Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  “What do you know?” he asked quietly.

  She told him, even as Varian put a protective arm about her.

  “Why did you not tell me before this?” the duke asked her.

  “Because,” Nyssa said bluntly, “you would have exposed her to save your own self. I knew eventually she would be found out. I hoped when that day came, Varian and I would be long gone from court, and forgotten by a vengeful king out to destroy the Howards.”

  A wintry smile touched the duke’s lips. He nodded, understanding her rationale. Like him, she had an instinct for survival. Her family came first in her life, even as his had always come first in his. “You will not be able to flee to your Winterhaven now, lest it look like you run to escape some guilt or culpability,” he told her. “You will have to ride out whatever storm there is here with the rest of us.”

  “I know that,” Nyssa told him, “and I will never forgive you if harm comes to Varian or our children through the Howards.”

  “I know that,” he responded. “You are a woman with a long memory for a fault, madame. Keep silent on what you know, for what you know may not be at the root of the problem at all. I will go to the archbishop myself and ask him what this is all about. He will tell me.”

  “And will you tell us?” she asked him. “Or will you husband the information and leave us to wonder?”

  “You will be kept informed,” he said, and left them.

  “What else could it be?” Varian asked his wife when they were alone again. “What could she have done to merit house arrest?” He went to the sideboard and poured them each a small goblet of wine.

  Seated together before the fire, they sipped their wine and spoke in soft voices so as not to be overheard.

  “Before her marriage Cat spoke of a rather unorthodox childhood in the old dowager’s house,” Nyssa told her husband. “The maidens were left badly supervised, if looked after at all. She told me of two men who tried to seduce her. I told her to tell the king these things so that one day they could not be used against her, but she would not. She was afraid that he might not marry her if she did.”

  “It is possible, then,” he said thoughtfully, “that this unchaste life may have been dragged up to discredit her with the king, but who would do such a thing to poor Catherine? She has not the brain of a peahen, I fear, but her heart is good. Who seeks to harm her?”

  Nyssa merely shook her head.

  “We must behave as if we know nothing,” Varian told her. “We cannot draw attention to ourselves, sweeting, lest we be dragged into whatever sort of scandal is brewing.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “With God’s good luck, this matter will soon be settled and we can go home to Winterhaven.”

  Chapter 15

  The archbishop questioned John Lascelles and his sister, Mary Hall, once again. He allowed the Duke of Norfolk to sit with him in silence when he did. When they had departed, he turned to the duke, asking him, “What think you, my lord duke?”

  Thomas Howard was slightly gray in color. He was genuinely disturbed by Mistress Hall’s account of life in his stepmother’s house. Most of the young women in the family had been entrusted to the dowager duchess’s care at one time or another. They would have been better raised by the hounds in his kennels, he thought, but he was very circumspect in his answer to the cleric. “I cannot rely upon only the word of a servant in such a serious matter, my lord,” he said gravely. “I must speak with my stepmother to learn what she has to say in her defense.”

  “Aye, I shall want to speak with the lady Agnes myself,” Thomas Cranmer said quietly. “I am appalled she did not exercise better control over those young innocents in her charge.”

  “As am I,” the duke replied grimly. He hurried off to Lambeth to speak with his stepmother.

  The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk had already heard the news of the queen’s confinement. Rumors were flying regarding the matter. If the misconduct had taken place in her house, she would be blamed. She was frantically searching the house for any incriminating evidence left behind by Catherine when she departed to go to court. Her stepson’s arrival did not do anything to ease her mind. “What news, Tom?” she asked him nervously.

  “Why, madame, did you not tell me of Catherine’s misbehavior prior to our dangling her before the king’s nose?” he demanded of the old woman.

  “I did not know,” Lady Agnes admitted, and then defended herself, “Why should the blame be on me alone? These girls came to me for polishing before they went to court. I should not have had to be responsible for their morals.”

  “Then it is true what they are saying? That you let the girls in your charge run loose like bitches in heat? God’s boots, madame! Where was your good sense? Surely you must have known that a scandal of this nature would erupt eventually! With the others it would not have mattered, but this was the girl we singled out to be queen!”

  “You are panicking, Tom,” his stepmother said. “If the offense took place before the marriage, indeed before Catherine even met the king, she cannot lose her head for that. What is the worst that can possibly happen? He will put her away and marry another wife. The Howards will be out of favor again, as they were in the time of Anne Boleyn’s fall. But, we will survive to play the game another day, I think.” She smiled encouragingly at him.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I have just come from the archbishop. I sense he seeks something more than has been given him. I do not believe he will find it, but if he does, then the situation will be far worse, madame.”

  The Archbishop of Canterbury pondered his second interview with Lascelles and his sister. They had not deviated a whit from their stories. Then there was the new knowledge he had just obtained from the king: that the queen’s former lover, Francis Dereham, was now in her household. Why had Catherine taken this man into her service if she did not mean to take up with him again? He was young, and handsome, and undoubtedly vigorous in bed sport, unlike the aging, overweight king.

  He had not proof as of yet, but could there possibly be adultery involved? That would mean treason. He shuddered. He had been given a mandate from the king to get to the bottom of the pot, but now it would seem that the pot was far deeper, and possibly dirtier, than he had ever anticipated. Still, there was no going back now.

  He met with his fellow members of the Privy Council and laid the facts he had gathered to date in the matter before them. It was agreed that there was a basis for proceeding further in the investigation. The king was summoned and told of the council’s suspicions, particularly the new ones regarding Francis Dereham. He groaned unhappily.

  The archbishop told the king, “She has betrayed you in thought, and if she had an opportunity, would have betrayed you in deed.”

  The king put his head in his hands.

  “Your Grace, I have no substantive evidence to date that would prove the queen has been unfaithful, but we must seek for such evidence if for no other reason than to clear Her Grace’s name,” the archbishop explained gently. “No stone can be left unturned.”

  The king looked up bleakly at his council, and then to their great amazement, Henry Tudor began to weep openly. “How could she betray me when I have loved her so greatly?” he cried, and then he slumped back in his chair sobbing bitterly.

  They were shocked. They were astounded! Every man on the council knew in that moment how deeply the king had loved Catherine Howard. The more cynical among them wondered, however, how long that love would have lasted. They were embarrassed nonetheless that a man of his personal courage would have given in so to his emotions, yet they admired him for it. They could see their sovereign become an old man before their very eyes. It was a terrifying experience, for it touched on their own mortality.

  The king arose heavily from the council table. “I am going hunting,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his big hand.

  Henry Tudor departed Hampton Court for Oatlands within an hour of his departing the council chamber. He took only half a dozen companions. He n
eeded time to nurse his wounds. He did not want to have to face the public at this moment. He did not want to be there when the queen was officially informed of the charges that were to be lodged against her. Earlier, before he had left Hampton Court, he had gone to his chapel to pray, and to calm himself. Suddenly, outside, he had heard the sounds of scuffling, and Catherine’s young voice desperately shrieking his name.

  “Henry! Henry, in the name of God speak with me!”

  Afterward they told him that the queen had pushed past her startled guards when food was brought and raced to his private apartments, past his own personal servants, in her effort to seek him out. They had not wanted to lay hands on her, but finally had no choice. He was glad he had not seen her. One look at her pretty face and he would have forgiven her. She did not deserve his forgiveness. Cranmer had but hinted at her crime, but in his heart of hearts Henry Tudor knew that his wife was probably very guilty. Little incidences kept coming back to him. Why had she really insisted upon giving a place in her household to that Dereham fellow? The man looked like a pirate. He had wretched manners. The king had once been witness to his arrogance, and nasty temper, although Dereham had not been aware of Henry’s quiet presence.

  The Duke of Norfolk felt very responsible for the disaster that had befallen the king in his fifth marriage. When he saw Henry Tudor’s unhappiness regarding Anne of Cleves, he had deliberately sought among the women in his own extended family for a substitute the king might favor. Thomas Howard had been so eager to place Catherine Howard on England’s throne that he had not investigated her youth thoroughly. If he had, he would have quickly found that the girl was unfit to be queen. Instead he had been as taken in by her plump prettiness as had the king. Now this girl had placed him in worse danger than Anne Boleyn had ever done. Still, Cat was his responsibility. He would do his duty.

  The queen was visited by the council, and the charges against her were laid forth. Thomas Howard stood by his niece’s side. Catherine’s reaction was to have immediate hysterics. All she could think about was her cousin Anne. Like Anne, she was surely going to end upon the block. Still, they had not mentioned Tom Culpeper. It was just possible that they did not know. The charges, after all, did relate to her unchaste life before she became queen. And Duke Thomas was at her side. The Howards were not abandoning her. She struggled to calm herself, but it was not easy. She was very afraid.

  By the following day, when the archbishop came to visit her, Catherine’s hysteria was again high. He could not reason with her, nor even make sense of the words she was babbling in her fear.

  “She will neither eat nor take drink,” Lady Rochford said.

  “I will return tomorrow,” Thomas Cranmer said. “If she calms, tell her that I mean her no harm. I am here to help her.”

  The archbishop returned the following day to find the queen still frenzied. This time, however, he would not retreat. He sat quietly with her, speaking gently, endeavoring to reach through her blind terror. Finally, when she had grown a little less agitated, he said to her, “Madame, you must not disquiet yourself so. There is hope, I swear to you. See?” He drew a parchment from his sleeve. “I bring you a letter from the king, your husband, offering to treat you mercifully if you will but admit to your faults.” He held it out to her.

  She took it from him as if it were afire, then breaking the royal seal, read it, the tears pouring down her plump cheeks. “Alas, my lord, that I have caused such troubles to the husband who has been so kind and good to me,” she told the archbishop.

  “Madame, the king’s heart may be broken by the grievous nature of these charges against you, but he would offer you mercy from the love he bears you. You have but to admit to your wickedness.”

  “I will answer all your questions, my lord, to the best of my ability and recollection,” she promised him. “Will the king, my dearest lord, truly grant me his benign mercy? Do I even deserve it?” She could not cease weeping, and her eyes were red, but for the time being her hysterics were eased, and gone. She was struggling very hard to keep her composure.

  “Our sovereign lord will deal gently with you, dear madame. All he would have of you is the truth in this matter,” Thomas Cranmer assured the terrified woman. “You may confide in me, Catherine. I will do my best by you, I promise.”

  Her cerulean-blue eyes were swollen with her weeping, her lashes matted into spiky points. Her auburn hair, usually so neatly coiffed, was unkempt and undone. She wore no jewelry, he noted, but the wedding band upon her finger. It was a departure for a woman who loved all of the royal jewels and was apt to deck herself in as many as possible each day. Catherine Howard was Thomas Cranmer’s picture of a fallen woman. She had guilt written all over her. Her very fear betrayed her.

  The queen held up her hands. “Thank God for the king’s goodness to me, although I am not worthy of it.”

  “Will you trust me then, Catherine?” the archbishop said.

  She nodded, but then fell to weeping again for a long moment. He waited for her sorrow to subside, and then she said to him, “Alas, my lord, that I am alive! The fear of death did not grieve me so much before as doth now the remembrance of the king’s goodness, for when I remember how gracious and loving a prince I had, I cannot but sorrow. But this sudden mercy, more than I could have looked for, maketh mine offenses to appear before mine eyes much more heinous than they did before. And the more I consider the greatness of his mercy, the more I do sorrow in my heart that I should so mis-order myself against His Majesty.” She wept again, great gulping sobs of grief.

  He could see that she had taken all she could for the moment, and so the archbishop left her, promising to return in the early evening.

  When he had gone, Lady Rochford crept from the corner where she had been sitting. “Say naught to him, you little fool,” she warned the queen. “He seeks to convict you, and surely you will end on the block like your cousin Anne. Admit nothing! Where is their proof but in the idle tongues of jealous servants?”

  “The king will grant me mercy if I will admit my faults,” Catherine said softly. “I am afraid, Rochford. I do not want to die. If I admit to my liaisons with Dereham before my marriage, then I will be forgiven. I will not die!”

  “Admit to anything, Catherine Howard, and you will no longer be Queen of England. Is it not better to die a queen than to live in ignominity and disgrace? If you admit to Dereham, the king will cast you off. Knowing that old satyr, he is probably already casting about for a new rose without a thorn to warm his bed and to be his queen.”

  “Henry would not do such a thing!” the queen protested.

  Lady Jane Rochford laughed bitterly. “Jane Seymour was primly waiting in the wings as they readied the accusations against your cousin Anne. Did the king not let his eye wander between you and Lady Wyndham even when he was still wed to the Princess of Cleves? Perhaps it is your dear friend Nyssa who will replace you in the king’s affections.”

  Catherine Howard slapped Jane Rochford. “Do not dare to slander my cousin’s wife,” she said in a hard voice. “Nyssa de Winter is probably the only person in the entire world that I can truly trust. I pray God that my actions have not endangered her, my cousin Varian, or their children. I will do what I must to protect the family. It is all I can do now.” She glared at her companion. “You had best pray, Jane, that the king does not discover my relationship with Tom Culpeper, or your part in fostering that relationship. If I go to the block, you will go with me. And if my real crimes escape the king’s notice, I will spend the rest of my life being a good wife to him, if they will let me. If they will not, I will accept whatever portion I am allotted, and be grateful to be alive.”

  “How noble you have suddenly become in the face of danger,” Lady Rochford said, rubbing her cheek. “Are you certain that letter came from the king? When has Henry Tudor ever been known to be merciful when betrayed by a woman? Perhaps the archbishop forged the letter, and used the king’s seal in an effort to trick you, madame.”

 
Catherine Howard blanched. “Surely the archbishop would not do a thing like that,” she said. “He is a man of God!”

  “Men of God who are servants of Henry Tudor are more apt to do the king’s bidding than follow their conscience. The king is a certainty they must live with every day. God is but a nebulous eventuality.”

  The queen began to weep again. Was it possible the archbishop was going to betray her? She struggled to maintain her composure while behind her back Jane Rochford smiled to herself.

  The many members of the Howard family, always in evidence at court, were suddenly not so evident. No one really knew what was going on, but everyone knew that the queen, adored yesterday, was today suddenly out of favor. How serious was it? There was no one to tell the court. All entertainments had been canceled. The king spent all his time in those first days of November hunting with just a few chosen companions, or closeted with his Privy Council. The queen was allowed no visitors. Those bringing food to her could only say that Her Grace was pale and not eating.

  In the Duke of Norfolk’s apartments, Nyssa sat quietly by the fire in the dayroom embroidering her husband’s initials upon one of his shirts. She looked serene, but she was not. Thomas Howard, watching her, silently admired his grandson’s wife. He had known absolutely nothing about her other than the fact that she was standing in his family’s way when they had first met. Now that they were more or less trapped within these close quarters, he was discovering that she was a very intelligent, clever, loyal young woman. He also saw how very much Varian was in love with her. Well, at least something good had come of all his machinations, he considered bitterly.

  Suddenly Nyssa looked up and her eyes locked onto his. “What news, my lord?” she asked quietly.

  “Nothing yet, madame,” he answered her. “The archbishop continues to press Catherine. It is as if he seeks something other than he has. If he does not learn anything more, my niece will retain her pretty, vacuous head. If he does find something, she will die as she deserves to, I fear. There is still hope, I think.”