“Thank you, sweet husband,” she replied and gave a quick bob. As Edward closed the doors behind him, they heard him call: “The queen is not to be disturbed, no one enters without the permission of my wife, Lady Baynton.”
There was a tense silence.
“I must finish this,” said Catherine and returned to her coded letter. “Isabel, would you please organise things? Lady Douglas, please continue with the task I set you earlier. My dears,” she turned to the princesses, “Lady Knollys will tend to you for a few moments as this letter cannot wait.”
“Can Elizabeth or I be of any help, Lady Stepmother?” Mary asked. “We both have excellent penmanship.”
“It’s kind of you to offer, Mary, but it is nearly done,” Catherine smiled.
“I can write in Latin and Greek and French and Italian,” confirmed Elizabeth, standing on one leg for no particular reason.
“She’s a very talented pupil,” added Mary proudly.
“Now, ladies, let us leave the queen to finish her correspondence. Perhaps you could help me to select her jewels,” said Kathy Knollys. The princesses followed her to the other side of the chamber. In the moment of respite, Catherine tore off the scrap of parchment on which she had written the coded numbers, folded it and slid it carefully into the secret chamber of the ruby ring Anne had given her. As she pushed the tiny door closed the ring gave a satisfying click, then she slid it onto her finger.
“I will be wearing the ruby the Lady of Cleves presented to me on my marriage to the king,” she announced. “I’d like a gown and jewels to compliment it. Lady Arundell, perhaps you could clear my writing table.”
In the flurry created by Isabel and Kathy Knollys preparing Catherine’s clothes, the two Margarets managed to conceal and destroy any potential evidence that could be used against Catherine, too aware that Cranmer’s men would be very thorough in their search of her rooms while she was in the Great Hall attending to the king and the court. Once done, Isabel summoned Catherine’s other women and, in a whirl of tense, forced smiles, Catherine was once more primped and polished, ready to be delivered to the king. As Isabel fastened the final earring in place, Catherine murmured in her elder sister’s ear: “I grow so tired of being the king’s toy.”
“Oh, Kitten,” whispered Isabel, hugging her tightly.
“Perhaps the sting of the axe wouldn’t be so bad,” she sighed.
Isabel looked horrified but, before she could reply, Catherine’s expression changed to one of pious delight. Giving Isabel a wide smile, she gathered her skirts in her hand and swept forward, her ladies falling into a train behind her, every inch the queen as she led the procession to the Great Hall where Henry awaited.
Although Catherine presented an appearance of outward calm, her mind was racing. Since Tilney’s arrest, she had been filled with a growing sense of unease. Was this plot, which she now knew had been fabricated by her uncle, a ruse to remove her from Henry’s side? While she did not mind that too much, she was scared about the effect it would have on those around her, particularly her immediate family. And, what of Anne, the Lady Cleves? Would she be implicated alongside Catherine if her uncle chose to oust her from the throne? And if he did, who would be his next Howard victim to be queen?
As Catherine entered the Great Hall, her name was announced and heralds played a triumphant fanfare. She was so frightened, convinced this was merely a prelude to public humiliation, that it was a few moments before she realised the gathering was being given in her honour. Her crest of a rose without a thorn was flying on enormous banners all around the room, accompanied by her motto: No other will but his. Henry waited on the dais, his face radiating excitement.
“My beautiful lady!” he exclaimed, taking her hand and leading her to an ornately decorated chair at his side. “Such is her sweet modesty that it was only by chance I discovered today is her birthday, the eleventh of November, a day we must always remember and celebrate, for this was the day my true and perfect love was born.”
Catherine’s cheeks flamed crimson as Henry led her to the seat of honour.
“Let the revels begin!” he commanded.
A cacophony of sound erupted as musicians and entertainers filled the hall and the unexpected masque unfurled like an exotic Turkish carpet.
“Henry, thank you,” said Catherine. “This is a wonderful surprise.”
He grinned, displaying a shadow of his once great good looks, now swallowed by age, excess and illness.
“My sweet wife, one doesn’t have a sixteenth birthday every day,” he smiled. “Tomorrow, I have decreed that all the churches in the land shall say a special prayer for you.”
She smiled, yet still she did not feel reassured by his words. His mood could change in the flicker of a candle flame.
“And here is another surprise,” exclaimed Henry, thoroughly enjoying himself. The crowd parted and the four-year-old Prince Edward walked forward, accompanied by Anne of Cleves. The little boy bowed with great solemnity to his father and stepmother, then presented Anne.
“My Lady Aunt of Cleves,” he said as Anne curtseyed and Henry beamed, saying: “What a family gathering this is!” as Mary and Elizabeth swept forward, curtsied, then took their places with the rest of the royal family.
Catherine stared around her at the glittering court, the laughing faces, the sumptuous clothing, the twinkle of thousands of pounds’ worth of exquisite jewels — this was all for her: the beloved queen consort of a powerful monarch. Yet, she felt utterly detached, as though she were watching the spectacle of her own life through a window. All she could think of was Tilney in the Tower, of Anne Boleyn, of Katherine of Aragon, of the succession of royal and noble women whom Henry had brutalised, destroyed or murdered, while he sat beside her laughing, joking, calling for wine — the ever wise and bountiful ruler.
He beat my child out of me, she thought, as he toasted the duke of Suffolk, I told him I was carrying his longed-for heir and he accused me of adultery then attacked me with a riding whip. He is mad but he is my husband, so I must succumb to him, no matter what. She felt sick at the thought and a growing feeling of panic began to rise inside her.
“My dear, will you dance for me?” Henry’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Perhaps with the Lady Anne?”
His eyes glinted with excitement and his smile became slightly too wide and knowing to be friendly, almost a grimace of lust. The expression passed in a moment but it was enough to make Catherine shudder and think of what had happened the last time Henry had watched her dance with Anne, of the poor girl he had murdered. She smiled, hiding her revulsion.
“Of course,” she replied, watching as Henry beckoned to Anne. As the two women linked arms, walking sedately to the dance floor, Henry stood and announced in his booming voice: “My wife, Queen Catherine, and my beloved sister, the Lady Anne, will lead you all in the pavane.”
The musicians struck up the stately refrain and other couples fell in behind Catherine and Anne. In the general mêlée, Catherine took her chance. Surreptitiously she loosened the ruby ring on her finger, relieved to see Anne was wearing its twin. Waiting for the cinque pas, when she and Anne would cross in front and around each other, she caught Anne’s eye and winked quickly, moving her hand so Anne would see the ring. The other gave a tiny, complicit nod. Under the guise of a complicated hand movement, Catherine slid her ruby ring from her finger and palmed it, then as she passed back across Anne, pushed it into her hand. On the return pass, Anne mirrored Catherine’s movements and by the end of the dance, the women were wearing rings again, with no one any the wiser of the swap.
As the dance ended, Catherine felt the strong, bony grip of her uncle, Thomas Howard, on her elbow.
“The king has granted that we should dance together, sweet niece,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft.
“It would be an honour, Uncle,” murmured Catherine and swept a curtsey as the faster rhythm of the almain flooded the hall. The swirling frantic dance floor was, she knew, one of
the best places to exchange secrets unheard and she suspected her uncle was about to impart news. He had spent many hours closeted with the other members of the Privy Council trying to clear his stepmother, the dowager duchess of Norfolk, from all blame. He took Catherine’s hand and led her into position. They both smiled, respectively bowing and curtseying to the king, before the duke of Norfolk whirled Catherine into the crowd.
“What news?”
“Tilney is still claiming to be carrying the king’s child,” he whispered. “She’s being moved to the priory at Syon Abbey where she’ll be held to see whether nature takes its course.”
“What of Joan Bulmer and Francis Dereham?”
“Joan is to accompany Katherine, as is my stepmother, Agnes Tilney; Lady Margaret Howard, my half-brother’s wife and Lady Anne Parr,” he said. “They are there partly to spy for Cranmer but also to tend Tilney. If she does indeed carry the king’s bastard, she will probably be allowed to deliver the babe before she is sentenced. Dereham is to be executed.”
“What?”
“Letters, genuine letters have been found between him and Tilney, in which she claims to love him and no other. They are dated during the time when she was Henry’s mistress.”
“So, the reason for your forged letters about treason was because you truly were worried she might be trying to pass Dereham’s child off as Henry’s, which could jeopardise all our positions, particularly if it is a boy?”
Her uncle nodded.
“We couldn’t run the risk, Kitten,” he said.
“It’s a shame you didn’t find the real letters earlier, you wouldn’t have had to risk compromising yourself,” she said, her voice laced with contempt.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“And if she isn’t with child?”
“She will probably be executed.”
“And Joan?”
Her uncle did not reply but she knew the answer would be the same. The dance came to an end and Catherine curtseyed once more before the duke led her back to Henry, whose face was avid with lust as she approached.
“Bed him tonight,” he hissed. “We need you pregnant.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will ensure your head is the next one on the block.”
Chapter Eight
After the arrest of Katherine Tilney and Joan Bulmer, the mood in the palace became increasingly tense. Worse were the whispers telling of the torture of Francis Dereham in the Tower. The echoes of Anne Boleyn’s fall from grace were unmistakable. Many of her ladies requested leave from her chambers and, understanding their fear, Catherine allowed them to return to their far-flung estates, envying them their escape from the oppressive terror of the court.
Henry had retired to his rooms in a storm of paranoia, closeting himself with the few powerful men he still regarded as trustworthy. Outside the large carved oak door to his chambers, the giant, handcrafted golden lock he used when he travelled was in position, guarding and protecting the monarch from both his real and imagined foes. Katherine Tilney, Joan Bulmer and their small entourage remained at Syon Abbey in Isleworth, Middlesex, while the queen tried to use her influence to obtain the best outcome possible: their removal to Holy Orders, rather than an early morning appointment with the executioner’s axe.
On the surface, Catherine maintained the pretence that all was well, encouraging her ladies to practise their singing for the Christmas entertainments, to make gifts and to pray that the king would be well enough to enjoy the festive period. When the order came that Francis Dereham was to be hanged, drawn and quartered at Tyburn for treason on 10 December, Catherine wept at her inability to protect the people in her court, even if she had never been overfond of Dereham. Her mask of insouciance only slipped when she was alone with her confidants, and they planned how they might survive should her uncle, Thomas Howard, be true to his word and turn upon her as he had done her cousin, Anne Boleyn.
Her worries increased with each passing day. How could she conceive an heir when her husband no longer summoned her to share his bed? The duke of Norfolk would not count this as an acceptable excuse, he would blame her for no longer being able to arouse the king.
Now, as she sat in her presence chambers awaiting a visit from another Howard uncle, Lord William Howard, Henry’s Scottish envoy, she wondered what news he had of the faraway court. Was this a possible escape route? Or merely a disaster waiting to happen? Such was the turmoil of her mind, she had no clear insight into whether this plan would save or damn her.
“Your grace,” said a smooth voice, rousing Catherine from her thoughts.
“My lord uncle,” she replied, holding out her hand for him to kiss. “How fare you? Was your journey from Scotland agreeable?”
At thirty-one, William Howard was a tall, imposing man with the piercing dark eyes of the Howards and the same charisma possessed by Catherine’s brother Charles. Both men carried themselves with an indefinable quality that caused women to find them attractive and men to want to either befriend or destroy them. Arranging his cloak and crossing his legs to make himself comfortable, William smiled. “Thankfully, my dear, I was able to sail from Scotland to France on a small errand for the king, then return via Calais. A far more pleasant trip than facing the perilous roads from the north at this time of year.”
“Far more agreeable,” agreed Catherine. “How was the Scottish court?”
“There is much sadness: the loss of the two heirs has weighed heavily on the king and queen, but it is hoped Queen Mary will soon be with child again,” he replied. “What news here, your grace?”
“We, too, hope for a happy announcement soon,” she murmured, pushing aside the rush of fear this subject always created within her.
“It has also pleased me to be able to deliver some small tokens from King James to his half-sister, Lady Douglas,” he continued. Catherine kept her face impassive while wondering if one was a message.
“Please leave them with Lady Knollys,” she said, beckoning Kathy forward. “She will ensure they are delivered to Lady Douglas.”
William Howard rose to his feet and bowed deeply. Once more he bent low and kissed the back of Catherine’s hand. As he did, she felt a small sting as the edge of a tiny sealed note was pushed into her palm. “Good day, my queen.”
A string of visitors followed and Catherine attended to each, until at last, Lady Knollys closed the main doors of the presence chamber, indicating that Catherine was retiring to her inner chambers to prepare for the main midday meal in the Great Hall. The moment they were alone, Catherine removed the note her uncle had given her from a small pocket in her sleeve and slit it open.
“It’s from Lady Cleves,” she whispered to Kathy, then hurried to her jewel chest where she found her ruby ring. Clicking it open, she extracted another small piece of parchment and read the letters and numbers written on it, then she pulled her Bible towards her and began translating the short note.
“How do you know what she’s saying?” whispered Kathy, who was hovering behind Catherine, squinting down at the coded note.
“It’s easy when you have the cipher,” replied Catherine, indicating Lady Knollys to fetch a chair. “The other day, when we saw Lady Cleves, she and I swapped rings. Inside each is a chamber where we hide the key to our next letter. See…” she pushed the scrap of parchment towards Kathy. “The letter ‘S’ means the word Lady Anne has used to disguise her message is in the Bible in the history of Susanna, the number five indicates the fifth verse and the number nine indicates the word,” she explained pointing to the word ‘ancients’, “then this final number, seven, means Anne has shifted this cipher seven letters to the right. So, I write out the alphabet, then on the line underneath, I count seven letters from the right, which is the letter ‘G’. The key word is ‘ancients’, so this is where I begin my cipher. I place the word on the second row beginning under the letter G. If there is more than one of the same letter in the key word, I only use the first one. I then fill in the remaining le
tters of the alphabet in order. Do you see?”
Lady Knollys looked bemused, so Catherine hastily scribbled out the letters of the alphabet, slotting in the cipher word underneath before filling in the remainder of the alphabet in a neat row:
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
UVWXYZANCIETSBDFGHJKLMOPQR
“The Lady Anne has used this cipher. She would write her message normally, then use the code to hide its true meaning. For example, if I wanted to write ‘Hello Kathy’ using this code,” continued Catherine. “I’d begin by finding the H on the top row and seeing which letter is underneath, it’s an N. So, you would use the N in place of the H.”
Seeing Kathy was still mystified, Catherine drew another chart and pushed it over towards Lady Knollys.
HELLOKATHY
NYTTDEUKNQ
“Look, ‘Hello Kathy’ would translate to: Nyttd Euknq. Then, because I have the cipher, I can do the reverse and translate it. Do you see now?”
Kathy was still unsure, so Catherine pointed to a word on the note: “Look at this one: wdlhkcyh. It means nothing written like that but if I translate it using Anne’s information: I find the W on the bottom row, and above it is the letter it really represents, which is a C, the D is an O, the L is a U, and so on. Look, it spells COURTIER.”
WDLHKCYH
COURTIER
Lady Knollys looked at her in awe.
“My goodness, Kitten,” she whispered. “This is an extremely sophisticated code.”
“What choice do I have, Kathy?” she said. “It may be our only chance of survival. While I don’t care about myself, it would break my heart if any of you were punished in my stead.”
“And it would break ours if anything happened to you, Kitten,” said Kathy, her eyes wide with a determined fury.
“We may need the chance of a way out,” Catherine murmured. “Not only for me, but for all of us. Margaret has written to her brother, King James of Scotland, and asked if his promise to give us safe passage through the mountains is still valid. With all the upheaval since York and with the arrests here, he may have changed his mind and we need to know. If escape to the Scottish court is no longer viable, my Culpepper relatives have property in Kent and I feel sure they would hide us until we could find safe passage to France…”
The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 27
