by Alison Weir
“Calm yourself,” Jane urged. “The man did not see me speaking with Mr. Culpeper, for we were in the shadow of that tower to the left, and he did not look as if he was watching for anything. Maybe he was just waiting until he has to cry the hour.”
“I pray you are right!” Katheryn was trembling.
“I will set Morris to watch the door to see if any of the watch or someone else goes in or out,” Jane said.
They sat there on Jane’s bed, waiting for what seemed like hours. Katheryn was worried that Tom would come and be caught entering the Queen’s Tower, but Jane assured her that he was too sensible for that.
“He knows the risks as well as you do,” she said, holding Katheryn’s hand.
Katheryn tried to reassure herself that Henry would not have behaved so lovingly toward her today if he had suspected her of being unfaithful.
At about three o’clock, Morris returned to report that the watchman had long gone and that no one else had ventured near the door. Heartily relieved, Katheryn went back to bed. Tom would not come this late, and that was as well. She had been badly frightened and resolved yet again to be more careful in future.
The next night, when she and Jane had made certain that there was no danger, Katheryn sent for Tom again and they met in the chilly, dusty chamber on the fourth floor. All they had time for was talking, because he had to go to help prepare the King for bed.
But, the following night, Henry went to bed early. Not wanting to use the horrid little attic room, Katheryn wondered if she dared admit Tom to her own bedchamber. Jane said it would be safe. The door to the hall passage could be locked, and she herself would keep watch outside the door to the stairs. So Tom came and held Katheryn tightly as she kissed him hungrily and his hands caressed her back and hips. Soon, they were writhing on the bed, enjoying as much of each other as they dared.
“I love you!” she cried in his ear. “I love you above all men!”
Later, as she sponged his seed from the counterpane, hoping the stain would not show, she teased him. “You are so handsome, Mr. Culpeper, especially with no clothes on. A wonder it is that no fair lady has borne you off to the altar.”
“That is because my heart has always been yours, my love.” He stretched lazily. “Although I had to console myself with others, since you so cruelly forsook me.”
“Others?” He had led her to believe that Bess Harvey was the only woman he had taken up with after she had married the King. “What others?”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “Well, I did have a flirtation with Lady Herbert.”
Her own gentlewoman! Right under her nose!
“I did not know Anne Parr to be an unfaithful wife,” she said stiffly, stunned, pulling on her robe. “What do you mean, a flirtation?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“You slept with her! When?”
“Just after you married the King. Katheryn—”
“I marvel that you could say you loved me and yet lay so soon with another!” she hissed.
Tom leaned forward and caught her hand. “But you were married before I loved her, and I had found so little favor at your hands that I was moved to look elsewhere.”
“If I chose, I could put a lot of other strumpets your way! Like that trollop Dora Bray, who has my Lord Parr in thrall, yet I am sure would be ready to accommodate you!” Katheryn shrilled. “Doubtless you only see me as another such and value me accordingly!”
“I do not!” Tom protested.
“No? Know this then, if I had still been in the maidens’ chamber at Lambeth, I would have tried you, as I did Francis!”
“But you said—”
“If we’re talking about honesty, we’re both equally remiss.”
He swallowed. “Katheryn, she meant nothing to me.”
“She must have meant something!”
“My love, you are being unreasonable.” He tried to pull her into his arms, but she broke away. “Katheryn, I respect you—and Anne Herbert meant nothing to me. But man cannot live on bread alone and you had chosen to leave me for the King. Since we have been together, there has been no one else.”
She allowed herself to be mollified. Her brief spell of temper soon abated and she joined him again on the bed, knowing she had overreacted. And, of course, the making-up of their quarrel was all the more passionate…
* * *
—
One night, while they were still at Pontefract, Katheryn insisted that all her other ladies and maids go to bed, leaving Jane Rochford to attend her. The rest looked a little askance at her, but said nothing. It was not usual for the Queen to be prepared for bed by only one lady, but it had happened before. Tom was waiting to be admitted to her bedchamber and, once it was dark and they were certain that the King would not come—he had visited Katheryn’s bed the night before and had probably not yet recovered from his exertions—Jane slipped downstairs to let him in.
When she brought him into the bedchamber, she locked the door and bolted it.
“The chamberers are still about,” she said. “It must look as if I am still in attendance on your Grace.”
She sat down at the table with her back to them. Crestfallen, because she had been longing to lie with Tom, Katheryn let him fold his arms about her and kiss her. It was awkward with Jane present, now that they had become intimate.
Suddenly, there was a light tap on the door. All three of them stared at each other in dismay, frozen into indecision. The tap came again, more insistent this time.
“In there!” Jane mouthed, indicating the privy, and Tom vanished.
Katheryn sat at the table, trying to compose herself, as Jane opened the door. Outside stood Mr. Dane, one of the King’s ushers.
“Madam,” he said, bowing, his face impassive, “his Majesty has sent me to inform you that he is on his way to visit you.”
Katheryn prayed that her panic did not register on her face. She glanced at Jane’s white face. They were trapped! Henry was bound to use the privy. He always got up several times in the night. How could he fail to see Tom?
“I will look forward to receiving his Grace,” she said, as evenly as she could, thinking quickly. She must plead an indisposition. One that would put Henry off.
Jane curtseyed and made herself scarce when the King arrived.
Katheryn curtseyed, too. “Henry!” she cried, rising, and held up her face for his kiss.
“My Katheryn,” he said, as he stroked her cheek.
“Oh, Henry!” she said and clutched at her middle. “I think I have eaten something bad. Ooh, the pain is griping.”
He was all solicitude. “You must rest, darling. I will have an infusion of chamomile sent to you. I find it always works. Now you get to bed, and I will see you in the morning. While I’m here, please excuse me for a moment.” He began making for the privy. Struck with terror, she cried, “No, please, Henry—it’s not very nice in there just now.”
In a heart-stopping instant, he turned. “Forgive me, darling. I did not mean to embarrass you. I will return to my own lodging.” He kissed her and was gone, leaving her light-headed with relief.
In seconds, Jane was back. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, hand to her mouth. “I thought we would be undone.”
“I had visions of myself being arrested and taken to the Tower,” Katheryn gasped. “I think the King loves me too much to punish me as he did Anne Boleyn, but he would have been very hurt and angry, and there is no telling what he would do to Tom.”
Jane moved to the privy door. “Mr. Culpeper, you can come out,” she murmured. Tom emerged, looking ashen.
“Holy Mother of God, I thought I was done for then,” he muttered.
“So did I!” Jane gasped. “And we would all have suffered for it, whatever her Grace thinks.”
“But the King loves me!”
“Oh, you are so naive!” Jane had never spoken so sharply to Katheryn. “That love would soon turn to hatred if he discovers that you have betrayed him.”
Fear gripped Katheryn. She’d always known that this was dangerous—indeed, the danger made it more exciting—but somehow she had never believed they could be caught. Tonight had been too close, and their secret suddenly seemed impossible to keep. She looked at Tom, agonized. “Maybe we should end it now,” she whispered.
“No!” He was adamant. “I will not let you go. I would risk all for you, you know that!”
“Little sweet fool!” she retorted, touched, but still scared. “But we must be even more careful from now on. None of us must breathe a word to anyone, not even in confession, for the King is Supreme Head of the Church and will surely get to hear of it.”
“I will say nothing, my love,” Tom promised her.
“I give you my word,” Jane declared.
* * *
—
Katheryn was still feeling jittery the next night and asked Jane to let Tom know that it was best not to come to her for the moment. It was as well she did so, since her chamberers, Mrs. Luffkyn and Mrs. Frideswide, took it upon themselves to enter her bedchamber without knocking, in defiance of her orders.
“What do you think you are doing?” she cried. “I will have you both dismissed if you come in again without permission. In future, you are forbidden to attend me in my bedchamber.” She was aware that fear had made her overreact. But, after they had left, sullen and muttering apologies, she wished she had dismissed them, for then she could have replaced them with ladies of Jane Rochford’s choosing, who could be relied upon to be discreet.
She had been wondering lately—was it her imagination, or did her ladies and maids suspect her of conducting an illicit affair? Was she reading too much into the way they looked at her or watched her? Pray God she had not been discovered!
Francis’s behavior was not helping. Ever unpredictable and volatile, he was proving a troublesome addition to her household. Having received that excessive payment for his hose, he now asked her for more money—ten pounds this time, a much larger sum—without a trace of shame.
“You would not begrudge an old friend,” he wheedled. “Besides, I hope to be more than an old friend to you before very long.”
“No!” she cried. “That will never happen. Have you forgotten that I am married to the King?”
“No, but you seem to.”
She was taken aback by his candor. “You have no right to hold me to ransom like this.”
He gave her the benefit of his wolfish smile. “I have every right. I am your true husband.”
She dared not risk offending him. What if he talked? He had never been very guarded with his tongue. Well, if she must bribe him to buy his silence, so be it. She gave him the money, telling him that this must be an end to his demands. He merely grinned at her.
What was almost worse was his being overfamiliar with her in the presence of others, even to the extent of calling her Katheryn. Given the amount of time she was obliged to spend with him, she feared people might think she was giving him preferential treatment—or worse.
“Your officers despise me, you know,” he told her the next day, once she had itemized the letters he was to write for her.
“What makes you think that, Mr. Dereham?” she asked.
“Because you favor me.”
“That is not the case and well you know it. I need someone to do Mr. Huttoft’s work.”
“And there I was thinking that you enjoyed my company!”
She recoiled. “You have given me no choice but to endure it. If you hadn’t constrained me to give you a place, I would have sent you packing!”
“We have turned into a little firebrand!” He chuckled.
“You should learn the manners that are expected of you at court, Mr. Dereham, and the proper courtesy to be observed toward your Queen. Then you might be a little more popular.”
He seized her wrist. “Don’t forget that I knew you at Lambeth when you were nothing but a waif—and that I knew you very well.” He was not laughing now.
“I could report you to the King!” she cried, outraged, pulling her hand away.
“But you won’t, because he thinks you are virtuous and would be horrified to discover that you are not.”
His words struck fear into her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what went on at Lambeth. And that you are flighty.”
“What makes you think he doesn’t know?” she challenged.
“Your face, Katheryn. You look terrified.”
“I’m not!” She could feel the telltale flush. “Why are you being so horrible to me?”
His grin faded. “You forget that you and I are wed and that you walked away from that without a backward glance.”
“Oh, don’t start that again!” she snorted. “I will not listen to it. You may go.”
He rose and made her an exaggerated bow. “I do not forget it,” he said, “and, one day, when you are no longer encumbered…” He left the sentence unfinished and walked out, leaving her shaking with rage.
Two days later, it became clear that he would not be easily contained. Mr. Johns, her gentleman usher, asked for a word with her in private.
“Madam,” he began, looking uncomfortable. “Something must be done about Mr. Dereham. He has taken to remaining at table with the officers of your council after everyone else has risen, and it is not his place to do so. He is not of your council and he is deliberately being disrespectful.”
Katheryn sighed, exasperated. Was there no end to Francis’s presumption?
“When I sent to ask whether he were of the council,” Mr. Johns went on, “he said he was of your Grace’s counsel before I knew you and would be when you have forgotten me.”
He had said that? She began to tremble and struggled to concentrate on what Mr. Johns was saying.
“Then he picked a brawl with me, Madam, in which I fear I did not give a good account of myself. I had no choice but to look to my defense. See this…” He drew back his sleeve to reveal a nasty cut and pointed to a bruise on his jaw.
“He drew blood!” she said, appalled. Suddenly, she saw a way of being rid of Francis. Violence done in close proximity to the King was taken very seriously indeed—and the penalties were ruthless. A man who struck another and drew blood within the verge of the court could incur a fine, imprisonment, and the loss of his right hand. This had been vividly demonstrated earlier in the year, when a serjeant porter had assaulted one of the Earl of Surrey’s retainers in the tennis court at Greenwich. The serjeant porter had been sentenced to lose his right hand and forfeit his lands and possessions. All had been in readiness for the punishment to be carried out—Katheryn remembered that large crowds had crammed into the great hall—but the porter had thrown himself on the King’s mercy, begging that someone go and ask his Grace if he might lose his left hand rather than his right, for if his right hand were spared, he might do the King much good service. Henry had been so impressed by his loyalty that he had graciously pardoned him, though he had afterward expressed the opinion that the sentence of amputation should be mandatory.
She would not wish that on Francis, ever. But the threat of it might be sufficient to make him pack his bags and flee her service.
“Tell me, Mr. Johns,” she said, “did this fight take place within the verge of the court?”
Mr. Johns was regarding her fearfully. She knew, without being told, that he had drawn blood, too.
“It is no matter,” she said, sighing inwardly. “I will speak to Mr. Dereham.” For all the good it would do.
He came at her summons and she received him in the closet where they worked on her correspondence. “I have just learned about what happened with Mr. Johns,” she told him, “and what you said to hi
m. Take heed what words you speak! And remember that you could lose your right hand if you pick a fight and draw blood within the verge of the court.”
Even that did not seem to ruffle him. He just stood there grinning at her.
“Well?” she snapped. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
“Please accept my humble apologies,” he said, bowing with a flamboyant flourish.
“Oh, go away!” she cried, exasperated.
* * *
—
Tom seemed subdued when he arrived in her chamber that night. He did not embrace or kiss her, but just sat down at the table glowering.
“What is wrong, darling?” she asked.
“Why is Mr. Dereham in the court?” Tom asked.
Katheryn froze. She had been dreading something like this.
“My lady sued for a place for him. I could not very well refuse. It would have seemed churlish.”
Tom glared at her. “Foolish, more like! He’s been hinting that he knows you rather well.”
Oh, God. She had feared that Francis would not be able to hold his tongue. He did not know what discretion was.
“Has he indeed?” Her indignation was genuine. “He was ever a rogue.”
Tom was scrutinizing her face. “Today, at supper, some of my fellow gentlemen of the Privy Chamber were saying that he is over-familiar toward you and scants his courtesies. Apparently, your servants have been complaining of it. We’d heard him ourselves, from further along the table. God knows, he was loud enough. He was saying that if the King died, he was certain that you would marry him. Is this true, Katheryn?”
“Of course not! If anything befell the King, it would be you I would marry. I assure you, Tom, you have no need to be jealous of Francis. I have eyes only for you. I do not love Mr. Dereham and I would never encourage him to think so.”
“You need to make that very clear to him,” Tom told her, “because he’s laboring under a dangerous delusion. He ought to know, too, that it’s treason to speak of the King’s death. If he was reported, he would be in serious trouble indeed.”