Katheryn Howard, the Scandalous Queen

by Alison Weir

  Lord William was frowning. “I can’t allow my niece to be slandered by this Manox, and it is wrong that you are placed in this position, Mr. Dereham. You know I think well of you, and we are kin. Does Manox reside with Lord Bayment?”

  “No, my lord, he has a house in Streatham, where he lives with his wife,” Katheryn told him. “They recently married.”

  “Indeed?” Lord William raised his eyebrows. “I would imagine he had better things to do than chase after a former fancy. Look, I have to be at court this afternoon, but I will go this evening to Streatham and warn off Manox. I won’t have my kinsfolk harassed in this way.”

  They thanked him for intervening and let him proceed to his chariot.

  “I’d like to see Manox defying the likes of Lord William,” Francis said.

  * * *

  —

  That night, Francis came to the dorter earlier than usual, to find Katheryn all alone save for Joan Bulmer, who was waiting for Edward Waldegrave to arrive.

  “We should go to my chamber,” Katheryn told him. “The Duchess might come in at any time and check on us. And you, Joan, shouldn’t think of entertaining Mr. Waldegrave. It’s too risky.”

  “I’ll take my own risks, thank you,” Joan retorted.

  “I’m not staying,” Francis said. “I came to tell you that Lord William just dropped in to say that he went to Streatham and threatened Manox with all manner of punishments if he continued to impugn the honor of a daughter of the Howards and his kinsman. He said he spent a quarter of an hour ranting at him and his wife on their own doorstep.”

  “I doubt Harry will dare do anything in the future,” Katheryn said, going into his arms, utterly relieved. “We’re safe now.”

  “Yes, and soon, I hope, we will hear from your father.” His mouth bent to hers, while one hand sought her breast.

  “What do you think you are doing?” cried a strident voice. It was the Duchess, standing in the doorway, her face like thunder. “Is this what you call not doing anything wrong? It’s a good thing I decided to come here tonight!” She lashed out at Francis, clouting him on the side of the head. As he stood there, dazed and shocked speechless, she lifted her stick and beat Katheryn several times on the back and buttocks.

  “Hussy! Foolish wench!” she raged. “And you, too, for allowing it!” She dealt the hapless Joan a blow, too, then turned back to Francis.

  “My lady—” he began, but she silenced him with a withering look.

  “You are no longer welcome in this house,” she told him. “I won’t have you treating it like the King’s court, where license is encouraged. You will leave tomorrow.”

  “No!” Katheryn cried, her nether parts smarting. “My lady, we are to be married!”

  “No Howard marries a man who has such little respect for her honor,” the Duchess said coldly.

  “Madam, we are troth-plight,” Francis protested. “There is nothing wrong in a man loving his wife.”

  “His wife? Don’t talk nonsense!” the old lady retorted. “How can you be troth-plight?”

  “We made a promise to each other to marry,” he told her.

  “A likely excuse!” she retorted.

  “It’s the truth. Katheryn will tell you.” He looked at Katheryn with eyes dark with anger and pain. He really loved her—surely her grandam could see it?

  “It is true,” she confirmed, “and I’m sure my father will give his consent.”

  “Fortunately, I have not yet written to him,” the Duchess said.

  Katheryn began to cry. She had been expecting a response any day from her father and the thought of more delay was unbearable.

  “It is as well,” the Duchess went on. “He has been dismissed from his post; he is clearly incompetent, and unwell, and Lord Lisle will not suffer him to serve him any longer. He informed me that he hopes to return to England soon. He has enough to deal with without you giving him grief.”

  This was bad news, but it carried with it a glimmer of hope, for, if Father was coming home soon, Katheryn had no doubt that she could make him agree to her marrying Francis.

  “Tell me,” the Duchess rapped, “has this gone any further?”

  It was best to lie. “No, Madam,” Katheryn replied.

  “We are troth-plight,” Francis insisted.

  “No, you are not!” the Duchess railed. “Don’t let me hear you say that again. Now, Mr. Dereham, you will pack your possessions and leave. Before you go, I want an assurance from both of you that you will not attempt to see each other.”

  Katheryn looked at Francis. He nodded and winked at her. They both gave their word. The Duchess stood there, watching Francis walk out, then followed him, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “I will see him again, I will!” Katheryn vowed, drying her tears.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Joan snapped, rubbing her arm.

  “But he means to see me, I know it! We are promised to each other.” She sat down on the bed, wincing at the pain from her beating.

  “Methinks the Duchess will be watching you,” Joan said. “Be careful, Mistress Katheryn.” She wiped her eyes. “Edward hasn’t come. He promised he would. I thought he loved me, but I was wrong. He’s been cool to me lately. Anyway, there was no future in it. I…” She paused, and Katheryn sensed that she was weighing up whether to confide in her. “I am married,” she said at length, “although my husband, Will, and I have been estranged for some time. He was unfaithful with my maidservant and I would not put up with it. Now he is moving to Yorkshire, to be near his kin. He has asked me to go with him and assured me he no longer loves that woman. He wants an heir, of course; it’s the one thing I can give him and she can’t. When the Duchess hit me tonight, I made up my mind. I hate this place and I hate her. I’m going back to Will.”

  Just then, Edward arrived. He stared at them. “What’s wrong?”

  Joan dried her eyes and recounted what had happened.

  “Oh, poor darling,” he said, embracing her. “And you, Mistress Katheryn. I am sorry for your trouble.”

  Katheryn started weeping again. “I can’t bear the thought of not seeing Francis.” Or of not sleeping with him. By her reckoning, they had spent a hundred nights together. How could she bear to lie alone?

  “Knowing him, he’ll find a way,” Edward comforted her. “I would, if I were in his shoes,” he added gallantly.

  * * *

  —

  After a sleepless night, Katheryn got up early, desperate to catch Francis before he left. She did not care that she was breaking her promise to the Duchess.

  Crossing the crowded hall, she met her aunt, Lady Bridgewater, the Duchess’s favorite—and most pleasant—daughter, who often came to stay. Her three sisters also visited fairly frequently and all brought large trains of attendants who crowded the house and made great demands on the servants, although the Duchess remained oblivious to any complaints.

  “I am sorry to hear about what happened,” Lady Bridgewater said kindly. “My lady told me. I knew about the banqueting that goes on, but I wasn’t aware that you were involved. You know, my dear, if you carry on with such pleasures, staying up all night, you will lose your beauty.” Katheryn could not have cared less; all she wanted was to see Francis. She made a hasty excuse and hurried on.

  She found him in the buttery, checking the contents of a barrel of ale.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Aren’t you meant to be leaving?”

  He rose and hugged her. “No, darling. I talked my lady out of it. I said it would not look good if one of her family was cast out on the street and complaining loudly about it. I said people would want to know why, and she wouldn’t want any scandal. She saw the wisdom in that and agreed I could stay, but I am not to go near you. As you see, I am her most obedient servant!” He bent and kissed her.

  Katheryn laug
hed. He was incorrigible! Suddenly, she felt happy again. “There are many ways we could contrive to meet,” she told him.

  “There are. We must just be more careful. How would you fancy a walk in the gardens of St. Mary’s this evening?”

  “You will come to the dorter, won’t you?”

  “Not for a while,” he told her. “Old Agnes may come prowling again. If she catches us, it really will be over for us. Let’s be content, for now, with just being together when we can.” He pinched her bottom playfully.

  * * *

  —

  Covertly, they continued to meet, but not where they might encounter anyone who knew them. St. Mary’s garden proved too near the Duchess’s house for comfort, so they took to walking along the marshes by the Thames, north of Lambeth, or farther afield to Batrichsy, where there was a farm belonging to Westminster Abbey and haystacks in which they could spend stolen hours. Their meetings were few—Katheryn did not dare disappear for too long in case her absence was noticed—so they were all the more precious.

  It could not be long before Father returned. Then, she prayed, all this subterfuge would end and, God willing, she and Francis could be married properly. She was counting down the days.

  1539

  In March, her brothers came, solemn-faced, to see her. Charles was twenty-three now, Henry twenty-one, and George twenty, and all were flourishing in the Duke’s service. Katheryn saw them every month or so, but was no longer as close to them as she had been when she was a child. Their lives had taken different directions and they had different interests and different friends—yet there was still a core of affection among them.

  “We bear sorrowful news, Kitty,” Charles said, when they were alone in the little parlor. “Father has died in Calais.”

  “Oh, no!” She burst into floods of weeping.

  Her brothers comforted her, awkward in the face of her noisy grief.

  “What is to become of me?” she cried.

  “I am head of the family now,” Charles said, “although I fear that counts for very little, since I have no money and no lands, because Father died deeply in debt. He’s to be buried in Calais, as I can’t afford to bring him home.”

  “What of Margaret?” Katheryn spared a thought for her poor widowed stepmother.

  “She seems to be coping admirably, but she is in penury and reliant on her own kin for financial support. Lord Lisle is being very good to her.”

  “What about Place House?”

  “It’s reverted to Dorothy’s family,” George informed her.

  “So there is nothing left,” Katheryn said bleakly. But, as she uttered the words, it dawned on her that, penniless though he was, Charles could make her dreams of marriage come true.

  The brothers were shaking their heads sadly.

  “It’s as well we have places with the Duke,” Henry said, “otherwise we’d be destitute.”

  “The Duke has arranged that you will stay here with the Duchess,” Charles told Katheryn.

  “Brother,” she said, “there is a man, a cousin to the Duchess, who will marry me without a portion.”

  “And who might that be?” Charles asked.

  “Mr. Dereham. Francis Dereham.”

  Her brothers exchanged looks. “He’s a knave,” Henry said, “and not popular, I gather.”

  “You can do better than that, Kitty,” Charles said, “even without a dowry. I will look out for you. There are many young gentlemen at Norfolk House and at court. You may leave the matter of your marriage to me.”

  “But I love Mr. Dereham!” Katheryn blurted out. “And he loves me!”

  “It is not a suitable match for you,” he insisted. “I would not see you wed a man of dubious character, however well connected.”

  There was no point in arguing. She knew Charles of old. Once his mind was made up, he was immovable.

  “Very well,” she said, rising, thinking she could not feel any more wretched. “I must go and put on my black dress and say a prayer for Father’s soul.”

  * * *

  —

  Francis took the news that there was no hope well, but Katheryn was desolate. It seemed that the future held nothing for her. It was not enough that she could still meet him in secret, for their trysts left her wanting and unbearably unsatisfied, and made her feel as naught in the world, as if this was all she could expect. When she saw other lovers together, her heart felt as if it was breaking. Why could she not marry the man she loved? Why could they not even be seen together?

  She slept in her own chamber these days. She could not endure to see the others enjoying bedsports that were denied to her and Francis, or hear them talking about betrothals.

  All through the summer, her depression persisted. She could take no pleasure in life and was prone to weeping at the slightest thing. She supposed that her grief for her father had a part in it, although he had been away for so long that she barely missed his physical presence. It was more that she felt cast adrift, an orphan with no prospects—and the one man who was willing to help her was powerless to do so.

  Francis was patient with her for a long time, but, as the months passed, relations between them became strained. He often said that things would be better one day, but she couldn’t see how.

  On the day when they learned that the King was to marry a German princess, they went walking along their usual route northward. It was early October, and there was a chill in the air—and in Katheryn’s heart.

  “You’re quiet,” Francis observed.

  “I’m all right.” She gave him a weak smile.

  “Still feeling low?” he asked.

  She could not speak.

  “I love you, nothing will change that,” he said, gazing at the seabirds swooping over the marshes, “but you must try and cheer up. I hate to see you so sad, and it’s dragging me down, too.”

  “I just feel there is no future for me, or for us,” she mourned.

  “I’m here!” he growled. “I’m here now, and I love you. That’s something, isn’t it? Love like ours isn’t given to everyone.”

  “It isn’t enough!” she burst out, and immediately regretted it, for Francis’s face closed up and he turned away.

  “I want us to be married as much as you do, but, in grieving for what we can’t have, you have lost sight of what we do have. And, if it isn’t enough, then maybe you would like to end it.” His voice was taut. “Maybe you would be happier.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.” She was crying now, lost in misery, and upset that he hadn’t turned to comfort her, as he usually did. “Do you want to end it?”

  “If I’m making you unhappy, it might be best.” Still he looked away from her. “But I would not leave you of my own volition. It’s what you want that matters.”

  “I don’t know what I want!” she wailed.

  “Then it’s hardly worth our going on,” he replied. “If you loved me truly, you would know without a doubt.” And he walked away, leaving her standing there, crying, too stunned to go after him. How long she remained there in the wind she did not know, but dusk was falling as she returned to Norfolk House, aware that she had missed supper. She could not have eaten it anyway.

  * * *

  —

  Three days later, she was sinking in despair, unable to open up to anyone about her woes or to find Francis and make things right between them. She had not seen him since their meeting, and something told her that he would make no move to see her. She knew she had hurt him, but did not know how to mend the harm she had done, for, in truth, she had nothing to offer him but despondency.

  Then Mary told her that the Duchess wished to speak to her, and immediately Katheryn thought she had been seen with Francis and was to be rebuked—or worse. But her grandam, seated by the fireside, was beaming when she entered her chamber.
<
br />   “Katheryn!” she greeted her. “Sit down, my dear.” She indicated a stool at the other side of the hearth. “As you know, his Majesty is to marry the Lady Anne of Cleves. One cannot but deplore the fact that Cleves is allied to the Protestant princes of Germany, and I would much have preferred to see a Catholic queen on the throne, but I have always wanted to place you at court. The Lady Anne is expected to arrive in England soon, and, as you may imagine, there has been much jostling for places in her household. You will be pleased to hear that my lord Duke has secured posts as maids-of-honor for you and your cousins, Mary Norris and Katherine Carey.”

  Katheryn had been listening with mounting excitement, such as she had not felt in months. She was going to court, that glittering place that drew the greatest in the land like a lodestone! And she would have good company there, too. She had lots of cousins, several of whom she had never met, although she had heard of these two, for Mary Norris’s father had been one of the men executed for adultery with Queen Anne, and Katherine Carey was Queen Anne’s niece, the daughter of her sister Mary. She hoped she would find them to be true friends.

  “You are very lucky, Katheryn,” the Duchess was saying. “Another young lady had already been appointed but was unable to take up her position, so the Duke persuaded the King that you should have it.”

  Katheryn drew in a deep breath. The realization was sinking in. She would live in palaces, have beautiful gowns, dance and make merry—and spend her days in close proximity to the King himself! It was no dream—it was really going to happen, and she suddenly felt dizzy with elation. It was the most sovereign cure for her woes!

  She clapped her hands. “My lady, that is the best news you could have given me!”