“Do you serve now and give your wills and assent to the same consecration, unction and coronation?”
We all responded, “Yea, yea, yea. God save Queen Mary!”
The queen made her coronation oath after receiving the prayers and blessings of the church. While the abbey choir sang, she excused herself and re-emerged from behind a curtain wearing a plum coloured velvet petticoat. Gardiner anointed her with holy oil and she doffed the red robes of state again. The nobles came forth presenting her with the sword, sceptre and orb. She was first crowned with what I recognised as the same crown used during Edward’s coronation. Then it was removed and replaced with a new crown I did not recognise. The other nobles crowded around her to pay homage. Then she rose from her throne, climbed back into the litter and was carried in state to Westminster Hall for her banquet.
Overwhelmed by the pageantry of the festivities, I went back to Whitehall to gather my things and retrieve my horse. My servant, Anthony, was waiting to take me back to Greys. I had done my duty and now it was time to go back to my home.
Oxfordshire, Rotherfield Greys:
April 1554 – March 1555
The bleak winter snows had passed, the violets and hyacinths had long been out to play and I had yet to hear word from my beloved husband. Being housebound in the frigid weather made me mad with inactivity and just as the birds fled their winter hiding spots, I too fled the manor.
As I walked past my rose garden in the morning sun, I spotted the nasty weeds that had taken hold over the cold season and I fell on my hands and knees ripping them out of the ground. All of the frustration and fear I had felt over the last months poured out of me as I dug the unwelcome intruders out of my garden. My back ached and my knees throbbed, but when Henry called out to me, I refused to heed his words.
“Catherine, we have a gardener for that.”
I ignored him as I carried on with my task and out of the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head and walk away. I worked until I felt the first warm raindrops on the top of my head. I rocked back on my knees and looked to the sky. It was dark and grey, ominous. Raindrops fell in my eyes. I forgot about the dirt on my hands until I rubbed my eyes. My vision blurred and, instinctively, the tears began to fall. The tears I had been holding back since Francis’s departure were released in a torrent. I threw down my shovel in frustration and sat in my misery.
Shortly after Francis and Harry’s departure, I received a letter from Princess Elizabeth. Word had reached Hatfield of Francis’s mission, no doubt from Cecil himself, and Elizabeth had been under the impression that I was leaving with him so she wrote to offer her love and support. It had taken Elizabeth great courage to correspond with those who had dared to defy the queen. The final words she had closed her letter with struck a chord, Cor Rotto - heart-broken.
Since reading her missive I had carried those two words branded on my own broken heart. Yes, I had known joy and happiness, but since those dark days over twenty years ago, I had also known profound loss. While I sat in the warm spring rain, I felt a wave of sadness chill me as I counted my losses one by one. The loss of my Aunt Anne had taken a hostage with it, the joy of my innocence. And not only had I lost my mother and fathers (the true and the false one) in death, my stepfather had wasted little time remarrying, fleeing to the continent with no farewell. The man I had loved as my own father and I believed cared for me as well had deserted me in this new and unsettling reign. My beautiful Maude would never grow to enjoy the scent of the very roses I was weeding. She would never feel the warm summer sun on her face or know the love of a young man. Now my husband and our child were travelling in a country unknown to us and I feared their loss as well. I knew I needed to pick myself up off the wet, muddy ground, but it would take every ounce of my courage to swallow my grief and face my children.
I raised my face towards heaven, ready to beg for help, and was startled to see a man in a hooded cape standing over me. Something in his eyes struck me as familiar, but his face was shadowed and I could not make out his identity. I took his outstretched hand and, as I straightened myself, recovered my senses.
“Thank you, my good sir,” I sputtered. “Please come in out of the rain.”
I ushered him into the front hall. He turned his back to me and I eagerly helped him remove his wet cloak. When he turned to face me, I was struck speechless. It was my Richard.
He had grown plumper since I had seen him last at Whitehall. His beard was still full and it had begun to grey at the edges. His face was more care-worn, but it still glowed with kindness, just as I remembered.
“Richard?” I asked cautiously. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckled lightly. “Well, that is a fine greeting, Lady Knollys! I am pleased to see you as well!”
I sensed a blush creeping up my face. “You are absolutely right, I am sorry to be so apprehensive. You startled me, showing up in the pouring rain with your face covered. We have all been a little on edge lately. Please forgive me.”
Richard gave my hand a light squeeze. “I completely understand, my lady. I think everyone in our circle has been a bit nervous these last few months. You are certainly forgiven.”
I gripped his hand in mine. “Circle?” I asked in confusion.
He looked hopefully towards the fire in the hearth and said, “Maybe we should sit down.”
I called Matilda into the room and she ran to fetch a warm blanket and mulled cider for our unexpected guest.
Richard and I settled into our seats and he spoke of his life since we had parted ways. After the death of King Henry, Richard had maintained his position in the stables under Edward’s reign. Serving the most prominent reformers in the country had opened him up to a new outlook on his beliefs and, over time, he joined their ranks. Fearing the new queen’s policies, he sought out Sir William and asked him to find a place for him at Hatfield. Soon after he arrived, he fell in love with a serving maid, Susannah, and they were married at Christmas.
“Before I left, she told me she was with child,” he glowed with pride.
I was pleased to see such pleasure in Richard’s eyes. He was so deserving of a life of happiness, and it seemed as if he had finally found it.
“That is wonderful Richard. I am so happy for you.”
“Thank you, my lady. But I didn’t come here to talk about me. I am sure you are wondering why I have made this journey all the way from Hatfield.”
Officially Richard was working in Princess Elizabeth’s stables, but he was truly at Hatfield to assist William Cecil, passing messages between the secret reformers of the country. His wife, Susannah, was a kinswoman to the princess’s lady, Kat Ashley. Mistress Ashley had been removed after her part in the Thomas Seymour intrigue.
Richard told me that Hatfield was crawling with the queen’s informants. In January, Protestant rebels began a revolt in response to the queen’s decision to marry Prince Philip of Spain instead of Edward Courtenay, the Earl of Devon. Their plan was to assassinate the queen and put Princess Elizabeth in her place, betrothing her to the earl. Devon was arrested after the Spanish ambassador alerted Bishop Gardiner to the plot and though the earl revealed the plans under duress, his partner in the plot, Sir Thomas Wyatt of Kent, pushed ahead and all went awry. Since she was the centrepiece to the plot, Princess Elizabeth was, of course, implicated and escorted to the Tower. Lady Jane Grey and Guildford Dudley had found themselves on the scaffold for Jane’s father’s part in the uprising.
I realised in an instant how secluded I had become out here in the country. I had received no word of these happenings and had no inkling that Elizabeth had been imprisoned. Francis’s brother, Henry, must have known. I had seen men come and go in the last few months, but Henry had never shared with me any news he received from Court or otherwise. Once Richard left, I would be sure to corner him and find out why.
Richard reached into his doublet, pulling out a tightly rolled piece of parchment and handed it to me.
“Your husband has been
sending reports to Sir William and this time he included a letter for you. I wanted to be sure you received it right away so I set off once we realised to whom it was addressed.”
I carefully took the letter from his hand then closed my eyes and clutched it to my heart, feeling the smooth parchment against my skin.
“I am sure you would like to be alone,” he said, standing up. “I need to be heading back to Hatfield.”
I looked up into his stern face, “Are you sure you will not stay? I worry about you travelling in the rain, and it will be dark soon.”
Richard shook his head, “I will be all right, my lady. As much as I would love to stay, I must get back to Susannah. She has been ever fearful since the coronation and I worry about her and the child. I do thank you heartily for your hospitality.”
I leaned forward and embraced him in a hug. When I took in his woody scent, I was taken back to a time and place long ago, before I was a mother, before I was a wife, before our thoughts were clouded with fear and apprehension.
Richard was the first to pull away, but he cupped my cheek in his palm and said, “I am pleased to see your happiness as well. As hard as it was to see you get in that carriage the day you left Court to marry, I knew that you were marrying a good man and that he would take care of you in a way I never could. And now, after all these years, I see you, lovelier than ever, with these beautiful children and this comfortable home and I know that I was right to let you go.”
I gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Richard. Your words are far too kind. I have been blessed with a marriage I had never believed I would be lucky enough to have. I wish you safe travels and I will be praying for your wife’s safe delivery.”
He kissed me on the cheek, still warm from the touch of his hand, wrapped up in his cloak and walked out the door.
As soon as the door shut I raced upstairs to read Francis’s letter in the privacy of my chamber. I stood before the window and broke open the seal.
My Dearest Catherine,
I hope and pray that this letter finds you well. I am sure you have spent many nights worrying and wondering how we fare and so I write to you to assure you that all is well and we have found ourselves welcomed on the continent with open arms. We left Gravesend with John à Lasco’s congregation and made our way to Geneva to meet with the theologian John Calvin. You would be pleased to know that our son impressed Calvin beyond measure and he praised his piety and holy zeal. He has done well on our journey and shown himself to be a young man of virtue and learning. We have raised him well. We left Calvin with his blessing and headed to Lausanne. There we met with Calvin’s disciple Pierre Viret, the so-called ‘Smile of the Reformation’. He told us of his Reformed Academy, a training school for preachers, and met our proposal with glee. I assured him that our people would be more than happy to patronise his school and support his cause.
As I stare out at the shores of Lac Léman, I think of you and our children often. I appreciate all of the support you have given me in these trying times. And while I am certain of the importance of my mission, I am saddened by our time apart and look forward to holding you in my arms again.
We have arrived today at Strasbourg and will tour the city, moving on to Frankfurt before we return home. It is my hope that by the time this letter reaches you, we will be on our way back to England, successful in our task. I eagerly await your loving embrace.
Forever yours,
Francis
I reread his words, committing them to my memory. As I traced the letters of his signature with the tip of my finger, I imagined all of the sights they must be taking in. I had never seen the snow covered mountains of Geneva or the shores of Lac Léman. At his mention of Germany I thought momentarily, of Anne of Cleves and pondered how she was faring under the new queen. It seemed so strange to me how things could change in such a small amount of time. I found myself on my knees saying a prayer not only for my husband and son, but also for Richard and his family and that all of us would find some safety and constancy in these changing and treacherous times.
Five months later, the season of autumn brought with it the changing colours, cooler winds and the return of my beloved. I was in the pantry taking an inventory of our supplies before the coming freeze when I heard the sound of tiny running feet coming towards me.
“Mother! Mother!” little voices called out.
“Yes my darlings,” I whirled around to see Edward, Elizabeth and Robert tugging at my skirt.
Edward stopped tugging and grabbed the shoulders of Elizabeth and Robert pulling them away from me. “It is Father!” he burst out. “Father and Harry are home!”
I knelt down to face them and whispered, “Run!”
They squealed in delight and peeled off in the direction of the hall with me following closely behind. We banged out of the front door, overjoyed to see Francis and Harry standing before us. I nearly jumped into Francis’s arms.
“Oh Catherine, my love,” he sighed into my ear. “I have waited so long to hold you again.”
We parted and he handed the reins of his horse to his brother. I ran to Harry and enveloped him in my arms. He had grown over an inch and was now almost as tall as me. His chin was covered in a light down and his hair had grown into tawny curls hanging over his forehead. My son had grown so much in the time he was gone, I almost could not believe that this was the same child standing before me.
“Hello, Mother,” he said very seriously. “I am very pleased to see you again. I had a wonderful time with Father and learned much while I was gone. Thank you for allowing me to go.”
I chuckled. “Thank you, my son, for allowing me to believe I had any say in it. Thank you for coming back to me safely. I am certain your brothers and sisters would love to hear about your adventures, why don’t you take them inside and tell them all you have seen?”
Harry nodded and, taking Elizabeth and Robert by the hands, he led the children inside.
I could feel the heat coming from Francis as he sidled up behind me. Reaching around from behind me and taking my hands in his he whispered, “Now it is time I take you to bed, Lady Knollys.”
He led me inside and up the stairs to our chamber. Once the door was shut behind us, he unlaced my skirts and they fell to the floor. He kicked the skirts out of the way and pulled me to him, lifting me up. I wrapped my legs around his hips and trailed kisses down his neck. He walked over to the bed and sat down with me still wrapped around him. His fingers deftly released the ties of my stomacher and in a moment I was before him in all my naked glory.
Francis sat back and gazed at me, smiling. “The way the sunlight hits your golden red hair makes it look as though you are wearing a halo.”
I touched my finger to his nose. “I think you may have been on the road far too long, husband.”
He sighed. “Yes, far too long.”
He stood and turned to lay me down on the bed and then proceeded to remove his own clothing, coming to lie down once he was finished. The sun began its descent from the sky and Francis and I came together as one for the first time in over a year.
I awoke in the early twilight to a light rap at the door. Francis was snoring softly beside me. I got up and threw my shift over my head and padded across the floor. I opened it slowly so as not to wake Francis. The doorway was empty. I started to step out into the hall, but fortunately, I looked down first. A tray laden with food was sitting on the floor. I laughed quietly to myself. It seems our family had thought better of bothering us after so many months apart.
I carried the tray in, breathing in deep the sharp, smoky smell of the cheese that had been sliced and paired with bread still warm from the ovens, and a couple of sliced apples. I ate a piece of the apple, its crisp tartness made my tongue tingle and my mouth water. I set the tray down before the fire and tore off a bit of bread. The rain was coming down hard and the night was getting darker. As I chewed my bread, I gazed out of the window, watching the rain splash in fat drops against the glass. Glancing over
at the bed, I saw that Francis was still sound asleep, so I cracked open the window as quietly as I could. The rain-soaked air filled my lungs with a fresh clean scent. I could smell the leaves and the dirt and the perfume of the flowers from our garden. As I stood basking in the cool air, I thought of Calais. When I closed my eyes, it was as if the rain splashing my face was the salty sea spray I felt so many times when I lived in the garrison. The lavender, creeping its way in from the south garden, was the scent of my mother coming in to comfort me from my nightmare. I had always taken great comfort from the rain and for an instant I felt my mother beside me letting me know that everything would be all right.
Francis had begun to stir so I closed the window and tiptoed back over to the bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress as he raised himself up to a sitting position against the headboard.
“I smell food,” he murmured.
“Of course you do, my love. You always smell food!”
He leaned forward to nuzzle me, but pulled back quickly.
“Catherine, why is your face wet?” he said, wrinkling his nose.
I began wiping furiously at my face with the sleeve of my shift. “Sorry, I had the window open,” I muttered.
He reached up and stopped my scrubbing hands.
“Stop that, you are going to irritate your face. I was just a bit startled, that is all. I don’t care what is on your face, as long as I may kiss it,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“I was just breathing in the rain and thinking of my mother.”
Francis’s eyes softened. “I am so sorry, my love.”
I looked up at him and shook my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for Francis. You have been so good to me and have given me such beautiful children. I am so happy in our marriage and would not change it for anything.”
He took my small hands in his. “Catherine, you do not need to hide your hurt from me. I know how much you have lost since you came over from Calais. You claim happiness, but deep down you must be so ...” he trailed off as if he did not know how to finish.
Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey Page 13