by Alison Weir
—
The court was quiet that week. It was so empty that it resembled more a private household than a King’s train. Katheryn was bored, and there was too much time to think—yet she was afraid where her thoughts might lead her.
When next she went to visit Henry, the guards outside his door crossed their halberds at her approach.
“What are you doing?” She put on her most imperious voice. “I wish to see the King!”
“I’m sorry, your Grace,” one officer said. “We have orders to admit no one, even yourself.”
Her face flushed and she walked away, smarting at such a public rejection. Why would he not see her? Had someone told him how she had feasted her eyes on Tom at the tennis? Or, worse, had their conversation in the antechamber been overheard? She had said nothing wrong, but she had not castigated Tom for his boldness.
“The King refuses to see me,” she confided to Isabel when her sister found her sitting alone in her bedchamber, fretting. “And I don’t know why!”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Isabel asked gently. “It’s pride. He won’t want you seeing him in a poorly state. And maybe he knows he is not good company.”
“Maybe,” Katheryn said, but she was not convinced. She had seen how easily Henry could become suspicious, how impulsively he shouted threats at those he believed had offended against him. She prayed that his displeasure had not fallen on her. But there was no way of finding out.
Or was there? Tom was in tune to all Henry’s moods. He would know.
She went to the Chapel Royal. It was Lent and no one would think it remarkable if she was at her prayers more often than usual. She knelt in the royal pew, where she could not be seen from the nave below. From time to time, she looked over the parapet to see who was down there.
A week passed, ten days, and still she went daily to the chapel. By now, she was mad with anxiety. The doctors had told her that Henry was still in low spirits and still refusing to see anyone. She read all kinds of horrors into that.
She could not be in the chapel all the time, but she spent as long as she could there. Oh, when would Tom come? He must come soon!
Some of her ladies were at prayer when next she entered the pew. She heard them get up and leave, heard them talking about her. The sibilant whispers carried.
“He’s been nearly two weeks without seeing her, when he couldn’t be a moment without her,” one said.
“Maybe he has tired of her,” someone else replied.
“There can’t be another divorce!”
“Surely not? Lady Rutland thinks her Grace is with child.”
The footsteps receded, leaving Katheryn aghast. Was that what people were thinking? And could it be true, that the King was contemplating divorcing her? If so, why? Had someone talked about her past or about Tom? Or was it because Henry believed her to be barren?
She was shaking when, as luck would have it, Tom walked into the chapel. She flew down the stairs and was relieved to find that he was alone.
“Your Grace!” he said, startled. “I was just snatching a few moments’ quiet. His Majesty has been very poorly and we’ve all been kept busy.”
Katheryn looked around to see if anyone was concealed in the shadows and lowered her voice. “Tom, I must know! Has he mentioned me?”
“He calls for you sometimes in his sleep,” Tom said, “and he did say that he hoped he would be well soon because he wanted to arrange your state entry into London. Why are you so upset?”
“Because I have heard talk that he is tired of me.” She must not let Tom see her cry. Who knew where that might lead?
“Well, that’s the first I’ve heard of it,” he said, regarding her with those beautiful eyes. “Right now, he’s preoccupied with finishing the fortifications at Calais and Guisnes. Remember, when he wanted to be rid of the Lady Anna, he talked of little else. It’s just gossip, Katheryn. Take no notice of it.”
“I won’t,” she said, aware that he had used her Christian name and not her title. “Thank you. You have set my mind at rest. It’s just that, what with his Grace refusing to see me…”
“He does not want you to see him laid so low. In your eyes, he wants to be all-powerful, the very image of vigorous manhood. I’m sure that’s the only reason. Anyone can see how he dotes on you. Indeed, it is painful to see.”
Their eyes locked. He had admitted that he still had feelings for her. There was a long pause.
Katheryn was the first to look away. “I’m sure Bess Harvey has helped you to forget that I ever meant anything to you,” she said.
“What was I to do?” he asked. “Live like a monk?”
“No.” She sighed. “I am not reproaching you in any way. But there can be nothing between us now.”
“I am well aware of that,” he said bitterly.
“I must go,” she said. “No one must see us talking alone together. I thank you for the reassurance you have given me. I feel so much happier now. We must pray that the King gets better quickly.”
She turned and left the chapel.
* * *
—
She knew she would not be fully reassured until she had seen and spoken with Henry. She was glad, therefore, when, two days later, he finally sent a message inviting her to dine with him.
Isabel came to help her dress, looking worried. “Madam, you will remember that our brother John was accused of conspiring with Cardinal Pole?”
“Yes, I do.” John Leigh was still in the Tower, and Katheryn felt guilty for not having secured his release.
“The Cardinal’s mother, Lady Salisbury, has been imprisoned in the Tower for over two years,” Isabel went on. “It is said that she is held in a cold cell with no warm clothing—and it’s freezing outdoors at the moment. She’s an old lady and I can’t bear to think of her suffering. Would you intercede for her with his Majesty—and for John?”
“Of course I will,” Katheryn agreed, shuddering to think of Lady Salisbury’s plight. “I’ll do all I can for them—when the right moment comes.”
When she arrived in Henry’s privy chamber, with just Anne Bassett in attendance on her, she found him at a table by the fire, his bad leg hidden beneath the damask cloth.
“Be seated, Katheryn,” he bade her. She searched his face for any sign of displeasure, but could see none.
“I am so glad to see you looking better,” she told him. “I have missed you.”
“The sickroom is no place for a young lady,” he told her. “There was nothing you could do, and I fear I was very fierce with my physicians. It is ever thus when my leg pains me. Thank God, I have my appetite back. Try this trout—it’s excellent.”
He served her a portion. She was so suffused with relief that she was near to tears.
“What ails you, darling?” Henry asked, all concern.
“Oh, Henry, I have been so worried,” she confessed. “I heard a rumor that you were tired of me.”
Henry frowned. “Who’s been saying such things?”
“I don’t know. I overheard people talking below the pew when I was in the chapel.”
“God’s blood, they take a crumb and call it a loaf! Darling, you must not believe such things or attach faith to rumors.”
Katheryn sagged with relief. She was hoping that Anne Bassett would report the King’s words to those ladies who had gossiped.
“I shall give them no more credence,” she said, brightening. “But I was also sad for another reason. I have heard that old Lady Salisbury lies in the Tower in harsh conditions, with inadequate clothes and heat in this bitter weather.”
Henry’s smile vanished, making her wish she hadn’t spoken. “She is a traitor,” he barked. “She is lucky that I let her live.”
“Forgive me,” Katheryn begged, alarmed at his change of mood. “I don’t know what she has done wrong, and I d
o know you will have dealt her just punishment. But our Lord teaches us to succor prisoners and I was moved by her plight, as she is an old lady.”
Henry sighed. “You have a kind heart, darling, but your sympathy is misplaced in this case. Lady Salisbury is my cousin and has a dubious claim to the throne. Some years ago, her son Cardinal Pole wrote a treasonable treatise against me, for which reason he is now in exile in Italy. Not long afterward, his brothers and their friends plotted to kill me. I had them executed and the rest of the family imprisoned in the Tower.”
“Was Lady Salisbury involved in the plot?”
Henry refilled his goblet. “I am convinced of it. When her castle at Warblington was searched by my officers, they found a silk tunic embroidered with the royal arms—undifferenced, as if they belonged to a reigning monarch. I have no doubt that the aim of the plot was to put Lady Salisbury or her sons on the throne in my stead. That is why she was condemned by Act of Attainder to lose her life and possessions. But, on account of her great age, I spared her the axe.”
“Your Grace is always most merciful,” Katheryn said, deeming flattery the best course, “but, traitor though she is, it upsets me to think of her suffering such privations, for she is but human. Might I send her some warm clothing?”
Henry frowned. She waited, hoping she had not angered him. “Very well,” he said at length. “But you will pay for them out of your privy purse.” It was the money he gave her for her pleasures.
“Oh, thank you, Henry! You are so kind!” she cried, rising and kissing him.
“Hmm,” he grunted, mellowing. “You’ll have me lodging traitors in the Tower palace next! I can deny you nothing.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her back. “How I love you, my little Queen!”
Katheryn was thinking that now was not the time to speak for John Leigh.
* * *
—
The next morning, she summoned Master Scutt, her tailor, and ordered him to make up garments to be sent to Lady Salisbury. A furred nightgown was a priority, and it should be lined with satin; she also asked for a kirtle of worsted, a furred petticoat, a bonnet and frontlet in the old gable style, four pairs of hose, four pairs of shoes, and a pair of slippers. What she spent could have paid a craftsman’s wages for a year, but it was all in a good cause, she told herself.
The tailor got to work at once and the garments were delivered to the Tower. Of course, Lady Salisbury was not allowed writing materials, so could not thank Katheryn, but it was enough to know that she would be warmer and more comfortable from now on.
The messenger had just been dispatched when Bess Harvey came to Katheryn, looking tearful. “Madam, I crave your leave to resign my post.”
Jealousy flared in Katheryn. She could not look at Bess these days without imagining her with Tom. “Why?” Her voiced sounded sharper than she had intended. “Are you unhappy here?”
Bess’s face flushed. “No, Madam, it is a personal matter that makes it necessary for me to go home.”
Katheryn did not probe any further. She was happy to see the girl go. “You have my leave,” she said. “I wish you well.” She forbore to thank Bess for her good service.
“Thank you, Madam.”
When she had gone, Katheryn smiled to herself. She’d wager a lot on this having something to do with Tom. Had he lost interest in Bess? Or was Bess upset because there really was a problem at home and she had to leave him behind at court?
* * *
—
It was now March and Henry was well on the mend, although he had not yet left his rooms.
“Let Tom Culpeper take you to the tennis play or the bowling alley,” he urged Katheryn, one sunny morning. “Spring is at hand and you should be out enjoying the fresh air.” He smiled at Tom.
“I shall be honored to escort her Grace,” Tom said.
Why did Henry insist on pushing them together? Katheryn asked herself as she returned to her apartments to fetch her cloak and two maids to follow at a respectable distance. It was as if he was encouraging them! But then he knew nothing of the love they had shared—the love she feared was blossoming anew. Because of this, she did not want to spend time with Tom. It might break her resolve to put the past firmly behind her. But how could she explain that to her unsuspecting husband?
Tom was waiting for her in the King’s privy garden. “What would your Grace like to do?” he asked.
In her dreams, she could have told him. He looked so attractive, standing tall and broad-shouldered in his elegant black gown and silver-striped doublet and bases, his cap in his hand and his dark hair curling about his shirt collar. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away. “Let us walk to the alley and watch the bowling,” she said.
They strolled through the gardens, past trees budding with blossom, speaking of how the weather had improved and how much better the King was. No one, watching them, would have suspected that there was anything between them.
The bowling alley was unfortunately deserted, so they sat down on one of the seats near the river, watching the boats, with Katheryn’s maids occupying another seat, chattering gaily. But Katheryn could think of no safe way to begin a conversation. So much that was unsaid lay between her and Tom. For months, she had resolutely thrust away all thoughts of him; now those dammed-up feelings were inundating her to the extent that she was frightened of what she might say or do. She really should not be here with him.
She was about to rise when he spoke.
“Katheryn, I am dying for love of you.” He said it in a whisper, so none could have heard, but the longing in his voice shocked her.
“You must not say such things to me!” she reproved him. “We are both bound by ties of loyalty to the King.”
“The King is ailing. Surely he cannot be a proper husband to you? But I—I could make you happy.”
“Hush!” She looked around nervously. There was no one in sight, only her maids, a few yards away, giggling among themselves. “I am happy. The King is a proper husband. I pray you say no more. I will not hear it.” She rose to her feet. “It grows chilly. I’m going back to my lodgings. Do not follow me, Tom. Farewell.”
“Katheryn…” His eyes were pleading.
“Farewell! And let that be an end to it!” She walked away, beckoning her maids to follow her. Her heart was thumping and her body trembling. She had been so near the brink, so tempted…She must never be alone with Tom again. It had been madness to think they could just be friends.
* * *
—
Jane Rochford was brushing Katheryn’s hair. The other women had finished preparing their mistress for bed and left. Soon, Katheryn hoped, the King would come to her; he had not yet done so since his illness. She wanted him to make love to her, to make her forget her yearning for Tom and assuage the desire raging in her.
“Your Grace is quiet tonight,” Jane remarked. “Could it be that you are thinking about a certain mutual friend of ours?”
In her mirror, Katheryn could see the flush creeping up from the neckline of her night-rail. She had done nothing but think of Tom’s words to her. I am dying for love of you.
“Our mutual friend?” she echoed.
“Mr. Culpeper,” Jane said, her slanted eyes gleaming. She loves him herself, Katheryn thought.
“Why should I think of him?” she replied.
“You know why. He has come to me and told me all. Will you not just speak with him?”
“I have spoken to him, and I have made it clear that there can be nothing between us. I am married to the King. I will not be unfaithful to him. Besides, it would be dangerous. I have never forgotten what happened to my cousin Anne—and you, Jane, should not be constraining Tom to love me, or me to encourage him!”
“Anne fell because Cromwell feared her,” Jane said. “And she deserved what she got. But knowing that you and Mr. Culpeper love each
other, I would be more than willing to watch out for you and protect you both.”
And what would be in it for you? Katheryn wondered, unable to think of an answer.
“No,” she said. “Tom must forget me, as I have forgotten him. Now you may go, as the King might be here soon.”
Jane left with a curtsey, making no protest, but she did not desist. When they were next alone in the bedchamber, she seized her chance. “Mr. Culpeper desires nothing else but your love,” she said. “Will you not even consent to meet him?”
Katheryn turned on her. “Trouble me no more!” she hissed. “I do not want him lusting after me, or even looking at me, if it makes him want me!”
“You must give men leave to look, for they will look upon you,” Jane retorted. “You are very beautiful.”
“Are you encouraging him in this folly?” Katheryn snapped.
“I know what lies between you.” Jane smiled. “I would be your friend as well as Mr. Culpeper’s.”
One day, Meg Morton came into the bedchamber with some clean linen, just as Jane was singing Tom’s praises. Meg shook her head contemptuously and walked out. Later that day, when she came back to help make up the Queen’s bed, Katheryn was sitting at her mirror, searching in her casket for jewels to wear at supper. She looked up and their eyes met.
“I know what Lady Rochford is doing, Madam,” Meg said, “and she should stop, for it is foolish—and wrong.”
“So I keep telling her!” Katheryn replied. “Yet she will not desist.”
“Your Grace could send her away.”
“On what grounds? It could get her into trouble—and Mr. Culpeper, if she makes a fuss.”
Meg nodded. “It could. But why is she doing it?”
Katheryn sighed. “I have asked myself that many times. Maybe she expects a reward.”
“What, for getting the Queen of England to commit adultery?”
That, stated baldly, took Katheryn aback. “Well, in gratitude, I suppose.”
“I think she’s a born meddler who can’t refrain from nosing into other people’s business.”