by Alison Weir
“Show me the man who told you and I will be guilty of murder!” he growled. “I’ll run him through!”
“It was a woman, actually, who heard it from someone with friends in the privy chamber,” she said. She had no intention of naming names.
“Tell her not to gossip!” Tom snapped. “She had no right to be telling you such things.”
“I’ll take the greatest of pleasure in telling her that they are untrue,” Katheryn said.
“Hmm!” he fumed. He still had his arms around her. She knew she should not linger, but it was so lovely nestling against him and feeling his body next to hers.
“I must go,” she said reluctantly and stood up.
“Will I see you later?” He rose, too.
“No, I am on duty. Tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ll be there.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “Until then, my darling.”
* * *
—
Their conversation had released something between them. It had made them closer, more able to talk to each other. Katheryn realized that she was living for their next meeting, and the next, and the next…
Isabel had not been as receptive of Tom’s denial as Katheryn would have liked. She had been skeptical, unbending, and there was now a coolness between them. Katheryn wasn’t confiding in her anymore. Instead, she turned to the ever-ready Lady Rochford. They were “Katheryn” and “Jane” to each other now, friends as well as cousins, despite a twenty-year age gap. Jane was always so interested in Katheryn’s doings, so concerned for her welfare, and so willing to encourage her feelings for Tom.
“You must meet in my chamber, my dear!” she said again, one morning in late March, when they were in the Queen’s bedchamber, tidying away her clothes and jewels.
“But I don’t want Tom thinking I am easy game,” Katheryn replied. “I want him to respect me.”
“He does, my dear, he does! It’s as clear as day. And I will be just outside the door, keeping watch. Truly, I don’t see how else you will ever be alone together and, if my instinct serves me well, there are things that need to be said in private.”
“What things?” Katheryn asked. Could she dare to hope?
Jane smiled. “Tom has hinted to me that he would like to be made sure to you.”
“You mean he wants to marry me?”
“Oh, yes. What else could it mean? I know his intentions are honorable.”
“In that case…” Katheryn needed no more persuading. “I will meet him in your chamber, so long as you tell him that I do it for no light purpose. When can it be arranged?”
How could she resist? She was longing for excitement. There were far too few of the entertainments and revels she had longed for, since Queen Anna kept mainly to her apartments. It was tedious spending her days under her mistress’s stolid gaze, doing interminable embroidery and wishing that the hours would pass more quickly, or waiting on her at table, or when she stirred from her chamber to go into the court or to the chapel. For the Queen must never be left unattended for a single minute, not even in her stool chamber—and that was one duty Katheryn did not relish. Nor was she best pleased when it was her turn to sleep on a pallet bed in Anna’s chamber or wait outside her door on the now rare occasions when the King honored his wife’s bed. She was thankful for the good company of her fellow maids, for at least they could speak English and liven the staid atmosphere. But now she had a chance to enjoy herself—and the prospect was exhilarating.
* * *
—
The meeting with Tom was arranged for two nights hence, after the Queen had gone to bed. Thankfully, Mary Norris and Anne Parr were on duty.
When Katheryn returned to the privy chamber, Jane was waiting for her, a lit candle in her hand.
“He is here.” She led Katheryn to her room, opened the door, and closed it lightly, leaving them alone.
“Darling!” Tom held out his hands.
* * *
—
They spent most of their precious hours together seated on the bed, holding each other and kissing as if their lives depended on it. Katheryn could not but marvel at how quickly her priorities had changed. Marriage to Tom, even just seeing him like this, now held far more appeal than the dull life she led at court.
“I love you,” Tom said. “Not like I loved you when you were a little girl, although you were lovely then, but as the beautiful woman you are.” His lips nuzzled her neck. Her French hood had long since fallen to the floor.
“I love you,” Katheryn murmured, clutching him tightly. She raised her face and offered him her lips, and his mouth closed on them, his tongue teasing hers.
“Oh, Katheryn,” he said, as their eyes met. “You have bound me to you, and I love you above all creatures.”
Her heart was pounding; desire was strong in her.
“I would be bound to you for all time,” he murmured. “Dare I hope that that is your wish, too?”
The moment had come. He would be down on his knees before she knew it.
“I only know that I never want this to end,” she breathed.
They were interrupted by a tap on the door. Of all the moments! Tom gave a deep sigh and rose to his feet, running his fingers through his rumpled curls.
When he opened the door, Katheryn heard Jane say, “There’s someone about. You had best leave now.”
Tom kissed Katheryn quickly and turned to go.
“May I come tomorrow?” he asked.
Jane smiled. “That’s up to Katheryn.”
“Oh, yes!” Katheryn said.
* * *
—
The next night, he asked her to marry him. There was no going down on one knee. He just took her hand and looked into her eyes. In his, she could see everything she could have desired.
“Will you be my wife?” he asked.
She surprised herself by hesitating. His proposal had conjured up memories of Francis calling her his wife—and the realization that Francis meant nothing to her now. Before him, there had been Harry, and her feelings for him had died, too. She loved Tom, she loved him deeply, but they had been courting for less than a month. She could not risk hurting him by saying “yes” now and regretting it later.
“I want nothing more,” she said, “but I think we should give ourselves time to make sure that our love is strong and enduring.”
“I know it is!” he said fervently.
“Alas, Tom, I have seen people fall in love so deeply that they think it is forever—and then fall out of it. My heart is telling me to say ‘yes’ now; my head is telling me to be cautious. A little proving time is all I ask. It will be as nothing in the span of our lives together.”
He looked crestfallen.
“Now I have spoiled the moment,” she said, “and I didn’t mean to. You should be glad that the woman you want to marry is prudent and wise!”
“As long as I can marry you, I don’t care what you’re like,” he said, and then they were cuddling and kissing again. “I will wait,” Tom murmured. “I would wait for you forever.”
* * *
—
“I’ll wager Mistress Katheryn is to be married,” Meg Morton said, one sunny afternoon at the beginning of April.
Katheryn looked up from her mending. She, Meg, and Kat Tilney were the only people in the dorter. The others were attending the Queen in her privy garden.
“That’s news to me!” she said.
“But we’ve seen you, arm in arm with Mr. Culpeper in the gardens. You’re always with him, and he wears his love openly. People are talking about you.”
“Are you to be married?” Kat asked eagerly.
Katheryn hesitated a fraction too long. “No,” she said, feeling herself blush.
“That’s not what they’re saying!” Meg retorted.
“I
think I know more about my affairs than the gossips!” Katheryn flared. “I wish people wouldn’t say such things. What if Mother Lowe heard them? Or the Queen?”
“People have been gossiping about the Queen ever since she was married, and she never hears any of it, so you’re safe there,” Kat said, folding her sewing.
“Or she pretends she never hears it,” Meg said. “I would, if I were her. To save face.”
“Well, I’ll thank you not to spread gossip about me,” Katheryn snapped. “I’m not betrothed to Mr. Culpeper and that’s that!” She got up, shoved her mending in her traveling chest, and left them, giggling, behind her.
When she arrived in the garden, Anna looked up and smiled at her.
“Mistress Katheryn, the Duke of Norfolk has sent a messenger requesting that you attend him at Norfolk House this evening. I have given my permission; you have my leave to go.”
1540
What could it be about? Katheryn wondered, as Isabel, speaking hardly at all, laced her into her best black damask gown and plaited her hair, pinning it into place before she put on the black-and-white French hood. What matter could be important enough for the Duke himself to send for her? She wished she could confide in Isabel, but there was still that coolness between them.
Could it be that he had arranged a marriage for her? she wondered, as the ferry conveyed her and the messenger across the Thames to Lambeth. She shrank from the prospect of her formidable uncle proposing a match, no doubt one advantageous to himself, but not the one she longed for. She was in awe of him, like most of the family, and feared she lacked the courage to stand up for herself.
She was trembling by the time they arrived at the great gate of Norfolk House. The porter told them that his Grace the Duke was awaiting them in my lady of Norfolk’s chamber. In great trepidation, Katheryn mounted the stairs.
She was surprised to find her uncle alone with the Dowager Duchess. The room was glowing with candlelight and a hearty fire crackled on the hearth. She rose from her curtsey and waited, head demurely lowered.
“Welcome, Mistress Katheryn,” the Duke said. His wall-like face with its long nose and pale eyebrows was creased in what passed for a smile. “You will be wondering why I have sent for you.” He leaned forward in his great chair. “What we are about to discuss must not go beyond these four walls, do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Katheryn said, swallowing.
“Katheryn, God has vouchsafed you an opportunity to return this benighted realm to the true faith. As champions of the old Catholic religion, we Howards cannot but detest the so-called reformers and their new order in England. I am not ashamed to say that I have never read the Scriptures, nor ever will, but I know the faith of my forefathers must be upheld, and I know, too, that it was merry in England before this new learning came up!” His lips set in a grimace. “There is one man in particular who has been the architect of this wickedness.”
Katheryn had no idea who he was talking about, and his mention of her having some part in returning England to the true faith had alarmed her. She was no would-be martyr, but a simple girl who loved God and observed the rites of her faith. She was beginning to wonder if her uncle had gone slightly mad.
“I mean Cromwell!” the Duke spat, his voice choking with venom. “Him and those arrogant reformers on the Council.”
Lord Cromwell. She had seen him about the court several times, had heard others talking about him, and knew he was very powerful. But she had not been interested.
“He arranged the Cleves marriage,” the Duke was saying. “He pushed the King into it, and now his Majesty wants to get out. And I, the Bishop of Winchester, and our friends of the old faith mean to ensure that he does.”
“The King does not love the Queen?” Katheryn asked.
“No, and never has! He did not even want to go through with the wedding, but our friend Cromwell told him there was no way to break the contract. The marriage remains unconsummated.”
So the rumors had been true. Katheryn felt sorry for poor Queen Anna, who was so pleasant and kind. Had she any idea of the danger she was in?
“We no longer need the alliance with Cleves,” the Duke continued. “The Emperor and the French King are both suing for England’s friendship. Our job is to persuade his Majesty that some pretext must be found to divorce him from the Queen—and what better persuasion than to place in his path a young lady of great beauty whom he will find irresistible, especially since he is getting old and must needs speedily marry again and sire more sons to secure the succession. That is where you come in, Katheryn.”
Her first reaction was revulsion. Marry the King! No, it could not be! He was old and fat and he smelled—and he had had four unhappy wives. If she wanted to marry anyone, it was Tom. And how could she betray her sweet, unsuspecting mistress by plotting to supplant her?
“We believe it essential to replace Anna of Cleves with a Catholic queen and bring down Cromwell,” Norfolk stated determinedly. “I have already seen one of my nieces become queen, and I see no reason why another should not rise so high. Katheryn, you are much prettier than the Boleyn whore and you have charm. The King will be enchanted.”
“We are confident that you have a brilliant future ahead, child,” the Dowager Duchess chimed in, smiling. “I will be happy to recommend you to his Majesty. Think what it will mean to be queen of this land!”
Katheryn stood there, wringing her hands in turmoil. Her grandam’s words had brought home to her the advantages of her uncle’s plan. The prospect of becoming queen was a dazzling one, even if it did mean marrying an old and ailing man. But…
They were waiting for her to be obedient to their wishes, to show herself grateful. She realized that, against such a powerful coalition, any protest of hers would quickly be silenced. She had no choice but to comply. But what of Tom? What of the Queen? They would be the first casualties of her compliance. She was racked with dismay and, already, a strong sense of guilt and loss. How could she give Tom up?
“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” the Duke barked, his eyes steely. “Most girls would be ecstatic at the prospect of being queen.”
“You should be sensible of the great honor of being chosen by his Grace here for so high a destiny,” the Duchess reproved.
“Oh, I am, I am, I am very grateful,” Katheryn said hurriedly. “I was too overcome by the honor to say anything.”
They both looked slightly mollified.
“But,” she went on, “the King has never paid me much attention, so I am not sure that he will be interested in me.”
“By the time we have finished with you, he will be interested!” the Duchess assured her. “We will take care to see that he cannot but notice you.”
“Thank you,” Katheryn said lamely. “But I would not see the Queen hurt on my account.”
“The King will take steps to divorce her sooner or later, whatever we do,” the Duke said. “She’ll probably do very well out of it and be happier than she is now.”
“I do hope so.”
“Stop fretting, Katheryn.” The Duchess’s tone was firm.
“Now,” her uncle said, “you will be advised by us on how to behave and how to entertain the King, and how often. After attracting his attention, you will not appear too eager. That should increase his ardor all the more.”
“Encourage him, then draw back,” the Duchess exhorted. “Don’t give too much too soon.”
The Duke regarded Katheryn sternly. “I am aware that you have some experience in these matters.”
Her face flamed. What had the Duchess told him?
“I was most disappointed in you, but whatever has gone before, you will maintain the appearance of being pure and honest, although you will make it clear to the King that you will welcome his embraces after he has put a wedding ring on your finger. He prizes virtue in women most highly.”
Who was her uncle to talk? she thought indignantly. What an old hypocrite he was, with his Duchess shut away in the country so that he could disport himself with Bess Holland! What did he know about virtue?
“You must never, ever confess to his Majesty anything about your previous affairs, especially that nonsense about a precontract with Mr. Dereham,” the Duchess enjoined. “There is no need for him to know about these things.”
That was a relief. Anyway, it was all behind her and of no importance now.
There was no point at all in mentioning her love for Tom Culpeper; it would count as nothing against this plan to marry her to the King. But she felt sick at the thought of ending their affair, for end it she must.
“We must best make a start now,” the Duchess said. “I will summon the tailor.”
Katheryn was astonished to find that he was already there, waiting in the gallery. He had obviously been well primed, because he came laden with bolts of glorious fabrics. Her grandam chose one of green, which reminded Katheryn of the dress she had loved as a child, and three more of scarlet, yellow, and tawny.
“These will suit your coloring,” she said, then turned to the tailor. “Come with us. You can take Mistress Katheryn’s measurements.” She led them into a small closet and closed the door. “Pray make the gowns in the French style, with hoods to match,” she said, as the tailor took out his tape measure. “Katheryn, I will lend you some jewels so that you sparkle at court. I will look them out for you later.”
Katheryn stared at the sumptuous materials. They must cost a fortune; even for court, she had never owned such clothing. Her uncle was determined she should succeed, that was clear. And these riches were just a foretaste of what would be hers if she played her part to advantage.
“Have you heard anything of Mr. Dereham?” the Duchess asked as Katheryn stood with her arms stretched out.
“No,” she replied, feeling guilty that she had not written to him.