As much pleasure as he took in showering his queen with wealth, the corollary to that was the pleasure he took in withdrawing the wealth from the Seymours. Edward and Thomas Seymour, as uncles to the heir to the throne, must be kept in their place; Gregory Cromwell, married to Jane’s sister Elizabeth, must be kept in his.
Before long Henry’s breathing grew heavy and he started to snore.
Katherine clutched her coin and dreamed of what she might buy for Thomas Culpeper with it.
# # #
The melodious strains of the organ met Katherine’s ears, echoing mournfully down the long corridor that separated the chapel from the rest of the castle. She could tell that it was Mannox. No one played quite like him. In the old days at Lambeth, the thought of spending an hour with Mannox used to make her blood race. Not that she had felt any particular attraction or attachment to him; he was simply a means to an end, just as Joan, Francis and a score of others had been.
It seemed odd to her that so many of her old acquaintances were finding their way back to her after all this time. It seemed that now that she was queen, everyone wanted favors from her. She had to admit that many of these place-seekers had done favors for her in the past; it made her blush to think of some of the favors they had bestowed upon her! But that was all long ago…why were they suddenly seeking her out now?
Katharine had no patience with the written word, and she had barely made it through Joan Bulmer’s recent letter. She gathered that Joan had married and was unhappy, and that she wanted Katherine to offer her a place at court. In her letter, Joan had whined and wheedled; Katherine would have been willing to offer her a place in any case, but the letter had also, at the very end, held an element of threat. This did not disturb Katherine unduly; what could Joan Bulmer do to her now that she was queen?
And now here was Mannox asking to meet her in the chapel. Well, a queen should have a court musician, and Mannox was as good as any for the post. Although she had to admit to herself that the idea of having him so close by again made her slightly uneasy.
She entered the chapel and dipped her fingers into the holy water. Religion meant little to her; it was simply a habit to douse oneself and genuflect. She had not seen Mannox for months, but he had not changed. He looked up and saw her and immediately the music stopped.
Katherine was as beautiful as ever, but something was different. She was more sumptuously dressed than when he had last seen her, certainly, but that wasn’t it. As she approached him, suddenly he knew what it was. It seemed as if the royal banquet table agreed with her; she was plumper than she had been. At twelve, she had been sylph-like, thin and angular. Food was one of the reasons that the young men at Lambeth had been so successful in seducing the girls; even though the Howards were wealthy, the Duchess had never been an avid trencher-woman, and she kept food scarce at her table. She did not believe in over-feeding her charges. Oh, he had known full well about the nightly orgies…and food along with sensation had been an inducement to misbehavior. He had known some pangs of jealousy to think that Katherine was making free with her favors by night with kitchen sluts and stable boys, but that had actually served his purpose. It kept Katherine coming back to him in the daytime for what she enjoyed at night. Still, at seventeen, her new curves became her. He felt the old familiar longing as she took his hands and kissed his cheek.
“Dear Mannox!” she cried. “How I have longed to see you!”
Mannox cocked an eyebrow, and bowed low. “Your Grace,” he said, almost, but not quite, mockingly. To think that this child was now the queen…not only had he enjoyed her body thoroughly for many years, his judgment had been sound. She had indeed been meant for lofty things, and what could be loftier than being queen? She was a Howard, and he had hitched his star to hers years ago hoping someday for that to pay off in the form of patronage as well as the other delights she offered. And now, he was to be court musician to the queen! He smiled. “I would that it were so, Your Grace,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But you never called for me. If I had not written…”
Katherine waved a long-fingered, delicate white hand. “Oh, I have been much engaged,” she replied. “Still, you are here now. Has Lady Rochford spoken with you?”
Mannox’s fingers were itching to touch her; he was having trouble concentrating on her prattle. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied. “I have my instructions. I am at Your Grace’s disposal. Has Your Grace seen the keyboard for this instrument? It is indeed magnificent.” They were alone in the chapel; the queen had come to him unattended, which spoke volumes to him. But he must be subtle.
“I have not,” Katherine replied. Mannox bowed, and bid her walk before him to the interior of the massive organ. Behind the pipes they could not be seen by any chance comers.
Once at the keyboard, Mannox said, “Would Your Grace care to sit?”
Katherine sat, and Mannox sat beside her. She felt the accustomed hand on her leg, but she did not move, nor turn to face him. “You must not be familiar with me now that I am queen,” she said, in barely a whisper.
“Of course,” he replied. “I understand.” But the hand crept up and up as it always had, until it reached its destination. Even had anyone come behind the pipes, from the back, they would have seen nothing. It did not take Katherine long to explode.
Mannox was not a demanding lover, and he never asked Katherine to respond in kind. Sometimes she did and sometimes she did not; it was the uncertainty that lent spice to their little games. It had been a long time since he had seen her. Perhaps the king was a cool lover. Almost immediately he felt the delicate little hand on his codpiece.
While Katherine worked, she let her thoughts stray. Mannox was adept at prolonging his explosion. While she preferred quantity, he preferred quality, and would delay as long as possible. If only it were this easy with Thomas! So far, her cousin had looked his fill at the brief glimpses she had given him of her anatomy, but had avoided all other attempts to engage his attention. What on earth was he waiting for, she wondered? He must know that she was burning for him. She had given him all the signals. And then she conceived a brilliant plan. She would withdraw her interest, or seem to. She would flirt only with her cousin Paston from now on. She would also take steps to ensure that Thomas knew about her and Mannox. Lady Rochford was her confidant, and would do anything she asked. One thing she had learned from Francis Dereham; male jealousy was a potent force. If Culpeper thought that her interest in him was waning, that surely must bring him around, mustn’t it?
Mannox let out the partially stifled sigh that indicated his explosion. Silently, as was her wont, she arose and walked away without a word. It was good to have Mannox back again…good, dependable Mannox.
Greenwich Palace, February 1541
In the dim glow of a single candle, Lady Rochford did not look as old as her years. She was seven-and-thirty years to his six–and-twenty, but he had had hotter affairs with women much older than Jane. In his estimation, there was usually no better lover than a widow. But if rumor could be believed, Lady Jane had been waiting much longer for her satisfaction than just since the death of George Boleyn. Many did not believe that George had been sleeping with his sister Anne, instead of with his wife, but Culpeper was one of those who did not find it so farfetched. And it would explain why Jane had so vindictively betrayed her own husband to the king.
If the truth be told, he found Jane a bit of a cold fish; perhaps poor George had also found her so, and sought solace with his temptress of a sister. But it mattered not; he needed her for more than just a bed partner. Jane had the queen’s confidence, making her an essential element in his grand plan.
He reached for his wine cup as carefully as he could so as not to disturb her; she seemed to be sleeping, spent with lovemaking. He sipped his Hippocras and thought about the queen. His little cousin was reaching the state of being beside herself. He could see the frustration in her eyes every time she looked at him. He could almost smell her desire.
He laugh
ed to himself at the thought of her pathetic and completely transparent attempts to make him jealous. She had seemingly withdrawn her interest in him; she no longer flirted or made her subtle, and some not so subtle, suggestive gestures aimed at him. She now played her little games with Paston and others who had duties in the privy chamber. He pretended not to notice and ignored her; he went about his duties as if the tension between them was not so thick one could have cut it with a knife.
His mind came back, as it always did, to his clever ploy. He had always been able to turn his handsome looks and cool, suave manner to his advantage, but it was not enough. He wanted more. What he had in this world he had achieved through his own cunning. It was time now to take a chance, to gamble all on the ultimate prize. And now fortune had dealt him a card that he intended to play to the fullest.
He had no doubt that given the opportunity, he could rule England, and rule much more effectively than the Tudors had ever done. He was distantly related to the Howards; through them, he had, albeit only a precious drop or two, Plantagenet blood in his veins. He certainly had as good a claim to the throne as Henry Tudor, who had come to it through an illegitimate line and by right of conquest rather than direct inheritance.
And now all the pieces of his plan were falling into place. His little cousin was queen, and her state of mind, due to his coolness to her, was approaching that of a bitch in heat. He had seduced her principal waiting woman, and now held her in thrall as well. Lady Jane would do as she was bid, and her reward would be great.
The king was in ill health and it was obvious to all that he could not make old bones. He would die and when he did, Katharine, as queen, would be regent for the prince, who was far too young to rule. He did not seek marriage; that was too ambitious even for him. But as regent, Katherine would need a man to depend on and guide her. The Council would try to influence her, but in the end the decisions would be hers, and it would be he who told her what decisions to make. He would, in effect, rule the country through her. Jane would help to keep her in line, just as she did now. Jane was eager to assist him in his plan for two reasons; she was besotted with him, and believed he felt the same, and she, like him, was power-hungry. She was too politically astute to mind sharing him with the queen. It would be her task to provide him and Katherine with the opportunities needed to ensnare the little queen in their net, allowing them to realize their ambitions.
Jane stirred and turned to see him sitting up, his back to the headboard and propped by a pillow. “My love,” she murmured. She reached for his wine cup, which he gave her.
She sat up, her honey-coloured hair looking like spun gold in the candlelight. Her eyes were as green and wary as a cat’s. “What are you thinking of?” She reached out a hand and caressed his face.
Women! he thought. They always wanted to know what you were thinking, and they always expected it to be about them. But Jane was different and that was one of the reasons why he knew, he was certain, that he could depend upon her to help him bring his plans to fruition.
“The king leaves for Dover in the morning, to inspect the fortifications there. Should the French invade, it is likely that they will land there and all along the coast. The men of the Privy Chamber are excused from the journey. He leaves the queen behind, a testament to his change of focus as he dreams once more of the conquest of France.” Culpeper looked directly into Jane’s eyes. He liked what he saw.
She sat up, all business. “Yes,” she said excitedly. “You are right. Now is the time. We will never have a better opportunity.”
His blood raced. She was a woman in a million. He must be careful not to fall in love with her. At least, not until their schemes were realized.
Elsyng Palace, March 1541
The sun was warm on Mary’s back. Spring had come early; there would be plenty of flowers to cheer the bleak Lenten season. The garden was a riot of color. Blue delphinium spikes reached skyward, providing a backdrop for the delicate pastel pinks of the sweet peas. Bordering the flower bed where she sat on her favorite wooden bench were rows and rows of delicate, white lily-of-the-valley. When she was little these had been her favorite; she could still recall picking them for her mother, much to the dismay of the royal gardeners at Tittenhanger.
Edward and Elizabeth romped nearby on the grass, scythed close to make a cushiony green carpet on which to play with Edward’s favorite toy, a wooden ball that had been painted red. It was good to see the little prince laugh and play; he was such a serious child even at his young age. Elizabeth always knew how to bring out the best in him, as did Lady Margaret Bryan, the children’s governess. But Lady Margaret, Mary knew, was feeling her years. Past seventy was a great age, and was old to be minding two such young children. Still, Lady Margaret would not hear of resigning her post; as long as there were royal children to tend, she would be there doing her duty. Mary looked fondly at her as she dozed in the sun on the opposite bench.
A movement from the direction of the palace caught her eye. She held up a hand to shade her face, and gave a stifled cry, lest she wake Lady Margaret. She arose, gathered up her skirts and ran up the little hill towards the palace. As she crested the rise, the lake came into view, and the sun sparkled diamonds on the swiftly moving brook that flowed from it, feeding the moat.
“Chapuys!” she cried. “Oh, how good it is to see you!” It had been a long time since she had seen him; he had been out of the country for quite some time, stranded in the Low Countries because of his gout, and since he had returned to England the year before, their paths had seldom crossed. It tugged at her heart to see him so lame; he was making very slow time down the little slope towards the brook on the edge of the woods where she and Lady Margaret had taken the children to enjoy the lovely spring day.
# # #
When she reached him, she took his proffered hand and raised it to her face. They regarded each other for a moment and then both spontaneously embraced the other. They parted quickly, Mary keeping a firm hold on his hand as he attempted to bow to her and kiss her hand, as was the custom on the Continent, from which he drew his manners.
“My Lady,” he said, his eyes swimming with tears. “It has been too long.”
“Indeed,” Mary replied, her own eyes moist with emotion.
Ever the diplomat, Chapuys quickly eyed the situation. Lady Margaret dozing; the royal children playing nearby. “Ah,” he said, scanning the fringe of the woods. The bluebells are in bloom. I am so glad not to have missed such a wondrous sight. Shall we walk to the path?”
Mary looked at him uncertainly, eyeing his stick.
He smiled. “It is not as bad as it looks. This,” he indicated his stick, “is now mainly for show, and to garner sympathy from the ladies.”
For the first time in a long while, Mary threw her head back and laughed. She had never known a more serious-minded man; Chapuys had never been one for the ladies. She gazed down the hill at the forest edge. The sun was high and shining down through the translucent green of new leaves, and the woodland floor was a carpet of vivid blue.
“Yes,” Mary said. “Yes, let us walk there.” She took his arm and together they made their slow way towards the woods.
When they were out of ear shot of the others, Chapuys said, “The emperor is concerned about your altercations with the queen. We can take no risks, Your Grace, or presume too heavily upon your royal father’s leniency. Where the queen is concerned, he is quite closed to reason. You must take steps to make amends and heal this rift between you.”
Mary bristled. “I, make amends? It is not I who…” She turned to look at him, and the expression on Chapuys’ face was so pained that she stopped and said, “What is it? What is amiss?”
“Fault and blame are not at issue,” he said patiently. “All may seem well on the surface, but Your Grace is on thin ice. The king is besotted and blind to all reason. Should the queen demand it, you could lose more than just your ladies.”
It was Mary’s turn to look pained. “I cannot counten
ance her,” Mary cried. “And anyway, what can I do? I made my obeisance and was punished for my efforts with the loss of two of my ladies. I sent her a New Year’s gift. What more can I do?”
A sudden breeze blew through the trees, dappling the sunlight and enveloping Mary and Chapuys in the sweet scent of the flowers. Both of them unconsciously closed their eyes and breathed deeply.
After a few moments, Chapuys opened his eyes, shifted his weight on his stick and said, “There is a way. I have news from court.”
“Oh?” Mary turned to look down the long stretch of trees. The carpet of bluebells undulated in the wind, making it seem as if they stood in a vast purple ocean.
“Queen Katherine, upon learning that Lady Salisbury had no clothing suitable to the cold and damp of the Tower in which she still languishes, applied to the king for permission to send her some warm garments. The king granted his permission, and the Lady Margaret was sent a worthy bundle.” Chapuys leant upon his stick and waited for Mary to respond.
Mary lifted surprised eyes to his and said, “That was indeed kind of her! Perhaps I have misjudged her. Such a gesture is certainly indicative of a kind heart…whatever else Her Grace’s shortcomings may be.” She placed a soothing hand on his arm. “Good Chapuys, I am sorry to be the cause of so much anxiety for you and my good cousin. I will write to the queen to thank her, and I shall do so most sincerely. But why, why does my father keep Mother Pole in the Tower? Why will he not release her?”
“A new plot has been uncovered,” he said. “The north has risen again. The rising is being quelled, but the king’s grace is not of a mind to release the countess while the danger still exists. The countess is not believed to be complicit, but these risings are done in her name. She is a Plantagenet.”
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