by Jean Plaidy
“What ails her?” asked the little girl.
“By my faith,” said one of the women, “I fear she will die of her melancholy.”
The doctors came, but they could not rouse her. They could do nothing to disperse her fever.
A FEW DAYS AFTER the birth of the child, Thomas came into the bedchamber, his brow wrinkled, all jauntiness gone.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “how fares it with thee now?”
She did not answer him.
“Kate…my dearest Kate, it is Thomas. Look at me, my love. Smile at me. Tell me you love me.”
She turned her head from him.
She spoke suddenly, but not to Thomas. “Lady Tyrwhit,” she cried out, “is that you?”
Lady Tyrwhit, who had been in attendance since the birth of the child, came to the bedside. She knelt and took the Queen’s burning hand in hers.
“Lady Tyrwhit, I fear such things within me that I do not think I shall leave this bed.”
Thomas knelt and took her other hand. She turned her head to look at him, but she did not seem to recognize him.
“Lady Tyrwhit,” she continued, “I am not well-handled. Those about me care not for me. Oh, I am most unhappy, Lady Tyrwhit, because those I have loved, love me not. They mock me. They laugh at my love. Mayhap they laugh now at my grief. They wait for my death that they may be with others. The more good I do to them, the less good they would do to me.”
“Sweetheart, sweetheart!” cried Thomas. “I would do you no harm.”
She spoke to him then. “I do not think you speak the truth, my lord.”
“Kate…Kate…have you forgotten how we have loved?”
“No, my lord, but you have given me some very shrewd taunts. My Lady Tyrwhit, I do not think I shall live. I do not wish to live.”
The Admiral turned appealingly to Lady Tyrwhit. “How can I comfort her? How can I assure her of my devotion?”
Lady Tyrwhit was sorry for him, even while she remembered that his conduct with the Lady Elizabeth had brought his wife to this pass.
“I shall lie on the bed beside her,” he said. “I will pacify her. I will bring back her peace of mind. I will assure her…”
“Nay,” said Katharine. “It is over now. I shall die. There is no need for me to live longer.”
“What of the love you have for me?” he cried. “What of our child?”
But she looked bewildered, as though she did not know of what child he spoke.
“I will lie beside you, sweetheart,” he said.
“No,” she said fearfully. “No!”
“She must not be disturbed so,” said Lady Tyrwhit.
Thomas stood back, helpless, filled with wretchedness and remorse.
Katharine closed her eyes.
“Leave her to sleep,” said Lady Tyrwhit. “That will restore her peace of mind better than aught else.”
And Katharine lay, listening to the voices about her. She seemed to hear whispering voices everywhere. She seemed to see the flushed face of the youthful Princess and her husband’s eyes gleaming as they looked at the girl.
She thought she heard voices which told her that the rumors were true. He had wanted Elizabeth; Elizabeth was the greater prize; but he had accepted the Queen…temporarily.
Temporarily he had accepted the Queen. And later…he would take Elizabeth.
The voices went on and on in her imagination.
She no longer wished to live. She believed herself to be unloved and unwanted; and the tragedy was that, no matter what might happen in the future, no matter what assurances were made, she would never believe them. She could never believe in anything again.
She had set up an idol and worshipped it; she saw now that it had feet of clay.
There was darkness near to her; it beckoned, offering peace.
“Come,” it seemed to say. “It is what you need. It is what you wish for yourself. It is what he wishes for you.”
And she felt that she was drifting forward into that peace.
ON A SUNNY SEPTEMBER day the gentlemen and esquires of the Queen’s household carried the leaden chest, in which lay Katharine Parr, into the little chapel attached to the Castle of Sudley.
The walls of the chapel were hung with black cloth, and on them, to remind the assembly that this lady had been a Queen, were not only the arms of the Seymours, but also those of King Henry the Eighth whose sixth wife she had been.
After the birth of her daughter she had died, having, some said, no wish to live. Others went further and said that she had been hastened to her death.
Lady Jane Grey, one of the Queen’s chief mourners, listened to the service conducted by the Queen’s cofferer and recalled what she knew of the life of this lady whom she had loved; she remembered those alarming days when she had been the King’s wife, and the strange good chance which had led Nan to the courtyard when Wriothesley had dropped the all-important paper; and it seemed to Jane that God preserved some men and women from disaster whilst He guided the footsteps of others toward it, so that it seemed that each had a destiny to fulfill here on Earth.
What of herself? she wondered fleetingly; and in the stifling atmosphere of the chapel she shivered. Her father was ambitious, and there were plans being made to encircle her head with a crown. How could she, a young girl, know what fate awaited her?
Dear Queen Katharine! she thought. I shall never see her again. Never hear her gentle voice…never see her sweet smile…
Now they were carrying the coffin out of the chapel. Soon they would bury it, and it would be goodbye…goodbye for ever to Queen Katharine Parr.
THE RUMORS WERE spreading all over the land. How did Katharine Parr meet her death? There were unpleasant stories which came from those intimate with the Queen’s household and who knew of her husband’s light behavior toward a royal Princess who had lived under his roof.
Why did the Queen die?
The Princess Elizabeth would be an excellent match for the ambitious Admiral.
The stories grew in wildness. Some said that a midwife had told a tale of being led blindfold to a quiet house that she might deliver a baby. She knew the mother must be a person of high degree, though she could not say more of who she was, except that she was young, fair and imperious. She might well have been a Princess.
The Duchess of Somerset listened to these stories. They amused her; more, they delighted her. But the story she liked best was that which insisted that the Lord High Admiral had decided to rid himself of his wife by poison, and that this was the explanation of her sudden death.
For, as she said to her husband, although the King would be loath to sign the death warrant of his beloved uncle whom he idealized, if he could be convinced that his idol had poisoned the beloved stepmother, he might be more ready to put pen to that necessary document.
It was easy to spread such rumors. They ran through the capital, through the provinces, through the countryside, like fire that is unchecked.
Katharine Parr, the sixth wife of Henry the Eighth, is dead. She married a fourth husband. Was that wise? The Admiral was such an ambitious man. And what part had the Princess Elizabeth played in this affair?
So men and women stopped to talk in the streets of this matter.
“Queen Katharine Parr is dead. Her husband killed her…for the sake of the Princess Elizabeth. He waited until the child was born…then he poisoned her.”
He poisoned her! That became the simple cry which emanated from all the rumors.
The words held a menace, and the shadow of the ax deepened over the heads of those who had lived close to the King’s sixth wife.
THE END
About the Book
KATHARINE PARR married young to an older gentleman. Again in her second marriage, the caring Katharine nursed an elderly husband. Now in her thirties and a rich widow, Katharine longs to marry again—this time for love. The handsome and exciting Thomas Seymour promises Katharine a life of romance and happiness, and she eagerly accepts. King Henry
VIII, meanwhile, is lonely after “putting away” his fifth wife, and begins to look for another. It is Katharine Parr who catches his eye—and is thrown into a life of danger and intrigue as the sixth wife of the fickle and ruthless Henry VIII.
Katharine’s skills as a nurse serve her well with the ailing king, who relies on her to make him comfortable. But as the years pass, no sons are born, and no amount of nursing can distract the restless king from the knowledge that the time to produce more heirs is growing short. Amid religious strife in the court and the country, Katharine’s Protestantism makes her vulnerable to powerful nobles who would remove her from the throne, standing ready to provide the king with grounds to arrest the queen. Katharine and her companions live in constant fear of the king’s displeasure, which they know could lead quickly to execution. As Henry’s health worsens, they dare to hope that the queen will once again be a widow, and once again be free.
Katharine Parr’s story is one of forebearance and fear, of hope and heartbreak. When at last the queen is free to reunite with Thomas, she can finally let down her guard and begin the life she has longed for. But Katharine, who has survived constant threat of arrest at court, is finally undone by the man who has vowed to protect her.
Questions for Discussion
1 Katharine urged her second husband, Lord Latimer, to downplay his religious convictions in order to avoid the king’s punishment. How far does she follow her own advice to keep dangerous opinions quiet from the court? Does she become bolder as her years with Henry pass? Why?
2 Katharine and her sister Anne agree that the wedding ring around Katharine’s finger is akin to a noose around her neck. Does this overstate the case? Does Katharine also derive benefits from the throne? Based on Katharine’s experience, is marriage to Henry a survivable state—or was it luck that saved her in the end?
3 In describing Henry’s style of leadership, Plaidy says that Henry threatens the nobility and courts the commoners. The reader experiences Henry’s reign through the eyes of the court. How do you imagine a commoner would view Henry VIII?
4 When Katharine asks the king for favors, Henry is pleased to be able to grant her that which he himself quietly wants, allowing him to feel at once benevolent and relieved. Do you think Katharine is aware of this dynamic? Does she orchestrate this dialogue to any degree, or is she sincerely appealing for favors on her own behalf?
5 Do Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward—bound by their relationship to the king but by little else—consider themselves a family? How would you describe their life in the palace? Having seen Henry’s queens come and go, why do you think the royal children allow themselves to become so attached to Katharine Parr?
6 Discuss Katharine’s friendship with Jane Grey. Why is the queen so fond of the young girl? Is Katharine a good role model for Jane? If Jane were to become Edward’s queen, what lessons from Katharine would help her in her role? Are there any ways in which Katharine’s example would be detrimental to the pair?
7 Dr. London’s plot to forge documents implicating Katharine as a heretic is foiled when Katharine takes a hand in her own fate, sending a message to those who would destroy her that this queen will not easily be put away. Does this bold and intelligent image ring true throughout Katharine’s reign as queen consort?
8 The author often takes us inside Henry’s head to witness the suspicions, longings, and justifications that lead him to act so unpredictably. Does this narrative device work to make him more sympathetic as a character, or more dangerous? Do his feelings about conscience and fraternity with God sound like insanity, or are they understandable as the musings of a man accustomed to great power?
9 Elizabeth has many of the characteristics that made her father a strong and respected ruler. Does she also have qualities that could lead her to repeat Henry’s cruelty? What do you see as weaknesses?
10 Anne Askew is in many ways a dangerous friend for Katharine to have. Why does Katharine risk so much to help her? Does Katharine relate to her friend’s religious zeal, or is she just trying to help a friend in need? Is she in any way responsible for Anne’s fate?
11 Henry VIII is described as a man of many moods and a fierce will. Henry himself repeatedly declares, “A king is still a man.” Amid his many personas—sensualist, sovereign, diplomat, conqueror, husband, patient, father—can you identify one “real” Henry? How would he describe himself? What might Henry the man have been like if he were not king?
12 After reading Wriothesley’s warrant for her arrest, Katharine despairs until Thomas Seymour urges her to fight for her life. Why does she not fight before this? Does she realize her advantage in having found the lost scroll, or could she have made more of the opportunity?
13 What does Thomas find so alluring about Elizabeth? How big a part of the appeal is her place in line for the throne? Without her political stature, would Thomas have risked so much to seduce her? How do Katharine and Elizabeth compare in his eyes?
14 Why does Surrey deliberately provoke the king with his words and actions? Is he motivated by the same kind of reckless delirium that Katharine sometimes feels—or is something else driving him? Does he harbor a real desire to take power from Henry, or does he court danger out of restlessness?
15 By her fourth marriage, Katharine is an experienced wife—but naïve in the ways of romance. Why does she not see hints of Thomas’ indiscretions earlier? Is she foolish to trust him? If she had known about his proposal to Elizabeth, do you think she would have married Thomas? How could she have saved herself?
Contents
Title Page
The Betrothal
The Bridegroom
The Thistle and the Rose
The Curse of Sauchieburn
The Wild Knight
The Reckless Marriage
The Deserted Queen
Daisy, Marigold, Pomegranate and Rose
The Unfaithful Husband
Margaret and Albany
The Queen’s Lover
The Queen’s Third Marriage
The Last Days
Bibliography
In an apartment of that royal palace which recently, by the command of the King, had had its name changed from Shene to Richmond, three children were ranged about a blazing fire. Outside the January wind buffeted the octagonal and circular towers, threatening to sweep away the little chimneys which looked like inverted pears.
The eldest of the three—a girl just past her twelfth birthday—had taken off the net which held her beautiful reddish golden hair, so that she could have the joy of letting it fall over her shoulders and down to her waist. The boy, who had the same rosy complexion and bright gold hair, watched her sullenly. She was delighted with herself; he was displeased. As for the other child, a little girl not quite six, she was intent on watching the pair of them, very conscious of the fact that on account of her age she was of small account in the eyes of her twelve-year-old sister, Margaret, and ten-year-old brother, Henry.
“The fact is,” Margaret was saying, “that you are angry because I am to have a marriage and because I shall be a queen before you are a king.”
“Queen of Scotland!” sneered Henry. “That barbarous land! Nay, my sister, I tell you this: I am displeased because it seems to me unfitting that my sister should so demean herself by such a marriage.”
Margaret burst out laughing. “What airs you give yourself, Henry. I declare that since you became Prince of Wales you believe you are a king already. And think of this, brother: Had our dear Arthur lived you would never have been a king at all.”
Henry scowled. It was like Margaret to take an unfair advantage. She was telling him that he showed too much pleasure in his new state and not enough sorrow for the death of their brother.
“It matters not how or why a man wears a crown,” he muttered. “It only matters that he does.”
“So you are glad Arthur is dead!”
“I did not say that.”
“You imply it.”
“You lie.”
Mary began to whimper. She hated quarrels between her brother and sister; they were always threatening to arise, partly because Margaret and Henry were so much alike. If Margaret’s hair were cut off—which she would never allow because it was her greatest beauty and she was very proud of it—and she were dressed like a boy, there would be Henry all over again. And it was not only in appearance that they resembled each other. They were both headstrong, willful, loving to indulge themselves, furious with any who opposed them. Mary secretly took Henry’s side because he made much of her. He often told her how pretty she was and that she was his favorite sister.
“Now you see what you have done,” complained Henry. “You have frightened Mary. Come here, Mary. I will sing to you if you like. I will play my lute.”
“Oh yes, please.”
Margaret regarded them scornfully.
“And you must say none sings like he does, none plays the lute to compare with him, and you are the luckiest girl in the world to have such a brother. That is the payment which will be asked of you for his attentions, little sister.”
“Heed her not,” Henry reassured the little girl. “She is angry with us because she has to leave our beautiful Court for that of a barbarian.”
Margaret lost a little of her bravado. She had her qualms. It could be an ordeal at twelve, when you had not a great experience of the world, to be called upon to leave your home for that of a husband you had never seen.
Henry saw the change in her demeanour and made the most of his advantage.
“I never cared for Scottish alliances.” He imitated the tone of one of his father’s ministers and stood ponderously, long legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, an expression of wisdom on his round, rosy face.
“I wonder you do not discuss this matter with the King,” Margaret put in sarcastically.
“I might do so.” Henry was playing for Mary; it was possible that she would not find it difficult to imagine her wonderful brother already advising the King.