At the time of Elizabeth’s accession, Arundel had been one of her suitors. He carried a great name and as a young man he had been handsome; that he was no longer attractive he did not, perhaps, think important. He had spent a fortune on the entertainments at Nonsuch the previous summer, only to see Elizabeth lavish all her attention on Robert Dudley. Despite his conservative religious convictions, Arundel was now pursuing the teenage Lady Jane Seymour. If Elizabeth wouldn’t make him King (and was riding for a fall with Dudley), Arundel hoped he could yet become a King’s brother-in-law, through a marriage with Hertford’s sister.
By September 1560 Cecil was at the end of his tether with Elizabeth over her relationship with Dudley. At a meeting with de Quadra at Hampton Court on the 6th, he told the Spaniard that he wished to retire from public life. He “clearly foresaw the ruin of the realm through Robert’s intimacy with the Queen.” Elizabeth wanted to secure Dudley a divorce, he claimed, while Dudley kept saying his wife was ill because he intended to poison her and pass it off as a death by natural causes. Twice Cecil repeated that he wished Lord Robert dead. That evening, Dudley’s twenty-eight-year-old wife, Amy Robsart, was found dead at Cunmor Place, the house of a friend, Anthony Foster. The Queen learned something of what had happened the next morning and when the news broke it electrified the court. There had been rumors that Amy was ill, perhaps spread by her husband, but since she had traveled extensively over the previous year it was difficult to imagine she had been dying. Then it emerged where the body had been found—at the bottom of a flight of eight stairs. If this was an accident it was not a long way to fall. It sounded staged.
The coroner’s jury, who later viewed the body, brought in a verdict of death by misadventure. This suggests they suspected suicide. According to Cecil, Amy Robsart’s marriage to Dudley in 1550 had been a love match. If so, it must have been painful to know her husband was romancing the Queen and to sometimes overhear his servants (as she did) wishing her dead so he would be free to become King. On the day she died she had asked her servants to leave her alone and to go to the local fair. Some of them were worried about her state of mind. Amy, they recalled, had been notably melancholic—but suicide was an act of self-murder for which you went to hell. They were loath to believe that she would have gone so far. There was no shortage of people, on the other hand, who were willing to believe that Dudley had killed her. No act of wickedness was considered unlikely in a Dudley.
A manuscript circulating that autumn suggests what many courtiers believed had happened to Amy. According to this account, a friend of Robert Dudley called Sir Richard Verney had ordered a manservant to stay behind when the others went to the fair, and to kill Amy. The infamous condemnation of Dudley, the anonymously composed “Leicester’s Commonwealth” written later in Elizabeth’s reign, added that the servant was afterward murdered to ensure his silence and that Verney went to his death crying and blaspheming that “all the devils in hell did tear him to pieces,” for what he had done. Whatever actually happened, it was Dudley’s assumed guilt that mattered as far as the future was concerned, both for Dudley and the Queen, and for Katherine and Hertford. As such the scandal must have been a matter of great interest to the guests at the dinner Katherine and Hertford attended the following evening at Bisham Abbey in Berkshire.
Katherine’s hosts were Cecil’s sister-in-law Elizabeth Hoby and her husband, Sir Thomas. At the table, besides Katherine and Hertford, were a number of close friends and relations: Cecil’s wife, Mildred; Cecil’s cousin Lord Cobham; Cobham’s brother-in-law, Parr of Northampton; Hertford’s younger brother Lord Henry Seymour; his sister Lady Jane Seymour; and Jane’s new suitor, the Earl of Arundel.
De Quadra, looking back twelve months later, believed that Cecil wished to encourage Hertford to marry Katherine, fearing that Elizabeth would now marry Dudley. It seems more likely, however, that such a discussion would have taken place before Amy’s death. The mysterious manner of it had, on the contrary, given Cecil good reason to hope that Elizabeth was now persuadable that marrying Dudley would destroy her. As the royal favorite left court to arrange his wife’s funeral, Cecil also had the Queen to himself.
Elizabeth was aware that the prejudice against female rule, rarely far from the surface at court, was now being openly voiced. “The cry is that they do not want any more women rulers, and [the Queen] and her favourite may find herself in prison any morning,” de Quadra reported. Cecil hoped Elizabeth would see sense quickly, and she did. She could remember how divisive it had been among Queen Jane’s Protestant supporters that her husband, Lord Guildford, carried the hated Dudley name. By the time Robert Dudley returned to Hampton Court in the first week of October, Cecil had turned the tables on him. As Cecil gloated to de Quadra, he had the Queen’s assurance that she would not marry Robert. Secure in that knowledge, Cecil spoke to Hertford about the growing rumors of his love affair with Katherine. A marriage between them risked destabilizing the government and, just as Hertford’s friends had warned him off the previous year, so now Cecil advised him once again to cool his ardor for Katherine. He was not a man to be ignored. Everything about Cecil was subtly expressive of power, from the glint of the gold buckles on his black sword belts to the silky satins of his dark suits and, above all, his unobtrusive ease of access to Elizabeth.
It was clear in those weeks, however, that the Queen was tormented by her decision not to marry Dudley. Knowing she couldn’t express her feelings for him as his wife she intended to shower him with what marks of her esteem she could, and intimated she was to give him an earldom. The gesture was interpreted as a move to make Dudley a more suitable groom. That she loved Dudley remained painfully obvious, and de Quadra was not alone in his belief that she might marry him after all. With tensions running high there were several unpleasant incidents at court. Two of Cecil’s servants were reported to the Queen for refusing to raise their caps as Lord Robert passed by; a servant of Arundel’s was punished for uttering “lewd and unfitting words” about the history of treason in Dudley’s family, while Pembroke’s retinue exchanged blows with Dudley’s men. The Spanish even picked up rumors of a planned revolt led by Protestant noblemen on behalf of the Earl of Huntingdon. From the Catholic side, meanwhile, Elizabeth’s Stuart cousin Margaret Lennox, the aunt of Mary Queen of Scots, asked them for financial aid in support of her claim. Under such pressure Elizabeth was forced to draw back from ennobling Dudley, venting her frustration by slashing with a knife the legal document that would have bestowed his earldom.
Katherine was equally distressed by the sudden withdrawal of Hertford’s affections. She did not know that Cecil had spoken to him but had heard that he was flirting with a girl called Frances Mewtas. She sent a furious letter to Hertford at Cannon Row. The earl, afraid that if he continued to ignore Katherine he risked losing her for good, wrote back immediately via his sister at Hampton Court. He swore his love and again proposed marriage, but this time he added “that to avoid all such suspicions he would, if she would, marry her out of hand, even as soon as the Queen’s majesty should come next to London.” When the court arrived at Westminster the couple met in Jane Seymour’s private closet within the chambers of the Maids of Honor. With Jane as witness they made a formal act of betrothal, in which they promised to marry at Hertford’s London home as soon as the Queen left the palace. Their promise was sealed, Hertford recalled, with “kissing, embracing and joining their hands together.” He also gave Katherine a “pointed diamond ring.” Katherine would keep it until the day she died.
XVIII
A Knot of Secret Might
WHEN KATHERINE AND HERTFORD DISCOVERED THAT THE Queen was planning to leave Whitehall for a few days’ hunting, they put their plans into place. Katherine claimed her face was swollen with toothache and was given permission to remain behind with Jane Seymour for companionship. Hertford left court that night, suggesting they meet at his house at Cannon Row as soon as they could get away the next day.
Hertford was up at seven the
following morning, already anticipating Katherine’s arrival. In an effort to keep calm he read and went for a walk. Meanwhile his Groom of the Great Chamber, Christopher Barnaby, made up his bed. About an hour later his second groom, John Jenkin, arrived from Whitehall carrying the news that Elizabeth had left for Eltham. Hertford asked Jenkin to tell the other servants to avoid the Great Chamber. As the minutes ticked by, however, Hertford decided it would be best to get most of the servants out of the house altogether. He called his Gentleman Usher and told him that the servants should have a free day and could leave the house to carry out whatever business they had.
Katherine and Jane Seymour, meanwhile, left Whitehall “by the stairs at the orchard in the palace,” and walked along the sands on the riverbank to Cannon Row. It was a winter’s morning, between Halloween and Christmas, and the breeze from the Thames was bitter. Jenkin saw them arrive at the house from the direction of the Watergate between nine and ten. He dashed into the kitchen to tell the cook, William Powell, who ogled at the women as they passed the kitchen door. Powell had noticed Katherine at the house a couple of times before. The senior groom, Barnaby, bumped into them as he came down the stairs from the earl’s Great Chamber. Jane greeted him by name and asked him where he was going. “The earl’s business,” he replied hurriedly. Hertford had asked him to deliver a message to a goldsmith. He was, perhaps, the craftsman from whom Hertford had commissioned Katherine’s wedding ring. Hertford had designed it with five gold links, each inscribed with the line of a verse he had composed:
As circles five, by art compact, show but one ring in sight,
So trust unites faithful minds, with knot of secret might,
Whose force to break but greedy death, no wight* possesses power
As time and sequels well shall prove, my ring can say no more.
Hertford greeted his sister Jane and Katherine with warm embraces. Jane, however, “not tarrying half of quarter of an hour,” left quickly to get the priest. It appears Hertford had arranged for him to wait nearby. Left alone Hertford and Katherine kissed and exchanged sweet nothings, “such as passes between folk that intend as they did.” But Jane Seymour soon returned with the priest—a short, middle-aged man with fair skin and an auburn beard. His long black gown and plain white collar indicate he was one of the Protestant exiles who had been trickling back from the continent since Queen Mary had died. He had brought with him the Book of Common Prayer to carry out the ceremony, which took place with the priest standing to the right of the bedroom window, Katherine and Hertford facing him, and Jane Seymour standing a little behind. The priest asked for the banns. Then, having ascertained that they were both free to marry, the service proceeded. Hertford gave Katherine the gold-linked wedding ring, and when their vows were complete there were smiles and the small company chatted briefly. Hertford then thanked the priest and Jane gave him an enormous tip of ten pounds as he left. A few banqueting meats had been placed in the room, which Jane offered Katherine. It was apparent, however, that the new bride wasn’t interested in food or drink and Jane, “perceiving them ready to go to bed,” left them alone.
In later depositions Katherine and Hertford described how, as soon as the door was shut, they undressed in the same room in which they had married. He threw himself onto the bed first where she joined him, naked save for the covering on her head. He remembered it later as one of the fashionable cauls she often wore—a skullcap made of trellised silk thread or goldsmith’s work, sometimes lined with silk. In fact, it was a kerchief or veil Katherine had especially brought in her pocket and put on as a symbol of her new status as a married woman. For two blissful hours the twenty-year-old bride and her young groom made love, “sometimes on the one side of the bed, sometimes on the other.” They got up from the bed once, but soon returned and stayed in bed until the time came when Katherine had to return to court. She and Jane had a dinner engagement with the Comptroller of the Queen’s Household, Sir Edward Rogers. Hurrying now, they dressed in minutes, while downstairs the servants in the parlor were making ribald cracks about what had gone on above their heads. The grooms would have to make the bed up again that evening. As the couple emerged from their room, Jane joined them and Hertford accompanied Katherine and his sister to the steps at the Watergate, where he kissed his happy new wife good-bye.
It appears that Katherine and Hertford had sex whenever and wherever they could, while endeavoring to keep their marriage from the Queen. As soon as the earl appeared at Katherine’s chamber and her maidservants saw them whisper together, the maids would discreetly disappear. With such help the couple rendezvoused several times to make love in the Queen’s palaces at Westminster and Greenwich. They also met at Cannon Row, aided by Jane Seymour and her manservant Mr. Glynne. The lovers never dared spend the night together, but it was hard to keep their feelings secret from the court. Katherine was forced to deny hotly to her cousin Lady Clinton that she enjoyed any “company and familiarity” with the earl. But Cecil was also concerned that Hertford was ignoring his advice to keep away from Katherine. The political landscape was stormy enough without the Protestant heir being involved in a dangerous romance.
Cecil’s bête noire, Mary Queen of Scots, had been widowed on 5 December with the unexpected death of Francis II. By the New Year there was talk of her marrying Philip II’s son Don Carlos. Cecil feared that if she were to do so, Protestant England would face the combined might of Catholic Spain and France in her cause. Robert Dudley’s behavior, meanwhile, was causing additional anxieties. Dudley had approached de Quadra asking for Philip’s support were he to marry Elizabeth. In exchange, he offered to arrange for England to send a contingent to the Council of Trent, called by the Pope in the hope of ending the religious divisions in Europe. Dudley claimed he had Elizabeth’s support for his scheme. If so, Cecil soon brought the Queen down to earth, and in mid-March she put Cecil in charge of dealing with de Quadra. Dudley, furious, told Elizabeth that he would move to Spain if he was so little thought of. It was a threat Cecil took seriously. The Queen still could hardly bear to be deprived of Dudley’s company and Cecil feared that her resolve not to marry him could yet weaken. It was therefore vital to protect Katherine, and to this end Hertford was persuaded to take an extended holiday in Europe.
A subsidized trip around all the great Renaissance courts was an effective lure for the twenty-two-year-old earl, and that spring Hertford applied for the necessary license. It informed the Queen that he hoped to travel abroad “for the sight of other countries and commonwealths … to come to knowledge of things [appropriate to] his estate,” the better to serve her in future. Katherine, as usual, was told nothing by either Hertford or Cecil, and only learned about her husband’s plans from his sister Jane. Her distress was made worse by the fact that she suspected she might be pregnant. What should she do if she was, she asked her friend? Jane replied that if she were, “there was no remedy” but to tell the Queen. Hertford agreed: they would just have to “abide and trust to the Queen’s mercy.” Katherine did not much care for that idea. Then, just when she needed the advice and companionship of Jane Seymour the most, her friend fell seriously ill. Whatever had ailed Jane in the summer of 1558—possibly tuberculosis—had returned with a vengeance. She died on 29 March, at age nineteen.
A few days later Jane Seymour’s body was brought the short distance from the Queen’s Almonry to Westminster Abbey. A junior descendant of Edward III, she was treated with the deference due to one of royal blood: her coffin was borne on a chariot in procession with the entire choir of the abbey, two hundred courtiers, sixty official mourners, and great banners of arms and heralds. She was buried alongside Katherine’s mother in St. Edmund’s chapel. Hertford, “her dear brother,” erected an alabaster wall monument with gilded letters commemorating her short life.
Not only was the earl deeply saddened by his sister’s death, however, he was worried about Katherine. He asked her repeatedly “whether she were with child or no?” But Katherine only said that she wasn’
t sure. The pressure on Hertford to go to Europe was immense, and the promise of adventure enticing. He wanted to do the right thing, but he also wanted Katherine to reassure him that it was all right to leave her.
When Hertford’s license was ready he met Katherine alone in the courtyard at Westminster. He told her “that if she would precisely say that she was with child that he would not depart the realm, otherwise he would.” Katherine, overwhelmed by the immensity of what was happening, and unable to discuss it with her late mother or any other woman who had had children, told him she was still uncertain. Hertford, exasperated, then made his decision to go. Before he left he wrote a will bequeathing Katherine lands valued at a thousand pounds a year and gave her the signed parchment, along with a sum of money. She was always short of ready cash and he was in the habit of giving her sums of between one hundred and four hundred crowns for her expenses. His final promise was that if she were pregnant “he would not long tarry from her.” On Hertford’s departure, Cecil sought Katherine out at Greenwich to reassure her that his departure was a necessary one. A portrait of Cecil from this period depicts a man with a light brown beard streaked already with gray, three warts on his cheek, and dark, penetrating eyes. It was foolish to develop a friendship with the earl without the Queen’s consent, he reminded her. Katherine kept her thoughts to herself, but wished silently that Cecil had made the point as forcibly before she had married.
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