by Alison Weir
Later, when the storm had passed and she had finally calmed down, she roused herself. Isabel, who was sitting by her bed, had fallen asleep. Katheryn felt guilty for causing her and the others so much grief. Yet there was no escaping her fear; it hung over her like a dark cloud. It was as if she was doing and seeing everything for the last time, for there might not be a future for her. She feared she would never take pleasure in anything again. At her core was her terror of what they might do to her. She could not get the image of the block out of her head, nor stop imagining herself kneeling there, waiting for the blow to fall. Would it hurt? Would she suffer like Lady Salisbury? Or would it be over so quickly that she would not feel it? All the same, losing your head was a dreadful thing to contemplate.
Stop it! she admonished herself, remembering that she was going to Syon, not the Tower. If imprisonment was all she had to suffer, she would be very happy indeed and endure it patiently. At least Isabel would be with her.
She must eat! She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Isabel woke up. “Katheryn, you’re awake! Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, I was going to order something to eat.”
Isabel got to her feet, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll do that. What do you fancy?”
“Some cold cuts and bread, and a little ale.”
The meal was duly delivered and placed in front of Katheryn. “Where’s my knife?” she asked.
“I will cut your meat for you,” Isabel said. “Your knives are locked away. You threatened to kill yourself.”
“I did not mean it!” Katheryn assured her. But Isabel would not relent.
“I know you’re not supposed to tell me,” Katheryn said, as she ate, “but do you know what is going on? Is there anything I should know? I am desperate, being kept in the dark.”
Isabel shook her head. “I don’t know anything.”
Katheryn knew she was lying. Isabel might be concealing something awful from her. Why, she might even know if she was to live or die!
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Katheryn, I am not in the confidence of the Council and Edward tells me nothing. He says it is better that way. But I can assure you that I have not heard anything that suggests you are in peril.”
That, at least, was something. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Isabel nodded and took her hand. “I doubt if I could keep it to myself.”
* * *
—
That Sunday, as Katheryn and her ladies were preparing to leave Hampton Court, Sir Thomas Wriothesley was announced. He bowed to her, then called upon all her ladies and gentlemen to attend him in the Great Watching Chamber. As they filed out, she wondered if she would ever see them again.
They were not gone long. When they returned, most of them resumed packing their possessions. Katheryn caught Jane Rochford’s eye and Jane followed her into the prayer closet.
“What did he say?” Katheryn asked.
“It’s all right,” Jane said. “He declared the offenses you had committed in misusing your body with certain persons before you married the King, then he discharged all your household, apart from those who are to accompany you to Syon, and commanded the people who are leaving to repair to their homes.”
Katheryn had known this was going to happen, yet still she felt upset, but she maintained her composure as, one by one, those who had been dismissed came to bid her farewell and kiss her hand. Some wished her good luck; others looked relieved to be going. She, too, would be glad to leave these sumptuous rooms, which were now associated with so much misery.
Soon, there were just her six chosen women left. She watched as they selected and folded into traveling chests the clothes now deemed appropriate for her. She had to leave her gorgeous court dresses and jeweled hoods behind, which caused her more pangs. Worst of all was the moment when Sir Thomas Seymour came to take away her jewels. She could not help remembering Henry pouring them into her lap. Oh, how she longed to see him just one more time, if only to say that she was sorry, so deeply sorry for hurting him and not being honest. She would give her all for the chance to have her time again. How differently she would have behaved!
1541
Very early on Monday morning, under guard, Katheryn and her small household left Hampton Court for Syon. Her departure was discreetly managed. Wearing a plain black gown and cloak, she was conducted along a privy gallery to the landing stage, where she boarded a covered barge. In the cabin, the curtains had been pulled together. The eight-mile journey seemed endless; no one felt like talking, and she could not stop worrying about what her new accommodation would be like. Would she be confined to one of the nuns’ cells?
The barge was pulling in now; she could hear orders being shouted to the oarsmen. The door to the cabin was opened.
“Time to disembark, Madam,” the barge master said, not looking at her.
The first thing Katheryn saw as she alighted at a jetty by the riverbank was the enormous abbey church, as large as a cathedral, dominating the rural skyline. Turning back, waiting for her ladies, she could see Richmond Palace across the river, and wondered if the Lady Anna of Cleves was in residence. How she envied Anna, who had no idea of how lucky she was to have escaped marriage to the King with no hurt and a generous settlement.
They walked toward the church and the surrounding abbey buildings, guards flanking Katheryn on either side.
“The abbey belonged to the Bridgettines,” Sir Edward told her, making conversation. “It was founded by King Henry V and named after the hill of Zion in the Holy Land. The Bridgettines were a mixed order, strictly enclosed.” As I will be, Katheryn thought, with a sense of dread. She understood now why Henry had sent her here.
“Syon was a very wealthy abbey,” Sir Edward continued. “It owned all the land roundabouts. There are acres of orchards and gardens.”
“Will I be able to walk in the gardens?” Katheryn asked.
Edward frowned. “I have received no instructions about that, but I will ask.”
They passed through a great gatehouse and across a deserted outer courtyard, then under an archway into an inner court, which had been the nuns’ cloister and adjoined the church.
“The church is locked, as is the chapter house,” Sir Edward explained. “That building over there was the library, which was famous in its day. It’s empty now, of course. All the books were carried away.” The whole place had an air of desolation about it. Crisp fallen leaves littered the cloister garth, which Katheryn knew would have been a place of burial for the nuns.
There were doors set into the brick walls around the cloister.
“These are our apartments,” Sir Edward announced, producing a set of keys and unlocking one of the doors. Katheryn noticed that there were crosses on the paving stones on either side of it. It occurred to her that they might be graves. She shuddered. She would rather not have had such reminders of mortality so near her windows.
The guards stood back to let them enter before closing the door behind them and taking up their positions outside.
There were only four rooms. All the floors were tiled in green, black, brown, yellow, and blue. The dining chamber had stone walls hung with threadbare tapestries and was furnished with a plain wooden table, benches, and a cupboard. The next room was clearly intended to serve as Katheryn’s chamber. At one end was an upholstered chair, but no canopy of estate, as the King had ordered. There was a dining table here, too; Edward explained that she was to dine apart from himself and her other servants. Beyond was her bedchamber, containing an old oak bed covered with a rubbed green velvet counterpane, and pallet beds for her women. On the other side of the dining chamber, a door led to a bedchamber for Edward and Isabel.
“Your almoner, the Bishop of Rochester, will visit at your request,” Edward told Katheryn. “I am to inform you that your servants might be augme
nted or diminished at the Council’s discretion. We will wait on you till the King’s further pleasure is made known to us.”
So a long imprisonment was by no means a certainty, Katheryn realized despairingly, as she walked back to her bedchamber to help supervise the unpacking. But at least she had fared better than Anne Boleyn. She was not in the Tower—yet. There was still room for hope. Wasn’t this punishment enough, being confined in this dreary, cramped place, deprived of most of the trappings of queenship and consigned to a tedious seclusion that looked to offer no distractions? And with no idea of what was to happen to her, nor any hope of finding out, unless Isabel could help her.
She sat on the bed trying not to cry. What would she do with herself here?
Jane was sobbing. “To think I have come to this!” she wept, as the others stared at her. “And none of it is my fault! I come of good parentage, but I was brought up in the court, unbridled, and left to follow my lust and filthy pleasure!”
Katheryn went over and put her arms around her. “What do you mean?”
“I could have had my pick of anyone,” Jane sniffed. “I had lovers enough, to my shame. But I had to marry George Boleyn. To say we were unhappy would be an understatement. When George abused me, I looked elsewhere. I had no respect for virtue; I did not dread God. And when my beauty began to be spent, I grew bitter. It was I, I who accused George and Anne of incest! I sent them to the scaffold!” She was becoming hysterical. Her own plight all but forgotten, Katheryn exchanged appalled glances with Isabel, Elizabeth Leigh, and Mrs. Mewtas. Then Jane started laughing. “And I did it to be rid of him!” she cackled. “I had no grounds for saying it.”
Katheryn froze. Was Jane losing her mind? If she could be so indiscreet as to confess that she had lied to send her husband and his sister to a cruel death, what else might she blurt out? It was going to be bad enough lodging here, without that fear hanging over her.
“I think we’re all a little overwrought, my dear,” Isabel said briskly to Jane. “Now, let’s have no more of this wild talk. You lie down over there and we’ll finish putting everything away.”
Still sniveling, Jane obeyed. Within minutes, she was asleep.
“She hasn’t slept for nights on end,” Elizabeth revealed. “I heard her up and about, pacing up and down.”
“She has taken this business so much to heart,” Isabel said.
If only you knew, Katheryn thought.
* * *
—
Lying on the lumpy mattress in an unfamiliar room, Katheryn could not sleep. Thank goodness her women were protective of her, but what if Jane said something compromising in front of Edward? He would be bound to report it—and then what?
It would be ironic if, having escaped discovery all this time, Jane betrayed them all.
She wished she knew what had happened to Tom. She was glad she had told him about her affairs with Francis and Harry. She guessed that she was now notorious for her naughtiness, but Tom had understood; he had forgiven her the follies of her youth. And that was all they had been! She didn’t deserve such opprobrium.
She prayed that he had destroyed her letters, few though they had been. In vain, she kept trying to remember what she had written in them. She knew she had signed one “Yours as long as life endures, Katheryn.” She trembled to think that someone might find that. But Tom would have been sensible; he would have got rid of it.
She doubted if she had any friends left. People would be hastening to dissociate themselves from her, Francis and Harry most of all. The Duchess, like the Duke, would have abandoned her. There was no one to speak in her favor. Who would dare? Maybe she was best away from it all, here at Syon.
It was dawn before her mind ceased tormenting her and she slept. And then Isabel came to wake her and help her dress. Drab room, drab gown. It was as if a pall lay over her.
* * *
—
Sir Edward came into Katheryn’s bedchamber as she sat at the table, staring into space, wondering what to do with herself. He glanced at her ladies, who had formed a sewing circle at the other end of the table, and cleared his throat. “My Lady Rochford, you are summoned to Whitehall. The Council wishes to question you.”
Katheryn froze. She dared not look at Jane, but she heard her laugh, a laugh that quickly escalated into uncontrolled hysteria. With the help of the guards, Edward hauled her out. They could see her through the window, struggling against the fast grips of the men—and then the laughter faded, and she was gone.
The others looked dumbstruck. If Katheryn had not been sitting already, she would have fallen to the floor. Jane’s outburst was tantamount to an admission of guilt. This was the end. There was no hope now.
* * *
—
Jane did not return. No one knew what had become of her—at least, so they said. Desperate, Katheryn pumped Isabel for news, but Isabel insisted she had heard nothing. Katheryn suspected the worst: that Jane had talked and was now in the Tower. Soon, she was sure, they would come for her, too.
She was existing in a state of anguished tension. What of Tom? Had they taken him as well? She thought she would go mad not knowing. At every sound, every footfall, she jumped with fright, and once, when she heard voices outside the window, she became hysterical. But it was only the local baker, bringing bread.
In the third week of November, Sir Edward came to her, his face grave. “Madam, I am instructed to inform you that proclamation has been made that, as you have forfeited your honor, you shall be proceeded against by law, and are henceforth no longer to be called queen.”
“Proceeded against?” she cried, wild with fear. “Will they put me on trial?”
“I do not know,” he told her. “I have received no further orders.”
She wailed piteously at that. Would this horrible waiting never end? If she knew what awaited her at the end of it, she could prepare herself, but the future was just a terrifying blank. Hope was dying in her, overcome by a sense of dread. Would Henry show mercy to her? It was all she had to cling to.
* * *
—
December came in, overcast and chilly, and still she was cast in gloom, huddling over the meager fire in her room, wrapped in a shawl. And that was how Archbishop Cranmer found her when Sir Edward flung open the door. She sprang to her feet. This must be news at last—but what kind of news? She began to tremble.
“There is no need to look so frightened, Madam,” Cranmer said. “I am only here to ask you some questions.”
“By all means, my lord.” Her voice came out as a croak. “Pray be seated.”
He pulled a stool up to the hearth and sat there in his fur-lined gown, putting some papers in order.
“Shall we begin?”
She nodded.
“Did you ever send for my lady of Norfolk to come to court and bring Dereham with her?”
She was surprised to be asked about Francis. She had expected to be questioned about Tom. “No,” she said.
“The Dowager Duchess removed some writings from Dereham’s coffer at Lambeth. Do you know what was in them?”
Still Francis.
“No. We never exchanged any writings.”
“Were you aware that my lady had suspicions of your misconduct with Dereham at the time?”
Where was this going? “I think she knew about us.”
“Did she ever find you and Dereham in each other’s arms, kissing?”
“Yes, and she beat us for it.” Katheryn was beginning to think that the Duchess had come under censure for not telling the King the truth about her step-granddaughter.
“Did the Duchess know that you used to banquet and feast with young men in the maidens’ chamber?”
“I don’t think so.”
“She never rebuked you for doing so?”
“No. As I said, I don’t think she was awar
e of it.”
“Did she ever witness any other familiarity between you and Dereham?”
“She knew that we were close. She used to joke about it.”
“So she didn’t mislike it?”
“No.”
“Did she ever rebuke or strike you for light behavior with Manox?”
“Yes. She caught us together, too.”
Cranmer sighed. “Did she know the extent of your light and wanton behavior with Dereham?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
“When the King first favored you, did she give you new apparel?”
“She had given it to me when first I went to court.”
Cranmer narrowed his eyes. “But did she give you more when the King showed an interest?”
“Yes.”
“And this was to entice the King to love you?”
“Yes.” Katheryn hated admitting that, because Henry would be sure to hear it, and he would think that her motives had been entirely mercenary and be hurt all over again.
“When she knew of the King’s favor, what advice did she give you?”
“She told me to be pleasant, amenable, and virtuous.”
“Did anyone else in the Duchess’s household witness the familiarity between you and Dereham?”
Katheryn felt herself blushing at the memory of what she had done with Francis in full sight of others. “Some of the women in the gentlewomen’s chamber did,” she said.
Mercifully, the Archbishop asked her no more about that. Having consulted one of his papers, he looked up. “Do you know if Dereham sued the Duchess to get him into your service?”
“I think he did.”
“Did she ask you to take him?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Did the Duchess know of the precontract between you?”
Katheryn bridled. “There was no precontract.”
Cranmer said nothing. He put his papers back in his scrip, rose, and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Madam,” he said. “I bid you good day.”