Katheryn Howard, the Scandalous Queen

by Alison Weir

  “But we are not. It would be a lie, because I never promised to marry you.”

  “I’m asking you again now.” He took her hand, gently this time, his eyes earnest, pleading.

  “The answer must be no,” she told him, and saw him wince. “I am not free to make my own choices, believe me. But I will always love you, as I always have.” She broke down again.

  Tom stood up and walked to the door without a word, leaving her kneeling there.

  * * *

  —

  A few days later, Katheryn was among the maids and ladies attending on the Queen at a performance by Anna’s new consort of musicians, the Bassanos of Venice, in her privy chamber. She was conscious of the King’s eye straying upon her from time to time as she sat on the floor between Kate Carey and Anne Bassett, and of Tom Culpeper, too, standing with the other gentlemen, darkly brooding and never looking her way.

  Anne Bassett had been in a morose mood, too, all morning, and the music did not seem to be doing anything to cheer her. During one particularly poignant piece, she suddenly fell to weeping on Elizabeth Seymour’s shoulder. At a signal from the Queen, Mother Lowe hauled the girl to her feet and led her out, clucking sympathetically. The King was frowning, but the company soon settled down.

  Later, as Katheryn was helping to clear the table after Henry and Anna had shared a private supper, she heard him say that he had had Anne’s stepfather, Lord Lisle, the deputy of Calais, arrested for treason, which would certainly have accounted for Anne’s tears. It upset Katheryn, too, for Lord Lisle had been good to Father, even in the face of his incompetence. She could not imagine what his lordship could have done to deserve being arrested, and it brought home to her how great and far-reaching the King’s authority was. This was not her humble suitor who whispered sweet words imploring her to love him. This was a man who wielded terrible power over all his subjects, high and low, and could crush any of them if they displeased him. She shivered, wondering if it was wise to entangle herself further with him. Lord Lisle had been riding high in a position of the greatest trust; then suddenly he had fallen with his whole world crumbling about him.

  She heard the Queen ask, “Should I dismiss her?”

  “No, Anna,” the King answered. “She has committed no treason, and I like the little minx. You may tell her that my displeasure does not extend to her.”

  Katheryn had to return to the servery then, so she did not hear the rest of the conversation, but she felt comforted. There was kindness in the King after all. She was worrying about nothing.

  * * *

  —

  She had avoided going into the palace gardens after that horrible scene with Tom at Durham House. She felt guilty and could not forget the look on his face as she dashed his hopes. But the weather was warm on the last day of May and she was fed up with being indoors or confined to the Queen’s privy garden; when Isabel and Margaret asked her to walk with them, she thought, why not? They would be there for her protection, should Tom approach her with harsh words, although she doubted he would do that anyway.

  “There’s still been no announcement about the Queen’s coronation,” Margaret said, as they strolled along a graveled path between flower beds enclosed by low rails with tall colored poles at each corner bearing statues of heraldic beasts. “Not long ago, people were talking about little else.”

  “She was supposed to be crowned at Whitsun,” Katheryn recalled. In truth, she had been so preoccupied with her own affairs that she had forgotten about the coronation. She wondered if Uncle Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner had convinced the King that he should set the Queen aside.

  “Yes,” Isabel said, “but, if you ask me, there won’t be a coronation—or not yet. Queen Jane never had one. First there was plague, then the Pilgrimage of Grace—and then she died in childbed. But Edward reckoned that the King would not have gone to that expense until she had borne him an heir. Had she lived, I’ll wager she’d have been crowned. But this Queen…Methinks there is no likelihood of an heir. The King does not come to her bed these days.”

  “But he needs another son,” Margaret said.

  “Has he said anything to you, Katheryn?” Isabel asked. It was a tacit admission that she—and many other people, no doubt—knew about Henry’s pursuit of Katheryn, and it showed that she had no intention of pretending it wasn’t happening. Whether she approved or not was another matter. Katheryn knew that her half-sister had her interests at heart, but she so wanted her approval.

  “He never mentions the Queen,” she said, “and I want you to know that nothing improper has taken place between us.”

  “You are holding out for marriage?” Isabel asked. “It’s what people are saying.”

  Katheryn was taken aback by her bluntness.

  “You wouldn’t be the first to use such tactics,” Isabel said. Her tone was disapproving.

  “Has it occurred to you that I might have no choice but to receive his courtship?” Katheryn asked, unable to bear Isabel judging her without knowing the truth. She bent close to her half-sister’s ear. “My lord of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner constrained me to it. My heart was elsewhere, but I dared not tell them. I cannot say more.”

  Isabel stared at her, then turned to Margaret. “You go on, dear. I can see Dora and Ursula ahead. I need to talk to Katheryn.” Margaret obeyed, with an understanding smile.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Isabel said.

  “I do. Much hangs on it. And I have ended it with my other suitor, much to his grief.” Katheryn looked around nervously, as she had been doing all the way from the palace, for any sign of Tom.

  “Oh, my poor girl,” Isabel said, and squeezed her hand. “Has the King mentioned marriage?”

  “No, he—” She broke off because there, striding along the path toward them, was Francis. He was the second-to-last person she wanted to see—or had expected to see. Only last week, her grandam had told her that he was in Ireland, adding mysteriously that it was on Katheryn’s account. When Katheryn had pressed her to say more, the old lady had said he had gone to make his fortune in the foolish hope that he might marry her. “I sent him off with a flea in his ear,” she’d snorted.

  “Is this the suitor?” Isabel asked.

  “No,” Katheryn faltered. “This is Mr. Dereham, who was in my lady of Norfolk’s service at Lambeth.”

  Francis doffed his cap and swept an exaggerated bow. “At your service, ladies.” When he stood up, his mouth was upturned in a wolfish grin, but his eyes were not smiling.

  “Good day, Mr. Dereham,” Katheryn managed to say. “This is my half-sister Lady Baynton, the wife of the Queen’s chamberlain. Isabel, may I present Mr. Dereham?” Francis bowed again.

  “I am no longer in the Duchess’s service,” he told them. “I am here in attendance on Lord William Howard, who has been a good patron to me.”

  “I have not heard from you in some time, Mr. Dereham,” Katheryn said, admiring his roguish good looks and feeling still that pull of attraction.

  “I have been in Ireland,” he told her.

  “Ireland?” she echoed, feigning surprise.

  “You have family or business there?” Isabel asked politely.

  “I had business there,” he replied, “and it concerned Mistress Katheryn. If, by your leave, Lady Baynton, I might have a word in private with her…”

  Isabel looked at Katheryn. Clearly, she was wondering if it was proper to leave the two of them alone together.

  “It’s all right,” Katheryn said. “Mr. Dereham is my cousin, and the Duchess’s. I have known him for a long time.” She saw a fleeting smirk on his face.

  Isabel smiled politely. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dereham.” She walked off in the direction of the others. Katheryn was horrified to see Tom standing a little way beyond them, staring at her and Francis with a grim look on his face. She could guess
what he was thinking.

  “Why don’t we go down by the river?” she suggested, and led the way along a path that wound behind a hedge.

  “So what was your business in Ireland?” she asked lightly, once they were out of Tom’s line of sight.

  “I turned pirate!” Francis replied. There was an edge to his voice. “I went to Ireland soon after I heard from Meg Morton that the King’s Grace was in love with you. I also heard from Kat Tilney that there was talk at court that you were to marry a gentleman of the King’s Privy Chamber. I thought I would combine my thirst for adventure with making lots of money so that I could compete with such grand company.” There was a sneer in his voice. “I spent my savings on a boat and tried holding merchant vessels to ransom. I didn’t have much success and had to come home.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Is it true, this talk? What is going on, Katheryn?”

  Katheryn took a deep breath. “It is true that this gentleman, Mr. Culpeper, paid court to me, but there was no talk of marriage between us. If you heard such a report, you heard more than I know. Besides, I put him off when the King showed an interest in me. I could not say no to the King.”

  “Are you the King’s mistress?” He flung the words at her.

  “No, and never will be.”

  Francis’s eyebrows narrowed. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Katheryn, but you need to remember two things. One is that I still love you; the other is that you are precontracted to me and not free to marry anyone else.”

  “Not that again!” she cried. “Why are you troubling me with this now? It’s over between us. I will not have you!”

  He gave her a severe look. “I know you better than that, Katheryn. I could make you mine if I willed it, although I dare not, for the King is after you. But, if he were dead, I would marry you.”

  “Hush!” she hissed, looking around nervously to check that no one had heard him. “Don’t you know it’s treason to speak of the King’s death?”

  “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” Francis retorted. “Fear not, I’m leaving and will not trouble you again. Just remember that bigamy is frowned upon.”

  * * *

  —

  She walked back toward the palace in turmoil. Isabel had waited for her.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Katheryn said. “That man is hounding me. He took an unwelcome interest in me at Lambeth and is behaving as if he was all the world to me.”

  “Do you want me to speak to him?” Isabel asked, taking her hand.

  Katheryn looked behind them to check that Francis was not following. “No. I just want to avoid him without making any fuss. Least said, soonest mended. Hopefully, he’s got the message.”

  “Well,” Isabel said doubtfully, “if you need my help, you know where I am.”

  They walked on in silence along the gravel path. It was unbelievable that Francis was here at court. Why were there so many entanglements in her life? At that moment, she didn’t want to be involved with anyone—Francis, Tom, or even the King. She just wanted to be left alone. But there, waiting for her in the antechamber to the Queen’s lodgings, was an usher in the royal livery.

  “His Majesty requests that you meet him in his privy garden at five o’clock tomorrow, Mistress Katheryn. I myself will come to escort you.”

  Her heart sank. She had no choice but to go and look happy about it.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, when she emerged from the dorter, Mother Lowe was waiting for her in the Queen’s presence chamber. “Mistress Katheryn, the Duke of Norfolk would be grateful if you would wait on him in the great hall,” she said. Her tone was cold and Katheryn guessed she had heard the gossip. Mother Lowe would have lain down and died for Queen Anna. Naturally, she would hate anyone who caused her any hurt.

  Katheryn glanced at the clock on the court cupboard. “I am due to wait upon the Queen in five minutes,” she said.

  “Her Grace has given you leave to see your uncle.”

  “That is kind of her,” Katheryn said, and sped off.

  Norfolk was seated alone at the table on the dais. Further down the hall, servants were stacking the trestle tables used at breakfast against the walls. The Duke stood up and ushered Katheryn into a window embrasure with a cushioned seat.

  “Sit down,” he bade her. “I wanted to ask if all goes well.”

  “Very well, my lord,” she replied. “I think the King fancies himself in love with me.”

  “Indeed.” He smiled at her. “That is good progress. Has he mentioned marriage or divorcing the Queen?”

  “Not yet, Sir.”

  “Well, give it time. He will come to the point, I have no doubt. When are you seeing him again?”

  “Later this afternoon.”

  “Good.” The Duke leaned closer. “Cromwell is tottering. The King might have made him Earl of Essex, but he has a habit of showing favor to those he means to destroy. Mark me, that man’s days are numbered. If you get the chance, use your wiles to convince his Majesty that Cromwell is no good to him.”

  Katheryn felt uncomfortable. “But I know nothing about him!”

  “You know that the Cleves marriage was his doing. Granted, you can’t criticize him for that until the King gives a sign that he is thinking of ending the marriage, but you can say you have heard gossip that Cromwell is a heretic Lutheran. All you need to do is plant the seed in his Grace’s mind. He is very suggestible and, if he is as besotted with you as you say, he will be receptive.”

  “All right,” Katheryn agreed, fearing nevertheless that she would be out of her depth. “I will do my best.”

  “Continue as you have begun and you’ll have a crown on your head before you know it!” Norfolk grinned.

  1540

  The King was sitting in the arbor when Katheryn arrived in the privy garden that afternoon.

  “It’s a beautiful day, Sir,” she said as she rose from her curtsey and went to sit beside him.

  He sighed. “You are a feast for the eyes, Katheryn, and it gives me the greatest pleasure to see you. But I am, in a manner, weary of my life. I am not well handled by those who advise me.”

  Katheryn seized her moment. “Do you mean the Earl of Essex?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Why do you say that, sweetheart?”

  “Well, there are rumors, Sir. I shouldn’t repeat them to you; they are probably nothing.”

  “No, go on, Katheryn. I need to know what people are saying.”

  “They say he is a Lutheran heretic, Sir, who does your Grace no good service. I’m not quite sure what they mean.”

  “Hmm.” The King’s face had flushed. “That is interesting.”

  “I meant no harm,” she said.

  “Of course not,” he assured her. “But I didn’t summon you to hear my woes or talk about my lord of Essex. I wanted to ask you something.”

  She held her breath.

  “Katheryn, are you truly free from any entanglements?”

  “Entanglements, Sir?” She affected innocence, but she had a good idea of where this was going. Her pulse began to race.

  “I mean, are you betrothed or promised to anyone?”

  Fleetingly, she thought of Francis, but pushed the thought resolutely away. “No, Sir.”

  “It is a marvel to me that some young gallant has not snapped you up,” the King said, laying his hand on hers.

  “I have no dowry,” she told him.

  “Ah. But what would that matter against such beauty and charm?”

  She laughed. “It seems to matter very much.”

  “It is the misfortune of those of high birth to be married for profit and advantage. I speak from experience, as one who has married both for policy and for love. Love is the more important. Never forget that, Katheryn. What good is policy whe
n you are forced to spend your life sleeping with a woman you cannot love?”

  She guessed who he was referring to. “It can only bring unhappiness to both spouses,” she said. He nodded sadly.

  He said no more about marriage, but went on to tell her about the summer hunting progress he was planning; she would be going, too, in attendance on the Queen.

  Presently, it was suppertime and she had to leave. The King kissed her hand, his eyes drinking her in.

  “I will send for you again, very soon,” he said.

  * * *

  —

  Had she any entanglements? His question went round and round in her head. He would not have asked it, surely, if he did not have marriage in mind—unless, of course, he meant to find a husband for her, which she very much doubted was his intention. No, he must be thinking of proposing!

  She sought out Uncle Norfolk as soon as she could to tell him about the conversation. She found him in his lodging with Bishop Gardiner and, over a glass of wine, told them what the King had said—and how she had brought up the subject of Cromwell.

  “You have done well, Mistress,” Gardiner pronounced. “Our faith in you was not misplaced.”

  “He is thinking of marriage,” Norfolk said. “All is falling out as we intended.”

  * * *

  —

  It was. Not two weeks later, news went winging about the court that Cromwell had been arrested for treason and heresy, stripped of his honors and carried off to the Tower. Katheryn wondered if what she had said to the King had been instrumental in bringing this about, and felt a pang of guilt, but Uncle Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner were triumphant.

  “That’s an end to the blacksmith’s boy!” the Duke exulted. “Now the governance of England will be in the hands of those who were bred to it!”

  * * *

  —

  It was a hot, dry summer, the hottest Katheryn could remember, and there was no rain. By the third week of June, the grass was looking parched and there were fears that plague might break out.