by G Lawrence
My grandmother chuckled. “You are amusing, child,” she said. “And such talk warms my old, cold blood. Court suits you. You look bonny and happy.”
“I love it there, my lady,” I said. “Never have I felt so at home. The other maids are so kind, and the ladies-in-waiting are good to us. Strict, but good.”
It was true. I was part of something now, as always I had wished to be. Not as I was before in this house. No more was I an eye at the window. I was inside.
We talked more, of beds and furnishings the King had dispatched to the castles and houses where the Queen would stay before he met her, of clothes he had ordered, and of the court and its ways. Seeing my grandmother starting to nod, I rose and kissed her cheek. “I will away, Your Grace,” I said. “Before you start snoring.”
“Cheek!” she said, brandishing her cane. I dodged and grinned at her, receiving a smile in return. “You are a good girl,” she said. “Mind you stay that way, and kiss me again.”
I did as bidden, and she embraced me, proud for once that I was her kinswoman.
“Court sounds wonderful,” Kat said as we walked down the hallways of Norfolk House. Looking at them now, I could not understand how I had thought them so vast, so daunting. “I wish I could go there, some day.”
“Someday you will,” I said. “Find a man with a post at court, and it is done.”
She smiled. “You look well, Catherine.”
“As do you. And how is home? Are there still adventures by night?”
She smiled. “Of course,” she said and I sighed a little. Not all my memories of our adventures were bad. “You do not have them at court?”
“The maidens’ chamber key is better guarded, and the risk is greater.” I shrugged. “But that is the price… a life of less freedom in return for being at court.”
As Kat and I said goodbye, I handed her a purse. “I trust you to take this to Dereham,” I said. “It is all the money I owed him for cloth and silk flowers, six pounds in all. Can you make sure he gets it? That way, I owe him nothing anymore and…”
“… the last tie is broken,” said Kat, nodding. “I will see it done.”
It had been hard parting with the whole sum at once from my wages. We had been granted money in advance, in case clothes, bedding or other sundries were needed, and the thought of four pounds left for a whole year was hard, but I had many new clothes and warm bedding from my grandmother, my food was paid for by the King, as were candles and wood so I could do without a few luxuries. I wanted the last bond broken.
I was proud of myself. Finally, I had learnt how to order money. The necessity of unshackling myself from Dereham had brought me to an understanding of numbers, for I had budgeted as we had been shown by our tutors in preparation for running a household, and my numbers for once added up.
As I went to leave, I went to the maidens’ chamber. I know not why, something pulled me. There was no one inside. I walked to the bed where once I had slept, and stared down at it. A flash, like a lightening strike hit my mind. I saw him on top of me, my hands pushing, useless.
Swiftly I turned, sick to my stomach and almost ran from the room. When I reached the boat to take me back to Greenwich, there was a sheen of sweat on my brow, and my hands were shaking. I sat down heavily, staring at the grey, cold waters of the Thames, trying to lose the memory by staring blankly at the choppy waves flowing against the side of the boat.
*
As I came to the water steps at Greenwich, it was late afternoon, perhaps an hour before the evening meal. Restless after an afternoon of my grandmother quizzing me, and disturbed by the flash of memory, I did not go into the palace where a warm fire would have persuaded the chips of ice in my blood to melt, but went to the gardens. A manservant my grandmother had sent along with the boat accompanied me so I was not alone, but he walked behind me, far enough that I had the illusion of solitude. Though it was still day, the grounds were blue, dusky dim and white shadow. Rooks haunted the trees, calling to one another. Wrapping my cloak about me, I wandered the paths, seeing nothing, until a voice stopped me.
“Maiden of ice and snow,” said a merry, rich voice. “Why do you wander so sad and low?”
I smiled, knowing it was him. “A pretty line. From whom did you steal it, Master Culpepper? Sir Thomas Wyatt or the Earl of Surrey?”
“So, you know who I am, Mistress Howard,” he said. I turned to see him at the head of one of the paths, up a small flight of stone stairs. “I had thought you immune to my presence… were it not for those cheeky glances you throw my way.”
“I know not what you mean, sir,” I said. “Perhaps your sight is awry?”
“It must be,” he said, descending without breaking eye contact with me. “For I swear I see you looking my way.”
“It depends if you are in the way of other things I seek to see,” I said, smiling. “If that is the case, perhaps I have looked at you, but I remember you not.”
He slapped his hand to his chest and let out a mocking moan. “Ah!” he cried. “Sweet poison she thrusts into my heart!”
“Your heart is easily wounded, Master Culpepper, if you can be hurt by a lady happening to glance at something behind you. Perhaps you should see an apothecary for some fortifying potion?”
“I will ask him for a love potion,” he said, grinning. “So I am not turned away by cruel ladies such as you, Mistress Howard.”
“And now I am cruel?” He was almost before me, just a step away, and I tried not to breathe in as I saw his handsome face lit up by the pale skies. Grey clouds floated overhead, and little flecks of snow started to drift from above us, fluttering against his cheeks and lips. They wanted to kiss him, as I did. “You accuse me of much, and without firm cause,” I said. “And you a kinsman of mine.”
“I too hear we are cousins.”
“I think if so, several times removed.”
“That is good,” he said, standing in front of me, grinning like a cat. “I would not want to be too closely related to you.”
“I wonder that so many ladies enjoy your company,” I said, “for everything that comes from your mouth is an insult, or is that honour only for me?”
“Come,” he said. “I think you can guess why I would not want to be close kin to you, and not for an insult, but for a good reason.”
I lifted my eyebrows, meeting his eyes firmly, but he said nothing more and neither did I. “Shall I escort you to the palace?” he asked, extending an arm. “It is starting to snow heavily. I would not want you to catch cold.”
I looked at the arm with hesitation. To walk back into the palace on his arm might look compromising, and I had not been long in the chambers of the Queen. I did not want to risk anything.
Seeing my deliberation, he chuckled. “Then I shall walk at your side,” he said. “And your man is behind us, so all will know we have not been up to anything… naughty.”
Dear Lord of Heaven! The way he said naughty… it was a challenge, a promise, an oath.
“I would be pleased to walk beside you, Master Culpepper,” I said, trying to keep excitement from my voice.
Side by side, my grandmother’s servant at our back, we wandered to the palace, talking of nothing of importance. But our bodies whispered secrets, cries of the wild shrieked, echoing along winding forest paths of snow and ice.
About court we maids had to play the demure maidens. Modest on the outside, many of us demons of fire within. We were seen and yet hidden, walking, talking secrets; creatures of mind concealed in shells of beauty. Most men saw only the shell, but not Thomas. He saw what was within me, for it was in him too. A note plucked in his heart echoed in mine. The cry of a creature to its mate in the still darkness.
That night I dreamed of him, his long, smooth body against mine, my hands in his hair, the feeling of his lips against mine. When I woke, there was a hunger burning inside me, but not for food. I had never wanted anything as I wanted Thomas Culpepper.
Chapter Forty-Six
Gre
enwich Palace
Winter 1539
After that first meeting, the game was on.
Thomas sought me out when the court came together at night, and partnered me in the dance. At times, I had a strange sense. Another pair of feet moved, unseen, in time with mine. My cousin’s ghost, never departed from court, stepped with me, her footfall just a beat before mine. But it did not feel frightening. She had accepted me here, in her domain.
Thomas was a fine dancer. We looked so graceful as we moved that many spoke of it, complimenting us afterwards.
“As though we were born to dance together,” Thomas said one night. My heart trilled as though it might burst into song.
He could sing, too, and played the lute like a master. We walked sometimes in the gardens, singing old songs together and enjoying our shared talent, for his voice was low and rich, mine sweet and high.
He talked, gossiping about others and sharing secrets as we stood in the hall surrounded by the heady funk of perfume, wine and sweat. The other girls were consumed with envy, for he was bold, handsome, witty, spoke French and was a fine rider. They all wished to have such a man courting them, but he was mine. I was assured of that fact as I had been of no other. I was certain Thomas loved me, and I adored him.
He was just the kind of man fatal for me. Elements in his manners reminded me of what I had liked about Francis, even Manox, before they had changed, becoming cruel and possessive. I loved the attention I received from him, making me feel special, important. This was the feeling I had long sought, and it fell upon me as a cloak, sheltering me, keeping me warm.
I adored being pursued, even the slight feeling of danger that came with it. As though addicted to that feeling, something rose within me, yearning for more. When working in the Queen’s chambers, I mooned, wondering if I would be permitted to wed him. He was not high born, but came from a good family already long connected to the Howards, and had fine prospects. Money did not matter to me, but it would to my uncle.
His family had stood beside the Tudors at Bosworth, which was why he had been sent to court as a youth. But the reason he had risen so high was for his charm. The King loved him, adoring his boldness, wit, and gentle care, for Thomas was one of few gentlemen of the Privy Chamber whom the King allowed to change the dressings on his ulcerated leg. Not many could stand the sight or smell of that puss-ridden sore, but Thomas told me he found it easy to pretend there was nothing rank about it, for he had a trick. “I rub a mixture of goose fat and mint up my nose before I change the King’s dressings,” he confided, “that way I do not flinch.”
I thought this marvellously clever.
Thomas was fluent in French, had a little Spanish and knew some Latin. The King kept him close, only sending him away when important messages needed delivering to Cranmer and Cromwell. Thomas was often selected to ride in the joust, for he was athletic, and rode well, usually besting any partner sent against him.
It was not only me who found him fascinating. As Anne had said, her mother, usually a prim and reserved woman, had sent him her favours to wear in the joust, and others had done the same. Lady Rochford thought him a handsome young imp and one night complimented me.
“That young man is caught,” she said, pausing beside me, her red cornelian bracelets rattling.
I blushed. “I know not that is truth, as yet, my lady.”
“But you like him. What woman would not? He reminds me of a young man I once knew; handsome and gallant.”
I wondered if she was speaking of her husband. The more I heard of Jane the more confused I became. People said she had loved her husband with a passion so fierce it could hardly be contained, and yet those same people declared she had turned on him. Not talented at numbers was I, but to me, the two did not add up.
“I would caution you to be careful,” she said. “To me, and I would guess to you, he looks captured, but who can say what lies in the heart of men?”
I nodded. Too often had I trusted, only to find monsters hidden under charm.
And so I flirted, but hid the depth of my feelings. I spoke with him, and then would move away, testing him. Surely if he loved me, he would follow, and the more he did, the more I became assured.
He told me of his days, and asked about mine, which pleased me. Dereham had never shown any interest in my pursuits. Everything had been about him; his wants, needs, his future and his plans. But Thomas asked about my days, and showed an interest in my clothes, a passion we had in common, for he was prodigiously proud of his clothing and loved to talk of fashion. I felt needed, rather than just desired. It was a new, almost overwhelming, feeling, for I felt loved.
He told me about his family. He was the second of three sons, and had five sisters too. “Then I best you,” I said. “For I am one of ten.”
His eldest brother was also, confusingly, called Thomas. “It is a traditional name in the family,” he said. “My brother was a sickly child, so when I was born they also named me Thomas, for they thought their eldest might die. And then, perhaps because they did that he decided to live, so now there are two Thomases, but they call me Tom. The youngest must take the less prestigious name.”
“I will call you Thomas, then,” I said. “For I think you most prestigious.”
At that, he had smiled like the dawning sun.
He had come to court as a boy, serving as a page in the King’s house, but the King had noticed him, drawing him closer and closer. By the time the King married my cousin, Thomas had been promoted to Gentleman of the Presence Chamber, and a year later entered the Privy Chamber.
He told me of life in the King’s chambers, how the sewer supervised the building of fires each morning in the many hearths, how the clerk of the ewery set the King’s table and assayers tested his food. The King was always waited upon by six gentlemen, two gentlemen ushers, four grooms, a barber and a page, all appointed because of their noble behaviour and careful service. The gentlemen of the Bedchamber dressed His Majesty, taking clothes at the door to the chamber, as we maids would eventually for the Queen, and placing them upon the King’s skin only once they had been warmed at the fire.
“The King feels the cold, these days,” Thomas said. “He hates chilled linen set against his skin.”
He asked about the Queen’s household, and I told him all. He asked questions as I went along, leading me to talk more. Never had anyone been so interested in me.
Thomas told me the King was obsessed with the art of medicine, and was always searching for ways to improve his failing health. He thought himself an expert in remedies, and lectured his doctors. “His Majesty and my grandmother have much in common,” I said, and told a tale about her dosing my uncle William like a child, even as the man tried to run away, which made Thomas laugh.
“The King’s interest in medicine has much to do with his mother, I think,” Thomas said. “She died suddenly, after childbed, and the death of his brother was sudden too. It showed the King how the forces of fate may alter a life, once thought so promising, in an instant.”
I nodded sombrely, thinking of my father. Although he had done much to bring hardship upon himself, looking back now I could see my mother’s death had ruined him.
“You know,” he dropped his voice and leaned in, “… he was never intended for the throne. His brother was older, and the image of his father. His Majesty, with his red-gold hair and broad build, was more like his York grandfather. The King’s father saw that in him, and feared it. When Arthur died, His Majesty learned death may alter the life of a country for good or ill. Obviously, his coming to the throne was good, but what if the King should become ill now, with his son still so young?”
Thomas was careful not to mention the death of the King. That was treason.
He told me how the King’s bed was prepared each day, how the bottom hay mattress and box were rolled upon by one of the gentlemen to check for hidden daggers, poisoned pins or swords, how the top mattress of feathers were tested in the same way, and how they ran their han
ds over the perfumed sheets and soft blankets, testing for danger. The King’s sword was placed at the head of the bed once it was made, and the gentlemen would kiss the sheets where their hands had touched them, in reverence for being permitted to caress something that would lie against the King’s sacred skin.
“Do you not fear to touch?” I asked. “What if there were pins with poison on them? You could die.”
He smiled at my worried face. “I fear nothing,” he said. “It is an honour.” Seeing my goblet empty of wine, he called for more from a wandering servant and as the crimson liquid spilled into my cup, he leaned in. “And I have never found a bed I feared,” he whispered, his eyebrow arching suggestively.
I cuffed him and laughed.