The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  A great stir was heard in the entrance hall, which was filled with the various officers of the household, the chamberlain and ushers with their wands, the grooms of the chamber, gentlemen and lacqueys in the Duchess’s livery.

  In the midst of them stood the King, towering above the throng almost by the head and shoulders. He was magnificently dressed, as usual.

  Behind him was Adrian Culpepper. Near the old Duchess, who advanced to meet his Majesty, and who comported herself throughout with great dignity, were Father Anselm and the Franciscan friar.

  “What do you think of the King?” asked Lady Rochford.

  “I think him the noblest-looking person I ever beheld, and very handsome,” replied Catherine. “How provoking that the Duchess will not let us appear? I wonder what he is saying to her.”

  Henry did not seek to disguise the motives of his visit.

  After the Duchess had thanked him in her stately manner for the honour he had done her, he replied, —

  “Your Grace will marvel what has brought me here. I have heard such encomiums of the beauty of your grand-daughter, the Lady Catherine Howard, that I have come to see whether they are deserved. I have been so duped of late, as Adrian Culpepper will tell you, that I will trust only to mine own eyes in future.”

  This speech, though uttered in a very gracious tone, greatly alarmed the old Duchess, and she secretly congratulated herself on having kept Catherine out of sight.

  “I am sorry your Majesty has taken so much trouble,” she said, “especially at a time when you have other matters of far greater moment to attend to. Whoever described my grand-daughter in such terms to your Majesty” — glancing, as she spoke, at Adrian— “grossly flattered her. She has but few pretensions to beauty. She knows nothing of Court manners. I have never allowed her to go forth into the world, because she was early destined to a religious life; though that design,” she added, with a profound sigh that did not escape the King, “has been necessarily abandoned, since we have now no religious houses. I am unwilling to disturb the serenity of mind which she has attained, and I pray your Majesty to spare her this ordeal.”

  “Go to, Duchess!” cried Henry. “You call it an ‘ordeal;’ but I am greatly mistaken if your fair granddaughter — for fair she is, I am certain — will regard her presentation in that light. I must see her. If she answer to Adrian Culpepper’s description, she shall become one of the Maids of Honour to our new Queen.”

  Strange to say, the Duchess did not seem to appreciate this offer — did not even return thanks for it.

  “The illustrious Princess, whom your Majesty has chosen as your spouse, would not be likely to approve of her,” she remarked, drily. “I have endeavoured to explain to your Majesty that Catherine is ignorant of Court life, and wholly unfitted for it. With profound respect, I am compelled to decline your gracious offer.”

  “You have lived so long in retirement, Duchess, that you know little of the world,” observed the King, sternly. “The expression of our wishes is a command, and must be obeyed. Let us see your grand-daughter, without further parley.”

  Finding that nothing was left hut compliance with the arbitrary monarch’s will, the old Duchess resigned herself to it with the best grace she could.

  She, therefore, gave some instructions, in a low tone, to the usher who had conveyed her previous message to Catherine and Lady Rochford, and then ceremoniously conducted the King to a large inner room, hung with tapestry, and richly furnished according to the taste of the time. The windows looked upon the garden, and the door, which was standing open, communicated with the terrace.

  “By my faith, Duchess, you have a noble house!” cried Henry, glancing round approvingly; “and pleasant gardens. I must see them anon.”

  Meanwhile, a large fauteuil having been conveniently placed near a table by the attendants, the King seated himself in it. Cates and fruit were then served, of which he partook.

  Wine was next proffered by a cup-bearer, and he had just raised a goblet of muscadine to his lips, when Catherine Howard and Lady Rochford, preceded by Gervase, entered the apartment.

  Struck with astonishment and admiration at Catherine’s surpassing beauty, Henry set down the cup untasted.

  Adrian Culpepper, who was standing behind his chair, noted, with a pang, the effect that Catherine had produced upon him.

  “Thou art right, Adrian! — thou art right!” cried the King, rapturously. “By St. Anne, thy cousin is most beautiful.”

  Catherine advanced slowly and timidly, scarcely daring to raise her eyes towards the King, though encouraged in a whisper by Lady Rochford.

  However, the Duchess led her towards the royal chair, and presented her to his Majesty, who graciously took her hand, and raised her.

  Catherine’s eyes again sank before his ardent gaze, and her cheeks suffused with blushes.

  “You have disparaged your grand-daughter, madam,” cried Henry, to the Duchess, who was looking on with ill-disguised uneasiness. “I find her all that is charming.”

  “I beseech your Majesty not to fill her heart with vanity, and undo the good work which these holy men,” designating the priest and the friar, who were standing near her, “have laboured to accomplish.”

  “She has been kept in ignorance of her beauty long enough, and shall hear the truth from my lips,” laughed the King.

  “She has been taught not to listen to idle compliments, sire, — come from where they may,” said the Duchess.

  “You did not turn a deaf ear to such speeches once upon a time, madam, and why should she?” cried Henry. “If you have renounced the world, with its pomps and vanities, there is no reason why your granddaughter should renounce it. She shall not be immured as if she were in a convent,” he added, frowning at the priest and the friar.

  Then turning to Catherine, whose hand he had not yet relinquished, he added, “You must he sadly moped here, fair mistress. Come, confess the truth.”

  “Nay, sire; I am very happy with my grandmother,” she replied, demurely.

  “But you long for a change,” interposed Lady Rochford. “Not many days ago, when I was describing a ball — a masque — a revel — or something of the kind, you said that you would dearly like to be at Court among noble damsels of your own age, in order that you might participate in these gaieties and festivities, from which you are debarred.”

  “Nay, Isabel, you know I did not speak seriously when I said so,” observed Catherine.

  “You must have been serious, for you sighed as if your heart would break.”

  Henry laughed heartily.

  “She sighed — ha!” he cried.

  The priest and the friar lifted up their eyes in silent horror, and the old Duchess cried out sharply, “This is mere invention!”

  “Let Kate contradict me, if she can,” rejoined Lady Rochford.

  Catherine made no response, but her looks could be easily interpreted by the King.

  “You shall not sigh in vain, fair mistress,” he said. “You shall attend on the Queen. You shall mix in all the gaieties of Court. Jousts shall be held at Greenwich expressly for your amusement, and I myself will splinter a lance at them.”

  “You hold out great temptations to my granddaughter, sire,” said the Duchess. “But I trust she will know how to resist them.”

  “Resist them! Ha!” exclaimed Henry. “God’s death, madam! she shall not be kept here against her will. Speak, fair mistress! Will you tarry with your grandmother, or go to Court?”

  Catherine felt that the Duchess’s eye was upon her.

  “I should be ungrateful if I were to leave my grandmother, sire, after all the kindness she has shown me, without her consent and approval.”

  A smile of triumph played upon the Duchess’s thin lips.

  Adrian was inexpressibly relieved by Catherine’s decision; but Lady Rochford was surprised and vexed.

  “Will you throw away this brilliant chance?” she whispered.

  Henry was greatly mortified. He had fel
t sure that his offer would be eagerly accepted. His anger with the old Duchess for her opposition to his will was increased, though he did not then care to manifest his displeasure.

  As if to make an end of the matter, he rose abruptly, and said to Catherine, “Show me the gardens, fair mistress. Since you never stray beyond them, you must be well acquainted with their beauties.”

  Catherine, of course, obeyed; and they stepped out, through the open window, upon the terrace, the others following at a respectful distance.

  VII. In what Manner Henry declared his Passion for Catherine Howard.

  HENRY did not bestow much attention upon the gardens, though they were charmingly laid out, having eyes only for his fair companion.

  By this time, Catherine had recovered from the awe with which he had at first inspired her, and not unnaturally felt elated by his flattering observations. Now that she dared to return the amorous monarch’s glances, her dark eyes proved irresistible.

  Catherine’s personal attractions surpassed those of Anne Boleyn, or Jane Seymour, or of any woman on whom Henry’s capricious affections had been fixed, and he could not help contrasting her with the unattractive Princess to whom he was to be united on the morrow.

  Was it too late, even now, to retreat from that untoward engagement? As he gazed at Catherine Howard, and perused her lovely lineaments, each moment discovering some new beauty, he thought not.

  Why not take this enchanting creature, in whom every perfection was centred, and who seemed formed for his happiness, as his Queen, and discard the other, for whom he had conceived the strongest aversion?

  They had now reached the end of the terrace, and descending a short flight of stone steps, entered a lower walk.

  “These are pleasant gardens,” observed the King, gazing around with indifference. “But you will find those of Greenwich much pleasanter. I shall be doing you a great service in compelling you to come to Court.”

  “I pray you, do not, sire, for I should obey you with reluctance.”

  “With reluctance!” exclaimed Henry. “Do you share your grandam’s opinions?”

  “Not exactly, sire. I am not insensible to the splendid attractions of your Court, but—”

  “You will eclipse all in it,” interrupted Henry, passionately.

  “Your Majesty forgets the Queen,” returned Catherine.

  “You will outshine her as much as the sun outshines the stars in splendour.”

  “Sire!”

  “Why did I not see you before I formed this hateful engagement, Catherine? Why has the fairest damsel in the realm — the one whom I would first have chosen — been kept from my sight? Oh, Cromwell! Cromwell! I owe this to thee!”

  “Think not of me, sire, I entreat you. Think of the Princess, who is to become your bride to-morrow.”

  “I think of her only with aversion. You have made her doubly hateful to me, Catherine. I cannot endure the thoughts of wedding her. You must free me from her.”

  “Free you from her, sire!” she exclaimed, feigning not to understand him. “How am I to do that?”

  “One word from your sweet lips, Catherine, and even now at the eleventh hour, I will break off this detested match.”

  She made no reply, though the King looked eagerly at her as he spoke.

  All her latent feelings of ambition were excited by this splendid offer, but they were held in check by the perils of her position.

  “Your answer, Catherine? — your answer?” cried Henry.

  Still she did not answer, and he again ardently urged her to speak.

  “My liege, this is so unexpected — so much beyond all notions I have ever formed — that I am quite bewildered, and must entreat a few moments for consideration.”

  “No consideration is necessary,” cried Henry.

  “Ha! we are interrupted,” he added, as footsteps were heard approaching. “By heaven, ’tis Cromwell! What brings him here?”

  Why did Catherine look as appalled as if a spectre had suddenly risen before her? In Cromwell’s attendant she had recognised Francis Dereham.

  Fortunately, the King was too incensed to notice her terror.

  VII. How Catherine declined the King’s Offer.

  WE must now see how Cromwell had obtained admittance.

  On arriving at the mansion, he announced that he knew the King was there, and adding that he had business of importance with his Majesty, demanded to he led to him instantly.

  Gervase, to whom he addressed himself, did not dare to refuse, though he knew that the Duchess of Norfolk would he highly offended by the intrusion.

  Accordingly, he led the Earl and his attendant, who never quitted him, to the gardens, pointed out the King, and then left them to their devices, repairing forthwith to the Duchess, to acquaint her with the circumstance. Needless to say, she was excessively indignant, for she abhorred Cromwell, and looked upon him as the author of all the miseries inflicted upon the adherents of the old religion.

  Lady Rochford was with her at the time, and when her ladyship discovered that the Earl of Essex was accompanied by Francis Dereham, she became seriously alarmed. That they came with some ill design to Catherine, she did not doubt, and she set her wits to work to defeat it.

  Meantime, Cromwell and his attendants had descended to the lower walk, where they found Henry engaged in amorous converse with Catherine.

  A glance at the pair showed Cromwell how matters stood, and he secretly congratulated himself on the bold step he had taken.

  “We are just in time,” he remarked to his attendant.

  Dereham’s blood seemed on fire; but he repressed his rage. A terrible vengeance was in his power.

  Braving the King’s frown, Cromwell hastened towards him, and making a profound obeisance, besought a moment’s speech, on a matter that concerned his Majesty nearly.

  “Not now!” rejoined Henry, sternly. “See you not that I am engaged?”

  “What I have to say cannot be deferred, sire,” urged Cromwell.

  “Speak, then!” cried Henry, impatiently.

  “’Tis for your private ear, sire, and relates to her Highness the Princess of Cleves.”

  “Ah! by St. Anne, am I never to he at peace, but thou must eternally trouble me about the Princess of Cleves?” exclaimed Henry, furiously. “I desire to hear no more of her. Yet since thou hast come, thou shalt convey a message from me to her Highness.”

  “To what effect, sire?” asked Cromwell.

  “Tell him what I have said to you, sweetheart,” observed the King to Catherine. “He will know how to frame the message.”

  In his eagerness to catch Catherine’s response, Dereham made a slight step forward, and the movement attracted the King’s notice.

  “How now, fellow!” he exclaimed, sternly. “Who called thee? Who art thou?”

  “The Lady Catherine Howard will tell your Majesty who I am,” replied Dereham, boldly.

  “He was formerly one of the Duchess’s gentlemen, sire,” she observed, glancing entreatingly at him.

  “And he is now in my service,” added Cromwell.

  The look thrown by the Earl at Catherine as he spoke, convinced her that he was in possession of her secret.

  Thus admonished, she had but one course to pursue.

  “You will take back a loving message from his Majesty to the Princess,” she said; “and tell her, in the tenderest phrases you can employ, that he will be with her at eventide, to give her an assurance of his regard.”

  “She has saved herself,” muttered Cromwell.

  “Ha! do you mock me?” cried Henry, angrily.

  “No, sire,” replied Catherine. “But you commanded me to be your mouth-piece. The message with which I have charged the Earl of Essex, in your Majesty’s name, cannot fail to be agreeable to her Highness.”

  “Then that is your decision?” said Henry, in a low, reproachful tone. “You refuse the crown?”

  “That is my decision, sire,” she replied.

  “You will repent
it, Catherine! Mark me — you will repent it!” cried Henry. “I will not let him take that message.”

  “You must, sire — you must.”

  “Be it so!” cried Henry, haughtily. “Have you aught more to say to me, my lord?” he added to Cromwell.

  “No, sire; my errand is accomplished. I will hasten with your message to the Princess.”

  “That is needless,” said the King. “I will go to her myself. I have nothing to detain me here. Farewell, sweetheart!”

  His abrupt departure was prevented by the appearance of the Duchess of Norfolk. Her Grace, who cast indignant looks at Cromwell and Dereham, was attended by Lady Rochford and Adrian Culpepper.

  “Sire,” she exclaimed, with a spirit hardly to be expected from her, and that seemed to restore something of her youth, “you never turn a deaf ear to the just complaints of your subjects. A gross affront has been offered me by the Earl of Essex. Not only has he intruded himself into my house under the pretext of important business with your Majesty, but he has brought with him an insolent varlet, who was ignominiously dismissed my service.”

  “There is reason in what you say, madam,” said the King. “Knowing that his presence must be offensive, the Earl of Essex did wrong in coming here; but to bring with him a person who is objectionable to your Grace, looks like a studied insult.”

  “It must have been so intended, sire,” cried the Duchess.

  “Your Grace is mistaken,” observed Cromwell, in a deprecatory tone. “I had no such design.”

  “Perhaps her Grace will explain why I was dismissed her service,” observed Dereham.

  “For thy presumption, thou insolent fellow!” cried the Duchess, scornfully. “Were not his Majesty here, thy master’s livery should be no protection to thee. My lacqueys should chastise thee, and drive thee forth, as thou wert driven forth before.”

  From the first, the King had taken a dislike to Dereham, and he laughed heartily at his discomfiture.