by Alison Weir
She was bewildered. All those questions, and he had not mentioned Tom once. Hope soared in her. She could not die for what had happened before her marriage, surely?
She caught the Archbishop’s hand as he passed her. “What is to happen to me?” she asked. “I beg of you, tell me!”
He looked down on her with an expression that was hard to read. “Alas, Madam, I cannot say. That is a matter for the King to determine.”
She dropped his hand, defeated. So the interminable waiting was to go on…and on. At least she now had hope to cling to. But if this was just about her life before her marriage, why had Jane been taken for questioning and never come back? Maybe, she consoled herself, they were just asking her about what had happened between Katheryn and Tom before Katheryn had married the King.
* * *
—
It was a miserable Christmas. They made what cheer they could with a few evergreens plucked from the wilderness that had been Syon’s gardens; Sir Edward had allowed Katheryn to go with her women for this seasonal task, although he bade the guards keep close to her. It had been good to be out in the crisp, fresh air and she’d managed to prolong the search until the early winter dusk fell.
They had a goose for Christmas dinner and sat around the fire afterward, trying to make merry, but Katheryn could not forget the shadow that lay over her, and knew that the others were aware of it, too. It had occurred to her, in a bad moment, that she might not be here next Christmas, and she could not get the horrible thought out of her mind. Nor could she forget the innocent Christmases of her childhood or the lavish Yuletide celebrations at court, where she had been at the center of the festivities. A year ago, she had not been in love with Tom or betrayed the King’s trust. How she wished she could turn the clock back! She was glad when Twelfth Night was over, and life resumed the dreary pattern of recent weeks.
1542
Emerging from her bedchamber one January morning, Katheryn heard voices coming from the dining room, the door being ajar.
“What did he say?” That was Isabel.
“He said that his Grace meant to condemn the Queen and Lady Rochford to perpetual prison,” Edward said. Then the door was pulled shut.
Katheryn’s heart skipped a beat. It was bad news, and the mention of Jane was ominous, but it was not the worst she had expected. She could bear it, if her life was spared; and Henry might relent later. She did not blame him for dealing severely with her now; she deserved it, God knew. But, oh, she so wanted to live, even if it meant being confined here at Syon, never again to know freedom or love or the joy of children.
Edward’s words seemed to be borne out when, in the middle of the month, Katheryn ventured out for the daily walk around the cloister she was now permitted and found herself more closely guarded than before. Was this a good omen? Had her long imprisonment begun?
* * *
—
At the end of January, Cranmer came again, accompanied this time by the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Southampton, and the Bishop of Westminster. Katheryn could tell by their faces that they had some heavy news to impart and felt her legs begin to buckle beneath her. Falling to her chair, she waited, heart thumping, to hear her fate, feeling like an animal in a trap.
Cranmer cleared his throat. “Madam, his Majesty has directed Parliament to deal with your offenses and a Bill of Attainder has been drawn up against you and other persons.”
Again, Katheryn had that dreadful faint feeling. Was this the legal process that would imprison her for life?
Suffolk spoke. “Parliament will debate and consider your Grace’s offenses, thus sparing you—and his Majesty—the shame of a trial in open court. The Bill will receive three readings and, after it has been passed on the third, it becomes law as an Act of Parliament. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“We are here,” Cranmer said, “because it concerns us all not to proceed too hastily with the Bill of Attainder, which has been read only once. You are no mean or private person, but a public and illustrious one; therefore, your case ought to be judged in a manner that leaves no room for suspicion that there was some secret quarrel between you and the King. His Majesty does not want people saying that you had no opportunity to clear yourself. So we are come partly to help calm your womanish fears and to advise you that, if you can say anything in your defense, you should do so. It would be most acceptable to your most loving husband if you could clear yourself in this way.”
She brightened at that. It sounded as if Henry was offering her a lifeline. Maybe he had repented of his harshness and was hoping she would give him some pretext to forgive her.
“Madam, we urge you to declare to us now whatever you think might benefit your case,” the Bishop said.
“First,” Cranmer intervened, before she had a moment to gather her thoughts, “we must read to you the Bill of Attainder, so that you may know what offenses are imputed to you. Are you ready to hear it?”
Something in his voice warned her that she would not like what she was going to hear, but she nodded and sat straight in her chair, gripping the arms.
Cranmer unraveled a scroll. “The Bill states that you, Katheryn Howard, have been proved to have been not of pure and honest living before your marriage to the King; and the fact that you have since taken into your service Francis Dereham, the person with whom you shared that vicious life before, and have employed as chamberer Katherine Tilney, a woman who was privy to your naughty life before, is proof of your will to return to your old abominable life.”
“But I didn’t—”
Cranmer held up his hand. “Pray let me finish, Madam. Also, you have conspired with Lady Rochford to bring your vicious and abominable purpose to pass with Thomas Culpeper, late of the King’s Privy Chamber…”
Late? What had happened to him? Panic flooded through her. They knew! Had Jane confessed? Or had Tom himself betrayed them all?
“…and you have met Culpeper in a secret and vile place, at eleven o’clock at night, and remained there with him until three in the morning, with only that bawd, Lady Rochford, present. For these treasons, Culpeper and Dereham have been convicted and executed.”
“No!” she screamed. “No!” Never had she dreamed of anything as brutal as this.
“They were executed in December, Madam,” Southampton said, watching her closely. “You did love them, it is clear.”
She could not speak. She was rocking to and fro in her misery, utterly horrified. Tom was dead. And Francis. She caught Isabel looking at her with eyes full of compassion. She did not seem shocked. She had known.
“How did they die?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
“As traitors, Madam,” Southampton said coldly, “although the King was gracious enough to commute Culpeper’s sentence to beheading.”
That was terrible enough, but she could not bear to think of what Francis must have suffered. “Dereham was innocent,” she wept. “He was my lover only before my marriage—”
“And intended to be after,” Suffolk interrupted. “He said so himself. Intending treason is as good as committing it, under the law.”
She could not deny it. Francis had made plain to her his intentions. And look where it had brought him.
“You, Madam, and Lady Rochford now stand indicted,” Cranmer continued, impervious to Katheryn’s distress and her sobs. “And the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk and Katherine, Countess of Bridgewater, are indicted of misprision of treason for concealing your treasons; likewise, Lord and Lady William Howard, Edward Waldegrave, Katherine Tilney, Alice Restwold, Joan Bulmer, Robert Damport, Malyn Tilney, Margaret Bennet, and William Ashby have all been convicted of misprision, and all shall forfeit their goods to the King and be imprisoned for life.”
Katheryn sat open-mouthed as the full extent of her folly was revealed to her. She had had no idea that all this had b
een going on; she could not take it in. All these weeks of her confinement, the Council had been busy gathering evidence and moving in on most of those who had been associated with her and known of her misconduct. Those questions about the Dowager Duchess should have given her a clue as to what was happening.
“My lords,” she asked, “what is ‘misprision of treason’?”
“It means concealing an act of treason,” Cranmer told her. “Now, Madam, the Bill of Attainder has yet to pass its second and third readings. You will be informed of the outcome. We will leave you to consider whether you wish to make a declaration. We bid you good day.”
* * *
—
As soon as the door had closed behind the councillors, Isabel came over and folded Katheryn in her arms. “Oh, my sister, my poor sister! How awful to find out like that. If I had known how they would break it to you, I would have disobeyed the King’s order not to tell you anything of the proceedings against you and the rest. Can you ever forgive me for my silence?”
Katheryn squeezed her tightly. “Of course. You are not to blame for any of this. It is all my own fault. You have shown me great kindness in my adversity, and I am so grateful. But—oh, God, I cannot believe that Tom is dead, and Francis. Do you know if they died well?”
“Edward was there,” Isabel revealed. “You remember that day he said he had to go to court?”
“But that was weeks ago!” All this time, and she had not known.
“He felt he ought to be present,” Isabel recalled. “Dereham and Culpeper were drawn on hurdles from the Tower to Tyburn. Culpeper asked the people to pray for him, then he knelt down and had his head cut off, very cleanly. And then…Dereham died a more cruel death. You know what happens to traitors.”
She did. She envisaged the life being choked out of Francis, then his being revived, only to be butchered to death; he would have been in unimaginable, prolonged agony before merciful oblivion claimed him. She felt sick to think of it.
“Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, searching Isabel’s face.
“No, upon my honor,” Isabel declared. “We all await Parliament’s verdict.”
“Most of those accused have been imprisoned,” Katheryn said, “so there is hope for me yet.” She shuddered as she realized that she was probably deluding herself, for, in the eyes of the Council, and probably the King, and Parliament, she was as guilty as, if not more than, the men who had died on her account. As the realization hit her, she could not speak and swayed on her feet.
“Katheryn?” asked Isabel, taking her hand. “What is it?”
“They will do to me as they did to Tom and Francis, for mine is the greater offense,” she whispered. “I will be put to death, and I have deserved it. I shall make no declaration, nor ask for any favor, except that the execution shall be secret and not under the eyes of the world.”
Isabel looked shocked. “You are running ahead of yourself,” she said. “Parliament has not yet spoken. Edward was told, at court, that the King intended to imprison you for life. You must hold to that. Promise me you will! Do not torment yourself with morbid thoughts.”
“In my position,” Katheryn told her, “I can think of little else.”
* * *
—
She would not let go or lose control. There would be no more hysterics. If she was to get through the next days, or weeks, she must be positive. She must remember that she was a daughter of the Howards and must behave as one. Her cousin Anne had faced death bravely, and she must do likewise. Besides, it probably wouldn’t be death for her. Please God, Henry would show mercy.
She put on a cheerful face and the best of her gowns and hoods, taking care with her appearance. A look in her mirror told her that she was as pretty as ever, even if she had put on weight in these weeks of idleness. She tried to assume her most imperious regal manner and behaved as if she were queening it over a palace and not these dismal rooms at Syon. Her household indulged her; it was as if they realized that she was doing her best to be brave.
* * *
—
It was a week into February, and still there was no news. Katheryn thought she might go mad with anxiety. It was hard to maintain her composure when her very life hung in the balance.
When she heard footsteps in the cloister, she stifled a scream and held her breath to see who would be announced. It was Sir John Gage, the Comptroller of the King’s household, a man in his early sixties who had been most pleasant to her when she was Queen. Her heart was filled with dread at the sight of him, for he was also the Constable of the Tower.
He bowed. “Madam, I am here to break up your household. Your servants are to be dismissed, but you may keep Lady Baynton.”
“Am I to go to the Tower?” Katheryn cried, shrinking in fear.
“No, Madam. I am given to understand that no final decision has yet been made as to what your future is to be, but I am told that the matter will be cleared up in two or three days, and it will be known what will become of you.”
None of this augured well. Thinking that it must betoken the worst, she watched her servants packing their things and Isabel saying a loving farewell to Edward. Katheryn had to turn away, so deeply did it upset her to witness the love between them, and to know that they had a future to look forward to. And yet, surely, if Henry meant to have her executed, he would have sent her to the Tower today. Truly, she did not know what to think, and she was aware that her carapace of bravery was wearing thin. She could not take much more.
* * *
—
It was Thursday, the ninth day of February, and bitterly cold. Wrapped in their cloaks, Katheryn and Isabel sat by the fire playing cards. Katheryn kept losing because she could not concentrate. The tension in the room was palpable.
Footsteps again! And then a rapping on the door. They heard the guards opening it and men’s voices. One was Cranmer’s.
He came in, accompanied by some of his fellow privy councillors and others whom he introduced as members of Parliament. Katheryn could hardly breathe. In a few moments, she would know her fate.
“Madam, the Bill of Attainder has received the royal assent and become law. You and Lady Rochford have been attainted by both Houses of Parliament for high treason and you are sentenced to death and the confiscation of your property.”
Death! The worst that could befall her. She could not believe that this was happening. If she had not been seated, she would have collapsed on the floor. This was the reckoning; this was God’s punishment for her wickedness.
Isabel, weeping uncontrollably, was blindly reaching out a hand to her, but she had no strength to take it.
She forced herself to listen to the Archbishop, although what could anything else he said matter now?
“His Majesty,” he was telling her, “wishes to proceed with all moderation and justice in your case, and has sent us to you to propose that, if you wish, you may defend yourself in Parliament.”
What good would that do? Parliament had already condemned her, and there was nothing she could say in her defense. But she had often thought about what she would say if this awful day ever came. She was prepared.
“My lords…” she began, haltingly at first. “I thank his Majesty, but I will not avail myself of his gracious offer to defend myself in Parliament. I submit myself entirely to his mercy, for I admit that I have deserved death. I acknowledge the great crime of which I have been guilty against the most high God, a kind prince, and the whole English nation. I beg you, my lords, implore his Majesty not to impute my crimes to my family, but that he will extend his unbounded mercy and benevolence to all my brothers, that they might not suffer for my faults.”
“We will convey your pleas to his Majesty,” Cranmer assured her. “Is there anything else?”
She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “My only care is to make a good dea
th and leave a good opinion in people’s minds. All I ask is that the execution be carried out in private, and not in the face of the people.”
Cranmer nodded. “I think we can safely promise that, Madam.”
“And could I beseech his Majesty to let me leave some of my clothes to those maidservants who have been with me since my marriage, as I have nothing now to recompense them as they deserve.”
“We will convey your requests,” Cranmer said.
She hesitated. “Do you know the date set for my execution?”
“No, Madam. We will take your answer back to his Majesty, who will decide what is to happen to you.”
“Am I not to go to the Tower?” she faltered.
“We have no instructions to that effect,” he replied. “We must leave now, to catch the tide. May God bless you, my child.” And he made the sign of the Cross over her. It nearly broke her, for he had never done that in all their meetings before.
* * *
—
When the lords had gone, Katheryn knelt by her bed, trying to pray, aware that she must start saying goodbye to the world and all the fabric of her life. There was little hope for her now, and she must place her trust in God and start preparing for the end, although how she was going to begin to do that she had no idea. Isabel knelt beside her, her head in her hands, her body shaking with the force of her pleas to the Almighty to spare her sister. “She is so young!” she wept.
In all the anxiety of the past weeks, Katheryn’s birthday had been forgotten, even by herself. She was twenty-one now. It was too young to die.
* * *
—
On Friday afternoon, Isabel went out to gather more firewood, for the store they had been left was proving pitifully inadequate. But she was soon back, hurrying along the cloister, clutching her cloak around her. Moments later, she burst into the room.