by Lucy Worsley
I had no choice, though, but to go. Shrugging my shoulders at the countess, Anne, and the rest, to show them that I knew no more than they did, I reluctantly led the way down the stairs and into the courtyard. My steps were slow and heavy, and I could sense the poorly concealed impatience of the guard, compelled by etiquette to follow on behind me. His weapons and trimmings clanked slightly as he walked, something that I only noticed because the palace seemed strangely silent.
In the queen’s chambers, I found Katherine as bemused as I was. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, as if disappointed.
“Well, who were you expecting?” When we were entirely alone, she did not insist upon “Your Majesty,” though she was pretty keen on the full works if anyone else, even a page, were present.
“This is the time the king always sends me a message to see how I am,” she explained, as if it were obvious. Once again I marvelled at his attentiveness to her — he’d never sent a message to Queen Anne to ask about her health when they were parted in the afternoons by his need to do business and meet his councillors.
“Katherine, what’s going on?” I asked her. “That yeoman said that you would not be dressing tonight. Are you not going to dine?”
“I don’t know,” she said with unusual solemnity. “Something seems odd this afternoon. The palace is very quiet, isn’t it? Where can everyone be?”
We had no answers. As one, we turned away from each other to look out at the trees in the park. I sat down on the ledge of one window, Katherine on the other, and we remained there quietly for some time. One of the trees, the nearest to our window, seemed diseased and drooping, and I was surprised the royal gardeners had not felled it.
It felt like hours later, but it was hardly fully dark, when the same yeoman came back again, this time his face looking as if he were positively in pain. He had brought with him the archbishop. The sight of this stooped old dignitary in a private chamber rather than a public place seemed to signal sickness or death or something else very bad indeed.
But it appeared that I was not to stay and hear what he had to say. The clanking yeoman marched me out of the room, brooking no delay, and escorted me back to the Great Chamber.
There I found all the rest of the queen’s household gathered together, not just the ladies but the gentlemen too. By now little Anne Sweet was openly weeping, and the countess, looking harassed, was doing her best to comfort her.
“What news from the queen?” she asked me over the top of Anne’s head. I noticed the creases round her eyes, which were normally hidden by the vivacity of her face.
“Nothing! She doesn’t know what’s going on either.” At my answer, half a dozen voices piped up with further questions.
“Shush! Shush at once, you lot.” I had never heard the countess’s voice sound so harsh.
She had spotted that over near the door to the king’s private apartments, the Lord Chamberlain was trying to call us to order. There were so many of us present that he’d had to stand on one of the benches, looking more than a little ridiculous. But no one thought, even for one moment, of laughing. Our hum of talk had been loud and shrill with nerves, yet we fell silent as soon as he opened his mouth.
“The queen will no longer require your services,” he said into the silence.
“But why?” asked the Countess of Malpas on behalf of us all.
“The king has discovered that the queen has committed a dreadful crime,” he said haltingly, obviously choosing his words with great care. “She will not come abroad from her apartments for some time to come.”
A great buzz of consternation broke out from among the courtiers.
“The king, however, will still command you!” shouted the Lord Chamberlain over the din. Again we settled down, anxious to hear what he had to say. His next words came unnaturally loud, as if he had still been expecting to have to fight to be heard.
“His Majesty was at Mass when he learned this terrible news, and he remains in the chapel, praying for his wife. You will henceforth take your orders from him, through me. And none of you will speak of or to the former queen. She is under house arrest.”
We stood in stunned silence, without a single sound except for Anne’s snuffling.
Then we all heard a noise that none of us will ever forget as long as we live. We heard a terrible, unearthly shriek and the patter of running feet in the gallery adjoining the chamber where we stood.
“Henry! Henry!” It was hard to believe it was Katherine, this voice of uncontrollable, wild despair.
Instantly, there was a bark from the leader of the guards, and we heard men springing into action. There was the horrible clash of steel.
“How did she escape?” someone called out in anger. Then there was a different man’s voice saying, “Come, madam, come, madam.”
They must have been taking her back to her chambers. The footsteps receded in that direction, as did the sound of Katherine’s sobs.
Later that night, Anne and I were in our nightgowns but far from being ready to sleep. We had obeyed the Lord Chamberlain’s command not to speak of the queen throughout the dinner that nobody ate, but once we were in our own room, we did nothing but whisper about our suspicions and our fears. “My father will be furious,” said Anne. “What if I get sent away from court before I’ve found a husband?”
Looking down at Anne’s frightened, vulnerable face as she knelt by the bed, engaged in a mixture of praying and crying, I mentally cursed Katherine. What was it that she had been caught doing? Was it the very worst? Would she bring us all down with her? I knew that Anne’s parents were kind and gentle, and I hardly dared think what my own father’s reaction might be.
We were disturbed by the gentlest of scratches on the door. We were so wound up that we leapt as if at a thunderclap. I ran forward to pull it open, softly. Our visitor clearly wanted to make a discreet entrance.
I shrank back at the sight of a tall figure, cloaked in black, a beaked plague mask over its face.
“Lord preserve us!”
I really thought that Death himself had come visiting.
But Death barged forward into the room, pulled off his mask, and gave the welcome sound of a laugh.
“Oh, the look on your face, Eliza!” It was Will Summers.
“Oh, Will,” said Anne reproachfully. “Whatever are you doing here? You know we’re not allowed to have men in our chambers, especially at a time like this. It’s so dangerous! What if you got caught?”
“Oh, well, if you don’t want to hear what’s happened …” he said nonchalantly, turning as if to go.
“Will!” I grasped his arm. “Don’t listen to that scaredy-cat. Of course we do!”
“Well …” he began slowly, and with just a hint of relish.
I felt something a little like hatred for him then, because I could tell that, despite the stress of it all, the drama of the situation appealed to him.
“Just as the Lord Chamberlain said, the king was at Mass this afternoon when the archbishop handed him a letter. He had to be given a letter: that’s what the councillors agreed. No one was brave enough to tell the king to his face that there is evidence to suggest that he has an unfaithful wife.”
“Unfaithful!” Anne clapped her hand across her mouth, and her eyes were open as wide as windows during spring cleaning. “Well, that’s a big accusation, isn’t it? We all knew she had close friends. I think it must just be a misunderstanding.”
Will snorted. “‘Misunderstanding’ is one word for it,” he said scornfully. “‘Adultery’ is another. Only you, Anne, could give her the benefit of so much doubt.”
“And what did the king do then?” Despite herself, Anne could not restrain her interest.
“I wasn’t there, you understand,” Will said. “But I’ve heard it from those who were. The king read the letter, shaking his head as if in disbelief, and tore it in two. Some people say he stamped on the pieces, but that sounds like a dramatic embellishment, don’t you think? Then the king turned to the a
rchbishop with a look of daggers. But they say something stony in the old bishop’s face convinced the king that this wasn’t a malicious prank.”
“So who do you think has betrayed her?” I asked. “I’m sure we maids of honour have not.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Will, shrugging. “I think that just about everyone else at court has betrayed her. It started very slowly, and then took hold, and now it’s an inferno. Like a fire burning a house down. I don’t think she’ll find many men at court willing to vouch for her character. Be careful what you two say at the trial. If you say you knew nothing at all, it won’t ring true.”
“Trial!” Anne looked ready to faint.
“Yes, of course there’ll be a trial,” he said, slipping his beaked mask over his face once more.
“What do you mean, a trial?”
“Why!” Will said. “For treason, of course. Adultery, unchastity, any of that stuff, it’s treason.”
Anne and I stared each other, aghast. I reached blindly for the support of the post of our bed, for my legs had given way.
We had been worried that our court careers were over. But that now seemed an almost trivial concern compared with the possibility we hadn’t even considered: that we ourselves might be put on trial for abetting treason.
Will was only half right about who had betrayed Katherine. Yes, the case against her had gathered steam, as was inevitable in the gossipy furnace of the court, but the fire had to have started somewhere. As the archbishop’s investigation took shape, it turned out that it wasn’t the events of the progress to York that had caused the trouble. Or at least the beginning of the trouble. The courtiers knew better than to speak of that. The root of the problem lay back in the past, back at Trumpton Hall.
For Katherine should have married the king as an unsullied virgin. She should have been an innocent girl who had never known the touch of a man. For her to pretend this, as she had done, at the very least by omission, was certainly treason.
It seems that little Em, the serving wench from Trumpton Hall, had been the first to blab that Queen Katherine was not all she seemed. Once Master Manham was in the frame as a suspected lover of Katherine’s, he revealed all, and there were rumours that the use of the rack had loosened his tongue about the details of Katherine’s loss of her virginity. Little Em herself had lost her left ear in the course of the investigation.
Court gossip kept us informed of all these events, and with each new revelation my spirits fell further. During these terrible days of the trial, my eighteenth birthday came and went unheralded by anyone, except for Anne Sweet, who left a gingerbread heart on my pillow.
Finally, the day came when I myself was called in before the archbishop in the Council Chamber. I had been preparing myself for this moment ever since Will’s warning, but even so my legs trembled violently as I passed along the gallery. I gouged my palms with my nails, forcing myself to focus upon the small sharp pain. That, at least, seemed manageable.
Inside the chamber, the dark hangings on the walls made the already dim November day seem like night.
I stood, waiting, my eyes cast to the floor, my fingers clasped together before me. It must have looked like a pose of submission, but really it was to stop my hands from shaking. When would the questions begin? It felt like hours were passing. I still did not dare to lift my eyes to see who my inquisitors were.
“You are the former queen’s cousin? Seat yourself.”
Surprised, I raised my head and saw that the archbishop was gesturing to the velvet-covered chair at the bottom of a long table covered with a rich Turkey carpet. He himself sat hunched over the table’s top end, and all along its length was spread an infinite number of papers, letters, documents, and books. The expressionless faces of about ten other courtiers and privy councillors, whose seats lined each side, swivelled in my direction. Some held their pens in midair, waiting for my answer before continuing with their writing.
I felt the colour rising to my cheeks under their gaze.
“Yes.”
The word came out much louder than I was expecting. While I had been waiting, I had told myself not to crack, not to cry, with such fierceness that I may have gone too far in the other direction.
… so very young … His Majesty …
A clerk was bending over the archbishop’s shoulder, whispering and handing him yet another document. I could not hear much of what he said.
“You have been maid of honour to the queen since her marriage?”
The archbishop reminded me of a hungry hawk, an elderly, scrawny version of the hunting birds I had seen sitting on the king’s own wrist.
“Indeed I have, sir, and I hope I have given good service.”
There was a pause. Again it seemed endless. My heart was now beating so loud, it sounded like someone hammering impatiently at a door. The archbishop was pulling his beard and cogitating. No one else spoke.
“Well, Mistress Camperdowne, we don’t need your testimony against your mistress. We have quite enough evidence already.”
Relief flooded through me, and while I tried to remain impassive, I’m sure it flickered across my face. One or two of the privy councillors now lost interest in me and returned their attention to the stacks of documents before them on the table.
“In fact,” said the archbishop, looking again at his papers, “it appears that you can even be quite useful to us. It seems that His Majesty himself values your service. You will accept new duties from the king.”
“Of course,” I said in a tiny voice. It scarcely crossed my mind to wonder what these new duties might be. I was so relieved.
Now that the danger seemed to be passing, all the bravado went out of me. I fell back against the chair, limp as my old doll, Sukey. I almost whispered the words.
“New duties. Of course I will do my duty.”
It wasn’t exactly what I would have chosen, but it was far better than I had feared. I was told that I was to help to look after our former queen, becoming her maid once again, until her fate was finally decided.
That very same day, I packed to leave Hampton Court. I was to accompany Katherine to the old abbey at Syon. This was the place to which she was to be sent for safety and to pray, in seclusion, for her redemption.
I wasn’t sure what to think about my new task, which was really my old task but under vastly changed circumstances. As Henny helped me to pack my chest, there was a quiet tap at the door. It was Ned. Henny bustled out of the room at once, murmuring something about towels left behind by the laundresses.
“Eliza!” he said urgently, almost before she had gone through the door. He was frantically rubbing his hair upwards with his hands. “Why are you going? Have you been commanded to go? Shall I take you away somewhere instead?”
“Oh, Ned!” I said. “You have made yourself look like a cockerel. Here, let me comb you down again. No, you mustn’t take me away or you’ll lose your place at court. And you really mustn’t worry.”
I gradually got him to stop pacing and explained that I didn’t mind going with Katherine. “I’m almost eager to get out of here,” I said. “There are so many whispers. People keep talking it over again and again, and there’s nothing new to say.”
Pragmatically, my head told me that I must show a willingness to serve the king’s purposes. At the same time, my heart told me that I had something of a duty to my cousin.
“But I still don’t see why you should have to go,” he said, pacing about. “She’s a traitor! You shouldn’t have to be dragged in!”
“But, Ned,” I reminded him, “the queen shares my own blood.” At that I turned away from him to fold a shawl. It was not quite loyalty that I felt towards Katherine, and indeed it was a little late in the day to be feeling it, but I did feel something.
“Well, I can’t feel sorry for her,” he said angrily. “She has put you in danger.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I said coldly. “I can’t just put aside my family loyalty. H
ow would that look? You’d understand if you were the heir to an old family yourself.”
Even as the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
Ned’s face, which had been full of concern, turned into a picture of hurt.
Then, all too soon, Henny was back again. Without another word, Ned moved quietly to the door and slipped out. Cursing my old enemy — my pride — I viciously threw a pair of shoes into the trunk. When they missed and fell to the floor instead, I swore under my breath.
Katherine was truly a pitiable creature as we made our way, the following day, through the gardens at Hampton Court to the riverside, in order to take our boat to the abbey. Syon was one hour’s glide downstream from the palace and likewise placed on the banks of the Thames. As we went, Katherine kept looking back over her shoulder at the palace. She was almost drinking in the sight of it, as if to draw it indelibly upon her mind.
The slanting winter sun unfortunately highlighted the fact that her hair was greasy and straggly, her eyes red with weeping, and her clothes dirty. As Katherine’s only remaining maid, I was struggling to cope, and that morning I had not been able to persuade her to change her linen. She had spent the early hours crying and pushing me away. At one point I’d managed to creep close enough to stroke her hair, but she’d burst out with a horrible deranged laugh that made me snatch back my hand. How different she was now, I thought, no longer to be envied, no longer to be feared. The queen of Trumpton Hall, as she had been, was no longer the queen of anything at all.
As the boatmen pushed us off the Hampton Court jetty, I saw that Katherine’s gaze was still fixed upon the windows of the king’s apartments.
“A magic spell has been cast upon my husband,” she said softly, almost reasonably. “That’s all. It cannot last much longer now, and then he will want me in his bed once more. God forgive me for what I will do to the witch who cast it, when I find her!” Then the boatmen started to beat their oars, and the palace passed out of sight.
At Syon, the weeks dragged by with unbearable slowness. While we knew that the investigation was progressing, we did not know what course it was taking.