Elizabeth Howard, now Duchess of Norfolk, paced the floor in a somewhat agitated manner while Edmund stared aimlessly out of the window. Presently the door opened and Thomas, followed by his secretary and lawyer entered. He greeted his family in his usual courteous fashion and seated himself, unrolling the parchment he carried.
“As I gave my oath to my father, my first duty is towards yourself, Agnes, and the children.”
Agnes inclined her head but eyed him speculatively. She did not particularly like her step-son who was older than herself for a colder man she had yet to meet.
“As Dowager Duchess you shall receive an allowance in keeping with your position and the manor house at Horesham St Faith in Norfolk – should you so wish.”
Agnes nodded. She had known that she could not remain at Framlingham and in one respect at least she would be glad of the move to Norfolk. At Horesham she would be mistress of her own establishment and no under sufferance to Elizabeth!
“The children?” she asked.
“I will do everything in my power to advance the careers of my brothers and as to the matter of my sisters.”
“Have you any acceptable suitors in mind?” Agnes interrupted.
“Yes, Madam. Possibly the Earls of Derby, Sussex and Oxford and for Catherine, Sir Rhys ap Griffith. Will they suffice?”
“Indeed, I see plainly that I can safely leave matters in your hands.”
“Edmund, do you wish to discuss your jointure in private?” Thomas tactfully asked.
Agnes’ head immediately shot up and her indignant gaze rested upon her step-son.
Thomas raised his hand, “I pray you, do not be alarmed for we have no intention of plotting to defraud you, Madam. I just thought that perhaps Edmund may wish to discuss his jointure in private.”
Edmund shrugged, “No need, Tom, I am to receive a younger son’s portion, we are all aware of that – but thank you,” he muttered.
Thomas again glanced at the parchment, “I Will to my sonne Edmund Howard, Knight, after my death the manor of Kettilborough,” he read.
Edmund heard his brother’s voice drone on without taking very much notice. He would not be much wealthier. The provision of a small settlement and a couple of manors would perhaps keep the wolf away from the door for a short while. He realised that his brother had finished.
He nodded his assent. Thomas finished the reading.
“If there is nothing further, Tom, I beg leave to return to London for I have certain pressing matters to attend to.”
“Of course,” Thomas replied, fully aware that the pressing matters concerning Edmund’s creditors.
The lawyer and secretary withdrew and Agnes rose also.
‘‘I will endeavour to hasten my departure…” she began.
Thomas interrupted her, “I will send a steward to Horesham, Madam, to ascertain the condition of the house and to carry out any necessary repairs or renovations. I could not allow you to depart from here without making certain that Horesham is habitable.”
“Thank you,” she replied and then addressed herself to Elizabeth. “No doubt my departure will be welcomed at least in one quarter,” she said rather spitefully for the relationship between them was strained. Indeed Elizabeth's relationship with her entire family was strained.
The Duchess disdained to answer but gave her step-mother-in-law a cold, haughty stare.
Agnes left.
Thomas sat down after first helping himself to a cup of wine.
“Much good that will do you,” his wife remarked caustically.
He ignored her but after a few mouthfuls he felt the queasiness in his stomach, the first sign of an attack of the stomach complaint which recently had begun to afflict him. It irritated him to know that Elizabeth was accurate. It irritated him even more that she had also seated herself, obviously she intended to stay and that usually meant another unpleasant argument.
“I do not think that Edmund was very pleased with his jointure,” she remarked.
“I did not expect him to be. He knew that he would only inherit a younger son’s portion. Father informed him of that, although I do not think it will be sufficient to meet his debts.”
“If he wishes to lessen his burden of debt then he should cease to consort so frequently with his wife, that way there would at least be no more mouths to feed!”
“That, Madam, is none of your business!"
Elizabeth continued undaunted, “It’s disgusting! He treats her as a brood mare!”
“At least that is something you cannot complain of, Madam.”
She rose, her temper mounting. “Upon that subject, Sir, I wish to speak to you.”
He looked at her with loathing. She seemed dedicated to making his life a misery with her constant carping, vicious temper and overwhelming sense of superiority.
“As the wife of a Duke, albeit as the daughter of a Royal Duke the position does not dazzle me, I should not be expected to have to put up with the brazen behaviour of that harlot, that slut! I demand that you get rid of her. It is intolerable that she should flaunt herself in front of my servants. My feelings you have never considered but my position at least you should contemplate.” She drew herself up, her bosom heaving, “Get rid of her!”
Norfolk’s cold eyes remained fixed upon the silver goblet in his hand. “No.”
She snatched the goblet from him and threw it to the floor.
“Damn you! I will not tolerate that woman beneath my roof!” she shouted.
“May I remind you, Madam, that it is my roof! I tolerate you and shall continue to… tolerate Bess Holland.”
She shook with rage. At twenty-nine she was past the first flush of youth but anger tinged her usually pale cheeks and her hazel eyes were luminous with tears of anger and the fact that she was dressed with simple, but expensive taste, all added to an illusion of stately beauty and for a second he admired her.
“Then go to her, your common washerwoman, and beget bastard brats. Perhaps in time you may even surpass your brother’s efforts! Fine blood they will carry,” she jeered, “the blood of the Mowbrays and a common slut! In the veins of my children flows the Blood Royal, the blood of Kings. Beside that what is Howard blood?” she goaded him. “No, upon reflection Howard blood will not be wasted on her brats!”
Norfolk rose, goaded now, “Watch that evil tongue of yours, Madam,” he warned.
She laughed derisively, “How stupid of me to forget your first marriage! So much more advantageous a match was it not? Would you have subjected Anne of York to this humiliation? I think not, Sire! But there was no need Thomas, was there?” she cried, leaning closer to him. Her face was ugly and contorted and her eyes flashed venom. “Look what you did to her – cold in her grave and her sons with her!”
Behind the cold eyes a red fury burned in his brain as he struck her hard across the face. She reeled backwards crashing into the oak cupboard and stifled a groan as the sharp corner cut into her back. Slowly she dragged herself upright, smiling mockingly.
“True to form Thomas. The bullying son of a murderer,” she spat.
“Get out! Get to your own chamber lest I cut your vile tongue from your head!”
As she reached the door she turned and glared at him.
“One day I shall see you rot in Hell, Thomas Howard!”
Two
“And graven with diamonds, in letters plain,
There is written her fair neck round about;
‘Noli me tangere’, for Caeser’s I am:
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”
Sir Thomas Wyatt
When Norfolk returned to court a few weeks later it seemed as though all the world and his wife were packed into the palace and gardens of Greenwich. After changing his travel-stained garments and taking a light repast, he made his way through the gardens towards the tennis court where – he had been informed – the King was indulging himself in one of his favourite sports.
Norfolk was deep in thought as he rounded the
corner of the yew-bordered path which led down to the sheltered water garden. Here, beside the formal knot gardens, interspersed with lily pools, Queen Katherine and her ladies were taking advantage of the fine weather while engaged in their usual activities of fine needlework and religious discussion.
Upon catching sight of the Duke, Katherine laid aside the delicate lawn shirt she was working upon and rose.
“My Lord of Norfolk, His Grace will be pleased to see you back amongst us,” she greeted him in her pleasant, low pitched voice.
He made the necessary reply thinking how old Katherine looked. She was now a plain, middle-aged woman. Short of stature, her breasts sagging and her waist thickened by years of constant, fruitless childbearing. In her light auburn hair he noticed strands of grey and a network of tiny lines criss-crossed the corners of her eyes and mouth. The deep apricot velvet of her gown and gable hood clashed horribly with her sallow complexion but despite her appearance Katherine had an inborn regality and she would command respect until the day she died.
She continued, “May we extend to you, My Lord, our sympathy upon your recent loss. Your father served us well, he was a loyal and honest man.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. He lived a long and full life and died peacefully in God’s forgiveness.”
Katherine crossed herself devoutly, “May God have mercy upon his soul.”
The Duke bowed his head, “Amen.”
“Has your wife returned with you?” the Queen asked.
“Not yet, Your Grace, but she will be here within the week.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing her again she is a trusted friend.”
He was disturbed for Katherine was well aware, as was the King, that things between himself and Elizabeth were far from satisfactory. He wondered whether Elizabeth had been complaining to the Queen. He begged leave to continue his journey but Katherine forestalled him.
“We have another member of your family at court, Sir Thomas,” she said, turning and beckoning one of her maids to come forward.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” he replied without much interest.
“Your niece, Mistress Anne Boleyn,” the Queen informed him.
The girl came forward and curtsied. “Good Day to you, Uncle Norfolk,” she recited in a polite, formal voice with the barest trace of a French accent.
He murmured his reply. She was a rather plain girl of about nineteen. Flat-chested and decidedly thin. The only thing he really noticed about her was that her eyes were black and rather beautiful. “So this is Tom Boleyn’s girl,” he thought. She bore little resemblance to his dead sister for Elizabeth Howard had been fair with limpid, blue eyes and had certainly had more flesh covering her bones than this waif.
The girl moved dutifully back to her former position and resumed her needlework and Norfolk took his leave of the Queen and continued on his way, completely dismissing his niece from his thoughts for she was hardly significant!
The King had just finished a robust game of tennis with his boon companion, Charles Brandon, whom he had, as usual, beaten. Henry was in high spirits – winning usually had this effect upon him – and was quenching his thirst with a tankard of ale. Norfolk had to admit that he was a fine figure of a man. Over six feet tall he towered above other men. His crisp, auburn hair curled damply upon his broad forehead and his skin glowed through the thin shirt.
He caught sight of the Duke. “Tom! Tom Howard!”
Norfolk bowed in acknowledgement and made his way through the press of courtiers towards Henry’s side, studiedly avoiding the hostile looks directed at him.
“It’s good to see you Tom. Our condolences upon your loss. ’Tis always painful to lose someone close to you.”
“That is true, Your Grace, but as I have just informed the Queen, he died peacefully.”
Henry nodded gravely, waving aside the courtiers who made to accompany him as he moved back towards the palace.
The two men walked on in silence for a short while but Henry was never grave for long for he hated the thoughts of death and had an acute fear of illness.
“The Duchess has returned with you?”
“No, but she will be here within a week,” Norfolk replied, adding the word ‘unfortunately’ under his breath.
Henry gave him a good natured nudge, “While the cat’s away… Eh, Tom!” he joked.
The Duke smiled thinly, “Just so, Sire.”
“Matters have not... er… improved then?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“Take my advice. Keep that woman of yours tucked away quietly somewhere. Lady Howard is, shall we say, somewhat sensitive to her position.”
“Your Grace as always, gives excellent advice,” the Duke replied smoothly.
Henry shook his head, “'Tis a great pity Tom. Now Kate and I – there is a marriage to consider! The perfect wife is Kate. My comfort is her first consideration. Even my linen she tends with her own hands for she will let no other see to the task. Am I not a fortunate man?”
“The Queen is an exceptional woman,” the Duke agreed.
Henry suddenly seemed a little quieter and less contented with his lot and Norfolk instinctively knew the reason and alerted himself to the change in Henry’s mood.
“I am fortunate in my wife, but you, Tom, are fortunate in your offspring,” he continued.
Inwardly Norfolk stiffened. The lack of a son was the one thing that troubled the King most of all.
“Would you say that I am a devout man?”
“Sire, there is no other King in Christendom who is so devout. No other who keeps God’s laws and those of his Holy Church more strictly than yourself.”
“Yet He denies me that one thing that I need most – a son. Every son born to me of Katherine has died.”
Norfolk was quick to note that Henry had said ‘of Katherine’. Everyone knew of Elizabeth Blount‘s boy, Henry, Duke of Richmond, who was a healthy, sturdy replica of his father.
“Your Grace is young and healthy and the Queen is not yet past her prime.”
“Ah. I fear that is not so, Tom. Kate, is, well…” Henry fumbled for words and waved his big hands helplessly.
“There is the Princess Mary,” Norfolk interrupted.
“No, Tom. It will not serve! Mary would never be strong enough to hold this realm. I must have a son!”
The Duke began to wonder where this conversation was leading.
“My conscience has troubled me of late. I ask myself over and over what I have done to displease God and I think that I have at last found the reason.” Henry looked around to see that no one was within earshot.
Norfolk appeared suitably grave and interested, wondering why Henry had chosen him to unburden his conscience to. “God's Wounds! I am not his father confessor,” he thought irritably.
“Does it not say in the Holy Scriptures that if a man shall take his brother’s wife, shall they not be childless? To be exact, Leviticus XVIII ‘Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother‘s wife; it is thy brother’s nakedness’ and from the same book, ‘If a man shall take his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing; he hath uncovered his brother’s nakedness; they shall be childless’.”
Norfolk refrained from mentioning that these passages referred not to a living brother but a dead one.
Henry continued, “Katherine was my brother’s wife and I begin now to wonder if it is God's punishment that we have no living son. I can see no other reason – am I not a godly man? I hear Mass five times each day and confess myself more than most. Was it not I who denounced that son of Satan – Luther – and did not the Holy Father bestow upon me the title ‘Defender of the Faith’? I tell you Tom, there can be no other reason!”
Norfolk ’s mind was working quickly, searching for a suitable answer. Who or what had put this idea into Henry’s head? Was he tired of Katherine and was now searching for an excuse to be rid of her? If so then Norfolk sympathised for he, too, would seize upon any valid excuse to be done with Elizabeth but this was a dang
erous situation, he must tread warily.
“It could possibly be the answer, Your Grace, for one only has to look across the Narrow Sea to France to realise how devout is the King of England.”
The reference to the licentious court of Francis I soothed Henry, who nodded smugly.
“Hypocrite!” Norfolk thought. “He chooses to overlook Elizabeth Blount and Tom Boleyn’s elder girl, Mary, whom he married off to Will Carey.”
“You have mentioned this matter to the Queen?”
“Good God! No! Not a word have I breathed to anyone, nor must you. That is why I have chosen to confide in you for you can be trusted to keep your mouth shut where others cannot!” Henry replied with vehemence.
Norfolk blanched. “You can trust me implicitly, Your Grace.” He paused, carefully considering his choice of words. “I think then that the answer lies with the Holy Father.”
“Perhaps you are right, Tom. I will think further upon the matter but as yet we will not mention the subject to the Cardinal. Remember, Tom, not a word to anyone!”
“You have my solemn oath, Sire!”
They had reached the palace and a page came forward to inform the King that Thomas Wolsey had arrived.
Henry’s spirits rose a little while Norfolk felt a gnawing hatred within him.
In the ante-chamber Thomas, Cardinal Wolsey, awaited the coming of his master. He did not wait like a servant but more as an equal surrounded by his entourage. He was a heavy man with small, hooded eyes and heavy jowls. His crimson cardinal's robes were of the finest damask and velvet and he wore the heavy gold chain of Lord Chancellor about his neck. His cardinal’s hat was carried before him upon a cushion almost like a crown.
He had risen from nothing to the second highest position in the land. From the humble home of an Ipswich grazier and butcher to the palace of Hampton Court. He was a brilliant statesman and administrator, an indefatigable worker and Henry had come to rely upon him more and more over the years. The real business of state was conducted by Wolsey.
“Good Day, Thomas!” Henry greeted him amiably.
“I see that I find Your Grace in excellent health and spirits,” Wolsey replied.
The White Lion of Norfolk Page 3