The Rose Without a Thorn

by Виктория Холт

  “It does. It does indeed, for, if he wants to … surely he will.”

  “Well, you see, these people who are responsible for putting you where you are now … well, it would go ill with them if you were taken back to favor. They would think you would have your revenge.”

  “Oh, I would not. I would not. I would be only too happy to forget.”

  “Poor Derham. He will never be the same again. He is destroyed. Innocent Damport … you see, you could not forget.”

  “Oh yes, poor Derham. He was so handsome. Oh, Jane, what can he be like now?”

  “It is for you to think of getting back. If the King loves you enough … it could be so. They are saying he is more unhappy now than when he was ridding himself of Anne Boleyn, and that his feelings were no stronger for her than they were for you … in the beginning.”

  “Oh, Jane, if only I could speak to him.”

  “If the opportunity should come, you must be ready.”

  “I swear I will, Jane. I swear it.”

  * * *

  I looked for it. I waited for it, and it came at length.

  The King was at Hampton Court. My spirits rose at the thought of that. If it were going to happen, it would be now.

  I realized that, although I was not in a cell, I was to a certain extent a prisoner.

  My ladies were there, as they had been, although apart. They were, in a sense, my jailers. I had never attempted to break free from them, having no inclination to walk out. I could not face anyone at Court in my present situation. I was in no mood or any state to do so. All I wanted was to hide myself.

  But now I must leave my apartments and get to that section of the palace where the King might be. I knew at what hour he would be attending Mass in the chapel, where I had often been with him. If I could reach him while he was there, I could be certain of seeing him, and that was what I proposed to do. To reach the chapel, I must traverse the long gallery which led to it, and this entailed descending the backstairs from my apartment before I came to the gallery: then I could hurry along it to the chapel.

  I had only a vague idea how I should act when I saw Henry. My hair was flowing about my shoulders in the style he most liked. I would throw myself at his knees and I would sob out my misery. I should tell him that I only wished to live if he and I could be happy again as we had been when we were first married.

  I pictured him as I had seen him so many times, his face creasing into tenderness, the slackness of his mouth, which could look so cruel and yet be gentle for me; I could see the tears of sentiment in the little eyes. I knew exactly how to make him look like that, and all I needed was to be with him.

  I left my bedchamber and went quietly to the adjoining room. There was no one there. Cautiously I opened the door which led to the ladies’ quarters. I paused and listened. I heard the sound of voices. Some of them were there.

  I hesitated. Jane had said that they would try to prevent my leaving. I dared not wait too long or Mass would be over and the King gone. I should have to chance being seen. In any case, who were they to prevent my going where I wished? I was not their prisoner … or was I?

  I glanced into the room. A group of them were seated at the far end. I did not have to pass them—just slip quietly to a door and out to the stairs.

  I was half-way to it when one of the ladies looked up. She exclaimed with surprise and stood up. I saw that it was Margaret Morton.

  “Your Majesty…” she began, but I took no notice and sped toward the door.

  They were all on their feet now.

  “Your Majesty, what is it you require?”

  I did not answer. I was through the door and starting down the stairs.

  “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” They were coming after me. I knew they would try to stop my reaching the King, as Jane had warned me they would. I felt the hysteria rising in me. I must see him. I must. Everything depended on it. They were close to me now … not just one of them, but at least half a dozen.

  “Where are you going?” I thought that was Katherine Tylney.

  “Your Majesty! Come back. We are here to serve you.”

  I thought: you are here to prevent my reaching the King.

  I was in the gallery now. I ran as fast as I could. I was breathless … and they were very close to me. One of them reached out and caught my gown. I snatched it away. I had reached the chapel, but they were surrounding me.

  I saw Katherine Tylney, Margaret Morton and Joan Bulmer among them. There was fear on their faces. They were as determined not to allow me to see the King as I was to see him. But I was one and they were so many.

  They were all round me. They laid their hands on me.

  “Leave me,” I commanded. “Leave me.”

  They did not answer. They looked sly and triumphant as they pulled me away from the chapel door.

  “Take your hands from me,” I cried.

  “Your Majesty is unwell. We are going to look after you. Come … let us take you back to your apartment.”

  I kept crying out to them to leave me, to take their hands from me, but they dragged me away, nearer and nearer to the stairs. I was sobbing, cursing them, screaming with fury. Perhaps he would hear. But perhaps he did not want to hear. I must make him look at me. Only my presence could do that.

  I could hear that wild hysterical voice, and realized it was my own. I was bereft of all hope as they dragged me up the stairs. I was back in my chamber … in prison. I could hear them talking of me.

  The Queen had had another of her mad turns.

  I lay still while the wildness passed away. I felt limp, exhausted, saying to myself, I can never escape. It is coming to me as surely as it came to my cousin.

  I was sunk in utter melancholy and despair.

  The Journey to the Tower

  IT WAS A FEW DAYS LATER that I heard I was to leave Hampton Court for Syon House.

  Jane Rochford said that this might be a good omen. It meant that there were people who would be uneasy about my seeing the King. They had prevented me on one occasion, but what if I should succeed? What if he were to decide to take me back, as many people thought he might be inclined to do? How would all those who had worked against me fare then?

  It was the sort of theory one welcomed when one was feeling desperate. I forgot that Jane was one who liked to build up a dramatic situation, to have a plan and attempt to discover devious ways of putting it into practice.

  Common sense told me that, if the King really wanted me back, he would soon find some means of getting me. But in my present desperate state, it was comforting to grasp at any hope.

  Jane was with me at Syon, a house on the north bank of the Thames near Richmond. It had been a nunnery suppressed by Henry in 1532, when the house had passed to the Crown.

  How different it was from Hampton Court! Here indeed I felt a prisoner.

  Perhaps I was thinking of poor Lady Margaret Douglas, who had recently been held here under restraint and had been sent away to Kenninghall to make way for me.

  Margaret, too, seemed a person destined to fall in love with the wrong people. Perhaps she and I shared a weakness in that way. She had been in the Tower before on account of her attachment to my uncle, Lord Thomas Howard. She had been released from there to be sent to Syon House; then her lover had died and she was freed. Now she was in disgrace again, because of a liaison with another member of my family. This time it was my brother Charles, and she found herself a prisoner in Syon House until my coming, when she was moved to another place of confinement.

  Poor Lady Margaret! She must often wish she had not been born royal. It seemed unfair that she should be imprisoned for falling in love and wanting to marry the brother of the woman the King had chosen for his Queen. If Lady Margaret could not expect reasonable consideration, could I?

  It was at Syon House that I heard the most alarming news of all. Jane brought it to me. It was the first time since the disaster that I had seen Jane so anxious.

  She gasped: “Thomas C
ulpepper has been arrested.”

  I thought I was going to faint. This was indeed disaster. I had hoped by some means to get word to him, to beg him to slip out of the country—but I had been unable to do so.

  “What does it mean?” I asked Jane.

  “That someone has betrayed him.”

  “Who? Who?”

  “It must be one of the women … those who were with us during the journey, the ladies of the bedchamber.”

  “So they knew!”

  “They cannot be sure, but they will know that he came to your bedchamber by night, maybe.”

  I covered my face with my hands. I wanted to shut out everything … the memory of my cousin … the terrible fate which could befall us. We had been in acute danger before, but now there was no hope. If the King knew that I had been unfaithful to him, that would be the end … the end of Thomas and of me. He might forgive what had happened before our marriage, but never what had happened after.

  A terrible understanding came to me. What if, during those nights, I had conceived a child? Yes, indeed, I was guilty of treason.

  What had these women known? What had they seen? With all this talk about the lewd life I had led before my marriage, they would be ready to believe the worst.

  Would they question Thomas? Without a doubt they would. Would they do to him what they had done to Derham … and Damport? No, I could not endure that. His beautiful body, to be broken on the rack … as Derham’s had been.

  I did not know what to do, which way to turn. This was the worst thing that had happened. I could not bear to think of Thomas in the hands of those cruel men. Oh, why had he not left the country? Why had he not seen what was coming? He should have been aware of what was coming … more so than I. Oh, why had he stayed to meet this cruel fate?

  There was no comfort anywhere. Even Jane had changed. I had never seen her like this before. Gone was the plotter, the schemer, the one who reveled in drama. Whichever way she turned, she saw herself at the center of the tragedy.

  Who was it who had arranged the meeting with Thomas Culpepper, who had cleared the way, kept the women out of sight, as far as possible? Who had connived and contrived? Jane, of course.

  She was caught up in this, guilty of making the way easy for the Queen, which was an act of treachery toward the King—one which might involve the future heir to the throne.

  Jane was with me in this trouble.

  I saw the terror in her eyes. She could not comfort me, because she could not comfort herself.

  We sat side by side, staring ahead of us. If this were proved against us, it would be the end of me … and possibly Jane, too.

  * * *

  We waited for news.

  They would put him on the rack, as they had poor Derham. Would he tell of those nights when the King had been absent and we had given ourselves up to our passion? Would they force the truth from him?

  It would be the end.

  Jane was by turns sunk in melancholy or almost demented. She feared death greatly. Did not we all?

  She said: “I think perhaps this is what I expected would happen to me one day. Ever since those two went to the block, I have been haunted by them. I mean your cousins—Anne and George. I helped them there. She was destined for the block, but George … oh, not George. It was cruel. It was wicked. I did not believe they were guilty … either of them. A charge of that could never have been brought against them. There will be those who say that Elizabeth is a bastard. How could that be? You only have to look at her to see who her father is. Anne had to go because she was in the way. She had no son and the King was tired of her. He wanted Jane Seymour. I am not to blame for her death. It only hurt her reputation. But George … my husband. I loved him, Katherine. He was the most charming man I ever knew. And they chose him for my husband. How could he have cared for me? In a way he was in love with his brilliant sister. Not in love perhaps, but he loved her as he loved no one else. How could he be expected to feel anything but contempt for his far-from-exciting wife?”

  “Jane, he loved you as a wife.”

  “He loved me not at all. I might not have been there, for all he knew. I was just an encumbrance. I would be there … they would all be together … they and their clever friends. People like Thomas Wyatt. He was in love with her, like all the rest. Lucky Wyatt. He managed to escape the axe. Norris … Weston … they were not so fortunate. They were all round her. Poetry … music … all with which I could not compete. And then I had my revenge, did I not? I was the only one who laughed in the end. I envied her so much, and it was all because of George.”

  “It is all over, Jane. You distress yourself unnecessarily. There is nothing you can do about it now.”

  “But it is there! It has been there ever since that May Day of 1536. Five years … more than that. It has haunted me. And now, here it is, as I feared it would come. It was my evidence that set the case against George in motion. The King was jealous of that feeling between Anne and her brother. He was only too ready to believe anything against them.” She laughed mirthlessly. “How reckless I am becoming, to say these things which I have kept hidden all these years! But what does it matter now? It was my evidence … false evidence … which cost George his life. My revenge on him for not loving me. I wanted revenge and by God’s Holy Mother, when you think of their once-haughty heads rolling in the dust, you must agree, it was mine.”

  I tried to stop her, but she would not be silenced.

  “Envy,” she went on. “I envied her. There are seven deadly sins, and one of them is envy. It is the greatest of them all. I envied Anne—not her crown, but because my husband loved her far more than he ever loved me. I hated her. I wanted to see her brought low. I wanted her to be hurt in the way she had hurt me. I killed my husband. I deserve to die. And now … I am going to.”

  “No, no. Jane, they will do nothing to you.”

  She shook her head. “They have taken Culpepper. That means they know. They are questioning Katherine Tylney and Margaret Morton. They will know he came on those nights during the journey. They are bent on betraying us all.”

  “But not you, Jane!”

  “I was there, was I not? I arranged it. Oh, what fools we have been! Why do we not think of these things before we do them?”

  “Jane, Jane, be calm!”

  “I am afraid of death. I have too many sins on my conscience. George comes to me in my dreams, and I see him laying his head on the block. He lifts his head then and he looks at me. He says: ‘Jane, why did you do this to me? You knew it was false. I loved my sister, yes. She was the most interesting and exciting person I ever met, but there was no incest and you knew it. Why did you do this to me?’ Then I say to myself: ‘Why did I? I did it to revenge myself because you could not love me as you loved your sister. You could not love me as I loved you.’”

  Then she was sobbing wildly.

  And the next day she was taken from Syon House for questioning.

  * * *

  I do not remember how I lived through those next days. I raged against the Almighty, and then I pleaded with him. How could this terrible fate have befallen me? They were going to cut off my head. It had happened to many before, and now it was my turn.

  There were times when I cried out to Heaven to give me another chance. I would go into a nunnery. I would devote myself to God’s work. I would do anything … suffer any hardship, if only I could keep my life. I longed for the hours when I could sleep, but then I was tormented by dreams. I longed for unconsciousness, that blissful unawareness into which, from sheer exhaustion, I would now and then sink. And all the time I was tortured by thoughts of what was happening to Thomas.

  I missed Jane. I wondered what was happening to her. They would be questioning her. Cruel men would be watching her.

  There were several women to attend me now. I was so weary; unaware of them, except to notice with relief that none of those who had betrayed me were there. They had the grace to keep Joan Bulmer, Katherine Tylney and Margaret M
orton away. I was avid for news of Thomas and to hear how Jane was standing up to the questioning.

  I begged them to tell me what they knew. They heard scraps of gossip, of course. I think they were sorry for me. I could see the glances they exchanged, which I guessed meant that they were wondering whether a little knowledge would help me or whether it would be better to leave me in ignorance.

  I humbled myself and I implored them to tell me.

  They had heard that there had been an inquiry into what had happened at certain of the places we had visited during our tour of the country. Margaret Morton and Katherine Tylney had told what they had seen, heard and conjectured.

  I tried to remember those nights, and all I could think of was Thomas’s arms about me, his words of love and how happy we had been.

  They knew that Thomas had come to my apartment and had been there late at night. Lady Rochford had brought him in and had tried to keep his presence secret. She had obviously not been completely successful. They knew that Thomas Culpepper had stayed well into the night. I had on occasions told them I should not need their services, and that they were not to come to my bedchamber until I sent for them.

  It was all as damning as it could be. Those women had watched, whispered and drawn their own conclusions.

  I was nearly mad with grief when I heard that Thomas had been put on the rack. They had treated him viciously when they had tried to make him admit that I had committed adultery with him. But he denied it, even under the extremity of torture. Dear Thomas, he knew well that to have confessed would have meant death for me.

  Thomas would know that right up to the time of his arrest there had been a glimmer of hope for me. It had been different with my cousin. She was utterly doomed, for the King wished to be rid of her. But he did not want to lose me. He was not tired of me. Had he not been preparing a thanksgiving service because of his satisfaction with our marriage? And when the blow had come, he had been deeply unhappy. I heard that he had called for his horse and had ridden for miles alone, so distressed was he. He had lost his desire for food: he had wept because I was not what he had believed me to be. Yes, there was a hope. But if he knew that while I was married to him I had taken a lover, his fury would be great. It was possible that he would want revenge.