, the king once more insisted she take to her mare, Moonbeam, and ride at his side. Dressed in a cloth of silver riding habit to complement his impressive cloth of gold cloak, the moon to his sun, his celestial lover, he wanted all the world to see his beautiful young wife and marvel at his virility.
Catherine smiled sweetly, waving to the crowds that watched them pass. But every evening when they stopped, either at a nobleman or lord’s house, or in one of the extravagant tents used to create the miniature city that accompanied the king, she was relieved that it was Katherine Tilney who was summoned to share the king’s bed. Although, she suspected her reprieve from his violence would not last long. After all, she was the queen and had a job to do, to provide an heir, not only for the sake of her country but to further her uncle Norfolk’s dynastic ambitions.
A short interview with him a few days earlier had made his position clear.
“Isabel has told me you were with child,” he had begun without preamble. No longer shocked by the harshness at court, Catherine had nodded. “Good. It was unfortunate that this happened,” he waved his hand vaguely towards her fading cuts and bruises, “but next time, tell me first, then I will be able to ensure this situation is not repeated. We need you pregnant and a Howard heir to take the throne. The Seymour boy will be no problem to relegate to second place once you have done your duty.”
He had swept away, leaving Catherine to wonder exactly how her uncle intended to protect her from the king. She had always assumed it was a duty of a wife to tell her husband about a pregnancy first, but obviously when you were queen, the rules were different. The thought of succumbing to the king’s rotting bulk again made her feel sick. Since his last terrible seizure and the ensuing violence, she also found herself terrified of every aspect of him. When he touched her, which he did as often as possible, even when they were in public, she had to force herself not to go rigid with terror.
Although, at a banquet the previous week, she was not the only the one who had been shocked by the king’s strange behaviour. He had been laughing with Charles Brandon who, like Henry, had a much younger and very beautiful wife, when the king had begun bragging about how much more nubile she was in comparison with the duchess of Suffolk. To her disgust and most of the nobles around them, Henry had pulled Catherine onto his lap and begun unlacing her dress in order to show her breasts to the duke. It was Brandon who had laughingly brought the episode to a halt and dispatched his wife with Catherine back to her ladies before Henry could strip her naked in front of the entire banquet.
Now, as Catherine led her ladies to their overnight rooms, she felt nothing but pity for the foolish, giggling Katherine Tilney as she swept off in the opposite direction, obviously summoned by the king. Rumour had it Katherine was wanton and the king enjoyed watching her perform various dances and acts, sometimes alone, sometimes not. Catherine shuddered at the thought and also felt guilty at the relief she fel now the king was momentarily distracted. She would not even have cared if he decided to replace her with Tilney, make that silly fool queen.
“Bad news, Kitten,” said Isabel as Catherine sank onto her ornate bed. “The king has requested your presence this evening after banquet.”
“Oh no,” she sighed.
“I’ve spoken to your brother George. The room where the king is lodged has a secret exit. It’s behind the panel by the window and leads to a
doorway that opens out into a small courtyard. There’s a corridor which can bring you safely back here, so we’ll ensure it’s unlocked in case you have to make a run for it,” said Margaret Douglas, who was unpacking Catherine’s things.
“Charles and my husband Francis will be outside the door,” continued Kathryn Knollys as she helped Margaret to shake out one of Catherine’s gowns. “Shout and they’ll come in to subdue the king while you flee.”
“This is ridiculous,” sighed Catherine. “No doubt Uncle Norfolk is behind this new plan to keep me safe now he knows I’m fertile.”
The silence that greeted this statement was all the answer she needed. Rolling over, she buried her face in her pillow. There was a time when she had thought her uncle had cared for her; was the father she had never had. Now, she realised he had been honing her potential as a future brood mare to lure the king. He had successfully wafted both Anne and Mary Boleyn in front of the king. Although, once Anne had been queen he had been furious at what he saw as the Boleyn defection, when he felt they had cut him out of their rise to power and wealth. He also had very little control over Elizabeth, Anne’s daughter, and because of this, he was obviously determined to be in full control of any royal heirs Catherine might produce. Edward Seymour, the earl of Hertford and eldest brother of the former queen, Jane, had done the same. Strategically positioning himself as potential regent should the king die before Prince Edward reached his majority.
“Men and their petty schemes,” she muttered. “They would all come to nothing if it weren’t for us women, yet do they ever understand this simple fact?”
“You are becoming as wise as Master Thomas More,” said Isabel.
“And look what happened to him when he crossed my darling husband,” she replied. She drew her finger across her throat. “Lost his head completely.”
“Why, your grace, that’s treason,” said Margaret Douglas in mock horror.
The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 24
