Their household was dressed in black and they followed strict mourning for her. Mary worried for her own father and encouraged Harry and Catherine to spend time with him to try and bring up his spirits.
Catherine, who had not known her grandmother much, found herself saddened by the emptiness that seemed to hang over Hever Castle. Her own mother would have to reenter confinement soon, and that was a daunting task after the preparations for the funeral had seemed to sap everyone’s strength and energy.
Finally, as Mary was nearing her time, Catherine had to encourage her mother to leave her childhood home to return to Rochford Hall.
“I’ll ride ahead and guard you.” Harry promised.
He was strutting around the hall, a hand on his empty scabbard. It was a ceremonial sword, and, since he was not allowed to carry it around, he had kept the scabbard close at hand. He was awfully proud to show off his fighting skills.
“Perhaps the King will go to war against France and I shall be his squire.”
“The King wouldn’t go to war against France,” Catherine snapped at her brother’s insensitivity.
“Why not?”
“He’s looking to make an alliance with them or with the emperor. You would know that if you paid any attention.”
“Pfft.”
“That’s enough,” Mary said, trying to get them to settle down. “Bickering doesn’t help me either.”
Catherine looked chastised. Her brother was always infuriating, but she should really know better.
In the end their journey home was slow going as, Mary was experiencing pain in her stomach.
“I should have left sooner,” Mary said as Catherine held her hand.
Despite the comfort of the litter, Mary still winced with every bump in the road. When they finally arrived at Rochford Hall, Mary was carried up straight to bed and William called for a midwife and doctor to come see to her.
Catherine was with her as the midwife poked and prodded her belly, listening as best she could.
“You might go into labor prematurely,” she said. “You shouldn’t move from the bed.”
Mary didn’t protest in her discomfort. Catherine was getting worried too. Would her mother die in childbed as the Queen had done? She didn’t seem as strong as before, and her grandmother’s death had not helped matters either.
In the end, the midwife’s predictions were proven correct. At the end of the week Mary had gone into labor and delivered a baby boy. Catherine was by her side this time as well but was surprised by his small size, more than that the midwife had to struggle to help him breathe and he had coughed up bile.
She had heard the midwife tell the priest who had come that the baby’s lungs were too weak and that he should urge the parent to baptize the child quickly. Catherine didn’t repeat this to her mother. But she watched over her new brother with a special attention, rocking him in her own arms.
He wasn’t like Elizabeth at all, who had begun toddling around in the nursery. He had trouble latching on to the wet-nurse and Catherine tried to coax him to suck on a piece of linen dipped in goat’s milk. Everyone seemed to know but no one dared to admit that this child was slipping away slowly. Before the end of the week, he was baptized William for his father.
Each morning Catherine woke and anxiously went to check his cradle, only breathing a sigh of relief when she saw he was breathing his little raspy breaths. But after a month, she awoke to cries from the nurse.
Little William had died in the night.
Mary was distraught and took to her bed. Catherine was both shocked and grieved like never before, but she couldn’t take to her bed. With her mother sick with grief, she had to care for her and help manage the rest of the household in her place.
That spring she jumped headfirst into the responsibilities of an adult. Her younger sister needed attention now that Mary was incapacitated, the kitchen and the garden needed to be looked after, and the servants needed to be instructed on their tasks.
Catherine had known something was amiss from the moment a liveried servant had practically fallen from his horse. She had been watching from the window as the steward spoke to him and upon hearing the news ushered him inside quickly.
She didn’t have time to say anything to her mother as the man entered not long after. His sullen expression speaking volumes. William stood in front of Mary as if guarding her from the bad news. They watched in silence as the servant took off his cap and told them that his master Thomas Boleyn was dead.
To her credit Mary didn’t faint or flinch.
“Thank you for telling us. You can eat in the kitchens. We shall set out for Hever today.”
Catherine followed her mother out of the room. She kept waiting for her to cry or show some sort of emotion, but she remained stoic to the point where Catherine wasn’t sure if her mother loved her father or cared for him.
When she was older, perhaps she would have realized this as shutting herself off from the world. Grief was wounding Mary, and, in order to escape it, she would try to pretend like it didn’t exist.
So, yet again, the family was plunged into mourning.
Thomas Boleyn’s funeral was a relatively simple ceremony. The family was decked from head to toe in black along with the servants; a few carried his coat of arms and banners before them as the church bells rang. The men of the family and household were given specially made black staves to carry. William was one of those honored to carry the casket to its final resting place. They arranged themselves to walk towards the graveyard.
Despite the hints of early spring, the procession appeared to Catherine to be a black cloud of misery encroaching upon the church.
Thomas’s will became another issue. Rochford Hall now passed to Mary, but Hever Castle reverted back to the King. They could keep his personal possessions, and, after his outstanding bills were paid, then they would have the bulk of the remainder of his fortune too.
Catherine had inherited a few pieces from her grandmother. A pearl brooch, a gold necklace with a ruby pendant, and a pair of gloves trimmed with sable. Her mother had promised to have some of her dresses recut for her as well in newer fashions.
As for Thomas Boleyn, there was nothing for her to keep. In fact, most of it was given to William or her brother, Harry. His horses would be brought back to Rochford Hall.
There was nothing joyous about this new fortune though. Cromwell’s men had arrived swiftly to appraise the castle and ensure nothing was taken that belonged to the King now. Mary had even left the portraits, not wishing to have the reminder. Catherine saw how she clung to William in the months that followed her father’s death as if she feared she would lose him too.
The other thing Catherine learned was that despite the tragedies that seemed to come on in quick succession, life went on. It had to.
Catherine had an easy summer as her mother seemed to have no time for her. But this came to an abrupt end with the news that her uncle was going to be paying a formal visit in two months. Her mother was on edge the minute she saw the liveried servant from the Duke of Norfolk. It was enough to put the rest of the household in a state of unrest.
Everyone worked with their heads down, trying to stay out of her way and finish with their new tasks. Mary demanded the new rushes be finished by the time they arrived. In an effort to escape some other more arduous task, Catherine went with the women and spent long days outside. She helped as best she could, weaving the weeds into plaits to be sewn together. Several mats were already completed, but many more would be required to replace the ones in the house.
Sometimes she said she was going out to work with them but instead snuck away to sit by the river, relaxing in the shade. Of course, when she was discovered, she regretted her lazy behavior. Mary did not bother with the stick but put her to work gathering herbs to be dried.
So Catherine spent hours bent over in the gardens, cutting away at plants. Her inexperienced hands getting stung by the thorns and little spikes of various plants until a kind
woman handed her a pair of gloves.
“It’s best you don’t ruin your hands,” she said.
For her part, Catherine sulked — couldn’t she be one of those ladies who did nothing but sew, dance, read, and relax all day?
Only her brother seemed adept at avoiding hard tasks. He was always out hunting and fishing most days and with his tutors.
A week or so before the arrival of the Duke and his retinue, the laundry was done. In big vats, they boiled the linen with soap and then wrung it out. Lines were set up on a sunny day for the linen to be dried.
Finally, the old rushes were taken out and the floors swept and scrubbed as best as possible. Catherine’s only joy was the smell of the fresh herbs she had dried being strewn about the floors to be then covered by the rush mats.
The household and county was rewarded for all of its work when their glorious visitor finally rode up the road through Rochford Hall’s gatehouse. Catherine stood behind her mother as her uncle rode into their courtyard. She watched his hawk-like gaze critically sweep over them. Catherine noted how he seemed to look down his nose at them as if they weren’t worth his time and he had been inconvenienced by having to visit.
If only he knew how inconvenienced she had been by his visit. The thought almost made her giggle but she kept herself in check. This was one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom with one of the largest land holdings, whereas they were just his disgraced relatives. She was not permitted to laugh or even make a sound.
He greeted first William, who had put on his best suit, and then turned to give the rest a graceful nod in acknowledgement.
Dinner was served in the great hall, and, despite the heaps of food on the table and the liberal amounts of wine being served, the room was quieter than usual. The presence of the Duke put everyone on their best behavior. No one spoke too loudly and tried not to belch. Catherine saw her mother motion to the musicians to fill the silence with a song. Norfolk was unimpressed by all of this, of course, he was used to grandeur.
Finally, after the end of the meal that seemed to drag on for hours, Catherine was excused alongside the other children, as the adults would retreat into a private room for a family conference.
Catherine did not do as she was told. She was too curious to try not to listen. Instead of walking to her room, she doubled back and went to the library where there was a grate she had found and could overhear them speaking in the private office.
She glanced around the dark room, making sure no one was around. She was sure no one knew of this little spot. She had stumbled across it by accident herself when she was chasing a dog around the room that had stolen her hair ribbon. She had knelt down to pick up the fallen ribbon when she discovered it.
The grate was hers — she shared it with no one, not even her brother, and it made her feel giddy to have such a secret.
Now Catherine crouched down and listened to the voices of her family intently.
“I have written to Jane.” Her uncle’s deep voice was the first thing she heard.
“We cannot trust that spiteful…” Catherine’s mother was silenced — she could picture her stepfather putting a steady hand over her mother’s.
“She will work for the family, and I do have a plan, an alternative to make sure Jane will do what she has promised,” her uncle continued.
The silence that followed was filled with anticipation as the rest waited to hear what he had the say.
“Catherine shall be placed in the Queen’s new household.”
“No!” Her mother’s gasp covered Catherine’s own. “I mean, surely she is not ready for such a task and the King is still in mourning — he can’t be looking for a wife already.”
“On the contrary, he is looking, and whoever he settles on will be served by those in our household.”
“If Cromwell has his way, then the King will marry a German Protestant,” the Duke said. “But the King prefers a French princess.” He paused to take a drink before continuing. “Regardless, both Jane and Catherine will be placed strategically and it will advance this family’s fortunes.”
Catherine sat back on her heels — years ago it had been her dream to join the court and be one of those blessed ladies who served the Queen and danced with handsome knights and chevaliers. But now the Tower superseded every thought of pleasure. Those drafty rooms would never be wiped from her memory.
However, she wouldn’t be going to the Tower this time, and if she was careful and well behaved, she would never see the inside of the Tower again either. With this thought she leaned in again to listen.
“What will we do?” Thomas Howard said.
“Nothing, of course. We’ll play our cards right until the right time.”
Catherine wasn’t sure what they were referring to.
“Anyways it is getting late — we shall retire for now — I shall keep you abreast of any developments.”
Catherine got to her feet at those words and made her way back to her rooms as quickly as possible before she was caught.
The next day, when she was called into her mother’s solar, she tried to hold back the excitement at the news she knew she would be receiving.
Instead she was surprised with a lecture.
“I have let you run incredibly wild and it is probably making you irresponsible. I know how you like to run off if no one is watching you. Finding you by the river instead of sewing rushes is just one of the many complaints I’ve been hearing about you.”
“Lady Mother?!” Catherine began protesting but was stopped by the glare she received.
“I am putting you to work in the dairy.”
“I am not milking cows.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to milk a cow,” her mother said. The snap in her voice made Catherine wince. She was sounding like a spoiled child. “You shall learn how to run a dairy, and, if it means getting your hands dirty once in a while, you will have to do it. This shall be your responsibility now.”
“I don’t know anything about the dairy.” Yet again, this was the wrong thing to say as her mother’s eyes narrowed.
“You shall learn. There is more to life than wiling away your days.” Mary sent her away without a word about going to court. Catherine would much rather think about dresses and dances than cows. Perhaps something had changed and her uncle decided against sending her to court.
Not knowing what to do, she returned to her room and sat on her bed, pulling at some threads in her embroidery. It wasn’t long before she was interrupted from her sulking by her maid coming in and telling her the steward was waiting for her downstairs.
He escorted her to the north side of the manor to the dairy — going over what was needed of her. The manor could afford to have several cows to maintain a constant production of milk, butter and cheese. These were all things that they ate on a daily basis. Some they sent to the King’s kitchens as a gift, and another portion they sold at the market or used to pay servants.
Catherine tried to make a mental note of this but their walk was brief.
“One of my daughters is also working in the dairy. She will see you are looked after. Your Lady mother wishes you to work in the dairy after church in the morning until supper in the evening. She will let you know when she has other tasks for you,” he said.
Catherine knew it was futile to complain and stepped inside the dairy. The first thing she noticed was the strong smell of fermenting milk that had been left to sit overnight. The building itself was situated on the north side of the house where the dairy could be covered by the shade and never be in direct sunlight. The floor was made up of stone tile, and what looked like a steady stream of water was passing through the left side of the building.
Catherine took in the baskets, linen and stoneware. There were countless other tools that she had no idea what they were there for.
When the two other maids saw, her they curtseyed low and introduced themselves.
“I am Silvia, I am just learning myself.”
“My na
me is Angela, Mistress Catherine.”
A third girl walked in carrying a fresh pail of milk. “And my name is Doris.”
“Pleasure to meet you all.”
The girls hid a snigger at her formality, but Catherine really wasn’t sure how to begin.
Doris, who seemed to be in charge of the group, decided to speak first. “Perhaps you would like to be shown what we do?”
Catherine nodded.
“Well, first every morning we go milk the cows in the barn. On a good day you’ll get a big pail like this.” She pointed to the one she carried in. “But don’t worry we won’t send you to the barn your ladyship.” The others sniggered.
“I am not afraid of the barn you know.”
“Didn’t mean to suggest you were.”
“So if we make butter, we pour some milk into one of these.” She pointed to a large stone pot. “And the next day all the cream will rise to the top and we collect it. Then we have to churn it until you hear a wet sort of sound and use the wood paddles to press out all the milk from it leaving us with butter that we have to salt.”
Catherine was a bit stunned by all the work but let her continue.
“For cheese, we need renette.”
“What is renette?”
“Comes from the stomach of a young lamb.”
Catherine blanched at the thought, making the woman laugh. “Where do you think your dinner comes from?”
“But touching it and killing it…” That would be appalling.
“You need to toughen up, besides you won’t be doing any slaughtering but you did ask what it was.” Doris shrugged.
“So we separate out the whey and then let the milk curdle in the cheese cloth. The most important thing I can tell you is that everything needs to be clean.”
Catherine nodded. At least that she could understand.
Doris tapped the floor with her heel. “We regularly pour cold water on the stone. The stone soaks it up and keeps the room cool. It’s hard to keep the temperature down in the summer, but you’ll find it pleasant in here even when it’s scorching out there.”
The Lady Carey Page 7