Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  Two days later, Anna’s new consort of musicians, the Bassanos of Venice, to whom Henry had succeeded in granting asylum, performed in her chamber. The King was present, seated with her in the midst of her ladies, when the music was interrupted by a loud sob. All eyes turned, and Anna saw Anne Bassett weeping on Mrs. Cromwell’s shoulder.

  “Take her out,” she bade Mother Lowe, who hastened to do her bidding.

  Henry signaled to the musicians to play on.

  “I wonder what upset Mrs. Bassett,” she said to him when they had finished and the ladies were setting the table for supper.

  “This morning, I had her stepfather, Lord Lisle, arrested for treason,” Henry said, his mouth pursed primly. “I was shown proof that he plotted to sell Calais to the French. He is now in the Tower. I expect Mistress Bassett had just been informed.”

  “How dreadful for her—and for your Grace!” Anna exclaimed, thinking how devastating this must be for Anne’s ambitious mother. “Should I dismiss her?”

  “No, Anna. She has committed no treason, and I like the little minx. You may tell her that my displeasure does not extend to her.”

  “Will her father be executed?” Anna dared to ask.

  “He is my cousin. I will not shed his blood. He can rue his folly in the Tower for a space.” She had not expected him to be so merciful.

  * * *

  —

  Weeks before, all the talk had been of Anna’s coronation. Everyone had been looking forward to it. But still no arrangements had been made, and Whitsun came and went without any mention of a crowning.

  When Anna complained to Dr. Harst, his response was firm. “I have raised the matter with the King. It is your right to be crowned.”

  “Thank you. I have dreaded broaching the subject, lest it provoke his anger. His temper has been volatile these past weeks.”

  “I am well aware of that, Madam,” Harst smiled wryly, “and I am sure that Lord Cromwell, or my lord of Essex, as I should now call him, is too, for I heard that the King boxed his ears the other day and threw him out of his chamber. He emerged battered, but smiling, and I dare say all was soon forgotten. If you say to the King that Duke Wilhelm is asking when you are to be crowned, I think he will be reasonable.”

  “Then I will gather my courage,” Anna promised.

  * * *

  —

  “Sir,” she said, strolling on Henry’s arm in her garden after supper, “my brother the Duke is asking when I am to be crowned.”

  “Has that fool of an ambassador been talking to you?” Henry snapped, his benign mood evaporating. “He keeps asking me the same question. You will be crowned when I will it.”

  “But, Henry, I was to have been crowned last week, and before that at Candlemas. There was much talk of it. I feel shamed because it did not happen, and no explanation was given. I fear people will be wondering if I have displeased you in some way.”

  He glared at her. Clearly she had displeased him by bringing up the subject. Then he sighed, and the dangerous moment passed. “The truth is, Anna, there are too many other calls on my treasury. If your brother wants me to join him in a war against the Emperor, I will need funds for that. So do not press me on the matter of your coronation. My late Queen did not trouble herself about it, and hers was deferred again and again because of plague and rebellion. In the end, she never had one.” There was great sadness in his eyes.

  “And she, of all your queens, most deserved it, because she gave you a son,” Anna said softly.

  He stared at her. Gone was the steely gaze. “You have a rare understanding, Anna.”

  “Against such a fine example, I feel very much lacking,” she confessed, thinking they had never spoken so candidly. “I try to emulate what I know of her in all I do.”

  Henry grasped her hand. “You have a good heart, Anna,” he said.

  Chapter 14

  1540

  When the Earl of Rutland and Anna’s council asked for a formal audience, she knew there was trouble afoot.

  “Your Grace,” Rutland said, “my lord of Essex has required us to counsel you to use all pleasantries to the King.”

  He might have slapped her, for his words had the same effect.

  “My lord,” she faltered, “everything is pleasant between myself and the King, so I do not understand your meaning.”

  Rutland hesitated.

  “Is my lord Essex implying I have done something amiss?” Anna cried, anger overriding dismay. “My lords, I take great pains to study and please his Majesty. I am an obedient wife, always conformable to his pleasure. Maybe my lord of Essex would like to give me specific advice, for I do not know what more I can do! And maybe you can all go back and ask him for it.”

  Rutland paled. Anna stepped off the dais and faced him. It was like confronting Henry, for the Earl looked so like him. “I remember your giving me similar counsel back in January, and I have borne it in mind ever since. Is my lord of Essex implying that you failed sufficiently to impress upon me his advice the first time? I am not sure I approve of his unwarranted interference in my affairs. Be assured, I shall speak to the King about this.”

  Rutland looked stricken.

  “You may go, my lords,” Anna said. She signaled to her ladies to follow her, and swept out of the presence chamber.

  While she was still impelled by indignation, she sent an usher to inquire where the King was. Informed that he was in his library, she hurried there, and was admitted to find Henry alone, reading. Seeing her, he stood up and bowed. He did not seem angry at being interrupted.

  “This is a pleasant surprise, Anna,” he said. “Pray be seated. What can I do for you?”

  She took the chair opposite his at the table. “Speak to my lord of Essex, your Grace!” she cried.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “What has he done?”

  “For the second time this year, he has instructed my chamberlain to urge me to be pleasant to you! Sir, am I not pleasant? Have I offended you in some way?”

  An angry flush had suffused Henry’s face. He held up his hand. “Cease, Anna! You must not concern yourself with this. Cromwell is tilting at phantoms. The Catholics are out for his blood; they did not want me to ally myself with the German princes, but he persisted. He is desperate to safeguard his own position by ensuring that our marriage is a success. He is not reacting to anything you have done—and be sure you have done nothing to offend me—but preempting any chance of its failure. You may leave this with me. I will speak to him.”

  Only later did she begin to wonder what part Henry was playing in this feud between Cromwell and the Catholic party. Was he supporting his chief minister? Or was he distancing himself from the alliance that Cromwell had brokered?

  When Anna returned to her apartments, the Duchess of Richmond brought her embroidery basket.

  “Your Grace, I heard what Lord Rutland said. It was outrageous of Cromwell to lay such a task on him.” She did not give Cromwell his proper title, the title Norfolk had complained about. “I told my father the Duke about it. He was most indignant on your Grace’s behalf.”

  Anna did not for a moment believe the Howards were concerned for her; she was convinced they had resented her from the start. “I thank him for his concern,” she said, suspecting that Norfolk might use her to make mischief for Cromwell, “but I have already spoken to the King, and he is dealing with the matter.”

  The Duchess stiffened. “I am glad of it, Madam,” she said, and went back to sit with Margaret Douglas and Lady Rutland.

  “Cromwell has apologized,” Henry said, when he came to Anna’s bedchamber that night. “He says he was misinformed. I don’t believe a word of it.”

  Anna next saw Cromwell on a hot June afternoon, when she went to watch the King shooting at the butts. He doffed his bonnet to her and bowed, but his eyes were wary. He had thought her his inst
rument, passive and malleable. It must have felt as if a lamb had turned and bitten him.

  Two days later, when she and her ladies were seated in her garden, listening to the Bassanos playing, Margaret Douglas came running along the path.

  “Madam, have you heard? Cromwell is arrested.” The music ceased and everyone gaped, as Margaret caught her breath. “Sir Anthony Browne just told me he was taken as he entered the council chamber, ready for the day’s business. The Captain of the Guard suddenly appeared and apprehended him for treason and heresy.”

  “Heresy?” Anna echoed in disbelief.

  “He was ever a friend to the reformers,” Margaret reminded her. “My lord of Norfolk and the Lord Admiral stripped him of his Garter insignia. Cromwell was shouting that he was no traitor, but he was literally dragged off to the Tower. Many are rejoicing at it.”

  “And some must be lamenting,” the Duchess of Suffolk said bitterly. “This is a sad day for reform.”

  “What chills me is that one who rose so high could be brought down so suddenly,” Anna said. The world knew how heavily Henry had relied on Cromwell, how far Cromwell’s power had reached. His enemies must have been busy! And they were not far to seek. The smug smile on the Duchess of Richmond’s face said it all.

  * * *

  —

  When Henry came to Anna’s bedchamber that night, he slumped down in a chair, looking exhausted.

  “You will have heard about Cromwell,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir, I did. My ladies have spoken of little else all day.”

  Henry sighed. “I want you to know the facts, Anna. It is my intention, using all possible means, to lead religion in my realm back to the way of truth. I relied on Cromwell to assist me in that. But he had become too attached to the German Lutherans, and dangerously influenced by them. I had my suspicions, and then, I thank God, I was warned by some of my principal lords that he was working against my will and pleasure, and that of Parliament.”

  Anna feared that those same principal lords had been plain envious of Cromwell’s meteoric career and his intimacy with the King. They had despised his birth, and become jealous. They had ulterior motives for bringing him down, which had little to do with religion. But she must not be seen to question the King’s justice.

  “I have nourished a snake in my bosom!” Henry snarled, working himself up into a rage. “I will abolish all memory of him. He is the greatest wretch ever born in England!”

  And what of me? Anna thought fearfully. What of the Queen Cromwell had set up on the throne? If people believed she was a Protestant or reformist, would she not share in the infamy that must now attach itself to Cromwell’s name?

  “What will happen to him?” she ventured, knowing that, with Henry in this mood, the answer was obvious.

  “Tomorrow, a Bill of Attainder against him will be drawn up and laid before Parliament.”

  “A Bill of Attainder? What is that?”

  “It is an Act passed by Parliament condemning a traitor to the loss of his life and goods.”

  “So Cromwell will be tried by Parliament?”

  “No, Anna, there will be no trial. Parliament considers the evidence in the Bill of Attainder, and acts accordingly.”

  It did not seem fair that Cromwell would be deprived of the chance to plead his case. But who was she, a foreigner, to criticize English justice?

  * * *

  —

  On the day the House of Lords approved the Bill, Anna looked out of her window and saw a group of ladies and gentlemen strolling in the gardens down by the river. As they drew nearer, she recognized the King—his massive figure was unmistakable—and the tiny woman beside him. It was Katheryn Howard, leaning on his arm and laughing.

  It really upset her—and frightened her. Norfolk and his party had brought down Cromwell. Katheryn Howard was Norfolk’s niece. Was he using her to bring down the Queen too?

  She turned away from the window and beckoned Susanna to follow her into the closet she used for private prayer.

  “My good friend, tell me truly,” she said, as soon as the door was closed. “Do you know if the King has cast his fancy on Katheryn Howard?”

  She could tell from the distress in Susanna’s face that it was true.

  “There was gossip back in April,” Susanna said. “We did not want to upset you, as you had enough to contend with.”

  “Who knew?” Anna asked, hurt turning to anger that anyone should have kept this from her.

  Susanna faltered. “Nearly all your ladies, Madam.” She could not meet Anna’s eye. “We were hoping it was just a passing fancy.”

  “From what I’ve seen, and the time it has been going on, that is unlikely.” Anna did not know whether she was more grieved by the affair, or by the failure of her own ladies to warn her—especially Susanna, her special friend, on whom she had relied to be her ears at court. She felt like a fool.

  She steeled herself not to cry. She did not love Henry, but she was his wife and Queen, and she felt slighted, humiliated, and stupid.

  “Tell me what you know,” she insisted.

  Susanna looked uncomfortable. “Kate Carey overheard Katheryn telling the Duchess of Richmond that the King had made her a grant of land. This was some weeks ago, when first we came to Whitehall. He has given her jewels too; she told Lady Rochford, and Lady Rochford—well, you know how she enjoys stirring things up—said she’d perceived his Grace was marvelously set on her, more than he had been on any woman in his life.”

  It was easy to see why. Katheryn was young, graceful, and pretty; having her as his mistress would flatter Henry’s vanity. He would be rejuvenated by her youth and vivacity. It made Anna feel old and drab and useless.

  “Are they lovers?” she whispered. Could Henry do with Katheryn what he had failed to do with her?

  Susanna swallowed. “She hinted to Lady Rochford that he was laying siege to her virtue, as Lady Rochford took great pleasure in telling us, but she said she would not stain her family’s honor by granting him favors. Madam, it is the same game Anne Boleyn played, and look where it got her.”

  “It got her beheaded,” Anna snapped, pacing up and down in turmoil. “These Howards, they are behind this. I know it.”

  Susanna spread her hands helplessly. “I fear you are right. The ladies think Katheryn is alienating the King’s affections from you.”

  Strangely, Anna felt little anger against Katheryn herself. When the King had beckoned, Katheryn would have had no choice, nor the strength of character to say no to him and the puppet masters who were probably priming her for queenship. As an aging man, Henry had little to offer a giddy young girl, but the prospect of a crown would compensate for that.

  She was furious with Henry, with Norfolk and his faction—and with those who had kept this from her and left her to her false illusions. She was scared too, because if Henry wanted to marry Katheryn—it would not be the first, or even the second, time he had resolved to advance a maid-of-honor to the consort’s throne—then what might he not do to rid himself of her?

  “Who else knows about this affair?” She was terse toward Susanna, deeply wounded by her concealing a matter that touched herself so closely.

  “I think it is common knowledge, Madam,” Susanna whispered.

  Of course. It made sense now that there had been a decrease in the numbers resorting to her court. Her star was falling. Naturally, the courtiers would be fawning over Katheryn Howard now.

  “I will not have gossip about it in my household,” she said. “Will you make that clear to everyone?”

  “Yes, Madam,” Susanna said, curtseying as if they were on the most formal of terms.

  “You may go,” Anna said.

  Left alone, she wept. Susanna had been a cherished friend, but Anna could not see past her betrayal. What sort of friend kept something so vital to herself? Sh
e did not think she could ever trust Susanna again, or forgive her. And what of those who had colluded in the deception? Was there anyone who was loyal to her?

  * * *

  —

  She did not tax Henry with what she knew. She tried to continue as if all were well, although she was alert for the slightest indication that it was not. But he gave nothing away, as usual.

  She behaved as normal to Katheryn, making sure she gave the girl no cause to complain about her. Katheryn was probably as much a victim of circumstances as she herself was, and there was no malice in her; you could not help liking her.

  That night, as Henry snored beside her, oblivious to the turmoil raging in her heart, she lay wakeful and restless, obsessing over the fates of her predecessors. Both Katherine and Anne had been supplanted by their maids-of-honor. Might Henry use similar means to rid himself of her? Yet surely he could not so easily set aside a princess of Kleve?

  Indeed he could, for he had put away a princess of mighty Spain!

  * * *

  —

  The next day, Anna summoned Dr. Harst, and received him with only Mother Lowe present. Mother Lowe, she was relieved to find, had known nothing about Henry’s pursuit of Katheryn Howard, and had been shocked when Anna confided in her.

  “Dr. Harst,” she said, “it has come to my notice that the King is enamored of one of my maids-of-honor.” She saw from his expression that he knew. “You are aware of it,” she said, feeling again that sense of betrayal, and making it sound like an accusation. Did the whole court know? Were people laughing behind their hands at her? Was she considered so weak in character that even her friends had conspired to keep silent about what was going on?

  “I have become aware of it lately, Madam,” he replied. She wondered if he was telling the truth.

  “It seems his Majesty has been pursuing Mistress Katheryn Howard for some time,” she said. “It is a great grievance to me that no one saw fit to inform me. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”