by Lucy Worsley
As the weeks went by, I more and more often exchanged lingering glances with the king. I felt it was only a matter of time until he would give me the signal to come to him privately.
Chapter 28
To Marry Again
One night in late July the nightingales were singing and the courtiers had trooped out into the park to listen – or, at least, to pretend to listen, while taking the chance in the dark to put their arms around the willing waists of the maids of honour.
But Katherine and I for once had both decided to remain in the palace. The king had declared himself tired and retreated to his secret rooms. Without him the nightingale expedition seemed to me to have little point. It would have been a waste of face powder.
So we ended up alone together in the waiting chamber. Perhaps it was because matters had been going well for me that I was content to sit peaceably with Katherine as the light faded. We worked over all the current court gossip, and I was struck anew by her penetration. ‘Malpas is soft as butter if she knows what’s going on,’ Katherine said, ‘but she’s hard as marble if she thinks you’re keeping a secret.’ At this, she looked coy, and I sensed that she wanted me to ask what she meant. But I was too proud to play her game.
Even so, she did have an uncanny understanding of people’s characters, and in spite of myself I almost enjoyed the evening. At last, though, one or the other of us yawned, and silence fell.
‘Feeling pleased with yourself?’ she suddenly asked me in her offhand manner. ‘Are matters back on with a certain Master Barsby?’
‘That’s for me to know and for you to find out!’ I trilled, continuing to twirl a curl of my hair round my finger while peering at my reflection in the window pane. In reality I had succeeded in avoiding Ned altogether since the incident at the bowling alley.
‘Ha!’ I said to myself, as I turned to inspect my profile. ‘You think you know everything, Katherine, but the king hasn’t given you a necklace.’
The thought made me smile, and for once Katherine misread it.
‘I’m glad for you,’ she continued with unexpected sincerity. ‘Although he’s only a page, he’s a kind man.’ I quickly turned towards her in order to remonstrate, for I did not want rumours of a relationship circulating the court. It might deter the king.
But she gave me no chance to speak. ‘And I too have some good news,’ she went gaily on. ‘Let me tell you now, for the whole court will be told tomorrow, and all my relatives should have the information in advance.’
‘Indeed? What’s the news?’ I said carelessly, interested, but in no manner alarmed.
‘The king is to marry again, very soon indeed!’ she said triumphantly.
‘No!’ I said. She certainly had my full attention now, and my brain whirred as I slipped off the window seat and stepped towards the chair where she lolled. ‘Really? Are you sure? Who’s the bride? Katherine, this is a joke. I don’t believe you. How do you know?’
She got up from her chair and placed her hands on her hips in that characteristic aggressive stance, and I saw that dangerous sleepy smile cross her face. ‘I have very good reason to know exactly who the lady is, and she’s someone you yourself know very well.’
I stood there shrugging and beginning to grow a little impatient with her game. ‘Well, don’t tell me then,’ I said, as I perceived that she wanted me to beg her, and I had no intention of doing so.
Then she said the words that caused my stomach to lurch into astonished confusion.
‘Little Eliza, little cousin Carrots,’ she laughed. ‘The king has asked me to marry him!’ she said. ‘I am going to be the next queen!’
Chapter 29
Made to Look a Fool
August 1540
On the eighth day of August, at the Palace of Oatlands, my cousin Katherine mar ried the king.
Of course she was as meek as milk in public, but once we were out of the public gaze, in the queen’s own apartments overlooking the park, her triumphant crowing and queenly airs made me almost ill with jealousy. I was sickened too by my own sense that I’d been made to look a fool. Having set out to entrap the king, I’d been beaten at my own game. And of course it was Katherine who had beaten me. Whatever she wanted, she would take. She would always win.
I tried to act as if I hadn’t a care in the world during our week at Oatlands, the small and private pleasure palace surrounded by parks and gardens and a green glassy moat.
I danced and swayed with the ladies, flirted with the men, even brought myself to simper at the king himself. But he now had eyes for no one but Katherine, and her hand was never out of his. No one knew how long their relationship had been more than was strictly proper between sovereign and subject, and Katherine wasn’t saying. The king was utterly besotted and constantly called her his ‘rose without a thorn’.
It was very bitter for me to experience my cousin’s triumph. All over the palace, courtiers were to be heard sharing their astonishment that such a young woman, indeed a girl only two years older than me, could have brought off such a coup.
It was even harder to swallow the situation alone. There was simply no one to whom I could talk about it. Ned had shown his disdain for the dilemmas of a maid of honour, and in any case I had not spoken to him for months. The Countess of Malpas was wreathed in delighted smiles and claimed that she had known all along. And I’m pretty sure that behind their animated social masks the rest of the unmarried maids – barring sweet Anne Sweet – were feeling as sick inside as I was myself.
I now remembered the advice my father had given me, which had been backed up by Will Summers. I reviewed my own plan of action and realised that although I had made the right moves, I had left it too long and begun too late. And Katherine had gone even further than becoming the king’s mistress. Somehow, using the fabled charms of her body and mind, she’d persuaded him to make her his queen. It seemed astonishing.
But then I remembered Queen Anne Boleyn, who’d pulled a similar trick. Anything could happen at court. I’d had my own opportunity, I’d lacked Katherine’s boldness, and I’d squandered it.
After the court’s late nights, I woke groggy and sleepy, unwilling to face a new day. Dear Henny would bring me a cup of hot milk, just like the old days. The difference was that she would now place it silently by my bed, rather than scold me into drinking it. One morning I opened my eyes to find her sitting right by my bed, one hand on the coverlet. She must have been watching me sleep. The sight of her solid, kindly form made my throat tighten and my eyes prick. But neither of us spoke.
With an air of great condescension, Katherine had asked me, as her cousin, to remain in her household as a maid of honour. Thinking grimly of my father, the poverty of our home and the unfinished business of finding a husband for myself, I reluctantly agreed. In the queen’s household my chances of finding a rich husband could only be increased. Now that the king was married, I must revert back to my original plan.
There had been a great influx of our relations to Oatlands Palace for the wedding. There was the old duchess, Katherine’s grandmother, our cousins from Trumpton and my own father and aunt. It seemed that everyone in England related to the Howards had turned up to see what pickings could be found now that our girl wore the crown.
Anne Sweet was to be a maid of honour in the new household of the queen, just like myself, and indeed I was glad of her company. But the sight of another familiar face from Trumpton Hall astonished and horrified me.
A few days after the wedding, I was turning the pages of a music book in Katherine’s private chamber late in the afternoon, glad for once to be by myself and reluctant to go down to the chapel for prayers as I knew I should. It was a strain pretending all the time that everything was wonderful, and I just wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week.
I was disturbed by a masculine cough, and I looked up, startled, for no men were supposed to stray into the queen’s apartments. At Oatlands, the royal rooms were secluded in a new wing with a wonderful
view of the private park, and they were not overlooked by any other suite. I wondered that the guards had let anyone in. For a moment, a fearful thought of French spies or assassins flitted across my mind.
‘Sir!’ I called out. ‘Step forward so that I may see who you are! I must see you to know whether you may be here or not.’
To my surprise, there was something familiar about the figure who stepped out from behind the loop of tapestry slung across the door. Yes, I recognised that tuft of auburn hair and those strong and muscular calves. I recognised the peacock breeches and the musician’s hands. It was Master Manham, carrying a stack of books and an inkwell, and trying and failing to bow to me politely with these impediments before him.
‘I believe that the queen’s new secretary may have access to her private rooms,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s delightful to see you again, Mistress Eliza! I am so glad that you are not yet a married countess or duchess, or whatever, and that we can serve the queen together.’
I swallowed hard, unsure what to say. I was disgusted to see him again, for his handsome face brought back nothing but memories of shame. His dig at my unmarried status also gave me a sharp little pain, as if he had stepped on my toe.
But I was deeply troubled by what this development revealed about Katherine’s own discretion. I was furious with her for bringing Master Manham to court, for she had placed me in an intolerable position. If the king were ever to discover that her former lover was here at the palace, what would he do? What would he do to those of us who had knowledge of his wife’s youthful relationships? And did Katherine mean to pick things up where she’d left off?
As my face froze for a moment or two, I was afraid that he could see the whole sequence of my thoughts flitting across my face. ‘It’s been a long time since we met at the Duchess of Northumberland’s,’ he said loudly, as if to an audience.
But then he crossed the room to stand over me, the corners of the books in his arms almost poking my chest. The only word for his expression was menace. ‘What happened at Trumpton, stays there,’ he said softly.
I knew that I must appear as frosty as a frozen lake. ‘I have not the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Master Manham,’ I said, lowering my lashes. ‘Let me help you with those books.’
Shortly afterwards, I used the excuse of Mass to retreat to the gloom of the chapel and the blessed requirement of silence.
By some unlucky chance, though, I found Ned beside me in the pew as the voices of the choir lit up the summer evening.
‘Eliza!’ he whispered. ‘Are you all right?’
It was the first time in weeks that he had spoken to me, and as I turned it was a shock to see his face, so familiar, so close to mine. A pleasant smell, like green grass, came off him, and I noticed that he’d had his hair cut. But as well as realising that I missed Ned, it was doubly painful that he could tell I was upset. I couldn’t bear to have anyone commiserate with me.
‘Of course I am!’ I hissed back like an angry cat, although there was a burning feeling in my throat. To clear my eyes, I fixed them firmly upon one of the golden cherubs decorating the rafters, as if I were contemplating the Almighty.
‘My apologies for asking,’ he said with cold formality and turned his face away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Anne Sweet was on his other side. And I could not help noticing too that Ned handed her a prayer book and extended his arm to help her back to her feet after we had knelt. Obviously little Anne, the newcomer, had taken my place as Ned’s friend.
Despite my best efforts, a scalding hot teardrop insinuated itself between the cherub and my vision. ‘Don’t let it run down my cheek,’ I silently begged the Almighty. ‘I can’t cry here. He mustn’t see me crying.’
I suddenly remembered how warm and lovely it had felt in the old days when Ned had enfolded me in his arms at the merest hint that I was unhappy. The feeling struck me hard, like a blow between the shoulders. I staggered and swayed as we stood.
‘Dear Lord,’ I prayed when the time came to kneel. ‘Being in prison couldn’t be worse than this. Please, please, release me from my life.’
Chapter 30
Jaded
Summer 1541
Elizabeth is seventeen …
A year later, I had forgotten all the pleasure I had taken in the position of maid of honour as I had held it under Queen Anne. There was no more gossiping behind the scenes as there had been with her, or kind whispered words to smooth the passing of hours of dutiful service in public. With Queen Katherine, it was ‘fetch this’ and ‘clean that’ in private, while before the court it was business as usual: smiling, curtseying, offering refreshments, dancing and gambling. I had grown a sort of prickly shell to protect myself from the world. I felt safer within it, but I was lonely. I realised that my cold and offhand manner, my pretence that I cared about nothing, repelled my enemies, but also my friends.
I had never thought that I might become jaded with the magnificent palaces of Hampton Court and Greenwich, places that had at first seemed like a paradise. But I was tired of the endless luxury of our life and our stifling lack of air and freedom. I was tired of watching my cousin sitting with such majesty in the Great Hall on feast days and sitting with such inhibition on the king’s knee, like a jolly barmaid, when the senior courtiers had retired to the Great Chamber.
‘She’s been a very clever girl after all,’ said Will Summers softly while we watched her tickling the king underneath his greying whiskered chin.
Master Summers had been one of the few people at court whom Katherine had failed to conquer, and I had set much store by his never having been able to see the point of her. So his admiration for her strategy seemed doubly galling to me now.
At least it was time for a change of scene. We were to set off on one of the great summer progresses around his country that the king liked to undertake to show himself to his subjects. We would all go, sleeping in noblemen’s castles, in their stables or in hastily erected tents in the fields outside, just as our status decreed.
For the other maids of honour and me, the work and preparation of Katherine’s – no, Queen Katherine’s – wardrobe was enormous. We seemed to be packing for days, trunking up tapestries, cushions and bedding as well as her gowns. I could not imagine how long our train of horses and wagons would be once we were finally on the road.
I was glad that the ultimate destination of our progress was to be York in the north, and that we would therefore travel through my home county of Derbyshire. We were to hop from house to great house, giving all the courtiers the chance to show their hospitality to the king. It was considered a great honour to have him to stay, even though it would be cripplingly expensive for each host to provide the whole court with food and lodging and entertainment. Some noblemen had even been known to bankrupt themselves building fine new wings to their houses, simply in the hope of having the king come to visit.
It was Katherine herself who told me what the itinerary was to be, while she was wallowing in her monthly bath. Anne Sweet and I were red-faced and exhausted, having spent about an hour bringing in the jugs of hot water to fill the tub, scenting the bathwater with herbs and digging out Katherine’s special olive oil soap which we had accidentally packed away too soon. I shuddered to think how much each ball had cost.
‘Oh, Eliza,’ she trilled as she splashed about in the water. ‘I know something you don’t know!’ I was on my knees getting out and unfolding her linen towels, and hardly in the mood for her guessing games. ‘Do hand me the other soap, will you, the one with the violet scent,’ she said, hauling herself half out of the water and extending a plump arm. As always, Katherine had no modesty and refused to wear a linen shift in the bath as Queen Anne of Cleves had always done. I averted my eyes and handed the new soap to her as she let the old one dissolve and be wasted in the water.
‘It’s about the progress,’ Katherine continued, sinking back with a sigh of pleasure and sloshing water over the floor. ‘La
st time the king was in Derbyshire, with that simpleton Queen Jane, he stayed with the Earl of Westmorland.’ She paused to lather an armpit. I lifted my head from the linen and tensed myself for what might come next. Of course I knew all too well that he had stayed at Westmorland, for I had been there myself on the same occasion, getting into trouble.
Fortunately, though, Katherine didn’t seem to know about that. ‘I told Hen that it would be most comfortable to stay there at Westmorland again,’ she said. ‘But he said that sometimes, as king and queen, we have to suffer for our duty. We have to stay in all sorts of horrible places, even if it means sleeping in a pigsty, so that these local aristocrats won’t get jealous of each other. So we can’t stay at Westmorland two progresses in a row.’
Despite my annoyance at her ‘we’ and ‘us’ and her ‘Hen’ for the king, I began to hope what she might be going to say. Abandoning the towels, I rose to my feet.
Katherine laughed out loud at my eagerness. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘We’re going to that squalid little sheep farm where you grew up, Eliza.’
‘Oh, Eliza! Stoneton! We’re going to see your home!’ said little Anne Sweet, squeezing my arm in pleasure.
But Katherine, of course, could not tolerate Anne’s kindness or my pleasure, and chose that moment to surge up out of the water.
‘Come on, maids, where’s my towel?’ she demanded, standing there stock-still and naked, with soapy water spilling off her fleshy flanks.
Anne and I had to rootle on the floor for the towels and gently and respectfully pat her dry. I did it dutifully, but it made my own flesh creep.