by Alison Weir
“You shall be one of my chamberers,” Katheryn told her, thinking that Joan Bulmer could not possibly hear of this in faraway York. “Meg will show you to the maidens’ dorter and explain your duties. Remember, I require strict discretion and loyalty from those who serve me.” Her eyes held Kat’s. She hoped her meaning was clear. Kat had been a witness to things Katheryn would rather forget.
“Of course, Madam.” Kat smiled. “I am so grateful to be serving you.”
“You may send Mr. Dereham back to Lambeth,” Katheryn said, needing to know that he had left court.
“I will tell him, Madam,” Kat said, with a knowing smile.
* * *
—
As yet, Katheryn had not met the King’s children. Three-year-old Prince Edward had his own establishment; like his sister, the Lady Elizabeth, who was seven, he lodged in turn at the various nursery palaces surrounding London, where the air was cleaner and more healthful than in the city. Katheryn hoped to meet them both soon; Henry had promised that she would, for he loved them very much and was eager for them to know their new stepmother, but both plague and progress had prevented him from sending for them.
“Soon I will,” he promised.
Katheryn was nervous about meeting the King’s elder daughter, the Lady Mary. At twenty-four, Mary was five years her senior and, while people sang her praises, saying she was devout, virtuous, and kind, it was also murmured that she was embittered because of her parents’ divorce and her lack of a husband. She had found solace in the faith she shared with Katheryn, but it sounded as if she lived like a nun. She did not seem like the kind of companion who would fit into the Queen’s merry, pleasure-loving circle and so Katheryn had done nothing to cultivate her friendship; she had not even written Mary a letter.
She was apprehensive, therefore, when her stepdaughter visited court early in December. Sumptuously attired in velvet and furs, and glistening with jewels, as unlike a nun as could be, Mary entered Henry’s presence chamber and curtseyed low before him. She was a plain young woman with red hair, a snub nose, tight lips, and peering eyes, as if she was short-sighted, and her manner was poised yet timid.
She regarded Katheryn warily as she rose from her curtsey. Katheryn felt herself under scrutiny. Nervously, she smiled, and Mary reciprocated, although her smile did not reach her eyes.
“I will leave you ladies to get better acquainted,” Henry said, beaming, and left the Queen’s chamber. At once, the other women gathered around Mary, paying as much court to her as they normally did to Katheryn, and, for the rest of that day, she was the center of attention. Katheryn sat aloof, by choice, feeling left out and wishing that Mary wasn’t staying for three days. As for the two maids who had come in attendance on her, they ignored Katheryn entirely!
At one point, Mary came over to her as she sat at the virginals, hitting the keys as loudly as she could.
“May I sit with your Grace?” she asked.
“Of course,” Katheryn replied stiffly.
“I hear you are a friend to the true faith,” Mary said. “It needs such a champion in these difficult times.”
“Indeed,” Katheryn answered, unwilling to unbend.
“I was glad to hear that my father’s Grace is so happily married,” Mary continued. “I trust your Grace is happy, too. If you ever need any advice or help, I would be pleased to give it. You are very young and inexperienced in the ways of the court. My mother was queen and a wonderful example to all.”
“Thank you,” Katheryn said, angry because Mary had clearly found her wanting beside that paragon of a mother of hers, and was implying that she herself was too young and inept to make a good queen. “I am nearly twenty and have the King himself to guide me. You know how attentive he is.”
“Indeed. I have known him a lot longer than your Grace,” Mary said, leaving Katheryn seething.
Before she could think of a retort, Lady Suffolk came and sat with them, and took Mary’s hand. “My dear mother loved your Grace’s mother so much,” she said. “You will be sad to hear that she died last year.”
“That is indeed doleful news,” Mary said, tears welling in her eyes. “I loved her; she was always kind to me. And my sainted mother adored her.”
As they continued reminiscing and others joined in, Katheryn again felt excluded. She had nothing in common with Mary except their faith, no shared history. Her ladies were supposed to be there to attend on her and keep her entertained, not to fawn endlessly over Mary! She said as much to Henry at supper that evening. “They ignored me for most of the afternoon,” she complained.
“Forgive them, darling; some of them knew my daughter in her younger days.” He looked wistful for a moment as if he was thinking back to that far-off time when he was young and married to Queen Katherine, with an adored daughter—and still hopeful of a son. If Katherine had borne that son, how different the course of history would have been. Katheryn might not be sitting here today.
“It was not just my ladies! The Lady Mary herself did not treat me with the respect that is my due. And the two maids she brought with her just ignored me, too!”
Henry sighed. “I see. Well, if you wish it, Katheryn, I will send Mary away to join her brother Edward at Ashridge. I will tell her that we are leaving for Oatlands. And I will order that those maids be dismissed.”
“Thank you, Henry,” Katheryn said, resting her hand on his. He looked unhappy. Of course, he enjoyed seeing his daughter. Now she felt bad for having made him send Mary away. But Mary was to blame. She should have made her maids show the Queen her proper due, and not spoken so patronizingly.
In the morning, Henry arrived late at the stables with Monsieur Chapuys in tow.
“My apologies, darling,” he said, seeing Katheryn waiting for him, wearing a green velvet riding habit. “I will not be a moment.”
He turned to the ambassador. “So the Lady Mary has asked you to intercede for her maids?” He put an arm around Chapuys’s shoulders and drew him a little apart from the hunting party. But not far enough, for Katheryn could still hear what was being said.
“Your Majesty, she fears that the order to send them away proceeded entirely from the Queen.”
“We will not have anyone show disrespect to her Grace,” Henry countered.
“She insists it was not intended, Sire,” Chapuys replied.
“Well, maybe I was over-harsh. I will rescind the order. Tell the maids to make ready to leave with the Lady Mary tomorrow.”
Katheryn’s anger, too, had dissipated. She made no complaint when Henry rejoined her and they rode out into the park. He was sending Mary away. It was enough. But, during the hunt, she was disconcerted to hear Monsieur de Marillac observing to Chapuys that the pure atmosphere surrounding the Lady Mary was in marvelous contrast to the tainted air of the court. Was he referring to her? She almost taxed him with it, but caught herself in time. It was better to keep silent about such matters.
To please Henry, when Mary left the following morning, Katheryn gave her a jeweled pomander. “It is a token of my esteem,” she told her stepdaughter. Mary, who had barely smiled when bidding her farewell, looked nonplussed.
“This is most kind of your Grace,” she said. “It is a beautiful gift and I shall treasure it.”
Henry was beaming broadly, delighted that Katheryn had made the gesture. Basking in his approval, she decided to send something to Elizabeth, too. From her great store of jewels, she chose some pretty beads, and a gold cameo brooch studded with rubies and emeralds, colorful pieces a child would love. The King was thrilled.
“You have a generous heart, darling,” he told her.
* * *
—
Oatlands in December was a place of magic, coated with layers of snow beneath a hazy bright sky pierced by the sun’s rays. It was hard to believe that it was more than four months since she and Henry had be
en married here. To mark their return, he gave her two rosaries.
It was lovely to be back and capture once more those brief days of privacy they had shared on their honeymoon. The only thing that marred their stay was Tom Culpeper’s presence. He had finished with whatever business had taken him away from court and was constantly in attendance on Henry, who treated him almost like a son. Katheryn was courteous whenever she was obliged to speak to him, but she took care to ensure that their eyes never met, lest Henry suspect that there had been something between them. She was constantly aware of Tom’s gaze on her, and wished he would look away. She still felt attracted to him, to his manliness and his vigor, but loyally she tried to avoid comparing him to Henry. Tom could not give her what Henry could, and Henry did love her so. But then, whispered a disloyal little voice in her head, Henry could not give her what Tom could! It upset her to realize that she might never again have a younger lover.
They were at Oatlands for three weeks before they left to spend Christmas at Hampton Court. On arrival there, Henry surprised Katheryn with a gift of a rope of large pearls, for which she thanked him with many grateful kisses. He was in high good spirits and dined and supped with her every day in her apartments.
The Christmas revels were even more magnificent than they had been a year ago when everyone was awaiting the arrival of Anna of Cleves. Trumpets sounded every time the King and Queen appeared for a feast or a revel; the royal musicians played for the court on sackbuts, drums, and viols; the Gentlemen and Children of the Chapel Royal sang like angels; there was dancing, hunting, and disports; and heralds distributed the King’s largesse to all. Katheryn had never been so happy or entered into festivities so joyfully.
1541
On New Year’s Day, Henry woke Katheryn with a kiss and pulled her to him. She submitted to his lovemaking with open arms and a willing smile; she was used to it now. His aging body held no terrors for her, and he knew how to please a lady. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have been the perfect lover.
Afterward, sitting up in bed, he gave her eight exquisite jewels as New Year’s gifts: pendant laces with fair table diamonds, ropes of pearls, a square pendant with clusters of diamonds and pearls, and a gorgeous black velvet muff lined with sables and ornamented with rubies, hundreds of pearls, and tiny gold chains. She cried out in delight when she saw this treasure trove, and glimpsed tears in Henry’s eyes.
She sat beside him that morning through the long presentation of gifts in the presence chamber, marveling at the riches his courtiers bestowed on him. Then she went to her own presence chamber to distribute presents to her ladies and servants. Margaret Douglas was thrilled with the Venetian glass beads she received, while Isabel gasped out loud at the girdle of goldsmith’s work Katheryn gave her.
At dinner, Henry was in an expansive mood. “I’ve sent money to the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth. They will know better than I what to buy with it. Oh, and I’ve rewarded your minstrels and players, darling.”
“That was kind.” Katheryn smiled, pouring sauce on her roast fowl. “You are good to me, Henry.”
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her devotedly. “Darling, the Lady Anna is nearby at Richmond, so I thought we could invite her to court to share the festivities. She has been so amenable in regard to the annulment, and when I told her of our marriage, she did not begrudge me my happiness.”
Katheryn did not, in principle, mind Anna coming to court, for she had always liked her, but she could foresee some awkwardness between them. How could it be otherwise when she had supplanted Anna as queen? And Anna had been raised in courts; she might find Katheryn lacking in the dignity of a queen.
She smiled. “Of course she must come,” she said.
Henry was looking at her curiously. “Is it my imagination, or have you put on weight?” he asked.
Katheryn flushed. She had indeed put on weight, with all the rich fare that had been served to her these past months, and her ladies had been unable to lace her gowns as tightly as they had back in the summer. She had hoped that Henry would not notice.
“Could it be that you are with child?” he asked eagerly.
“I know I am not,” she said, hating to disappoint him.
“Never mind,” he said briskly. “I will continue to live in hope.” It sounded like a reproach. At nearly fifty, he, unlike her, had no time to waste.
“Oh, so will I!” she cried. “I pray for it every day.”
“Then we will have to make sure that there is every chance of it happening,” Henry said, winking at her, and all was well again.
* * *
—
The Lady Anna’s gifts to the King preceded her—two great horses with purple velvet trappings. Henry was ecstatic.
“At least she’s spending the fortune I pay her wisely!” he observed, stroking the animals’ manes as he, Katheryn, and a host of courtiers stood in the stables’ courtyard, admiring the horses. “These are fine mounts indeed!”
Anna followed that afternoon. Apprised of her approach, Katheryn sent the Duchess of Suffolk, the Countess of Hertford, and other ladies to greet her and conduct her to her lodgings. Henry had commanded that she be given a spacious apartment with rich furnishings. Nothing was too good for her. Katheryn thought it remarkable that his dislike had so soon turned to esteem.
In her own chambers, Katheryn paced up and down in her gown of cloth of silver, still anxious about receiving her predecessor. She could not forget that she had been Anna’s maid-of-honor and that she had betrayed her trust. She had summoned Lord Chancellor Audley and her uncle, the Earl of Sussex, who was Lord Great Chamberlain, and asked for their advice as to how she should treat her visitor.
“Your Grace is the Queen now,” they told her. “The Lady Anna will understand that. Have no fear.”
Katheryn entered her presence chamber and stood on the dais, her ladies grouped around her. She did not sit, feeling it was inappropriate, given Anna’s high rank as a princess of Cleves. Then Anna was announced and, to Katheryn’s mortification, fell to her knees in front of her with as much reverence and ceremony as if she herself were the most insignificant damsel at court.
“Oh, please, my Lady Anna, do not kneel to me, I pray!” Katheryn cried, bending forward to help her to her feet. “I am so pleased to see you! I have dearly hoped that we can be friends. You were always a kind mistress to me, and now I long to do you favor in return.” She embraced Anna and kissed her. Anna reciprocated warmly, and for the first time Katheryn wondered if the annulment had come as a welcome blessing to her. There was no rancor in her eyes, only goodwill.
“Make way for his Majesty the King!” cried an usher, and Henry entered the room, smiling broadly.
“Welcome, Anna, my dear sister!” he said, opening his arms to his former wife and pressing his lips to hers. “I see you two ladies are pleasantly according together. The horses are splendid—I cannot thank you sufficiently. My love…” He let Anna go and embraced Katheryn, kissing her heartily and making her blush. Maybe he wanted to give the lie to those rumors and show the world which of the two of them he really loved.
As the trumpets sounded, he escorted them both into the presence chamber for supper, Katheryn on his right hand and Anna on his left. The fresh aroma of evergreens filled the room and candles glimmered amidst festive table and window decorations of pine cones, spiced dried oranges, and juniper berries.
Katheryn seated herself next to the King at the high table. She saw that Anna was placed at a seat near the end, below the salt yet close enough to converse with her and Henry and the Lady Mary, who had come up from the country. She watched as Anna sat down, smiling at those around her, looking as unconcerned as if there had never been anything between her and Henry.
Supper was a very merry and convivial occasion, with much laughter and wine, and Katheryn found herself enjoying Anna’s company in a way she had
never been able to before. She even managed to share a jest with Mary, whose manner toward her was much more friendly and respectful than on the previous occasion. Excitedly, Katheryn told them both about the lavish Twelfth Night celebrations that were being planned and discussed the ever-fascinating subject of clothes—she was pleased to mark that Anna was wearing an English gown—and the gifts the King had given her.
She was itching to be up and dancing. “Are we going to dance?” she asked. “Oh, Henry, please say we can dance. I love it when you lead me out before the court.”
Henry smiled at her, but shook his head. “I think I am rather tired and would prefer to go to bed,” he said. “But you ladies can dance together.” He signaled to the musicians in the gallery, and they began playing.
“Oh, thank you, Henry!” she cried.
“Don’t be too late,” he said, caressing her cheek as he rose to leave. Everyone stood, but he waved them down. “Be seated, my friends! Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
When he had gone, Katheryn and Anna sat together, talking as they emptied their goblets. As soon as the wine was drunk, Katheryn extended her hand. “My Lady Anna, please dance with me!” She was a little tipsy and desperate to be out on the floor.
Anna looked uncertain and Katheryn wondered if she had placed her new friend in an embarrassing position. She could recall seeing Anna dance hardly at all. But Anna rose. “It will be my pleasure,” she said, taking Katheryn’s hand.
“The pavane!” Katheryn cried, and the musicians changed to a slow and stately tune. She enjoyed showing off her skill as a dancer, and noticed that Anna was moving about with increasing confidence. When Katheryn called for a lively branle, she joined in enthusiastically, clearly enjoying herself. Everyone was clapping and Katheryn bade the gentlemen lead out their ladies. Soon the floor was crowded. It was a wonderful evening and, at the end of it, she sank happily into bed.
The next day, Henry invited Anna to dine with him and Katheryn in his privy chamber, and again the conversation flowed, with much merriment. Afterward, Katheryn and Anna played backgammon in the Queen’s privy chamber. They were interrupted by the arrival of an usher with two tiny lapdogs. He bowed to Katheryn.