Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey
Page 12
“And Jane?”
“She had been taken from Chelsea to Syon House. She claimed illness, knowing what lay ahead, but the council would hear nothing of it. The council bowed to Northumberland’s will and, bound by the king’s device, proclaimed her queen. I was there and saw the whole sorry thing. Jane was a mess, trembling and sobbing, crying out that she was unworthy to wear the crown. The next morning she was dressed in Tudor green and white and taken by barge with Guildford to the Tower to await her coronation. Instead of the cheering and boisterous crowds that had greeted the procession of her predecessor, they were met with stony silence from the banks of the river. The people stared at her as if she were a foreigner.”
I gazed down at my hands. They were clasped tightly in my lap, my knuckles turning white.
“Poor Jane,” I murmured.
Francis continued. “The council attempted to crown her, but she rebuffed them. Eventually they tricked her by telling her it was only to try it on for size. Once she realised there was no going back, she called Arundel and Pembroke and told them that she refused to name Guildford as king.”
“I bet that caused a fine tantrum.”
Francis finally gave a small chuckle, “It was a sight to see the duke’s son crying at his mother’s knee. The next evening a messenger arrived with the letter from Mary. It was read out loud, punctuated by the sobbing of the Duchesses Northumberland and Suffolk. They decided that the other sons of the duke - the Earl of Warwick and Robert Dudley - would be sent to meet Mary, but they never made it. The people were against this coup. After that failure, Suffolk was asked to lead the troops, but Jane was so ill with fear she begged him to stay and Northumberland was sent in his stead. With Northumberland gone, the members of the council wavered and all fell in line behind Mary. She entered Cheapside on the ninth day of Jane’s reign and was proclaimed queen by the people.”
“And rightfully so,” I scoffed.
Francis nodded sadly. “Yes, she is the rightful queen, but shall she be a noble queen or shall we return to the yoke of the Catholic church? For now I have been exiled from Court.”
I grasped his arm. “Francis, surely you had no part in this treason?”
A hurt look crossed his face. “Of course not, Catherine. I would never endanger our family in such a way. But I did nothing to stop it and I stood by when the council changed their allegiance to Mary, and because I took no side I have been sent home. But I have been given a mission from Sir William Cecil and Thomas Cranmer.”
Sir William was a well-known reformer. Francis had attended a summit held at his home some time ago for the reformers and Catholics to discuss the treatment of the Sacrament.
Thomas Cranmer was King Edward’s Archbishop of Canterbury. He had given King Henry his first divorce and had helped instigate the break from the pope. What could they possibly ask my husband to do?
“Go on,” I prodded.
Francis hesitated, chewing his lip for a moment, considering his next words. Finally he said: “They have asked me to go to the Low Countries to scout out settlements.”
“And who do they suggest will live in these settlements?”
“English Protestants,” he said simply.
“Francis! I cannot leave my country, my home.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Catherine, you spent much of your childhood in France.”
“In English territory in France,” I emphasised. “We cannot just pick up and leave everything behind just because we do not agree with Queen Mary.”
Grimly, Francis responded, “We can if our life is in danger. The queen has vowed not to change the religion now, but she has not been shy about her disdain for the reformed ‘heretics’. It will not be long before we are burnt at Smithfield. I fear what the future may bring, Catherine. It may not even be necessary, but Cranmer and Cecil have requested this of me and I have agreed. I leave next month and I am taking our son Harry.”
His edict silenced me. I trusted that Francis would never put our son in harm’s way, but the thought of Harry going on this dangerous journey filled me with terror. My husband had made it clear that no matter how I felt about it, he would not tolerate any dissent from me.
Francis pulled the counterpane back over me, tucking it in tight. Once he was done, he took his leave without any kiss or sign of affection.
I watched Francis and Harry make their preparations for their journey from the oriel window in my bedchamber. I would not be churched for at least another month so, for now, I was still stuck indoors. I could not even sleep with my husband before he set out on his dangerous mission. We had not spoken much since he told me the news. It was not unusual for us to go months at a time without hearing one another’s voice, but this was different. Those months he was miles away at Court, not in a room down the hall.
I sat in my room, beneath the open window for air, and read or sewed while I waited patiently for Francis’s forgiveness. He had visited only twice since our argument, once to see our son and a second time to tell me that he would be leaving the second week of September and that his brother would be staying at Greys with me. My heart ached at the distance that had grown between us. My warm, thoughtful husband had been replaced by this steely stranger.
Harry was beside himself with excitement. It would be the first time he had travelled farther from Greys than Court. Under the open window I heard the barrage of questions he asked of his father. Where would they sleep? What kind of people were in Germany? What would they see? Francis always responded patiently and managed to direct Harry to another task. As much as I dreaded Harry leaving home, I knew it would be a good experience for him and he would learn much during his journey. I resigned myself to their departure and put my faith in Francis.
A knock at the door startled me from my daydream. I straightened myself and called out “Please come in.”
Francis appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish.
I turned to Matilda. “You are excused. I will send for you when I need you.”
She nodded and dropped a small curtsey, squeezing out through the door beside Francis.
He walked slowly to my bed and, instead of sitting in the chair as usual, he sat down next to me on the mattress. His hazel eyes fixed on mine.
“I believe I owe my beloved wife an apology,” he mumbled.
I cast down my eyes and plucked at a snag in the counterpane. He put his hand on mine, stilling it.
“Will you please look at me?” he pleaded.
I raised my head and looked back at him, my vision watery from the tears in my eyes. I had tried my best to blink them back, but they came unbidden anyway.
I sniffed. “There is no need for you to apologise. You are the head of this household and you will do as you see fit, regardless of what your ignorant wife thinks. That is your right as my husband.”
Francis threw his arms around me and held me in a tight embrace.
“Catherine Knollys, I have never in my life believed you to be ignorant. I feel quite the contrary actually. I have always known you to be very intelligent and wise.”
I pulled back. “Then why did you treat me so harshly when I disagreed with you?”
Francis sighed. “It is my own behaviour that was ignorant. I will be leaving you for a very long time and wanted to insulate myself. Set myself apart from you so it would not be so painful for us both while I was gone.”
I brushed a wayward tear from my cheek. “Francis, you are ridiculous.”
He smiled warmly. “I know. See, I told you that you were wise.”
I started to shake my head, but he stopped me with both hands, pulling me close into a kiss. I realised just how much I had missed our intimacy. His lips tasted salty from my tears. Deftly, he laid me back on the bed and ran his hand over the curves of my body. I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back.
“Francis, I have not been churched yet. We mustn’t do this.”
He placed his finger to my lips and shushed me.
“Catherine,
our church no longer considers you impure from childbirth. The ceremony is only for thanksgiving, not to purify you. King Edward made it so in the new Prayer Book last year. Have you not read it?”
I laughed. “I guess I should have.”
“Yes, my lady, you should have,” he chastised me, trailing kisses down my neck.
I gave myself to Francis and we spent the night making love. In the morning I rose early to bid him and our son farewell. I managed to keep the tears at bay while we said our goodbyes. Harry’s face was flushed with excitement, his azure eyes shining in pure pleasure. Francis looked less ecstatic, but he stood tall and assured, convinced that he was doing the right thing. Mary, Lettice, William and I stood waving from the courtyard as Francis and Harry rode down the lane and out into the unknown.
London, Whitehall:
30 September – 2 October 1553
Francis and Harry had been gone less than a week before a messenger from Court arrived at Greys. Henry went out to meet him while I waited eagerly in the hall. Now that Francis was no longer serving at Court, who could be sending us letters from London? I paced uneasily before the hearth.
Once I heard Henry’s footsteps echo in the entryway, I ran to him.
“What is it?” I asked impatiently.
He lowered his hand and snorted.
“Well?” I was hopping from one foot to another, unable to keep still.
Finally he said incredulously, “The queen has invited you to her coronation.”
My hand flew to my mouth and I gave a muffled groan.
Henry laughed. “My thoughts exactly.”
I threw my hand out to stop him. “Wait, are you sure that is what the letter says?”
He handed me the letter nonchalantly. “Read it for yourself.”
I quickly scanned the letter. Sure enough, it was an invitation to the queen’s coronation, addressed to both Francis and I. It dawned on me that, of course, it would be addressed to us both. I was sure the queen had no idea that Francis had headed overseas, for the moment at least. Eventually she would find out, but my husband and son had probably just reached Gravesend.
The coronation would take place in two weeks. I had not considered attending, but this royal invitation required me to go. I also realised that, although Mary never knew and certainly would never recognise that I was her half-sister by blood, it was my duty to support her. I cared not what her religion was or even if England did rejoin the Catholic church. I only cared that my husband was spared punishment for his loyal service to her brother’s religion. Attending her coronation to show my support could only help him and keep up appearances. I threw the invitation into the fire and called Matilda in to take my measurements. I would need a new gown.
The day was perfect for a procession. The sun was shining, but a cool breeze was blowing and the sky was fair. I stood among the throng of people halfway between the Tower and Whitehall. The citizens of London chattered excitedly to each other, thrilled to see the daughter of their beloved Catherine of Aragon take the throne. “Long live the queen!” echoed out through the city. While I had been invited to the coronation, I was not invited to participate in the procession, so I watched from the sidelines.
A carriage pulled by six chestnut coursers marched through the city carrying the new queen. She was resplendent in a deep purple gown trimmed in ermine. Precious jewels dripped from her ears and throat. Her hair was worn loose, the auburn waves threaded with strands of the silver-grey that comes with age and misfortune. She was crowned with a circlet of gold encrusted with so many precious gems she had to rest her head on her hands to bear the weight. I wondered if she had made sure to wear every crown jewel from the coffers. She reminded me of a poor man who had inherited a wealth of riches, eager to show that she had been blessed by God with a fortune. Though I looked at her through critical eyes, my heart held gladness for her. As a princess, Mary had been subjected to neglect and abuse I could never imagine inflicting upon a child. Now it was her time to shine and the people of London were thrilled to have her in their presence. She reminded them of the heady, joyous days when the chivalric son of Henry VII and his exotic, beautiful wife were crowned. Surely, they believed, she would be as noble as they.
The knights, bishops, and lords of the court, led by the Privy Council themselves walked behind Queen Mary. It appeared that she had kept many of Edward’s councillors in addition to the ones recently appointed. I had never seen so many Privy Councillors in all my times at Court. I could only begin to imagine the infighting that would happen in those chambers. I realised right away that a familiar face was missing. Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, was nowhere to be seen. In his place strutted Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, the loathsome man who had tried to entrap Katheryn Parr. He had been imprisoned in the Tower during Edward’s reign. I was sure that the queen had wasted no time in releasing him. He was her strongest link to the old ways of the Catholic church and one of the few bishops to object to her father’s divorce. I was certain that while Gardiner replaced Cranmer in the procession, Cranmer was most likely replacing Gardiner behind the Tower walls.
A smaller carriage rumbled along behind the queen’s grand one carrying the Princess Elizabeth and Anne of Cleves. I could not help but break into a wide smile when I saw the two of them. Elizabeth looked, as required, regally sombre, but Anne was grinning and waving maniacally to the crowd. I had heard that she had become a bit eccentric in her retirement, but she was beloved by the princesses and all the ladies and gentlemen who served her. I hoped to see both of them in my short stay at Court.
The queen’s maids surrounded Elizabeth and Anne’s carriage. I strained my eyes to see any I recognised and was pleased when I spotted Nan Bassett. She was on a white mare dressed in her finest emerald hued gown. How good it felt to see my old friends again. Though I had never cared for the intrigues of the Court, I missed the friendships I had made as a result of serving together and I was hit with a pang of jealously that I was missing out.
The conduits were flowing with red wine and, as was customary, the procession was treated to pageants all along the route. The parade halted while the city recorder read out a speech professing loyalty to the queen. The party moved on ahead to Whitehall. I pushed my way through the crowd and followed them to the palace. I had been invited to stay, but since my husband was no longer there, I knew not where I would be lodged. I decided to take my chances and headed out in search of Nan.
The palace was jammed with people. Pages bustled past busy making preparations for tomorrow’s celebrations. I weaved through the crowd and followed a group of maids to the great hall. I stood outside the enormous doors and pondered my life since I had first arrived at these very same doors and peeked through them, catching my first glimpse of my father’s court, as it came to be after my Aunt Anne’s death. I recalled the song that the minstrels were playing and the sound of shoes shuffling across the hardwood floor, the glimmer of jewels in the candlelight and the smell of roasted meat coming from the platters being passed around the long tables. I was lost in time and nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a warm hand on my arm.
“Catherine! Is it you? I cannot believe my eyes.”
I turned to find myself faced with the youthful countenance of Nan Bassett.
“Nan!” I squealed and threw my arms around her. “I am so pleased to see you again.”
I stepped back, my eyes sweeping over her.
“You have not aged a day,” I sighed.
She laughed, “Well, Mistress Knollys, I have not been in the country birthing an army of children! I imagine the experience is exhausting.”
I giggled at her dramatic expression.
“You know something, Nan? It is exhausting. But it is also a joy. My children have far exceeded any expectation I ever had of them in looks, intelligence and countenance. In ten children, I have only lost one. I count my blessings each and every day.”
Nan smiled. She looked sincerely pleased for me.
We hugged again and walked arm-in-arm into the great hall.
Nan was a very gracious hostess. She immediately offered to share her lodgings with me, and that night was like old times. We stayed up late into the night catching up on all the changes in our lives. Nan thrilled me with her stories of the queen’s fight for the throne. A small part of me missed the excitement, but I was happy to know I would be returning to my quiet life in the country once the coronation was over.
In the morning, groggy from our lack of sleep, we ambled to the fire to warm up and break our fast. The mulled ale warmed me into a trance and I sat back, mesmerised by the dancing flames. An hour later, Nan’s maid came in to help us dress and Nan excused herself to the queen’s rooms. She had a job to do and our time together was cut short.
“I will send lots of prayers that the queen finds you a wonderful match soon and that your home will be filled with the sound of tiny feet,” I whispered in her ear as we enjoyed one last embrace.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, squeezing my hand before she left to ready the queen for her big day.
I walked to Westminster early to try to beat the crowds. The weather was a repeat of the previous day, and by the time the queen came into view on her procession to the abbey, the sun had warmed through my heavy layers.
Mary was riding in an open litter wearing the crimson velvet robes worn by her father and brother before her. The barons of the Cinque Ports carried a brocade canopy over her, shading her from the hot sun. Bishop Gardiner led the way, the ball and sceptre carried by the Earl of Arundel, the orb by the Marquis of Winchester, and the crown by my uncle, the Duke of Norfolk. I was surprised to see that he had been released from the Tower. The queen’s father had imprisoned him shortly before his death and it was only because of that death that Norfolk kept his head.
The queen’s litter was carried inside the abbey all the way to the coronation chair. The people filed in and crowded the abbey. Once we were all quiet, Gardiner began the ceremony.