by Alison Weir
“Thank you, Mistress Katheryn.”
Otherwise, the days were tedious. The gossip in the maidens’ dorter was all about the royal marriage. Katheryn was aware of the ladies staring at the Queen or whispering in each other’s ears. She wished they would stop, for it was clearly making Anna uncomfortable.
She longed for diversions. The court was out there, but she was cut off from it. She thought she would go mad with frustration. She could not wait for February, for then the Queen would be crowned and there would be more celebrations. And soon afterward, there would be Easter, when—she had heard—the court made a great festival. Things could only get better.
* * *
—
Katheryn, like all the other maids and ladies, had expected to be involved in preparations for the coronation, but nothing happened. Speculation mounted until Mrs. Stonor, deftly stealing a march on Mother Lowe, who was left literally open-mouthed, announced that the ceremony had been deferred until Whitsun. Oh, well, Katheryn told herself; it will still be something to look forward to.
But before then, the Queen was to be formally welcomed in London, as was traditional. In February, her women dressed in their crimson gowns once more and made their way to the barges that were moored on the waterfront at Greenwich. All Anna’s possessions had been packed and sent on to Whitehall Palace, where the court would remove today. Katheryn watched the King step unsteadily into his state barge, then came the Queen, who was assisted into hers and made her way along the gangway to the cabin at the back, followed by her chief ladies. It was now the turn of Katheryn and the other maids, who clambered into the barge behind. It rocked alarmingly and the oarsman laughed as the girls squealed and pushed forward into the relative safety of the cabin. It was a tight fit, but Katheryn had a seat by the window.
They were rowed out to the middle of the river, then followed the royal barges upstream toward London. Katheryn’s eyes widened at the sight of the crowds on the banks of the Thames; everyone was waving and cheering. She and the other maids waved back. She realized that barges containing the Lord Mayor and the London guilds were following them, all adorned with shields and cloth of gold. Behind those, she could just see a fleet of numerous smaller barges. Every ship they passed let off a deafening salute and, as they neared the Tower of London, there was an ear-splitting salvo from the cannon on the wharf, which seemed to go on forever.
Past London Bridge, the bells of the City of London were pealing out a welcome and the citizens were massed on the shore, cheering their heads off and clapping. Soon, the barges were nearing Westminster, and Katheryn craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Lambeth, which lay further ahead on the Surrey shore. To her right, she saw the King greeting his Queen at Westminster stairs, to rousing applause from the crowds, and leading her through the great gatehouse to Whitehall Palace.
1540
That March was unseasonably warm and, in her free time, Katheryn liked to walk in the beautiful gardens at Whitehall. She was praying that, with the coming of spring, life would liven up, for it had been as dull at Whitehall as it had been at Greenwich. At least there was the coronation to look forward to. Or was there? The maids were still covertly speculating among themselves that the Queen remained a virgin; some wondered if the King might divorce her. There was more gossip that he was impotent, which Anne Bassett roundly dismissed. Katheryn had now learned that his Grace had courted Anne herself before he had decided to marry Anna, which was much to Anne’s disappointment, and she wondered if Anne was hoping to revive his interest—and exactly what had taken place between them.
Taking advantage of the good weather, she would join the spectators at the bowling alley or go to the tennis play and watch a match. Always, she obeyed Mother Lowe’s instructions to be in the company of one of her fellow maids. Usually, Isabel would accompany her, but on one particularly sunny afternoon, when Isabel was busy, Margaret came with her and they paused to watch a bowling contest. Tom was taking part, matched to a baby-faced gentleman in his early twenties. Both were casting not only the ball, but interested glances at Katheryn.
After the game, which Tom won, they wandered over to where she and Margaret were standing.
“Katheryn, may I introduce Thomas Paston?” Tom said. “He serves with me in the Privy Chamber.”
Thomas flushed and smiled at her. “It is an honor, Mistress Katheryn. I have been hoping to meet you.”
“This is my sister Margaret,” Katheryn said. Thomas had no personal appeal for her and she did not want to encourage him.
“Will you walk with us?” Tom invited, offering her his arm. As the four of them strolled down toward the river, he held on to her tightly, his elbow on her breast. Was that deliberate? It would surprise her if he was interested in her in that way; he probably still thought of her as his little cousin. Of course, she had already come to think of him as a man, and a very attractive one.
They stood watching the boats going past. Thomas Paston looked a little awkward, having no doubt realized that Katheryn was not going to encourage his advances and that Margaret was married. Presently, he began chatting to another young man standing nearby and Margaret joined in.
“You are still happy in the Queen’s household?” Tom asked Katheryn.
“Yes.” There was something in his tone that unnerved her. “Should I not be?”
Tom hesitated. “She is a kindly mistress, I’m sure.”
“There is something you are not telling me.”
He lowered his voice. “I hear things. I am in a privileged position and sworn to discretion. Just keep your ears open.”
“Oh, Tom!” Katheryn was losing patience. “You can’t say things like that and leave me to wonder what you mean.”
He took her hand. “I am not playing with you; I’m just concerned for your future.”
She met his gaze. He looked sincere enough. And he really was quite beautiful with that dark curly hair, those chiseled cheekbones, and merry blue eyes.
“Katheryn,” he said, and there was a catch in his voice, “I think a lot of you, you know. And I would like to see you more often, if you are willing.”
It threw her. It was all so unexpected. She liked him—indeed, she had always loved him—but did she want a young man in her life just now?
She withdrew her hand. If she had learned anything from her new friends, it was that the woman was supposed to lay down the rules in courtships. “I’d like to see you,” she said, “but let us just be friends for now.”
Tom looked crestfallen. “If that’s what you want,” he said.
She nodded. “And now I must go, or I’ll be in trouble with the Mother of the Maids.” It was unlikely, but it would serve as an excuse to get away and think.
She left him there and hastened to catch up with Margaret, who had parted company with Thomas Paston and tactfully left her and Tom on their own. She could see her yards ahead on the path that led to the Queen’s lodgings.
“Those two young sirs would like to get to know you better,” said an arch voice behind her. She turned and saw Lady Rochford smiling at her. There was something catlike and mysterious about her, yet she had always showed herself friendly to Katheryn.
“What do you mean?” Katheryn asked, astounded.
“I’ve long been a friend of Mr. Culpeper,” Lady Rochford informed her, “and, from what he has told me, I think Mr. Paston bears you favor, even though he has never had the courage to speak to you.”
“He spoke to me today,” Katheryn told her, as they strolled back toward the palace, “but I put him off.”
“That’s as well, as I think you are worthy of better than he,” Lady Rochford opined. “But Mr. Culpeper—well, there’s a different kettle of fish.”
“He’s my cousin; well, my very distant cousin,” Katheryn said. “I’ve known him for most of my life. But today, he gave me every reason to believe that I am
more than a cousin to him.” She was surprised that she was saying these things to Lady Rochford, but that lady was looking at her so sympathetically—and seemed genuinely to care about her.
“You are!” Lady Rochford replied. “He told me that he would be much more to you than a cousin. My dear, it is plain to me that he loves you.”
“He has always loved me, but not like that.”
“He is a fine, upstanding young man with a wonderful future ahead of him, and so handsome—and you, Katheryn, are a very lovely young woman. I speak as your cousin and kinswoman, for my late husband was Queen Anne’s brother. I know you have no father and mother, and I feel sorry for your lack. If I can help to fill it, I should be honored. At the very least, you should account me your friend.”
Katheryn was touched, but a dissonant voice in her head was asking why Lady Rochford was showing herself so concerned for her welfare now, when they had been serving together in the Queen’s household for four months. Had this interest been prompted by Tom’s confidences? If she had long been his friend, maybe she was doing it for him.
“I am grateful for your kindness,” she replied. “It is good of you to take an interest in me. I was sorry to hear about the loss of your husband.”
Lady Rochford’s mouth tightened. “He was a wicked man in more ways than one. He got what he deserved. As did she.” There was venom in her tone. “But let us talk of happier things. Like Mr. Culpeper! He’s a proud man, and justly so, for he has done well for himself. The King regards him almost as a son. The lady who catches him as a husband will be lucky indeed.”
There was a note of envy in her voice that made Katheryn wonder if Lady Rochford fancied Tom herself. But she was too old for him; she must be about forty, and he was a good decade younger.
“Think about it, Katheryn,” Lady Rochford said. “Do not put him off or dismiss him out of hand. I believe he loves you truly.”
“Has he asked you to plead his suit?” Katheryn asked.
“Not at all. But it would make me so happy to see the two of you come together.”
It didn’t quite ring true, but Katheryn could not, for the life of her, think what ulterior motive Lady Rochford could have.
They had reached the palace now.
“I will think about it,” she said as they went upstairs.
* * *
—
After that, Tom seemed to be everywhere Katheryn went—in the gardens, at the tennis play, at the butts. Always, he was hovering. It was flattering to be the object of the attention of such a dashing gallant, and Katheryn was strongly attracted to him. Given that she had always adored him in a cousinly way, it was an easy transition to feelings of quite another kind. She found herself looking forward to their “chance” meetings and snatched conversations, although it was never possible to speak out loud what their eyes were saying, because they were never alone. Even when she asked Lady Rochford to accompany her on her walks, knowing that lady would afford her every opportunity to spend time with Tom, she could not linger long with him lest someone report her to Mother Lowe or Mrs. Stonor.
Tom took to giving Lady Rochford messages for her.
“He says he wants you to be his chosen lady.”
“He is longing to see you again.”
“He wants to see you alone.”
“I would that we could,” Katheryn replied to that last one, “but what if we were caught? I don’t want to lose my place.”
“You can meet in my chamber,” Lady Rochford said. “I myself will keep watch.”
Katheryn wanted to hear from Tom himself before she committed to seeing him in a bedchamber. Were his intentions honorable? She needed to know. The idea of marrying him was increasingly appealing and she did not want him to think her a wanton. Men of status did not marry wantons. He must never find out about what she had got up to at Lambeth and Chesworth. She had put all that firmly behind her now. She was meant for better things.
* * *
—
One evening, after the Queen had gone to bed, Katheryn sat up late in Isabel’s chamber, sipping from a goblet of hot aleberry and talking with her half-sister.
“Tom Culpeper is showing an interest in me,” she confided. She thought Isabel would be pleased for her and glad that she had such a fine suitor in their debonair cousin, but Isabel was frowning.
“Which Tom Culpeper? The one who serves the King or the one who serves Lord Cromwell?”
“The one who serves the King,” Katheryn said. “I did not know his elder brother was at court.”
“Oh, dear. There are things that Edward has told me…” Isabel looked distressed. “He won’t let me have anything to do with Tom. Our cousin has grown proud out of measure; he has no fear of God, and his sole purpose in life is the pursuit of his own pleasure.”
“That’s not the Tom I know,” Katheryn said, “and you know him, too, and what he’s really like.”
“Katheryn, there is another side to him that we’ve never seen—a vicious side.” Isabel was twisting her wedding ring, looking distressed.
“Vicious?” Katheryn echoed.
“I fear so. Within the privy chamber, it’s a well-kept secret that, last year, he violated the wife of a park-keeper in a wood.”
“No!” Katheryn was horrified. “That’s a wicked slander.”
“I fear it is true,” Isabel said. “Horrid to relate, three or four of his friends held her down. Some villagers came upon them and tried to apprehend him, meaning to take him before the justices, but he resisted them and killed one of them. And, for this act of wickedness, he was pardoned by the King.”
Katheryn was speechless. The Tom she knew would never have done such a dreadful thing. She would not believe it!
“There is more. People in the family know about this, and I was told that Tom’s father has cut him out of his will. So, although I imagine he is comfortably off, he has no inheritance to offer a wife, save what his Majesty gives him.”
“But why would the King pardon him? Rape is such a terrible crime.”
“I know. Edward says his Majesty regards it as most heinous, along with murder, but he greatly favors Culpeper. Even so…”
Katheryn nodded miserably. She still could not bring herself to believe this of Tom, dear Tom, who had long been her hero.
* * *
—
She could not sleep. She had to find out the truth, even if it cost her Tom’s love. If he was a rapist and a murderer, she wouldn’t want anything more to do with him anyway.
The very next day, she slipped away as soon as her duties were done and went looking for him. She had no idea when he would be free, but she was prepared to wait.
She thought he might come to her in the gardens, as he usually did, so she sat down on a stone bench that gave a clear view of the back entrance of the palace. She had been waiting there forlornly for about half an hour when she saw him emerge. He spied her at once and came hurrying over.
“Katheryn!” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t stay long,” she told him. “Mother Lowe and Mrs. Stonor will kill me if they hear that I was out on my own. But I have to ask you something which is painful to me.”
“What is it?” Suddenly, there was a wary look in his eyes.
“I have heard talk that the King pardoned you for…for…” She could not bring herself to say the words.
“For what?” His voice was sharp, making her think the worst.
“For r-rape and murder.” It came out as a whisper.
“Who said that?”
“Never mind. Is it true?”
For a fraction of a second, he hesitated. “It’s true that I was pardoned, but all I was guilty of was a bit of dalliance with a girl and some tomfoolery with my friends. There was a little rough-and-tumble, but I wasn’t raping her. She was willing,
but when she saw her father and the other villagers approaching, she started screaming. They went for us and, yes, I killed one of them, but it was in self-defense, I swear.” He took Katheryn’s hand in both of his and squeezed it, but she pulled it away.
“Katheryn, you have to believe me,” he begged, looking anguished. “I did not intend to harm her. If I had been guilty, the King would never have pardoned me, for he takes a stern view of such crimes. He accepted my explanation. I hope you can, too.”
She wanted to, she so wanted to. He was looking at her pleadingly. But his own father clearly hadn’t believed him. And the King wouldn’t have pardoned Tom if he had committed no offense. She sat there, wringing her hands.
“Katheryn, I swear I am no rapist or murderer!” Tom was beside himself. She had never seen him like this. “Will that satisfy you?”
Her love for him got the better of her. She nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Oh, darling,” he said, and drew her into his arms. “I could not bear to have you believe that of me. You are everything to me. I think you know that.”
She looked up at him, searching his face for some sign that he was lying. There was none. His eyes were sincere, full of truth. It had been silly of her to think that her Tom, her beloved, kindly Tom, could do such things.
“I knew you could not have been guilty,” she said. “I was just so shocked to hear it.”