THE LADY ROCHFORD SAGA
PART I: INTO THE RANKS OF THE DECEIVED
Danielle Marchant
First Published in Great Britain by Danielle Marchant, 2013.
Copyright © Danielle Marchant, 2013.
No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved.
The right of Danielle Marchant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Front cover: “Anne Boleyn” © Laurence Marchant
For my friends, family, for all the fantastic followers of “The Lady Rochford Saga” at www.facebook.com/TheLadyRochfordSaga and for my biggest inspiration, Philippa Gregory.
Prologue
1st January 1543 – Hampton Court Palace
All was magnificent in King Henry VIII’s court. The young, unmarried women danced in the middle in celebration of the New Year with the men of the court. Courtiers drank and were merry at the tables. Will Somers, the court jester, had given another one of his witty one liners to the King. It was difficult to know what he was saying, but whatever it was it made the King laugh, his great belly wobbling under the mass of fine fabrics and jewellery that he wore for he was now a great size due to years of inactivity and overeating. His wife Katherine Parr sat next to him, her smile fixed, holding onto both hand rests of her throne.
Henry Parker, Lord Morley looked on. “I wonder if she feels secure on that throne”, he thought to himself. Then, he stopped himself, worried that even his own thoughts could betray him.
Could he be accused of treason, like his daughter? Accused on just his thoughts?
Just in case, he also fixed a smile on his face to match Katherine Parr’s. Carry on and pretend that all is ok. Arrange your face. That is how you survive in this court.
“In the court where my daughter had died”, he thought. This was the fact that has haunted him every day of his life.
He felt his wife’s hand on his hand. It was as if Alice had read his mind. ”That’s ok”, he thought to himself. “Even if she could read my treasonous thoughts, she won’t betray me. After all, we both lost our daughter, Jane, last year.”
Alice turned to him. Jane had only died less than a year ago, on 13th February, but Alice already looked aged, as if ten years older. The wrinkles on her face were even more prominent. “Our local Church, St. Giles has accepted my donation towards its bells” she told him in a low voice. Alice had paid her own tribute to her daughter by giving towards the cost of the bells of St. Giles at Great Hallingbury, Essex. Of course she could not be open about this. In public, both Alice and Henry agreed with King Henry’s decision to make a moral example of their “bawd” daughter.
In private, both of them felt dead to the happiness and merriment that surrounded them. A part of them had died with Jane.
A hush then descended on the jubilation around them. “I believe it is my turn to give my own tribute” Henry said quietly to Alice. Katherine asked Henry to come to the front of the Great Hall. “Lord Morley, I believe you have a surprise for His Majesty?”
King Henry turned to his wife. This was his sixth wife in a long, bloody line. His expression was of mock surprise. “A gift?! For me?! Lord Morley you are so generous!”
Henry approached the throne and gave a low bow. “Yes, Your Majesty. May I present to you my New Year gift?” He then handed to him a beautifully decorated manuscript.
“Thank you, Lord Morley!” King Henry replied, accepting the manuscript. “A book? This is a surprise! Although, surprising people must run through the family!” King Henry began to laugh and the rest of the Great Hall laughed with him. Henry bit his tongue on this direct rebuke on his daughter and laughed with the King. “Please, Lord Morley, could you read this to us?”
Henry gladly accepted the manuscript. He opened the manuscript to a particular page and the Great Hall was silent again. “When Troy fell, Polyxena, the daughter of Hecuba and Priam was sacrificed by Achilles’ son, Pyrrhus. This was so that the Gods could then send unto the victorious Greeks the winds in order to allow them to go home. Polyxena was Iphigenia’s counterpart. Iphigenia had been killed for a similar purpose when the wars had first started. O, that it was against all good order….that so sweet a maiden should be devoured by the hand of Pyrrhus for to satisfy for another woman’s offence.” As Henry read on, he tried to rid his thoughts of the last time he saw his daughter, then taken away to the Tower as a result of the offences committed by Katherine Howard, the Queen she served.
“Polyxena offered her neck to Pyrrhus with a deeply constant heart, gaining the admiration of those around her.” Henry carried on, despite fighting the painful memory of how he had heard about his brave daughter’s conduct on the scaffold. He had heard how bravely she had faced the executioner, accepting her just punishment, willing to comply with the executioner. He then closed the manuscript and looked up.
The Great Hall was silent, but then the King began to laugh and clapped his hands. “Well done Lord Morley! Another great translation of Boccaccio!” The Great Hall applauded with him. Henry gave a low bow in appreciation and then was ushered to return back to his seat.
The dancing and celebration continued. Katherine got up from her seat, wishing to walk around the room and possibly join in with the dancing. She passed by Henry and Alice’s table and then sat with them. “Lord Morley, that was a yet another brilliant piece!”
“Many thanks, Your Majesty” replied Henry.
“I am pretty sure that in the original story though, wasn’t it Polyxena’s throat that was cut - and not her neck?” Katherine asked, her voice lowered, but her smile genuine. Henry and Alice in response smiled back at Katherine with mutual understanding.
The subtle message of the text may have been lost on the King, but it was not lost on this clever and kind Queen.
Jane Parker
October 1519, Great Hallingbury, Essex.
The autumn winds sweep up the brown leaves across the field. It is warm, but the clouds are gathering. The change of the seasons is now upon us as summer gives way to autumn. My sister, Margaret, screams at me “come in quickly! It’s going to come down!” I quickly race inside as the heavens begin to open.
I looked out of the window at the storm starting to gather. It had been such a fine morning and my sister and I had gathered outside practicing our dance moves. My father, Henry Parker, Lord Morley, says that it is to prepare us for later on when we will be attending His Majesty, King Henry VIII’s court. They always have masques after supper at court and only the most accomplished ladies got to dance in the masque.
Ever since I can remember, I had been trained to prepare for life at court. Life there sounds very different to the life I now know. It sounds like such a wondrous place of banquets, fine tapestries, exquisite gowns and masques. The more I hear about this distant world, the more excited I am to finally enter it. Now at the age of fifteen, I know that that my time is drawing nearer.
I then feel an arm on my shoulder. It is my father. “Jane, looks like you came in just in time!” He pauses, looking thoughtfully at the downpour outside. “The seasons are changing daughter, things never stay the same. Please come with me into the study. I have some important news.”
I sat in front of the great oak desk in father’s study. My father had been educated at Oxford and loved the Classics. I have always been intrigued by his interests, but I have not been allowed to pursue these. We girls are not allowed to be too knowledgeable; after all, when I marry and become a mother, my husband will not want a woman mor
e educated than himself.
“Jane, you are destined for great things” he began. “Up until now, we have prepared you for a life in court and I can confirm that you will be serving Queen Catherine very soon.” This was it. My time had come. I felt such happiness and excitement. “We will begin to make the preparations for your departure to Greenwich Palace very soon”. All girls wanted to be at court. I felt so lucky.
“Father, I don’t know what to say! I’m ecstatic!”
“Yes, you are a very lucky girl. My good friend, Thomas Boleyn, helped to secure this place for you.” Thomas Boleyn was a rising star in the King’s court. He was Henry’s companion and through his marriage to Elizabeth Howard was connected to the most important noble family in the country. My own step-grandfather had been a Howard; Sir Edward Howard had been married to my grandmother Alice Lovel before being brutally killed by the French in April 1513. He had been a favourite of Queen Catherine. Having connections and being a favourite of the royal family meant everything in this world. My father was a peer and served His Majesty as a writer and translator of classical texts. My mother, Alice St. John, often accompanied him to court; now I would be doing the same. “I also met the young George too,” father added with a smile. Not George again! Father always mentioned Thomas Boleyn’s son. He is about my age and is already at court as a royal Page. “He is doing very well, Jane; in fact, the King is so impressed, George is now part of the Privy Chamber!” I gave a look of mock amazement. I may only be fifteen, but I was already wise enough to know where this was heading. Not only was I being prepared for court; later I would also be expected to be a wife and mother. Whoever father chose, I had to marry them. At least George was my age, unlike in the case of the marriage of the King’s sister, Mary the Duchess of Suffolk. In 1514, she had to marry King Louis XII of France, who was fifty-two, sick and thirty years her senior. He died only a few weeks later - from his exertions, I can imagine!
Also, at least I knew George. My family is well acquainted with the Boleyn family, who are based at Hever, in Kent. George has two elder sisters, Mary and Anne, who have never failed to intrigue me. They had both served the King’s sister in France and Anne in particular was always the most fascinating. Before the French court, she had also served Margaret of Austria in Brussels in 1513 and was part of one of the most cultured courts in Europe. After the Louise XII’s death, they both remained in France to serve Louis’ daughter, Queen Claude. The Queen married Francis I whom I believe very much loves the company of women. It has been said that Mary became his mistress and earned a bit of a reputation in the French court as the “English Mare” and “Royal Mule”. The Boleyn family rarely speaks of Mary’s conduct which I can imagine caused them much humiliation. Mary has now returned to England while her sister Anne still serves in the French court. Anne, who is younger than Mary, is definitely a favourite of Thomas. From what I have gathered, the two sisters are not particularly close either.
I have heard that Anne has definitely learned the French ways and is fluent in the French language. She even dresses in their fashion with the French Hood pushed far back to reveal her dark hair. It’s a lot more daring than Queen Catherine’s Gable hood which hides the hair altogether. Anne is from another fascinating world. I aspire to be like her. I cannot say the same for her sister, however. Her experience has already taught me how important it is for a woman to remain virtuous and pious. Mary is the prettier, but Anne is the wittier of the two. I will carry these important lessons when I finally enter court.
George is quite like his sister, Anne. He is charismatic and is one of those people that others never fail to notice when he walks into a room. He is very handsome with dark hair and dark, coal black eyes. He definitely captures the attention of the women. Marriage is a business; it is not based on love, but if George will be married to me one day with my father’s consent, I will indeed feel very lucky and proud of this match.
That night I lay on the bed unable to get to sleep with all the exciting thoughts racing through my head. The door then opened and in entered mother. She came nearer and then, sat on the edge of my bed. I don’t often see mother as she is always accompanying father at court. Much of my upbringing has been by our own household here who have looked after me and tutored me. As part of my preparation for a life in the court, I did spend some time briefly as a lady-in-waiting to the mother of another noble family not living that far away from us. It was on English soil, unlike for Anne who had gone one better and had served across the narrow sea.
Mother looked at me awkwardly. She was so near, but as always felt so distant, as if she shouldn’t be there. It was hard for her to show maternal concern. I lie there staring back, waiting for her to say something. “You’re not sleeping?” she asked me.
“No” I reply. “I can’t stop thinking of what lies ahead”.
“You have nothing to worry about” Mother replies. “Queen Catherine is a good lady. She is a living Saint. It is said, that when she prays, she kneels on the hard, stone floor without a cushion. She is so devoted to her faith and to her marriage.”
“I hope to make a very good impression on her.”
“I know you will” mother replies and then pauses before saying “I know that I’ve never always been there, always seeming distant from you, but I am so proud of you. I know that you will make this family very proud serving Queen Catherine and then, becoming a wife and mother yourself.” I turn away from her sighing, tired of once again hearing about marriage and motherhood. As if reading my mind, she then says “Yes, I know we keep drumming it into you, but you must marry into a good family. George will be a perfect match for you.” I momentarily stop and think of the last time I saw George. Those dark eyes, dark hair and broad shoulders. Such an Adonis! I smile back at mother. Marrying him will not be so difficult.
“It was so good of our friend Thomas Boleyn to get me that place!” I said.
Mother is silent, stares at me blankly before then saying quietly and hurriedly “Well, father would say that wouldn’t he?”, but then suddenly tries to change the subject. “Now, come on sleep child” she tells me, brushing the back of her hand across my cheek. “Myself, as well as your father, have done much to get you this position”.
October 1519, London.
We rode through the City of London, noisy and bustling with market traders and animals. I stared at a woman and her child, barefooted and dirty. I quickly looked away and moved on. Who knows what this beggar could be capable of? I suddenly felt claustrophobic, unsafe and I was suffocating with the stench of sewage and rotting animal parts. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, as if it was a safety barrier to protect me. Father saw the look on my face and pulled up his horse right beside mine. “Oh come on girl! We are nearly there! Welcome to London!” He said to me laughing and gently slapping my back. I smiled back and relaxed a little. “I can understand Jane that this is all a bit of a shock after spending so much time in the quiet countryside”.
We passed along a path parallel to the River Thames. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of a great, white tower that dominated the skyline. I suddenly felt an ominous chill that I could not explain. Father watched my line of sight and said “That my child is ‘Caesar’s Tower’. It was built by Julius Caesar many, many years ago”. It was a great, square and white fortress. Its four corner towers rose high into the London skies, casting silhouettes below.
A little down the riverside stood Tower Bridge and then, I suddenly stopped my horse in its tracks. I looked up.
There to my horror staring straight back at me was a lifeless head stuck on pike.
I gasped and fell off my horse. A market trader laughed at me and cried “It must be her first head!”. Father came over and helped me back on my feet. I looked up again and there was not just one, but many heads, half decomposed and stuck on pikes. Father took my hand “Jane, calm down. These are the heads of traitors, placed as a warning to us all on the fate we would meet if we displease the King.”
I
slowly nodded and calmly got back on the horse. Inside, however, I was screaming.” What was father taking me to?! The dragon’s den?” The voice inside me shrieked. As if reading my mind, father said “Jane, it is a horrible world, but a life at court will reap many rewards. It’s just important that you keep your counsel at all times.” I nodded obediently and calmly continued riding on Tower Bridge. We were heading southwards towards Greenwich Palace which was not far away now.
We finally reached the gates of Greenwich Palace. I dismounted my horse. Then, father and I met a Spanish-looking lady. “Lord Morley, it is a pleasure to see you again” the woman said to him. My father bowed and then turned to me “This is my daughter, Jane Parker. Jane, this is Anna Maria who is in attendance of the Queen”.
We both courtesy to each other and Anna says “Jane, it is so lovely to meet you. Follow me and I will take you to Queen Catherine”.
I turned quickly to father and before I could stop myself, I hugged him goodbye. He held me tight and whispered in my ear “child, it will be ok. I will still be here. Now run along! “.Anna smiled and said “don’t worry, the Queen does not bite! Except if you are Scottish!” Anna and my father laughed as they momentarily reminisce on Queen Catherine’s victory over James IV of Scotland at the battle of Flodden six years earlier. It was the Queen’s finest hour as Queen Regent while the King invaded France.
“Don’t speak too much of this though!” My father warns me.
“Oh of course not” said Anna in agreement. “The King does not like to be made to feel inadequate by the Queen!”
I followed Anna down a long corridor which on both sides was adorned with beautiful, coloured, stain-glass windows. Each window showed a story from the bible. The warm sunlight poured through each colour section like honey, giving a warm glow to the palace walls. As we walked down, Anna’s gable hood and wide, black gown covered with gold flower embroidery cast a silhouette on the walls. I wondered how many Spanish women there will be. I had heard that Catherine had a significant number of Spanish women in attendance of her.
The Lady Rochford Saga Part 1: Into the Ranks of the Deceived Page 1