by Alison Weir
“Jane, I am pleased for him, but I would like to be left alone to sleep now,” Katheryn said.
“Of course,” Jane replied. “I will leave you in peace.” She tiptoed out.
* * *
—
A week later, when Katheryn had stopped bleeding and was feeling calmer, Henry came to supper. One look at his face told her that he, too, had been suffering.
“I trust you are recovered now, Katheryn,” he said, sitting down at the table. “I am sorry I did not come to see you or send to you, but I have been ill myself.”
“I hope you are feeling better,” she said, wondering why they had suddenly become so formal with each other.
“I do well enough.” He sighed.
Their conversation seemed forced, with intermittent silences. Neither of them mentioned their lost child. At nine, earlier than usual, Henry rose, kissed her hand, and left. He did not return the following evening.
She was distraught, convinced he would put her away. But how? Could he divorce her for being barren? She had no idea. Surely he had loved her too much to do anything worse? But, if he was angry with her…Icy shivers shot down her spine.
Jane came to her again as she sat, staring into space, in her window seat, apart from the others, and bent to her ear. “I know something that will cheer you,” she murmured. “I know of an old kitchen here where you can safely speak with Mr. Culpeper.”
Katheryn wondered why she allowed herself to listen to Jane, but she knew the answer. It was because she liked to fantasize about what it would be like to have Tom love her. It excited her to have Jane dangle the possibility before her. She felt so dejected that she longed for the comfort of his arms. And why should she not avail herself of it? Henry didn’t want her anymore!
She lay all night thinking about it. By morning, she had made her decision.
* * *
—
The next day was Maundy Thursday. Early in the morning, she sent for her tailor. Fortunately, he had exactly what she wanted. Then she had to make ready to accompany Henry to the Maundy service in the Chapel Royal. There, clad, like him, in a voluminous white apron, she stood by holding a golden basin as he sat on a padded stool and washed the feet of fifty poor men and women, one for each year of his life. Of course, they had all had their feet thoroughly scoured beforehand, and been given clean clothes. They looked on in awe as the King of England bent to their footstools with a damp cloth and kissed their feet in emulation of Christ. Afterward, he distributed among them leather purses filled with coins.
Katheryn found it hard to hold her patience during the long ceremony. She was building up to what she had planned for the afternoon, which could not come soon enough. But then, when the last poor fellow had left the chapel, bowing his thanks, Henry said he would dine with her and the waiting was prolonged until she thought she would scream with frustration. By noon, though, she was free, Henry having gone to meet with his Council.
After a safe interval had elapsed, she sent her usher, Henry Webb, to escort Tom to her presence chamber, where her ladies waited with her. When Tom arrived, he was flushed, regarding her quizzically. As he fell on one knee, Katheryn stood up. “Please rise, Mr. Culpeper. I wish personally to thank you for the good service you have rendered to his Majesty during his illness.” She turned to her women. “I would speak privily with Mr. Culpeper. You may go.”
The door closed, leaving them alone.
“You sent for me!” he said.
“I was awaiting the right opportunity,” she told him. “And I really do wish to express my appreciation for all you have done for the King’s Grace. I want you to have this.” She placed in his hands a fair cap of velvet garnished with a brooch, three dozen pairs of aglets, and a chain. “Put these under your cloak, so that nobody sees them,” she charged him.
She waited for him to shower her with thanks. He must have known that a gift like this from a lady to her suitor was an exceptional favor. Instead, he looked at her with something like exasperation. “Alas, Madam, why did you not do this before you married the King?”
Anger flared up in her. She had risked much to give him what he had repeatedly asked for. Even now, her ladies might be wondering why she had insisted on their leaving her unattended. “Is this all the thanks you give me?” she cried. “If I had known you would speak thus, you would never have had those gifts!”
“Oh, forgive me, Katheryn,” he capitulated. “It torments me that you could so easily have been mine. Yet you put your desire for a crown before our love, which is infinitely more precious.”
“I know,” she said. “I was dazzled by the thought of being Queen. I do love being Queen. But, as I’ve told you, I had no choice in the matter. My lord of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner were determined that the King should love me and gave me many good reasons why I should encourage it. I was to help save the true faith! How could I go against them? But what’s done is done. Can we begin anew?”
He had raised his eyebrows at her revelations. “It is my heart’s desire,” he told her, taking her hand. “Forgive me, I should not have sounded so ungrateful. These are fine gifts and I will treasure them.”
“Let none know who gave them to you!”
“Never!” He smiled at her. How she ached to go into his arms. But it was too public a place. “I had no idea,” he said. “Forgive me for judging you harshly. Of course you had no choice. But there is always another day. How can we meet?”
“Lady Rochford will help us. I’m sure she will let us use her chamber. But I’d rather not go to that kitchen.”
“Kitchen?”
“You didn’t know? She said she knows of a disused kitchen where we could meet in secret.”
“You are worthy of better than that,” Tom said, raising her hand and kissing it. “Tell me…” His eyes, dark with longing, sought hers. “What may I hope for?”
She felt a flutter of panic. “Don’t hope for too much, please. Remember what I am. There are risks I dare not take. I hope you understand.”
“I do, Katheryn. I can be patient. For you, I would wait forever.”
* * *
—
Jane was more than accommodating. Of course, they must use her chamber! She would keep watch in the gallery. She was so pleased that they had become friends again.
The first time they were alone together in the moonlit room, Katheryn felt awkward. The big tester bed beckoned, but she had made her position clear. Tom kissed her, reverently at first, then more demandingly, but she broke away. “Let’s just talk,” she said.
“Whatever you wish,” he said. So they sat on the bench at the bedfoot and reminisced about the old days at Oxon Hoath and Lambeth.
“I had lovers before,” Katheryn confessed.
“That does not matter,” he told her. “They cannot be rivals to me now.”
Neither of them mentioned the greatest rival of them all, who was sleeping, unsuspecting, in his great bedchamber beyond the door at the further end of the gallery.
“Do you still see Bess Harvey?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It was a passing fancy. I hope we can be more than that.”
Why was it, she asked herself, that she wanted Tom so desperately, was drinking in every aspect of him and feeling quite faint at being together in such intimacy, yet could not communicate her feelings to him? “That is my hope, too,” she said, knowing it conveyed nothing of the desire she felt.
“I have brought you a token,” he said, and gave her a garnet ring. “A token of my love. You know, sweet Katheryn, I love you more than the King or any other person ever could. My only hope is that you could love me half as much.”
His mention of Henry had made her feel so disloyal that she heard little else of what he said. When she remained silent, he put his arm around her. “Tell me I may hope,” he whispered.
“Yes, you may hope,” she said. “But now I must leave. It grows late and my ladies will wonder where I am.”
“Must you go so soon?” He looked appalled.
“Yes! Good night, Tom.” She left the chamber with tears in her eyes. It was galling that she, who had never lacked for things to say or do to entice her admirers, should be so gauche with the man she loved. And it was love; she was certain of it. An entirely different love from that which she felt for Henry. Pray God Tom would not be put off! It was her last waking thought that night.
* * *
—
Some days later, Jane brought her word that Tom was sick. “Our friend has a high fever and is confined to his chamber.” Katheryn longed to go to him, to bully the doctors and do everything in her power to make him well. What if he died? She might die herself, for sorrow.
All she could do was send him, through the good offices of Morris, her page, the kind of gifts that might be sent with propriety to any servant who was ill: red meat to strengthen the blood, and fresh fish, so heartening for an invalid. Morris reported that Mr. Culpeper was very pleased with the gifts and had promised him a reward.
She knew she was running a risk, but she could not resist sending Tom a letter, which she planned to conceal in a basket of manchet rolls. Hating to write anything, she began by dictating to the ever-willing Jane what she wanted to say. Then, needing to seize this golden chance of making her feelings clear, and wanting to keep them private, she decided to continue it herself.
When it was finished, she read it over.
Master Culpeper, I heartily recommend myself to you, praying you to send me word how you are doing. I was informed that you were sick, which troubles me very much, and will do until I hear from you, for I never longed so much for anything as I do to see you and speak with you, which, I trust, shall happen shortly. The thought of that comforts me very much every time I think of it; and when I think that you will have to depart from me again afterward, it makes my heart die to think what ill fortune I have that I cannot be always in your company. Yet my trust is always in you, that you will be as you have promised me, and in that hope I trust still, praying that you will come when my Lady Rochford is here, for then I shall be at leisure to be at your command.
Thank you for having promised to be good to that poor fellow, my page. I pray you, keep him with you, that I may sometimes hear from you. Thus, I take my leave of you, trusting to see you shortly. I wish you were with me now, that you might see what pain I take in writing to you.
Yours as long as life endures,
KATHERYN
Tom made a speedy recovery, much to Katheryn’s heartfelt relief, and she contrived a second meeting in Jane’s chamber, to which Jane led him up the privy stair at dead of night once it was certain that the King was not coming to visit Katheryn’s bed and her women were asleep. As soon as the door had closed behind him, he kissed and embraced her.
“You could not know what a health your sweet letter was to me,” he breathed. “I have read it so many times that it’s in danger of crumbling away. Did you mean it all, Katheryn?”
“Every word,” she said. After that, she felt more relaxed in his company and better able to express herself—and what she lacked in demonstrativeness, he more than made up for, though not in a disrespectful way. She marveled at how restrained they both were, especially when she remembered how free she had been in her passions before she came to court. Once, when she was in Tom’s arms, his hand cupped her breast, but she pulled it away. “Not yet!” she whispered. She could feel the sexual tension in him, but he made no protest. And, when he bade her farewell in the first light of dawn, after they had talked for hours, he kissed her hand and said, “I promise I will presume no further.” She loved him for that.
There were as many meetings as they could contrive after that, mostly in Jane’s chamber, but sometimes in Katheryn’s. Always, Jane stood guard for them. She did everything she could to encourage them, arranging their trysts and acting as a go-between and confidante. Katheryn confessed to her how deep her love for Tom ran, and Jane explained to him how difficult Katheryn found it to express the strength of her feelings. Before long, however, her rapturous welcome at their reunions could have left him in no doubt of the love she bore him.
She was well aware of the risks she was taking. “If this is spied one day, we will all be undone,” she told Jane. “But if none of it ever comes out, then I need fear nothing.”
“No one will hear of it from me,” Jane vowed.
“I know that.” Katheryn kissed her. “If anyone asks if something is going on, just deny it utterly.”
They had no choice but to trust each other. Sometimes Katheryn would lie in bed at night and ask herself what she thought she was doing, carrying on a love affair behind the King’s back. It was folly for the Queen of England to behave so rashly. Her cousin Queen Anne seemed to be much in her thoughts these days. Yet she loved Tom so much, and they weren’t doing any harm, were they? Anne had committed adultery with many lovers. Katheryn and Tom hadn’t ever been lovers, even though both of them desired it. Love for the King had held them back—and fear of the consequences.
In the mornings, she would feel bold again, convinced that it was possible to enjoy the love of both the men in her life. In such a mood, she would send Tom word through Lady Rochford that she was languishing and dying of love for him, or would send him a loving present. More often than not, Morris, whom she had sworn to secrecy with the threat of dismissal if he talked, would bring her pretty gifts in return.
* * *
—
Early in May, Katheryn went by barge to the royal palace at Chelsea to ensure that all was in readiness for the coming visit of her stepdaughter the Lady Elizabeth. In response to her pleas, Henry had decided it was high time that she met his younger children, and Katheryn was looking forward to it. Elizabeth was seven, just a child, and would surely not be as difficult as her sister, the Lady Mary; and she was Katheryn’s own cousin on her mother’s side.
She wished Tom could come with her, but it was impossible. He had no business escorting the Queen, unless Henry commanded him, and Henry had not. But how lovely it would have been to walk together in these beautiful gardens and dine in the shade of those trees by the river!
Satisfied that the best plate was on display, the furniture polished to a shine, and the sheets crisp and bleached, she lodged at Baynard’s Castle, one of her dower properties, a massive white stone edifice with tall towers, rising majestically from the River Thames, a few streets down from St. Paul’s Cathedral. Two days later, she returned to Chelsea to be informed that Elizabeth had already arrived and was walking in the gardens. Proceeding along a graveled walk, her ladies following, Katheryn saw ahead of her a little girl with long flame-red hair and a woman wearing black—the nurse, Mrs. Astley, she assumed. Henry was always singing her praises, saying how learned she was and how well she looked to the welfare of his daughter.
The child turned at her approach and Katheryn was startled to see how old a face she had. There was a regal wariness about her, and no wonder, given her bastard status and what had happened to her mother. She curtseyed gracefully, head bowed. Katheryn had intended to take her into her arms and play the good stepmother, but instinct told her that there would be no cuddling of this child, who was much on her dignity. So she bent forward and kissed Elizabeth lightly on both cheeks, smiling a welcome.
Within an afternoon, she had realized that there was an unbreachable gulf between them. Elizabeth was advanced for her years and ageless in her wisdom. Her learning was formidable. Katheryn was at a loss to compete with her. The only thing they shared was vanity, and there was a limit to how long you could spend talking about fashion. The woman whose blood they shared could not, for obvious reasons, be mentioned. Besides, Elizabeth was restive. She was longing to be off to Waltham, where Henry was waiting for them with
Prince Edward. It was quite obvious that Henry was Elizabeth’s hero and that she had little time for her stepmother.
Katheryn made an effort to get closer to her, but it was hard work. She reminded herself that Elizabeth had had two stepmothers already and neither had lasted long. Could you blame her for not wanting to give her heart to another one? And the ironic thing, Katheryn told herself, is that I’m probably going to be the one who lasts.
The next day, they traveled to Dallance, the King’s house near Waltham Abbey in Essex. There, in the hall, Henry was waiting for them with the Lady Mary, who was holding Prince Edward’s hand. Henry opened his arms to Elizabeth and, omitting to curtsey, she ran into them.
“And Katheryn, my sweetheart, welcome!” he cried, embracing her. There was no trace of the awkwardness that had lain between them before. She knew herself forgiven. “How I have missed you!” Henry told her. He released her and gave his son a gentle push in her direction. “Allow me to present the Prince of Wales.”
Katheryn watched, enchanted, as the sturdy three-year-old toddled toward her and made a good attempt at a courtly bow. Then, because he was the heir to England, she bobbed him a small curtsey, which made him chuckle with pride.
“What a lovely boy your Grace is!” she said. “I have brought you a gift.” And she took from her pocket a silver horse and rider, small enough to fit in her palm.
Henry was smiling his approval. “What do you say, Sir?”
“Thank you, Queen Kaffewyn,” the child said. His sweet, heart-shaped face with its chubby cheeks and pointed chin was pink with pleasure. He held out the toy to his half-sister Elizabeth. “Isn’t it pretty, Bess?” he asked her. For answer, she gave him a tight hug.
“May we go and play, Sir?” she asked her father.
“Off you go,” he replied. “Mrs. Astley, take them into the garden.” The nurse stepped forward and took their hands. They looked so vulnerable, those two motherless children, for all their rich clothes and servants.