by Deryn Lake
She sat agonising, wishing her decision could be made easy, but in the usual way of life, it was left to her. Then the sound of Zachary’s voice as he walked through the gardens, talking to the servant, spurred her on. With a sense of great purpose, she opened the door and went downstairs.
‘My dear,’ he said in some surprise as they almost collided. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘The sound of the departure awoke me, and I felt thirsty. Is there any wine?’
‘I don’t know that I should encourage you to drink in the middle of the night.’
‘By the light I would imagine it is an hour off dawn. And such strictures make you sound elderly, Dr Zachary.’
‘That is because I am.’
‘You are thirty-five,’ said Cloverella, realising even as she spoke that her voice sounded shrewish. ‘Stop making yourself seem old, Sir.’
Instead of being angry, Zachary gave her an engaging grin. ‘Now, now, little pupil, don’t make yourself choleric on my behalf. We shall drink a toast together if that is what you want.’
He ushered her into the dining room, where the remains of his supper with the Seymour brothers still lay upon the table.
‘There,’ he said, pouring wine for them both. ‘Now be merry.’ And with that he left the room, calling over his shoulder, ‘I won’t be long.’
It was the chance she needed. With one quick move Cloverella took a deep sip from Zachary’s cup, then poured in the contents of the phial. It was all done in a second so that by the time he came back she was sitting calmly in her own chair, smiling up at him.
‘The fire is almost out,’ said Zachary, then yawned rather pointedly. ‘Save a tired man’s bones and put a log on for me.’
Cloverella bent to the hearth, not seeing as she did so that Zachary, in his turn, swiftly poured a potion into her cup.
‘There, all done,’ she said, as she sat down again.
Zachary smiled. ‘Then I propose a toast.’
‘And what is that?’
‘To the friendship of the Howards and the Seymours.’
‘To friendship.’
They both drank deeply, then sat looking at each other as the fire blazed up. For the first time ever Zachary noticed how finely boned was the beautiful little face he was regarding.
‘You are perfect, Cloverella,’ he said, wondering at himself and his feelings as he impulsively added, ‘Let’s take the boat out. Let’s see the dawn come up over the island. Will you go with me?’
Cloverella went straight to the door. ‘I’ll race you to the river,’ she answered and laughed, a sudden carefree sound.
Like children they ran through the darkness to where the boat pulled at its rope, longing to be off with the morning river, which now swelled and rushed with the freshness of the tide.
‘Get in,’ said the astrologer, and Cloverella jumped down ahead of him, terrified to touch him lest the spell be broken. She had never known her emotions so heightened, her awareness so all-encompassing. It occurred to her then that she must have drunk from the wrong glass, that she had taken the love potion, not he. But yet the expression on Zachary’s face belied that. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her properly until this moment, as if he could not live very much longer without kissing her. Temptingly, Cloverella lay back against the cushions of the boat.
A glimmer of red was coming into the sky, a glimmer that reflected a long crimson finger in the river. Then the heavens were suddenly suffused with gold and rose and, as if this were a signal, every sweet smell of field and flower was released together upon the air. The scents that blew freshly down the river were simultaneously both sharp and heady. Even while they stared and breathed the couple were overawed by the beauty of it all.
The island near Zachary’s jetty was not much more than a large mound on which grew a few trees. The astrologer had built a little wooden shed there for the water birds but that was the only man-made thing. And now, as they moored and climbed ashore, the place seemed like Eden. As Zachary jumped out and tied the boat up, he gave Cloverella his hand to help her and from that moment on they were lost.
They remained holding each other’s fingers for a long time before he finally drew her into his arms and let all the love and longing pass from his mouth to hers. And then their Romany blood took over and they enjoyed with intensity those wonderful moments of slowly revealing their bodies, one to the other. At last they stood naked in the dawn and, almost shyly, Zachary’s hands caressed in turn Cloverella’s beautiful breasts.
They made love with restraint at first, touching each other and then letting go, enjoying the agony of extending the moments before they truly became lovers. But then Zachary’s patience finally grew exhausted and Cloverella saw his features turn dark with wanting. Now came the moment that could no longer be put off. She was on the ground, feeling the hardness of the earth in her back and the hardness of a man’s penis within. But he was a gypsy and knew how to make love, be his woman virgin or whore. He took Cloverella as if she were both, so that her little cries of pain and fear, drowned by the gurgling river, turned again and again to those of ecstasy and sheer raw pleasure. As their bodies moved together, thrusting as one, Zachary, too, reached the climax of lovemaking more powerfully than he ever had before, with wife or mistress. Now he knew that he had found his perfect woman, as wild and unashamed of it as he.
‘Cloverella, my love,’ he said as together they swam naked in the river before returning to the island where, beneath the brightening light of the sun, Zachary, without caution or caring, entered her once more and they made love until the sun was finally risen.
Chapter Twenty-One
On New Year’s Day, 1541, the Queen-bride, whose every whim was now a command, invited her husband’s ex-wife, Anne of Cleves, to sup at Hampton Court, that gifts might be exchanged with the greatest cordiality. To mark the occasion Catherine Howard wore one of her finest gowns and surrounded herself with elegant courtiers, new and old. But the Lady Anne, who these days mostly arrayed herself gorgeously, entered humbly, simply dressed and alone, and at once dropped on her knees before the King, and the Queen who had usurped her place.
‘Rise, my dear Lady Anne,’ said Henry jovially, but the Princess of Cleves insisted on remaining where she was, addressing Cat from a lowly, reverential stance. And she remained kneeling thus until the Queen herself left her high seat and with much display of affection raised Anne up.
The Princess, appearing much gratified and overcome, gazed round her at all the unfamiliar faces now at Court, mildly remarking by way of conversation, ‘There are many people here today I do not know.’
‘Oh yes,’ answered the Queen casually, ‘they are mostly friends of mine from the old days.’ She pointed to four pretty young women who stood together. ‘Now they are Catherine Tylney, Alice Restwold, Joan Bulmer and Margaret Morton, all new Ladies of my Chamber. I knew them when I lived with my step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk.’
‘How nice,’ said Anne. ‘And that handsome young man, is he also an old friend?’
Cat looked vague. ‘Oh him! He’s Francis Dereham, a cousin of mine. I’m thinking of appointing him my Private Secretary.’
Anne nodded wisely. ‘It is good to have friends and relatives close by. But where is the Princess Mary? Not at Court?’
The Queen lowered her voice. ‘Dearest Anne, I do not believe she likes me.’
The Lady of Cleves looked astonished. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘As you know, she is three years older than I am and, frankly, I believe she is jealous of her father’s love for me. She refuses to come to Court and pay her respects so, to settle the score, I’ve taken away two of her maids.’
Anne looked vague, a newly-acquired trick. But within she was thinking that this was the anniversary of her first terrible meeting with Henry, when he had ridden to Rochester incognito. However, she was far too clever to mention it, and she was also far too clever to interfere if Cat wanted to alienate Henry�
�s daughter. Instead she changed the subject.
‘For His Grace I have brought two new horses all tricked out in violet velvet. And for you, Your Grace, a violet necklace and earrings to match. All these to wish you a Happy New Year.’
Cat kissed the plain face so close to hers. ‘Sweet sister, how very kind. Now come and receive your presents.’
‘And what a happy family we all are!’ said Tom Seymour softly from the doorway and was quite gratified when the coterie of newcomers, overhearing, moved away from him as if he had the plague.
He had ridden hard that day, the distance from Wiltshire to Surrey in just twenty-four hours. For this year he had kept part of his Christmas at Wolff Hall, where Edward and Anne and their brood of children had gone to be with old Dame Margery. It had seemed strange and a little boring to be in the bosom of the family, inviting local dignitaries round to feast and look at Anne’s smart clothes. But Thomas had obliged out of duty, knowing that this tranquil time was to be the last for Edward for some while. Next year, with the King already announcing his intention of making an extremely long progress north, accompanied of course by the baby bride, Edward, together with Archbishop Cranmer and Lord Chancellor Audley, was to have complete management of affairs in the south, almost a small council of regency.
Everyone knew, of course, that the King hoped for his young Queen soon to be with child, to provide a brother for Prince Edward, and all the Court had had hopes that the prolonged honeymoon would do the trick. Yet there were some unkind whispers and Thomas, looking now at the pretty Cat pressing two new dogs into the sensible arms of Anne of Cleves, questioned secretly the state of affairs. Once, in the past, when his family had skated on the frozen Thames, he had asked Jane whether the King was impotent. And the birth of her son had proved him wrong. But three years had passed since then and Henry Tudor’s colossal weight gain and ulcerated leg could be doing him no good.
I wonder if she’ll take a lover? thought Tom, and then his mind shied away from such a terrible prospect. After the horrific example of Anne Boleyn, Cat’s own cousin, nobody could ever again be so foolish.
Suddenly reluctant to get caught up in public celebrations, Thomas left the hall, turning towards the quarters allotted to him in Hampton Court. In each of the palaces the courtiers had their own apartments, the size and grandeur of which depended on their importance in the scheme of things. And as uncle of Prince Edward, yet still only a humble knight, Thomas’s dwellings hovered between the stately and the plain.
I’ll have to marry this high-born woman of mine, he thought, if I want to live well.
And it was with this semi-serious thought uppermost in his mind that he turned a corner and walked straight into Katherine, Lady Latymer. Thomas had never been more startled. No rumour had reached his ears that she was to be present at Court for the Twelve Days; in fact he had heard nothing about her at all since last year’s May Day tournament. As far as he was aware, she was still living safely in Yorkshire with her old and horrid husband.
‘God’s breath,’ he said, and then stood staring at her while he collected himself.
Katherine curtsied deeply, bowing her head to hide the wild colour of her cheeks. ‘I wish you a happy New Year, Sir Thomas,’ she said.
‘And I you, Madam. And I you,’ stuttered Tom, for once in his life completely at a loss.
Suddenly sensing that she was mistress of the situation, Katherine took advantage. ‘Her Grace informed me that you kept Christmas in Wiltshire. How nice for you to be with your family. Unfortunately, though my husband was here at Court until two days ago, he has had to return to Yorkshire to care for the children.’
Though she thought she was being clever, Katherine had actually set herself a trap, for Tom, recovering quickly, said, ‘Then, no doubt you will be lonely. Allow me to be your new-found friend.’ She was furious. In fact Katherine Latymer went white and with only the curtest of nods would have gone her own way if Thomas had not lain a hand on her arm.
‘Lady Latymer, forgive me. The truth is that I find you one of the most attractive women on earth.’ He drew himself up to his full height and put on his sincere expression. ‘But as God is my judge and witness I would not harm a hair of your head. The truth is, Madam, that I regard you too highly to do one wrong thing.’ And with that he strode off.
He had got halfway down the corridor when Katherine called out, ‘Sir Thomas, please. I did not mean to give offence.’
‘Nor I,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘By God, nor I.’
She hurried up to him. ‘Please Sir, you must know the truth. Her Grace has called me to serve as a member of her Chamber, and this I will loyally do. But whenever I can, I must return to Yorkshire, for there my duty lies.’
‘Duty,’ said Thomas softly, with a glance guaranteed to melt a heart. ‘I believe you know that word well, Lady Latymer. And who am I to come between a woman and her set purpose?’
‘Sir Thomas?’ Her voice was a question.
‘Madam,’ guessed Tom with unerring accuracy, ‘I believe you to be two people in one. Inside the good wife and dutiful stepmother there lurks, I fancy, a bright, free creature. Something wild and unfettered.’
‘A butterfly,’ she murmured.
He did not hear her. ‘What?’
‘Nothing, Sir Thomas. I must be on my way. Her Grace wishes to prepare for the evening.’
‘Is there to be a ball?’
‘No, merely a quiet supper à trois for the King and Queen and the Princess of Cleves.’
Thomas smiled knowingly. ‘A clever one that.’
Katherine raised her brows.
‘The Lady Anne. Now she is a favoured sister and invited to dine. I truly believe she must be the most intelligent woman in the world.’
Lady Latymer sighed, thinking to herself that she had not shown intelligence. That if she had had a grain of sense she would have remained a widow until someone like Sir Thomas Seymour had come courting, instead of going, out of sheer boredom and loneliness, into another unfulfilling partnership.
Her thoughts must have been written on her face, for Sir Thomas said, ‘But there, we are not all so gifted as the Lady. It is very easy to make mistakes.’
‘Have you made any?’ asked Katherine lightly, hiding her feelings.
‘Dozens, Madam, dozens. But there is one folly that I have never committed.’
‘And that is?’
‘Marriage, Lady Latymer. When I was a boy I swore that I would never marry unless my heart was completely stolen away. And so far it has remained unattacked.’ Thomas gave a glorious smile. ‘No, that is not quite true. It has been attacked but not defeated. I await love’s dart.’
Katherine Latymer opened her mouth, then shut it again, obviously at a loss as to what to say in reply. Eventually, she murmured, ‘When that day comes I hope you find great joy, Sir Thomas.’
Apparent truthfulness blazed from his blue eyes. ‘It will never come, Madam, unless I find the right woman — and she is free to marry me when I do so.’
For a moment Katherine stood mute, then with another deep curtsey, she hastily turned and hurried along the corridor until she was out of sight. Tom, watching her go, gave a low whistle.
‘If ever I saw one itching for love, that is she,’ he muttered to himself, and putting his hat at a more jaunty angle, decided that after bathing in scented water and changing his clothes, he would, after all, join his fellow courtiers that evening.
Both Catherine Howard and Anne of Cleves had also decided on a change of garments before supper, so the ladies of the Chamber were hard put to it. Catherine, like a spoiled child, insisted on wearing all her Christmas presents; a square neck piece containing twenty-seven diamonds and twenty-six clusters of pearls; a brooch which contained thirty-three diamonds and sixty rubies; a muff of black velvet, trimmed with sable and thirty-eight rubies and five hundred and seventy-two pearls.
Katherine Latymer, watching the giggling and display, could not help but wonder how long it would b
e before such a lively creature as Cat grew bored with an obese old man whose legs constantly oozed pus and whose bedchamber performances now must be most seriously curtailed by his enormous girth. Would all the jewels and clothes be sufficient to keep her occupied and consoled? Thinking of her own life, which had been a series of inept kisses, elderly flesh, and lovemaking that had lasted all of two minutes, Katherine hardly thought so.
Standing back discreetly and observing, she noticed that the Queen seemed to surround herself with the attendants she had known as a child. Like little partridges they swooped in and out, overtly respectful to the Queen, and yet somehow not. Lady Latymer had the strong impression that sometimes they were almost winking together.
Yet there was one old retainer with whom Cat Howard seemed on friendly terms; Jane Rochford, Anne Boleyn’s sister-in-law, widowed by the axe when her husband George had been accused of incest. Lady Rochford, who had made her peace with the King during the reign of Jane Seymour and returned as a Lady of the Chamber to serve Jane, Anne of Cleves, and now Cat, hovered like a dark shadow wherever the new Queen went.
‘Interesting!’ thought Katherine Latymer. ‘Obviously making herself indispensable. But why?’
At last the changing was done and, surrounded by a bevy of servants, Cat and Anne made their way to that room in the Queen’s apartments set aside for her private suppers. Here, a table was already laid with rich plate and gleaming cups, and the Queen’s musicians, grouped in the corner, were making a cheerful sound by way of greeting.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ said Cat, and danced a few steps on her own. Then she looked round. ‘We shall need only two ladies to attend us, as this supper is most informal. Lady Latymer and Lady Rochford, if you would stay to serve us please.’
The room emptied other than for the handful of servants who would wait at table.
‘Tonight there is to be a special treat, dearest Anne,’ said Cat, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. ‘The King of France, to show his love for his brother of England, has sent us three great pies made from the largest wild boar ever killed in his country.’