Katheryn Howard, the Scandalous Queen

by Alison Weir

  Katheryn had only the vaguest recollection of Lord Thomas. If he had visited his mother at Lambeth, she had not recognized him. “Will he, too, be executed?”

  Charles nodded. “The word is that both he and Lady Margaret have been attainted by Parliament and sentenced to die.”

  “What do you mean, attainted?” Katheryn asked, thinking what a dreadful year this was turning out to be.

  “It means that there is no trial. Parliament decides on the person’s fate.”

  “That doesn’t seem right,” Katheryn said. “Surely they should have the right to speak up for themselves?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Charles said, shaking his head. “I didn’t make the laws.”

  “The King will not execute his own niece,” Meg said.

  “He executed his wife!” Kat reminded her.

  “But his own flesh and blood?”

  “There’s not much hope for Lord Thomas then,” Katheryn said.

  But the King sent neither the Lady Margaret nor Lord Thomas to the scaffold. Both were left to languish in the Tower, presumably to reflect on their transgressions. In the circumstances, he had been remarkably lenient. Katheryn would always remember that.

  1536–37

  The errant lovers were still in the Tower at Christmas, but the Duchess ordered that the season be celebrated as lavishly as usual, and there was much revelry. On Twelfth Night, there was to be the customary feast. The house was packed with merrymakers, all dressed in their finery. Along with everyone else in the household, Katheryn had received new clothes at Easter, as happened every year, but these were always serviceable, usually of good black cloth, meant to last. Fortuitously, poking around in the attics—a treasure trove for anyone who bothered to rummage among the piles of discarded items that had been deposited there over the years—she had found a chest containing some old garments. At the bottom was an old-fashioned gown of worn crimson velvet with a high waist, tight sleeves, and a flowing skirt. She had hung it up, sponged it, and embellished it with the gifts she had received at New Year: a pretty pink ribbon sash from Isabel and a silver pendant from Father and Dorothy. The effect was pleasing and drew compliments from the other young ladies. With her long hair rippling down her back, she felt like a queen as she entered the hall.

  It was the custom for women to enter from the left side of the screens passage and men to enter from the right. A great Twelfth Night cake had been baked, and slices were being offered to guests as they arrived. Katheryn ate hers right away, for inside she might find the coveted bean or pea. The lucky finders would be king and queen for the evening. She held her breath as she chewed carefully. To her joy, her teeth met something hard. It was the pea!

  “I’ve got it!” she cried, and the young gallants came forward and, hoisting her to their shoulders, carried her to the high table and deposited her in the Duchess’s chair, which her grandam vacated, bowing and entering into the spirit of the evening. Then another group of young men set down someone in the chair next to her. It was Mr. Manox, who had found the bean and was being proclaimed king. He grinned at her and her cheeks flamed.

  She knew what was expected of them. Their word was law for the evening, and their orders had to be obeyed. They would lead the singing, the dancing, and the disports. She could not believe her luck!

  She smiled back at Mr. Manox.

  “Remember, Mistress Katheryn, there are no rules,” he said.

  The company was waiting expectantly. They both stood up.

  “What shall we ask?” Katheryn whispered.

  “I command that every gentleman in this hall should demand a forfeit of the lady sitting nearest to him,” he cried, “and that if she will not comply, she must kiss him three times in recompense!”

  There was much laughter as everyone hastened to obey him. Then Mr. Manox saw that the Duchess, seated at his right hand, was looking at him questioningly.

  “My lady,” he said, “I demand that, for your forfeit, you impersonate the Devil!”

  The Duchess smiled. “Some would say I do that every day!” Then she proceeded to gnash her teeth and roar damnation at those near her, which had Katheryn shaking with mirth.

  “What do you command, Mistress Katheryn?” Manox cried.

  She stood up and raised her hand. “Hush! Hush! I command that every gentleman in this hall give his chosen lady a gift. And you can’t go and fetch one. It must be something you have with you.”

  She watched as men began divesting themselves of rings, daggers, even caps, and then realized that Mr. Manox was holding out his hand to her. In it lay a small gold crucifix on a chain.

  “It was my mother’s,” he said. “I have carried it with me ever since she died, but now I want you to have it.”

  “I couldn’t possibly accept it,” Katheryn cried, flushing at the realization that this was more than a game. It was a declaration of particular affection, and she was touched that he should want to give her something that was clearly precious to him.

  “Tonight, you have to obey me!” he said, his green eyes warm and glittering.

  “Very well, Sir, but I reserve the right to return it tomorrow,” Katheryn said. “Even so, I appreciate the honor you do me.”

  He smiled and pressed the cross into her hand. The touch of his fingers set her spine tingling. Suddenly, she wasn’t as bothered about the difference in their ranks.

  After the feast, she was thrilled when he rose, took her hand, and escorted her out to lead the dancing. And how they danced! They began with stately pavanes, then quickly progressed to riotous branles. Everyone was on the floor, and the ladies were lifting their skirts and kicking high. Then, amidst the press of people, Mr. Manox was pulling Katheryn through the throng and out through the screens passage, where one or two servants were already lying drunk. Up the stairs he ran with her and into the little parlor where they had their lessons. By the light of the moon shining through the mullioned window, he took her into his arms, and she went willingly. His lips closed on hers, gently at first, then insistently, his tongue probing. Startled, she drew back, but he drew her closer and she could feel a stirring beneath his codpiece. Suddenly, she wanted him. It did not matter who he was; she did not think she had ever seen such beauty in a man or felt such desire.

  Yet she had not completely taken leave of her senses. “Wait!” she murmured, freeing herself. “You go too fast, Sir!”

  “It is only because you have enchanted me,” he replied, his eyes searching hers. “Alas, Katheryn, my case is hopeless. I love you. I have known it for weeks. I cannot help it. And I think you feel something for me, too.”

  A rational voice in Katheryn’s head was drowning out the rushing clamor of her blood and telling her that this could not be. Even if the difference in rank did not matter, she was familiar with the romances and knew that a lady must never appear too eager to gratify her lover’s demands.

  “I am not sure what I feel, except that I do like you very much,” she said. “But I am a Howard and no wench to be tumbled in secret.”

  “Well I am aware of that,” Mr. Manox said bitterly. “I know I am not worthy of you. I was content to worship from afar—until tonight. You have no idea what you do to me, but, believe me, a kiss has sufficed. I count myself a lucky man indeed, that you should condescend so far.”

  This was more what Katheryn expected to hear, the kind of response that suitors gave in love stories, in which the heroine was always aloof and unattainable, or might just condescend to giving a kind look or a gentle caress. Clearly, Mr. Manox understood this, even if he had got carried away to begin with. And, she had to admit, so had she, until she came to her senses. Thank goodness he was a gentleman and had not taken advantage of her.

  If she could grant him no further favors, she could at least be pleasant to him.

  “Let us go back,” she said, smiling. “They’ll be passing
the wassail bowl soon.” And she ran ahead of him, down the stairs.

  * * *

  —

  The next day, Katheryn paused in the hall looking at the piles of fading evergreens that lay on the floor. The men had taken them down late last night, after the feast. It was sad to think that Christmas was nearly over. Today was Epiphany, the last opportunity to make merry. Tonight, there would be revelry and disguisings; they would eat roast lamb and an Epiphany tart made in the shape of a star, and she would wear her finery again.

  Margaret Bennet came over, smiling at her. “You were enjoying yourself with Mr. Manox last night!”

  Katheryn felt herself blush. Had Margaret seen them disappearing? “It was a wonderful evening,” she said.

  “I’ll wager he has a fancy for you.” Margaret giggled.

  “Do you?” Katheryn asked, walking on toward the storeroom where they kept the dressing-up chest. She wanted a crown to wear tonight.

  “It was obvious, the way he was looking at you,” Margaret replied.

  “He’s my music master!” Katheryn retorted.

  “He’s very handsome!”

  “Oh, stop it!” Katheryn shut the door in Margaret’s face. As she searched through the chest, she told herself she had done nothing wrong, and certainly nothing to compare with what other young ladies in the household got up to. Of course, in the cold light of day, she saw that it was impossible for a daughter of the Howards to love her music master. Yet she could not forget those magical moments in the parlor.

  At dinner, the other girls teased her about favoring Mr. Manox.

  “Will you dance with him again tonight?” Joan Bulmer asked.

  “Yes, I think I will.” Katheryn smiled. “He is a good dancer.”

  “And was he good at anything else?” Alice winked at her.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted.

  “Don’t think we didn’t see you disappearing with him!” Meg chortled.

  “We didn’t do anything,” Katheryn insisted.

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “I can see from your face that he did!” Joan grinned.

  “It was a mere flirtation,” Katheryn said firmly. “Nothing more.”

  After dinner, Malyn Tilney took her aside. “I could not help overhearing your conversation at table,” she said. “Katheryn, Manox is your music tutor and employed in a position of trust. Making advances to his pupil is a serious breach of that trust. The Duchess would not approve. He could lose his place. I beg of you, take thought for your reputation.”

  Katheryn tapped her foot. “Malyn, it was just some fooling about. I don’t know why you and everyone else are making such a fuss about it.”

  “Very well,” Malyn said, still looking concerned. “Just be careful.”

  That evening, Katheryn found Manox and gave him back the crucifix. He protested, but she pressed it back into his hand and walked away.

  * * *

  —

  After Epiphany, the music lessons resumed, but Mr. Barnes was no longer teaching Katheryn. He had been ordered to tutor Kat Tilney instead.

  Katheryn found herself spending long periods alone with Manox. Whether anyone was aware of that she had no idea. She had long ago realized that Mother Emmet was so lax in her supervision of her charges that they could have committed murder and she would not have noticed. All she wanted was an easy life with no confrontations.

  Katheryn sat at the virginal, aware that Mr. Manox was looking at her intently. Why not? she thought. It was about time she had some fun, and surely a little dalliance would do no harm. She lowered her head and looked up at him sideways, smiling invitingly.

  He laid his hand on hers. “I enjoyed Twelfth Night,” he said.

  “So did I,” she told him.

  “I meant what I said. I love you. Tell me I may hope.”

  “Hope for what?”

  “That you might return my love.” His eyes were deep green pools, pleading, admiring…

  Katheryn laughed. “Mr. Manox, this is all very new to me. You must give me leisure to discover my feelings. It might help to spend more time together.” She was encouraging him, she knew, and was no longer sure if it was right or wrong. All she knew was that she was strongly attracted to this beautiful man and wanted to keep his interest, right or wrong be damned! She would do as she pleased. No one really cared what happened to her, and Isabel, in whom she would have liked to confide, was far away in Wiltshire, absorbed in her first baby.

  “I can think of nothing better than to spend more time with you, Mistress Katheryn,” Manox said, squeezing her hand. “You must let me know how it can be contrived.”

  “You could play skittles with me in the long gallery after supper.” She smiled.

  “That would be wonderful,” he told her. “But now, I think we should get down to our music. And please, call me Harry.”

  “I’ll have to think about that,” Katheryn said, giving him an arch look.

  * * *

  —

  When Katheryn appeared with Mr. Manox in the gallery, there were several other people there. Eyes turned as they walked past, and she was aware of murmured asides. She did not care. It was not every young lady who had such a handsome man as her devoted servant.

  In the days that followed, she and Harry—as she now called him—spent an increasing amount of time together. They walked in the gardens, they sat for ages on a seat by the river, talking, and the music lessons grew ever longer. Closeted in the little parlor, they would find themselves chatting when Katheryn should have been practicing, but she was too conscious of Harry’s physical presence to concentrate on her music. Before long, they would be in each other’s arms, unable to resist the temptation to kiss—long, lingering kisses that left them breathless and wanting more. Katheryn’s resolve was rapidly weakening.

  “I do love you,” she said, which made Harry even more fervent. Kissing led to caressing, and his fingers would rove down Katheryn’s breast to the neckline of her bodice. The sensation was so divine that she did not protest when they delved further. His touch on her nipples was unbearably exciting and gave her thrilling sensations in the pit of her stomach. She did not want him to stop. But when his hand moved to her skirt and made to lift it, she stayed him.

  “No!”

  “Why not? I want to see you, my love, and touch you.”

  “No, please!” She did not trust herself to let him. “Not yet.”

  His hand strayed back to her breast.

  * * *

  —

  They were at pains to be discreet. No one, it seemed, knew their secret. Katheryn took care to prevent the young gentlewomen from finding out. The Duchess was too absorbed in her own lofty affairs to notice what her step-granddaughter was doing, and Mrs. Emmet seemed oblivious, as usual.

  She had no idea where this was going, but she didn’t care. The future could look after itself. All that mattered was that Harry loved her.

  By Eastertide, it was hard to control her desire for him, and harder still to put him off. He was always begging for more.

  “Let me feel the secret parts of your body!” he begged, his kisses hot and urgent.

  “No,” Katheryn protested. “We might get carried away.” The girls in the dorter had spoken of a point of no return, beyond which a man lost control, and she feared to provoke Harry that far.

  “Then give me some token of your love!” he panted. “Show me how much you love me.”

  “What token shall I give you?” she asked. “I assure you, I will never be naughty with you, and you are unable to marry me. It would not be allowed.”

  But Harry was undaunted. “All I want to do is touch you. What harm can that do?”

  Katheryn had no arguments left. Besides, she really wanted him to touch her.

  “All right.”


  She watched him gaze at her in rapture. “You will? You’ll give me your promise that you will let me?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, “but not today, as it will soon be suppertime. Then you will be away visiting your family for the Sabbath. But when you come back, you may do as you wish, on condition that you will desire no more of me. And we will have to find somewhere more private. This room has no key.”

  “Katheryn, you are an endless joy to me,” Harry cried. “I cannot fully express my feelings for you, or my gratitude. I love you so much, my darling!”

  “I love you, too,” Katheryn breathed. In that moment, she was tempted to promise him all of herself. She knew how to prevent a baby coming, after all. But she feared that, by giving much, she would lose much. She had heard it said that men lost interest in that which they obtained too easily.

  * * *

  —

  Two days later, in the dark of night, Katheryn met Harry in the deserted gallery and, carrying a candle, he led her silently to the antechamber to the Duchess’s chapel, locking the door behind him and drawing her down onto a wooden bench.

  “Are you still willing to keep your promise?” he whispered.

  “I am,” she said. “Touch me!”

  The sensation was exquisite. That night, she learned what pleasure really was. There was nothing shameful or sinful about it: it was the most natural thing in the world. And when Harry bent his head down and kissed the brown mole on the inside of her thigh, then proceeded further with his tongue, she thought she would die of bliss. The waves of rapture came again and again. It was like being in Heaven. Then he wanted her to touch him and give him the same pleasure, and she held him in her hand in wonder as he swelled with lust, spilled his seed, and gasped in ecstasy. True to his word, he did not ask for more.