by Alison Weir
“But Werner is here,” Hanna protested. “Why should I leave you free to pursue the Lady Anna, and deprive myself of the man I love?”
Anna’s hand flew to her throat as her heart began thumping. He loved her. Otho loved her. A miracle, sent by God to reassure her that a man could desire her. It was enough just to know it, because she could never, in all conscience, have him. He was married, and she must leave him to make things right with his wife. Inwardly, though, her soul was singing.
She had to go. Stealthily, she crept back along the path by the hedge, then looked to check that she had not been seen. The pair of them were standing at the other end of the path, staring at her. She nodded her head and walked on, praying they had not guessed that she had overheard them.
Chapter 19
1540
In the middle of August, Anna moved her household to Bletchingley in Surrey, a dozen miles’ ride westward from Hever. The splendid redbrick manor house stood within a mile of the village. Waiting there to greet Anna was its newly appointed keeper, Thomas Cawarden, a magnificent-looking man in his midtwenties who carried about him an air of barely constrained energy and virility. He had a cherubic face, heavy-lidded eyes, and a devastating smile, and held himself as if he owned the manor and was welcoming an honored guest. His chestnut hair was cropped neatly short, and he was finely dressed in a doublet and short gown of showy damask. When he rose from his bow, Anna found herself unsettled by his gaze.
He lost no time in telling her how well he had been looking after the manor and, as her master of the deer hunt, the two hunting parks that surrounded it and extended for seven miles. He was not so much giving an account of himself to his mistress as boasting.
“I live at Hextalls Farm, which is close by,” he told her.
“You live alone, Mr. Cawarden?”
“Yes, just me and the servants.” So he was unmarried, then. She was surprised.
He led her through the arch of the large gatehouse into an outer courtyard. Anna looked around with interest, uncomfortably aware of the vitality and allure of Thomas Cawarden. He could never compare to Otho, of course; she could never love Otho any the less, just because some good-looking fellow had crossed her path and laid about her with his charm. Looking back at her household, who were following, she glimpsed Otho walking stony-faced beside Hanna, and felt again the newfound rush of love and desire that had been her intermittent companion these past few days.
“Your private apartments are here,” Cawarden said, pointing to the range ahead of them. He led her through an arched door and into a great hall with brightly decorated floor tiles, then through to the chapel. Beyond, there were myriad chambers, parlors, closets, and oratories, all paneled with wainscot—ceilings, floors, and walls.
“There are sixty-three rooms here,” he said proudly.
“It is a fine house,” Anna observed.
They ascended a spiral stair to a first-floor gallery, from which the private rooms led off. They were apartments of vast size and great splendor, and furnished sumptuously, perhaps in anticipation of a visit from the King. In the enormous state bedchamber, the huge bed, chairs, and tables were made, Cawarden told her, of walnut, very rare.
“The King has a bed of walnut at Whitehall,” Anna said, wanting to impress upon him that she had lived in palaces and was used to surroundings of such magnificence.
The bed hangings and cushions were of gold and silver, embroidered in colored silks, the chairs and benches strewn with satin cushions in red, yellow, green, and blue. Anna reckoned there were about forty yards of costly tapestry hanging on the walls.
Two other bedchambers were almost as large and luxurious. In a fit of guilt, Anna assigned one to the von Wylichs. She had no right to love Otho, and must afford him and his wife the chance to make all well between them. Offering such fine accommodation must go some way toward assuring Hanna that her mistress was no threat to her.
But, from the look on Hanna’s face, the prospect of sharing this beautiful room with Otho was not appealing. Anna realized belatedly that others in her household were more entitled to the grander bedchambers. Hastily, she invited her chamberlain, Sir William Goring, to take the remaining one.
At the head of the stairs, Anna inspected the great chamber and, beyond it, the rooms her other staff would occupy. Then, leaving them to unpack, she followed Thomas Cawarden down to the ground floor to take a closer look at the hall and the two parlors.
“Your Highness can use these as reception and dining rooms,” he said, as if he had already made the choice for her. It irritated her, his presumption, and his manner of lordly proprietorship. She noticed that, in the dining parlor, the trestles had been set in place for dinner; two young girls in aprons and lawn caps were laying out plates and napkins for six people.
“I thought your Highness might appreciate having supper with me, and inviting your chamberlain and steward, and two of your ladies, as there is much with which to acquaint you concerning the manor,” Cawarden said.
Again, the presumption of the man! It was for Anna, as mistress of the house, to decide where, and with whom, she would dine. Yet what he was suggesting was quite reasonable, and changing the arrangements now would make her seem petulant, so she nodded graciously.
“Thank you. I will be down at six o’clock,” she said.
In the other parlor, she was pleased to find gaming tables, musical instruments, and cupboards well stocked with playing cards, board games, dice, and music books.
“We shall not lack for diversion,” she said, smiling at her ladies.
“Your Highness enjoys cards?” Cawarden asked, those intense eyes raking her face.
“I do,” Anna answered.
“Splendid! We can have a game after supper,” he said.
Did he not know that it was those of higher rank who extended such invitations? Again, she bristled.
“I may be tired after my journey, Mr. Cawarden. Now I would see the kitchens, if you would be so good.”
He shrugged, and showed her beyond the hall to the offices. She made a close inspection of the buttery, cellar, spicery, starching house, milking house, bakehouse, brewhouse, and mill house, and was almost annoyed to find no cause for complaint. Everything was spotlessly clean and in excellent order. In the kitchen, Meister Schoulenburg was already establishing his authority, while laying out the pans, pots, and ingredients he would need for the evening repast. Anna smiled at him. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my friend?”
“It will be when I can get these damned scullions to do their job properly,” he growled in German, with no respect for niceties, as usual.
Anna laughed. “I’m sure you will have them jumping at your command in no time.” She turned to Cawarden, who was waiting with ill-concealed impatience. “I will rest a little now, Mr. Cawarden. I will see you at dinner.”
* * *
—
At six o’clock promptly, a bell in the gatehouse tower rang out. Anna was ready, dressed in a gown of black velvet with a crimson kirtle beneath, and a French hood edged with pearls. On her way to the stairs, she met Sir William Goring coming out of his chamber. He bowed to her.
“Your Highness, I am glad to have the chance to speak with you,” he said. “I think that you, as well as I, were a little overwhelmed by Mr. Cawarden. I was watching your face as he made presumption after presumption. He acts as if he owns this house.”
“That was indeed my impression,” Anna told him. “He has a high opinion of himself.”
“I think he is a man to be reckoned with, Madam, and not one to be crossed. He is one of the ‘new men’ who have risen by ability rather than on account of who their father is. His, I am informed, was a cloth fuller. Cawarden was lucky enough to secure the patronage of Lord Cromwell, and that’s how he rose to become a gentleman of the King’s Privy Chamber. He is close to his Majesty, and there
fore to be treated with caution.”
“Thank you for the warning, Sir William. However, I hardly think the King would approve of his audacity. If it continues, I will mention it to his Grace.”
She descended to the dining chamber, Katharina and Gertrude in her wake. Cawarden bowed respectfully enough as she entered, and set himself to charm her. As the meal progressed, and wine was imbibed, she found that despite herself, she was drawn in by his vitality, his wit, and his beauty.
“This house was once owned by the dukes of Buckingham,” he told her, waving a hand to encompass the splendor of their surroundings. “One was sent to the block for leading a rebellion against King Richard, after which all his possessions were confiscated. His son, the last Duke, got everything back, and he tore down the old house and built this one. He had good taste, wouldn’t you agree?” Before Anna could answer, he rattled on, “It seems, however, that he learned nothing from his father’s example, because he too was beheaded for treason. That’s how Bletchingley came to the Crown.”
Anna was dismayed that two of her houses were hers because their owners or occupants had died bloodily. And The More, which she had not yet seen, had belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, who, had he lived long enough after his disgrace, might well have shared the same fate.
“I would rather not be the beneficiary of tragedy,” she said, laying down her knife.
“Oh, you’re not the first owner since Buckingham died,” Cawarden blithely assured her. “The King granted it to Sir Nicholas Carew. It was only after his execution last year that it again reverted to the Crown.”
“So that makes its history less tragic?” Anna asked drily. Truly, this beautiful house was unlucky.
“They were traitors; what did they expect?” Cawarden was dismissive. “No point in getting sentimental about them.”
Anna felt anger rising at his flippancy. She changed the subject. “You mentioned that there are two large parks here?”
“Well-stocked hunting parks to the north and south,” he answered proudly. “The Little Park and the Great Park. And, over to the west of them, are the ruins of Bletchingley Castle.”
“I must ride out and see it,” Anna said.
“I will myself be your escort,” Cawarden stated. Anna saw Sir William Goring and Jasper Horsey exchange glances. Again, she felt irritated. It was perfectly reasonable that Cawarden should show her around her lands; he was more familiar with them than anyone else. And yet once more she felt she was being maneuvered.
“You live at this place called Hextalls?” she asked, without giving him an answer.
“Yes, Madam. It’s nearby, at Little Pickle.”
Anna had to smile. She was learning to like these strange English place names.
“It is part of the Bletchingley domain,” Cawarden was saying. “The house is old, but it’s been kept up, and it offers reasonable accommodation.”
“I heard that it has two courtyards, a great hall, and a large deer pound,” Goring interjected. “It sounds very reasonable to me.” Especially for a fuller’s son. The words were unsaid, but Anna caught Goring’s meaning, and saw Cawarden flush.
The talk turned to the King’s progress, the new Queen, and the rising price of virtually everything. It was a combative conversation, as if Cawarden and Goring were trying to score points off each other. Eventually, Anna grew weary of their sparring, and rose. “Sirs, I am tired, and must go to bed. I bid you good night.” She would not thank Cawarden for the fine food. Effectively, she had been his hostess.
* * *
—
As the days passed, and she grew familiar with Bletchingley, although never entirely at ease there, Anna came to realize that the overbearing Thomas Cawarden was not her only problem. She was sure now that Wymond Carew was intercepting her correspondence, through the covert offices of his wife, Martha.
It had gradually dawned on her that letters she had sent were taking longer than usual to arrive, judging by the delay before she received responses; she was sure her seal had been moved at least twice; and then Mrs. Carew let slip something she could only have read in one of Anna’s letters. Anna had written to Mutter of her abhorrence of the English custom of greeting people with a kiss on the lips, something she would never have confided to anyone in England, lest her words be repeated and give offense. But Mrs. Carew, having received Otho von Wylich’s kiss when he joined them at bowls one day, had said, “Don’t kiss my Lady Anna on the lips; she hates it!” It was that which alerted Anna to the possibility that the Carews were spying on her.
It was not the surveillance itself that troubled her, for she knew she had nothing to fear. The King himself could read all her correspondence and find no fault with it. Dutifully, at Sir William Goring’s suggestion, she handed him any letters she received, to forward to the court, and within a day or so they would be returned. But now, it seemed, her outgoing correspondence was being scrutinized too.
She sent for Carew and challenged him. “You and your wife have no right to intercept the letters I write myself,” she reproved, her voice sharp. “If it continues, I will report you to the King.”
He smirked superciliously at that, and she lost her temper.
“So you find this funny, ja? Mr. Carew, I will not have members of my household spying on me. You may go.”
She resolved to keep her distance from both him and his meddling wife. Where Mrs. Carew had assisted her, she took to calling upon Joanna Horsey. It was the deceit that galled her, so much so that, when a letter arrived from Wilhelm, giving her news of Mutter and Emily and affairs in Kleve, she decided to thwart those watching her and keep it, rather than send it immediately to the King. After all, it was a personal letter, and dealt only with domestic matters.
Three days later, she was surprised to receive an evening visit from Dr. Harst. She had not seen him since she had upbraided him for accusing her of frivolity, and had feared he was no longer her champion, or her friend.
His manner was pained and distant. “Madam, I have today received a letter from Mr. Carew, complaining of you. He has asked his brother-in-law, Mr. Denny, who is head of the Privy Chamber, to obtain the King’s permission for him to leave your service. Mr. Carew says you are bent on doing him displeasure.”
“I do him displeasure?” Anna cried. “He has been spying on me! Whose displeasure is the greater? He should ask himself where his loyalty lies.”
“It lies with the King, Madam, first and foremost. Plainly there are still concerns that there might be reprisals from the divorce, or that Duke Wilhelm might be allying with other princes against England. You did promise to show all the letters you receive to his Majesty. Mr. Carew was also commanded by the Duke of Suffolk to show to the King’s Council any letters you sent.”
“I did not know the Duke told him to do it!” Anna snapped. “I should have been told.”
“Mr. Carew believes you did know. He complains that you do your best to ignore him, and that you esteem his wife far less than you do Mrs. Horsey.”
“Oh, that is pathetic!” Anna seethed. “Does he expect me to esteem her after she spied on me?”
“That is not the main thrust of his complaint, Madam.” Harst frowned. “Mr. Carew states you had a letter three days past from your brother, and do not seem minded to send it to the King, as is your duty. I made excuses for you, Madam. I said it was a letter of congratulation from your brother on being divorced.” His tone was droll.
Anna gaped at him. “That is not a matter for sarcasm.”
“Madam, I was trying to make them look ridiculous. I am sure his Majesty will not be interested in reading about which book the Duke has enjoyed, or that the Lady Amalia has learned how to cook Bratwurst. Such matters hardly offer incitement to war. Nevertheless, Mr. Carew was quite firm. He said I should advise you to send the letter to the King.”
“Very well,” Anna agreed.
>
She sent for Carew, and received him in Harst’s presence. “I have had a letter from Duke Wilhelm,” she said. “Pray give it to Sir William to send to the Privy Council. They will find it treats of high matters of state.” She could not resist the dig.
“Thank you, Madam,” Carew said, his manner stiff. But he made no move to leave.
“Is something wrong?” Anna asked him.
He glanced at the ambassador. “My lady, I must speak. I have learned from your cofferer that Mr. Horsey receives substantially more in salary than I do.”
Ah, so this was why he had complained of her favoring Joanna Horsey over his wife. She’d wager that Mrs. Carew was behind this!
“Madam, I pray that I and my wife shall have the same allowance as Mr. Horsey and his wife, for I think myself no meaner than he.”
Biting back a tart retort, Anna paused. She could not have jealousies in her household. They could escalate and lead to strife and ill feeling. And yet, granting Carew an increase in salary now would seem like rewarding him for his perfidy, and might embolden him to further disloyalty.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot,” she said. “I have no authority to increase the salaries of my household. That would be a matter for the King, and I would wish him to bestow increases only on those who have rendered me loyal service.”
She inclined her head to show Carew that he was dismissed, and he went out glowering.
“You have made an enemy there,” Dr. Harst observed.
“He was already my enemy,” she told him.
* * *
—
There was a distinct chill in the household for days afterward. Carew continued to act as go-between for Anna and the King, but with ill grace. His wife would not speak to her.