This was something Anne staunchly refused to do. She would wait for the trial and declare her innocence.
There was another reason to hope. No queen had ever been beheaded yet in England, Anne was positive she would be sent to a monastery to live out the remainder of her life in exile. She had plenty of cutting criticism for the nuns, but, at such a crucial time, she always added that she could live with that.
Catherine never forgot that she had agreed to help Lord Cromwell with Anne, but she also didn’t know how she could be of service to him from the Tower. She didn’t know who to talk to or how to relay a message, so she didn’t feel guilty about not doing so.
She remembered her mother’s warning that she had to be honest as possible or else she might get in more trouble.
One day while walking in the gardens with the other ladies a man approached her.
“I have a message for the Lady Carey from her mother,” he announced.
“What is it?” Catherine stepped away from the group.
“Let’s talk over here.” He led her a bit farther away and pulled out a blank sheet of paper to show it to her as if letting her read a message.
“Has she said anything?” he asked, seeing that the others were walking away.
“Nothing.” Catherine shook her head. He rolled his eyes at her unhelpfulness but tried again.
“What does she say about her brother?”
“She never brings him up.” He nodded. “But she does believe she will be sent to a nunnery.”
At this, the man looked surprised.
“She prays a lot,” Catherine continued, hoping this was helpful. “But she has submitted herself to the King’s will.”
“Thank you, Lady Carey.”
“And the message from my mother?”
He gave her a small smile. “There was no message, of course.”
Feeling like a fool, Catherine returned to the others.
“What is wrong?” Madge asked.
“Nothing, my mother isn’t feeling well.”
This was easy enough to believe, plus her own dower expression added credibility to the story.
On the day of the trial, the ladies helped Anne dress while Catherine, bidden by Anne, was reading a passage from the bible:
1 Peter 1:6-7 “In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”
Anne had set aside her fear and steeled herself for the fight ahead. She had debated with her maids and even with Catherine herself, as if trying to prepare herself for the inquisition ahead. But there was little she could say or do.
Her posture was straight as she was escorted from the rooms. Catherine was not to attend her at the trial. In fact, all the ladies waited anxiously in the Tower, though not in silence.
“Hopefully, this business will be done soon,” Madge Shelton said trying to pinch her cheeks. She was very vain about her appearance and staying in the dark Tower rooms was making her look sickly rather than fashionably fair skinned.
“Yes, and then I wonder if we shall see that Seymour girl on the throne.” Another Howard girl laughed. “Can you imagine that pale horse-faced girl on the throne?”
“I would do anything to be in her favor; then at least I could be with her in the country and not stuck here.”
“I heard she is returning back to court shortly. The King misses her too much.”
Catherine, who was looking out the window for the first signs of her aunt’s return, tried to listen to their every word with rapt attention.
Their true colors showed now that Anne was out of sight. She frowned. What sort of allies were these? They were turncoats. But she supposed they would all have to be. Siding with Anne might land you in prison, if not worse.
It was nearly afternoon when Anne reappeared. All eyes were on her as she entered the room, stiff backed. She was not the same woman who had left this morning. It was as though she had aged several years in the last few hours.
Catherine rushed forward and grasped her arm when she began to teeter. “Do you want some wine? Or hot ale?”
“I’ll sit by the fire.”
Madge took her other arm, and the two of them led her to a chair.
Catherine, who had more of an inclination with these things, stoked the fire and added another log to it.
“What happened?” she finally asked, but Anne just shook her head, then turned her attention back on the fire.
She sat like that for a long time then called for someone to play the lute.
Catherine did not leave her side, sitting at her feet and trying to soothe her in some way.
“It’s over,” Anne finally whispered. “And I’ve lost.” She wasn’t speaking to Catherine but rather to herself.
“Surely, there is hope,” Catherine urged but her aunt did not even look her way.
Too many illusions were being shattered for Catherine these last few days. While the court was grand, it was also terrifying, and the illustrious figures of court were merely men and women in positions of extraordinary power. Power that could be taken away at any moment.
The next day, Bishop Gardiner reappeared, followed in by clerks and a document for Anne to sign.
She had been declared guilty of adultery and treason. Her brother and all the men had been condemned as well. Now she would sign the paper declaring her marriage null and Elizabeth a bastard.
“He shall be merciful if you comply.” Gardiner tried to encourage her.
Anne was hesitant. Everything she had suffered for and worked through would be gone in an instant if she signed this paper.
“I’ll give you a minute to think about it, Lady Anne.”
Anne scowled when he no longer addressed her as Queen.
Catherine was at her side once more. “You need to sign. They’ll send you to a monastery and you will be spared the axe. My mother told me to remind you of what happened to the last queen.”
Anne pushed her aside. “I don’t need reminding. I brought it about after all. How dare they!” she hissed. “You know that whore Jane Parker stood witness against me and my brother?”
Catherine shook her head, of course she did not know.
“I pray to God she will get what she deserves in the end. If I could, I would see her pulled down myself. And my poor brother, what shall become of him?” When she turned around Catherine noted with surprise the tears pouring down Anne’s cheeks. They were tears of anger for her expression was fierce and it looked as though she was trying to stop herself from shaking.
“I cannot believe he will be gone.”
“Don’t fret,” Catherine said weakly. She had never met her uncle or at least did not remember him too much. “Just sign the paper. It will do you no good to fight them on this.”
Anne groaned as if she would protest, but, finally, biting her lip, she sat down and did it. Gardiner was called back in, and he thanked her for her compliance before leaving once more.
The next morning they were awoken to the sound of sawing and hammering.
“The scaffold.” Madge was looking out the window.
Catherine was at her side in an instant. She watched the workers haul pieces of lumber while others positioned them. They seemed practiced at building scaffolds, a thought that made her cringe. After a while, she had to look away as it dawned on her that she was looking at the very spot where tomorrow her uncle would be executed.
Anne was staunchly refusing to acknowledge the sounds. Unlike the other ladies, she did not run to stare out the window nor did she break down in tears. She went about her day as if nothing was happening.
Eventually, the other ladies did the same. There was nothing to do except darn some shirts for the poor, read or take strolls about the room. No one wanted to play cards, sing, or dance in such
dark quarters with the threat of death hanging over the place like a curse.
That night, Catherine, who was sharing a bed with her aunt, felt her shaking sobs before she heard them. Without moving, she opened her eyes and peered at the Queen’s back. Anne was crying into her pillow, trying hard not to make a sound.
She thought for a moment about how to approach her but found she dared not.
In the morning, despite the noise outside and the other ladies pressed against the glass, Catherine picked up a lute and strummed a few chords, trying to drown out the horrible sounds of the crowd, the priest, the drums and finally the loud thud of the axe.
Anne did not miss a single second. She saw every last motion her brother made, and she clutched at the prayer book she held until her fingers were white with the effort. She would be a witness to her brother going to death as a traitor for a crime he did not commit.
They had such high hopes and yet they were all whisked away into nothingness with what seemed like a single action.
“At least it was a mercifully quick death.” Madge patted Anne’s hand, but Anne only fixed her with a glare and Madge moved away.
After the crowds had dispersed and it was quiet outside the window once more, Anne sent for her confessor Bishop Cranmer.
He appeared after some time and she took him immediately to the corner to talk to him as privately as she dared. In truth, she was all but whispering in his ear. Whatever he was replying, there was no way to hear since he turned his back to the group.
He did not stay long but did say the mass with the rest of the ladies and blessed them each in turn.
It was only after they dined that night that Catherine had the chance to speak with Anne.
“What did you ask him?” Her voice was hoarse from misuse.
“He told me my marriage was annulled formally and then told me when it is to happen,” she took a deep breath and Catherine noticed her shaking hands. “It will be over soon.”
Catherine couldn’t bring herself to pry further, but she desperately wanted to know when Anne would be released and she could go home.
Everyone looked as tired and pale as Anne now. Any attempts to try to distract themselves failed when news reached them that the King sent for a French swordsman.
Only Anne remained immune to this new development and told the messenger to thank the King for his act of kindness.
For his part, the messenger stood there awkwardly and fled as soon as he could. A Queen of England was never beheaded before this, and, even though King Henry had promised some sort of exile for Anne rather than death, Catherine couldn’t help but wonder why he was going through all this trouble if he wasn’t going to go through with it.
This was not what Catherine imagined when she had prayed to be at court. This went beyond missing out on the luxuries. This was real danger. She had not been brave enough to see her uncle go to his death. She had shut her eyes to it but it had still happened.
She felt as though every hour dragged on. When she slept, she dreamt of the axe swinging down on her own neck and would wake in a sweat, a hand to her neck.
“There’s no need for you to fear.” Anne’s voice pierced the darkness.
Catherine hadn’t known she was awake as well.
“Will you be sent to a monastery?” Catherine asked the crucial question.
“I don’t think so,” was the eerie reply.
“But you seemed so sure this morning.”
“I know there can be no safety for me. Not after all I have gone through and done, but, at the same time, I cannot just give up. While there is still breath in my body I shall go on fighting and hoping and never let them see how very afraid I am.”
“And are you afraid?”
“Of course, I’d be a fool not to be.”
There was a long silence after that.
“I told you this so you might tell your mother and my mother if you get the chance. That I went on fighting.”
“I shall. I promise.”
“Good. Go to sleep.”
At her commanding tone, Catherine shut her eyes as though she was a child and the nurse had commanded her to fall asleep.
The French swordsman was delayed and they had yet another day of waiting anxiously to find out if one way or another Anne would be spared or killed. One way or another this would end.
Catherine kept her dour thoughts to herself. She clung to the secret Anne whispered to her and tried to emulate her stony silence.
That night Anne began pacing the room, her lips muttering over words. While it was clear she was practicing a speech, she refused to give voice to it.
Then she called for a last confession, as was proper. The ladies filed out of the room and gave her privacy in her chapel.
Catherine had the chance to slip away but she refused to even think of it now. She would wait with her aunt.
She moved as if in a dream laying out a gown of rich dark velvet with silver embroidery decorating the sleeves.
“I think this will be suitable,” Anne said aloud, and, though Madge nodded, no one said anything else.
Catherine went to the window and saw that the apple tree had begun to flower.
The farm in Exeter must be in bloom too. She imagined her mother working hard in the dairy to make the cheese while her younger half-sister toddled around by her feet. William Stafford would be overseeing the help tilling the land. She knew how insecure he felt about being unable to provide for her mother the life she was accustomed too. Soon he hoped to hire more help around the farm, then they could enjoy more leisurely activities.
Henry was with his tutors, and, though he had been legally adopted by Anne, his future remained in Mary’s hands. She wondered what would happen now that Anne was no longer Queen.
Perhaps Elizabeth would come stay with them now that she was no longer a princess either. There would be festivals and markets to go to in the summer, and, while it may not have been proper, Mary took her along to haggle for food and other necessities.
It wasn’t a hard life, while it was occasionally dull. She never had to worry about spies or anything of that sort.
No matter how slow time seemed to be passing, morning eventually arrived.
Anne said her last confession with her priest and held Catherine’s hand while they brushed and pinned up her hair. She left the Boleyn “B” necklace for last.
“I assume they’ll want me to remove this.” A laugh died in her throat.
“You look majestic.” Catherine glanced outside the window. A large crowd had gathered, but she didn’t care about them. She was looking for the one man who could save her. Her love and he wasn’t there.
A knock at the door made everyone freeze. Catherine wanted to step in front of her aunt as if to protect her from what was coming, but it was a foolish thought. Anne had seen and done more things than she could ever imagine. She didn’t need a small girl defending her.
First, an armed guard stepped in the room, followed by Gardiner and Cranmer walking as quickly as possible.
“Lady Anne,” they greeted her with a mere nod of the head. “Are you ready?” Cranmer, the kinder of the two, asked.
Anne gave a curt nod of her head, and, with a swish of her skirt and a snap to her ladies, everyone was ready and took their places for the procession. Catherine had to will herself not to be weak or fainthearted. She tried to mimic the cold stare of Anne’s and stood as straight as she could.
But more than anything, she hoped her mother would appear and take her away. Then she could hide her face in the skirts of her dress as if she was a shy child again.
They slowly proceeded out of the rooms for the last time. Each step she took made her heart beat faster. Ahead of her, Anne gave no sign of distress. At the bottom of the stairs, a man with his cap in his hands bowed and revealed the open door leading to the green, the scaffold, the crowd and the empty chair.
With three more steps there was a collective intake of breath as they stepped out on the green.
The crowd began moving in unison, jostling to get a better view. Some were calling out profanities and others were shouting blessings, but they were soon silenced, not by the guards pressing them back, but by their curiosity to see a queen brought so low.
The proceedings were not new and though Anne remained calm — Catherine could tell by the small tilt of her head that she kept looking towards the river rather than remaining fixated on the scaffold.
Hope never died for the doomed.
She climbed the steps of the scaffold, and, as if by magic, she was transformed before the crowd resembling for the first time what Catherine imagined she must have looked like at the height of her power and beauty. Then, with unwavering strength and presence, she began speaking:
“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never: and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.”
As her speech ended, Anne paused. Her last words that she addressed to the congregation hung in the air. For Catherine, the words “by the law I am judged to die” echoed in her head over and over again.
Then Anne turned away and her ladies helped her remove her headdress leaving her in a plain white bonnet that looked austere against the black gown. Then her hands went to the back of her neck. Gingerly she unclasped the infamous necklace. When Catherine felt it pressed into her cold hands she nearly jumped away. She had been trying to avoid looking at Anne, not wanting to cry. But there was no avoiding it. For the last time they locked eyes. A moment that must have seemed like a second to others was an eternity to her.
The Lady Carey Page 3