by Alison Weir
But what of poor Uncle William? How would he fare without Isabel to look after the house and his sons?
“These changes are not good for the child,” Isabel said, crimping the pastry cases, “but when the Howards beckon, there’s nothing to be done about it.” She sounded resentful. “Can you manage without me for a few days? I’ll stay long enough to ensure that all is well, then return.”
“Aren’t you staying with me?” Katheryn cried.
“I think Uncle William needs me here,” Isabel told her, looking to him for affirmation. “I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be staying on at Lambeth. Oh, Katheryn, don’t cry, sweeting.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and hugged her. “I will come and visit you. And I promise that I will make sure you are happily settled with your new stepmother before I leave.”
Katheryn nodded, feeling numb.
“We ladies all have to go where we are told,” Isabel went on. “My brother has so far failed to find me a husband, so I have to live as a dependent. I could have gone to Stockwell with our sisters Margaret and Joyce to live with John, but I prefer it here, and I’m fortunate that I have been made welcome.” She smiled at Uncle William. “You, Katheryn, are lucky. You have a father to look after you. Be grateful for that.”
Uncle William took Katheryn’s hand. “Run along now and find Thomas and John. I’m sure you can find something to do with them.”
She found the boys playing chess in the parlor, and they readily stopped their game and fetched the spillikins so that they could play together. Concentrating on removing each stick carefully from the pile so as not to move the others helped to calm Katheryn down, but inwardly she was resolved. If the latest Lady Edmund was an ogress, she would escape from Lambeth by whatever means she could and come back here with Isabel.
* * *
—
It took them three days to travel up to Lambeth. They went via Otford and Bromley, where they stayed at good inns. Soon they were traveling along Church Street toward the Thames, and Father’s house, the house in which Katheryn had been born, was ahead of them, opposite Lambeth Palace, the town house of the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was a modest residence compared to the palatial Norfolk House, which lay behind it between Church Street and Paradise Street: that was a magnificent building of brick, timber, and whitewash, surrounded by beautiful gardens and orchards that extended right down to the riverbank. Katheryn’s uncle, the mighty Duke of Norfolk, her father’s older brother, lived there whenever he needed to be in town. He could take the Archbishop’s horse ferry across the broad Thames to the court at York Place, a stone’s throw upriver, or to Parliament at Westminster, or further north to London itself.
St. Mary’s Church stood in front of Lambeth Palace. As they neared it, Katheryn felt a pang. There lay her mother, cold in her grave among her husband’s Howard ancestors. Isabel had said that a ledger stone had just been laid to mark the place, and that they would go and pray for her soul before she left. Katheryn did not want to think of her mother lying buried under the ground; she wanted to remember her as she was in life, warm and kind and comforting.
But there was no time to dwell on sad things because they had arrived at Lord Edmund’s house. Father’s steward was at the door, ready to help them alight, ordering the grooms to see to the horses and store the litter by the stables. Katheryn stepped into the familiar screens passage, as, from the hall on her right, her father emerged. On his arm was a pretty, smiling lady with kind eyes and a face like that of the Virgin in the chapel at Oxon Hoath.
“Katheryn, Isabel, welcome!” Father greeted them. “This is Margaret, my wife. Katheryn, curtsey to your stepmother.”
Katheryn did so, but Margaret raised her and kissed her on both cheeks.
“What a delightful child, Edmund! You did not tell me you had such a treasure.”
Katheryn looked up at Isabel, who nodded encouragingly as if to say that it was going to be all right. Then she slipped her hand into her stepmother’s proffered one.
“Let me take you upstairs, child,” Margaret said. “I’ll help Isabel to unpack.”
She preceded Katheryn up the spiral stair in the corner and along the gallery to the nursery chamber.
“You’ll need to be quiet,” she told her. “Your sister Mary is having her afternoon nap.”
Mary! Katheryn had not realized that she would be here. She had thought her miles away in Epping Forest—when she thought of her at all. She was not best pleased. Yet, when Margaret opened the door and she saw what lay on her bed, her resentment turned to delight. For awaiting her was the most beautiful green velvet gown, edged with biliments of gold embroidery. The pink gown had had its day: it had been let out twice and had a band of contrasting material added to the hem to make it longer, but soon it would be too small. But this—this was magnificent! Wearing such a gown, she would feel like a true daughter of the Howards and not a poor relation. Immediately, she warmed to her new stepmother.
Margaret’s touch was everywhere, from the polished surfaces of the furniture and the snowy linen on the beds to the summer flowers in vases on the hearths and the good fare served at table. Had Lambeth been like this in her mother’s time? Katheryn could not remember.
“You are lucky that God has sent you such a stepmother,” Isabel told her when she came upstairs to kiss Katheryn good night. “I am satisfied that I will be leaving you in good hands.”
Katheryn thought herself even luckier when she found that the kitchen cat, a redoubtable tabby mouser, was expecting kittens. She began to believe that she could be happy here. She still missed Aunt Margaret, but the memory of her was dimmed by this new world. She found herself captivated by her little sister, Mary, now two years old, and the most winning child. She enjoyed playing with her and helping the nurse to look after her. Margaret and Isabel looked on approvingly.
* * *
—
Isabel did not return to Oxon Hoath as planned because Uncle William went away to visit some Culpeper relatives and the house was closed up. Katheryn was grateful for each day that her half-sister was spared to her. Then, one day in the autumn, Father returned from the court at Whitehall in an ebullient mood. At supper, to Katheryn’s surprise and dismay, he revealed that Sir Edward Baynton, a courtier high in the King’s favor, was eager to marry Isabel. Sir Edward had mentioned that he was looking for a wife, and Father had offered him his stepdaughter’s hand, hoping thereby to commend himself to the King.
“You will be a great lady,” he said, getting up and embracing Isabel. “Sir Edward has vast lands in Wiltshire and a big house there and is expected to rise high in the King’s service.”
Isabel was thrilled. “This is wonderful news!” she cried.
“I don’t want you to leave us,” Katheryn said, her lip trembling.
Isabel took her hands. “Sweeting, I was going to leave anyway. Be happy for me, please! I am thirty-four and may never have another chance to wed, and this is a brilliant match for me, the best I could ever have hoped for. I will be at court a lot of the time, just over the river, and can visit you often.”
Katheryn was unwilling to be mollified. “What about poor Uncle William?”
“Our sister Joyce has said she will stay with him for a while if I marry Sir Edward, so he will be looked after. And you can be my bridesmaid!”
Katheryn cheered up at that. “Can I wear my green dress?”
* * *
—
Isabel was not the only one to be married that winter. In November, Margaret Leigh, Katheryn’s half-sister, married Thomas Arundell, an upcoming courtier, and Katheryn and Isabel joined the whole Leigh family for the wedding, which was hosted by John Leigh at his house at Stockwell, not far from Lambeth. Isabel told Katheryn that John had made friends with Thomas Arundell when they served together in Cardinal Wolsey’s household, but, lowering her voice, explained that it was best n
ot to mention the Cardinal as he had angered the King by failing to help him put away the Queen. Katheryn felt sorry for the Cardinal, who must have hated his task; but she liked John Leigh, who was a big, cheery fellow with a black beard and a booming voice, and very hearty in his welcome.
It was the third time she had been to a wedding, and, at nearly ten, she was old enough to thrill to the romance of it all: the bride in her rich crimson gown, the groom in his swaggering finery, the solemn vows at the church door, the beauty of the orisons offered up by the choir as everyone followed the newlywed couple inside, and the fabulous feast that followed. Lord and Lady Edmund were among the throng of guests, and Katheryn’s brothers, looking much older and more self-assured, and everyone was very merry. One day, she hoped, she, too, would have a fairy-tale wedding like this.
1531
In January, Isabel married Sir Edward Baynton at Stockwell. Again there was a large gathering and Katheryn was able to see her brothers once more. She drew many admiring glances in her wondrous green gown. She knew she looked pretty with her dark auburn hair loose about her shoulders and an emerald pendant her stepmother had given her around her neck. Isabel was radiant, clearly happy with her new husband. He was a dignified, serious man of muscular build with graying hair, yet pleasant in manner with all the courtesy of a seasoned courtier, and he was clearly smitten with Isabel, with whom he was much of an age. Katheryn was surprised to find that he had brought with him seven children. Father, resplendent in his one good velvet gown, explained that they were the offspring of his late wife.
“Isabel will have her hands full!” he added. Katheryn could not help feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of those children receiving more of Isabel’s attention than she herself would in the future. But Margaret was looking after her now and she liked her stepmother very much.
* * *
—
“I have some excellent news,” Father said, as they sat at supper in the parlor one evening in April. The boys were home from Norfolk House, and were wrapped up in their own affairs, but now they turned to Father with new interest. He beamed at them all. “My good niece, the Lady Anne Boleyn, has been looking out for me, as has Master Cromwell, who is set to replace the Cardinal as the King’s chief minister. I account him a friend, you know.”
“Edmund, do get to the point,” Margaret said.
“Oh, yes, the good news!” He beamed again. “I have been appointed comptroller of Calais on a good salary. Well, a reasonable salary, out of which I must fund my clerks and horses, but it is timely, for my creditors are pressing me.”
“I am pleased for you, Father,” Charles said. He was fifteen now and seemed taller and broader every time Katheryn saw him.
“Are we going with you, Sir?” asked George. Charles and Henry looked hopeful, but Katheryn feared that this news would mean another unwelcome change for her.
“No,” said Father. “None of you are going with us. It is better that you stay here, where Uncle Norfolk can befit you for court and get you preferment. You boys will return to Norfolk House on Sunday. Isabel is taking Mary to her house at Wiltshire. You, Katheryn, will go to my stepmother, the Dowager Duchess.”
This was terrible news indeed. The one thing Katheryn remembered about the Dowager Duchess, widow of her grandfather, the old Duke of Norfolk, was her supreme indifference to the overtures of a small girl trying to make friends with her at a Christmas gathering at Norfolk House long years ago. She was very old and grand, and lived in a fine house called an inn, which was attached to Norfolk House at its river end.
“She is not only your grandam, but also your cousin,” Father told Katheryn. “My mother was her aunt; they were both Tilneys. The Tilneys are a great East Anglian family and have long been close to the Howards.”
Katheryn didn’t care about the Tilneys’ credentials. She was too horrified at the prospect of being banished to the Dowager’s inn, and having to say farewell to Margaret, who was going with Father to Calais. Then they would be across the sea and so far away…The thought brought tears to her eyes. It seemed that all those she loved best were taken from her: Mother, Aunt Margaret, Isabel, and now her stepmother. Was she to be spared no one who cared for her and looked to her needs? She burned with jealousy to think of Mary going to live with Isabel.
“There is no need to look so glum, Kitty,” Father reproved her.
“But I don’t want to go and live with my Grandam Norfolk,” she blurted out.
“Nonsense!” Father barked.
“I want to live with Isabel!” she cried.
“It’s out of the question,” Father retorted. “Isabel is the wife of a knight; your grandam is a duchess and has far greater influence.”
“It will be to your benefit,” Margaret soothed, laying a hand on Katheryn’s. “It is quite usual for noble children to be reared in great households, and you are now of an age for that. Under the Duchess’s rule, you will learn the skills and graces that will help you to make a good marriage or even obtain a place at court.”
Her father and the boys were nodding their agreement, but Katheryn didn’t care if she never got married or went to court. She felt bereft and abandoned.
“I don’t want any arguments.” Father wagged a finger. “The Duke himself decided that you shall go to the Dowager, and he will not be gainsaid. Over the next few days, Margaret will help you to pack your chest, for we must take ship for Calais as soon as possible. I have pressing duties awaiting me there.” In his mind, it was clear, Father had already departed. He was not interested in assuaging the hurt feelings of his daughter.
* * *
—
Katheryn sat on the window seat that faced Norfolk House. Her gear was all packed, and she was just waiting for Father to come and escort her to the Dowager’s residence. Her brothers were with her, hopping from foot to foot, anxious to be gone themselves and return to the masculine pleasures of the Duke’s service.
Katheryn had only seen her uncle of Norfolk at those rare, long-ago Christmastides, and could barely remember him, but his presence loomed large in her life for his word was law to all his Howard relations—and to a great many other people. As the foremost nobleman in the realm, he was as respected and obeyed as if he were royalty, which he almost was, by marriage at any rate, for his first wife had been Anne of York, the King’s aunt, and his second was a Stafford with the Plantagenet blood of the old royal house in her veins. Katheryn had long known this, for it was the stuff of family lore, as was the Howards’ descent from King Edward I.
“You will like living at Norfolk House,” Charles said.
“But I won’t be living at Norfolk House,” Katheryn retorted. “I’ll be living there.” She pointed to its far end.
“It’s all the same building,” he replied. “They just have separate households. There’s another inn at the other end, which is lived in by our uncle Lord William Howard, the Dowager’s son. When our grandsire built Norfolk House, he made provision for his widow and his children.” Katheryn knew that her grandfather, the old Duke, had sired twenty children on his two wives. There were Howards everywhere, it seemed: at Lambeth, at court, and all over the kingdom, intermarried with the finest families in the land.
“Tell me how he got his title back!” she demanded. It was a story she loved to hear, and she desperately needed something to divert her.
“Not again!” jeered George.
Charles sat down, a resigned look on his face. He always indulged her. “The first Duke was killed at Bosworth Field, fighting for King Richard.”
“On the wrong side,” Henry pointed out.
“Indeed, because Richard was also slain and Henry Tudor won and was crowned king on the battlefield. Grandfather was Earl of Surrey then, and when the new King asked him why he had fought for Richard, he told him that he had been his anointed monarch, and, if they had put the crown on a stock, he would ha
ve fought for that. The King was impressed by his loyalty and restored the earldom of Surrey to him, but he would not let him have the dukedom of Norfolk. That was given him by our King Henry after Flodden, where Grandfather won his great victory and saved the kingdom from being invaded by the Scots. When he got the title back, he built Norfolk House. He also built the Howard chapel in St. Mary’s Church over the road. That’s where we’ll all end up buried one day, like Mother.”
Katheryn was so miserable that she dared not think of Mother. If she did, she would burst out wailing. She had been, just the once, with Isabel, to the church and knelt at the graveside; she had felt strangely comforted to be near her mother again, but the sight of the cold ledger stone had brought home to her the finality of her death. She had no desire to go back.
“The Duke entertains a lot at Norfolk House,” Charles was saying. “He has many visitors, courtiers, and foreign envoys. I’ve met John Skelton, whom our family made poet laureate, and we all get on well with our cousin Surrey and Lady Mary.” Surrey was the Duke’s son and heir, but Katheryn had no recollection of him, although her brothers had told her he wrote verses and had a quick temper. Mary was his sister.
She knew there was some mystery concerning their mother. The Duchess of Norfolk did not live with the Duke. Katheryn had overheard the boys sniggering about a certain Bess Holland making the beast with two backs with their uncle, whatever that meant, and they had said it was because of her that their aunt was a captive. But when Katheryn had asked them about it, they’d told her to mind her own business.
Father was calling them from below. It was time to leave. Reluctantly, Katheryn walked down the stairs, her brothers following. In the hall, the great traveling chests stood ready, awaiting transportation to Calais. Servants were bustling about cleaning, making the house ready for its new tenants. In a day or so, Father and Margaret would be gone, and Katheryn had no idea when she would ever see them again. She stood stiff as stone as Margaret put on her cloak and smoothed down her hair, then took her by the hand and followed Father out of the front door.