'She loved you best,' she managed to say. 'Because your mother was her cousin and they were friends. She would not want you to cry for her.'
Elizabeth ran her sleeve across her wet eyes. 'Jane, what will become of us now?'
The little girls put their arms around each other and cried bitterly.
Elizabeth was the first to draw away. 'I shall never marry,' she announced and, with that, turned the conversation to other topics.
Jane was amazed and uncomprehending. She refused to talk. Years later, she was to understand that this apparent cold detachment was Elizabeth's way of bracing herself.
On that tragic February morning, each of them felt they could never fully be child again. They had tasted their first real sorrow and now they must begin to grow up. Jane was four years old, Elizabeth eight.
With the coming of Spring, Henry VIII once more decided that he had endured celibacy long enough. More than a year had passed since the death of Catherine Howard. He was still a little in love with her, but a year was long enough to mourn.
As his eye began to wander, a chilled hush swept through the attractive maidens of the Court. Tender-hearted parents recalled their daughters to country manors, fearing they might be in danger. The Duke of Norfolk, who had already married two beautiful nieces to the King and seen both beheaded, leered obscenely and became more arrogant than ever when Henry appeared to pay his daughter, the Lady Mary Howard, special attention. But they might all have spared themselves the trouble, for Henry had no intention of marrying another young girl. The experience with Catherine Howard had scarred him deeply.
There was one woman whom he invariably singled out in a crowd, although she was by no means ostentatious. She had been widowed twice and, at the age of thirty, was considered one of the most intellectual women in England.
Catherine Parr was pretty enough, but she had none of the sparkling vivacity that Henry usually found so irresistible in ladies. She was short and rather plump, her wavy brown hair framing a pleasant, oval face. Her hazel eyes wore a placid, thoughtful expression and her voice was soft.
Henry watched her moving quietly against the somewhat harsh brilliance of his Court. She was gentle and serene, like a motherly wren amid squawking sparrows and watchful eagles. But it was not until he called unexpectedly at the Royal schoolroom and found her there with Edward, Elizabeth and his great-niece, Jane, that he made up his mind she should be his Queen. And who could gainsay Henry when he made up his mind?
Catherine appeared to have dropped in with Sir Thomas Seymour, who was amusing the children with one of his romping games. Henry, observing the unaccustomed sparkle in the lady's eyes, wondered if the Admiral were the cause of her apparent merriment.
'No ceremony,' commanded the great glittering King, as everybody knelt respectfully. 'Get up, get up. This is a family meeting. No, Lady Latimer, there's no need for you to go,' he added, as Catherine glided tactfully towards the door. 'The schoolroom has need of your charming presence.'
Seymour was suspicious for, much as he liked and respected Henry, he knew him down to his bones and he didn't care to have him as a rival where women were concerned.
'Get on with your game,' ordered His Majesty. 'No — I have it, we'll dance. Edward, you shall partner your sister. Jane, you'll dance with our handsome friend here. There, that pleases you, doesn't it, sweetheart? And there won't be a lady in the Court who'll speak to you tomorrow.'
Everyone laughed and Tom Seymour bowed before the King's small great-niece, who returned the salute with equal gravity.
'Now, Lady Latimer,' Henry went on, 'you're too pretty to hide yourself coyly in the comer. I command you to dance with your King.'
'Sire, I am honoured,' Catherine murmured.
The Prince's musicians were sent for and ordered to play a merry galliard, which Henry himself had composed.
'A lecherous ox and a frightened sheep,' muttered Seymour. 'A most uninspiring pair. You must forgive me, my Lady,' he added hurriedly, seeing Jane's startled look. 'You are but a child and still unable to distinguish good from evil.'
'I'm sure His Majesty means Lady Latimer no dishonour,' said Jane earnestly.
'Indeed, indeed, and I wish to God he did, for then at least her life would be saved, even at the risk of losing her virtue. But the King must have his respectability, with which he cloaks his lust.'
'You mean ...'
'Hush! The Lady Elizabeth is getting closer and she has ears like a hawk.'
'Chatter, chatter, chatter,' complained Henry in annoyance, as the last note faded and they stood about the room, flushed and breathless. 'For what reason does my good brother Thomas drown the music with his deep voice?'
'Your Majesty, I was but commenting on the charm of the music,' Tom Seymour answered glibly.
'Then cease to do so. I need no assurances about my skill as a musician. There isn't a monarch in Christendom who can rival me, even if Foxnose François across the water is a trifle slimmer and the Emperor Charles imagines himself to be richer in virtue.'
'Impossible!' Catherine gushed.
Henry squeezed her hand affectionately. 'Lady Latimer, you are a gentle soul, but you have loyalty to the Crown and I'm pleased to witness it.'
Seymour quickly invented a lively game and they all threw themselves into it. Catherine Parr obediently joined in, but she took care that frail little Edward didn't exert himself. When he showed signs of breathlessness she quietly suggested that they take some refreshment.
Henry looked on benevolently as she drew his son close to her, noticing how contented the child was to be near her. He approved of her smooth white hands that looked so gentle, yet so capable. At his request, she poured him a goblet of wine and, for some reason, he had a fleeting memory of that other Catherine, whom he had adored. She had been incapable of pouring him a goblet of wine without spilling most of it. For so dainty a girl, she had been surprisingly clumsy and stupid, except where singing and dancing and love-making were concerned. Poor Catherine! He still missed her, believed he always would, but it was time he married again.
It was a pity that Lady Latimer insisted on drowning herself in hideous widow's weeds. Of course, she only did so out of respect for her late husband's memory, but he would have preferred her to wear livelier colours.
Seymour was watching him through faintly narrowed eyes. Henry's spirit was stimulated by the thought of rivalry. This was as it had been in the old days, when he was handsome and there was scarcely a woman in the kingdom who could hold out against his virile attractiveness and his power.
Catherine's charms had become magnified in Henry's eyes because another man wanted her and was willing to fight for her. But Henry knew that he would win eventually, even though Seymour had more physical attraction. Henry's power was supreme and he could command Catherine to marry him.
'I think I'll take a breath of fresh air,' he announced slyly. 'Lady Latimer, I would like you to accompany me.'
Catherine naturally obeyed but as she rustled by on Henry's arm, she could not resist slipping Tom Seymour an imploring glance, quickly averting her gaze as she felt young Elizabeth's sharp, knowing eyes upon her.
The crisp outdoor air tingled on her hot face and neck, and Henry was exerting all his gallantry. Her heart twisted with despair. The green beauty of an English springtime was spread before her eyes, but for herself she saw nothing but hazards.
'How beautiful England is in the spring.' Henry sighed, sniffing rapturously at a cluster of white buds. 'I believe this is my favourite season. What is your opinion, madam?'
'I - I am inclined to agree with Your Majesty,' stammered Catherine.
'Inclined?' Henry surveyed her with furrowed brows. 'What do you mean, madam? One either agrees or one doesn't. I never tolerate people who do things by halves.' He suddenly slapped his thigh and let out a hearty guffaw. 'There, don't look so frightened. I am no monster, as you'll soon find out.'
'Yes, Your Majesty,' Catherine said faintly, wondering what evil was in
store for her.
She allowed herself to be led to a bench, which was poetically situated near a small pond. His massive body was, she thought, unpleasantly close to hers and his romantic mood open to horrid suspicion.
*It pleased me to see you in my children's schoolroom,' said Henry, pressing her hand. 'My son clearly loves you. I've rarely seen him so at ease with a lady. Unlike his father, he shies from the fair sex as a rule.'
'He is an enchanting child, Sire — so gifted and precocious.' There was real warmth in Catherine's voice when she spoke of Edward: she loved children, and the frightened, delicate little Prince aroused all her protective instincts.
'Precocious he is,' agreed Henry, looking melancholy. 'But he's only a child and he needs a mother. These nurses, they're either too slapdash or too protective. No one, it seems, can take the place of a mother. Of course, Jane died, the poor gentle creature, and sometimes I think my heart died with her. But I am the King. I need a wife. My children need a mother. Mary needs someone to steer her tactfully away from her Popish nonsense. Elizabeth is sharp and sly and needs watching. And Edward needs the care of a kind woman like yourself. I saw how he welcomed you today and I was deeply touched.'
'It was not I that he welcomed. It was Sir Thomas Seymour.' Catherine chewed her fingers nervously, her laughter forced and mirthless.
'And what does Sir Thomas Seymour mean to you?' Henry Tudor hardened his grip on her wrist.
'Nothing — nothing, I do assure Your Majesty. A mere acquaintance at Court . .'
'Pray God you speak the truth, for I want no more wanton wives.' The great arm was laid about her shoulders, drawing her close. The mouth that was laid over hers was firm and fierce, silencing her struggling protests.
When he finally released her, his small blue eyes were blazing with a kind of brutal triumph. Catherine was trembling.
'Catherine, I'm a plain, forthright man and I'll speak bluntly. As King of this island, it is unnatural that I should be without a consort - unnatural and unbeneficial to myself and to my country. I've explained this countless times in the Council chamber, but I'll explain it again. My son is precious to me, more precious than anything I possess, but I fear for him, Catherine. He is not strong, and I'm afraid he won't live long enough to marry and supply England with heirs of his own. My daughters are strong enough, though I can't overlook Mary's migraines, but God knows, a woman can't rule a Kingdom such as this, where traitors flourish like greenbays and men fight over the word of God and the threat of invasion from France or Spain is a constant menace. I must have more sons, to secure the succession. I ask you, Catherine, to marry me.'
Whatever reply he had expected, he was startled when she tossed herself at his feet and lifted a paper-white face.
'I am unworthy to be your wife. Sire,' she cried frantically. 'But I'll willingly be your mistress for as long as it pleases Your Majesty.'
'It doesn't please me at all,' barked Henry. 'Lady Latimer, you disappoint me. I judged you to be a lady of poise and breeding and here you are, behaving like a sixteen-year old virgin before a first suitor. You've been married twice, so it is useless your giving yourself these naive airs, especially with a man who is well acquainted with feminine wiles. Will you or won't you marry the King of England? I want a direct answer.'
Catherine felt completely overshadowed by the tremendous force of his personality. He had appeared on her horizon, middle-aged and obese, but vital, domineering and ruthless. And though she had never known him in his exuberant youth,
she could understand a woman falling in love with him when he was younger. She knew that his proposal was a mere formality, a politely veiled command. And she knew that she dare not disobey him. How had scornful, arrogant Anne Boleyn ever found the courage to taunt him and bargain with him?
Before she could prevent them, tears rained down her cheeks and dripped on to her gown and in another moment she was crying helplessly in his arms.
'Why, Catherine, you mustn't distress yourself.' The towering brute had vanished and he was astonishingly gentle. 'If I seemed harsh, it wasn't intentional, but a man in my position can't afford to make a fool of himself. There now, you shall be my Queen and have everything you want — gowns, jewels, revenues for your friends. You are intelligent and we shall have many an interesting discussion on winter evenings. Why, sweetheart, it isn't such a trial to be Queen. Pinch your cheeks to give them colour and we'll go and announce these happy tidings.'
After a whirlwind courtship, Henry breathlessly married his learned, motherly wren, to the delight of the Protestant party and the indignation of the Catholics. For weeks he was entirely happy, his boisterous laughter echoing throughout the palace.
When the celebrations were over, Catherine quietly shouldered her regal duties and settled down to the organization of her household. Henry was generous and granted all her requests, so she was able to include her sister among the ladies who were to serve her.
He brought his sister's grand-daughter Jane to her, and made it clear that he wished the child to be her companion.
'I think you'll find her good company, darling, for she is quaint and clever,' he said.
Catherine smiled kindly at the little girl and bade her a gracious welcome. Jane was then commanded to fetch her lute and sing to their Majesties.
'Bravo,' cried Henry, when the small golden head was raised. 'You see, Catherine, I know how to please you.'
As companion to the Queen, Jane's duties were neither many nor unpleasant, and she was allowed plenty of time to pursue her hobbies. She was expected to help Her Majesty dress and undress, sometimes to comb her hair and sort her jewels. She accompanied her to the Chapel and shared her litter whenever she went abroad. She also had to sing to her and read Greek, Italian and Theology with her.
It was at this time that Jane began to develop a passion for Plato which was to remain with her always. She learned to appreciate the informal, relaxed style of Cicero, whose correspondence revealed intimate glimpses of some of the greatest figures of Ancient Rome. He was delightfully frank in his opinion of Julius Caesar and Brutus, and his animosity towards Cleopatra and Mark Anthony.
Her old tutor, Dr Harding, had recently left Bradgate after a quarrel with her parents, during which he gave the Marquis and his fierce lady-wife a richly deserved 'piece of his mind'.
As Jane now spent most of her time at Court, Lord and Lady Dorset decided that it wasn't necessary to fill the vacancy just yet, although they had promised to find a tutor before their daughter paid one of her infrequent visits home.
Catherine Parr was a gentle lady and, Jane thought, most suitable for the role allotted to her. She even managed to befriend lonely, difficult Mary, which soothed the King's gigantic guilty conscience. She used her influence to have the two Princesses lodged permanently at Court and paid the honours due to them.
Between Catherine and Jane a firm friendship was slowly born. During the hours when they were alone, they found that they had mutual interests. Moreover, Catherine was charmed by the child's grave air of self-assurance, and she began to treat her almost as an adult, which pleased Jane.
At first, the Queen wouldn't have dreamed of confiding her misgivings to a small girl whom she scarcely knew but, one day, a curious incident took place which gave her cause to alter her opinion, and at the same time to make her wonder just what sort of a person her young companion was.
Lady Anne Herbert, the Queen's favourite sister, happened to call on Catherine and, as most of the ladies were either assembled in the tiltyard to watch a jousting match or else flirting in the galleries, Catherine seized the opportunity to confide in her sister. Both ladies had forgotten Jane, who was seated quietly at her embroidery frame, and she couldn't help overhearing a highly instructive conversation.
'Anne, you can't realize how dreadful it is,' Catherine broke out. 'I've never known what real fear is until now. I vow I have to flatter and entertain him until I droop with weariness, and he is so unpredictable. I never know how he
'll react to a remark intended to be amusing. The Catholics are doing everything they can to destroy me. Already Norfolk is trying to thrust his daughter into the King's path.'
'He'll never marry her,' declared Anne vehemently. 'Why, she's his bastard son's widow.'
'All the more reason why he should.' Catherine's laughter was bordering on hysteria. 'For when he tires of her, he'll have no trouble in finding an impediment to the marriage.'
'Catherine, you are being too pessimistic. You have the support of Cranmer and the Seymours, who not only enjoy a power which has increased since your marriage, but also His Majesty's favour. The King trusts no man or woman as he trusts Cranmer. He relies greatly on Hertford's judgement and he is fond of Tom Seymour.'
But at the mention of Tom's name, Catherine's wavering control broke and she began to sob bitterly. 'It's so unfair. The King repels me. He may well have been a fine lover in his youth but now he is hideously diseased. Those ulcers on his legs are almost certainly the result of a heavily promiscuous life and not only do I run the risk of becoming infected but I'm expected to bathe and bandage them, and listen to his groans of agony. I tell you, Anne ...'
For the first time Anne seemed to notice Jane. She coughed and nodded violently in Jane's direction.
The colour drained from Catherine's face, her heart drummed against her tight bodice. How could she have been so rash, so imprudent? Jane Grey was the King's great-niece and would consider it her duty to report the luckless conversation. After all, it was possible that she had been planted in her household as a spy ...
'Jane dear, take the spaniels for a run in the gardens,' she said weakly.
'Oh Anne,' she cried, as the great oak doors closed on Jane's small figure. 'She heard everything.'
Anne patted her sister's hand soothingly, although she herself was weak with fright. 'She's but a child, Catherine. She probably didn't understand.'
'Of course she understood. She is so astute, that child. Great God, what shall we do?'
A crown in darkness : a novel about Lady Jane Grey Page 3