“Yes, you’re right, Issy,” she said. “We must begin to pack. No doubt Henry will want to be on the move soon.”
Three days later, the order was given for the court to return to London. The huge procession slowly wound its way from York, back down the length of the country, heading for the capital. As they wended their way, news came of the death of Margaret Tudor, Henry’s elder sister and last remaining sibling. Although he had always been jealous of her status as queen of Scotland, at the news of her demise, Henry fell into a fit of melancholy, refusing to see anyone but the members of his privy chamber. Finally, on 26 October 1541, they arrived at Windsor Castle, only to be greeted with the alarming news that the king’s son, Prince Edward, was seriously ill.
Catherine sat with the rest of the court in St George’s chapel within the castle, praying for the recovery of the little prince: the shining hope of the Tudor dynasty. She also prayed that she was with child. Not only would a child secure her position, but if she bore a son, he would be Edward’s successor and, in such turbulent times, only this, she believed, could save her from Henry’s wrath.
Finally, word came that Prince Edward was recovering and Henry decreed that special prayers should be said around the country for his son and his beautiful wife, Catherine, who had helped to pray his son back to health. Each day, Catherine waited to be summoned to Henry’s bedchamber but no such request came. The king was barricaded in his private rooms with his most trusted advisors, and rumours that he was soon to dispose of Catherine in order to remarry Anne of Cleves crept through the corridors of power.
Catherine ignored them, but with no word from Henry, she was becoming increasingly nervous. One rainy afternoon, she sat beside the fire, her women all around her, listening while Margaret read to them from the Bible. Isabel and Kathryn Knollys were bent over their tapestry while Catherine’s other sister, Margaret Arundell, wound the precious embroidery silks into skeins before slipping each one into its own protective cotton sleeve. Her other women were variously employed either on their sewing or writing, while others sat quietly, absorbing the story Margaret told in her beautiful lilting voice, when suddenly the peace of their afternoon was shattered by the tumult of marching boots and a threatening hammering on the door.
“Open up, in the name of the king!”
She nodded for her herald to throw open the doors and stood as Henry’s personal guard in their distinctive Tudor-green livery, marched in.
“Your Grace,” said their sergeant dropping to his knee as he addressed her. “We come on the word of the king.”
“What is going on?” she asked, her voice shaking as she stared at the rows of guards, swords glittering at their waists, eyes averted and faces blank.
“We have a warrant of arrest,” he announced. Catherine felt her stomach turn to ice — it was happening again — Henry had removed her cousin Anne Boleyn on trumped-up charges, now he was doing the same to her. But the guard continued, “For the woman known as Katherine Tilney and her accomplices Joan Bulmer and Francis Dereham.”
From behind her, Catherine heard a scream of fear.
“No,” she gasped. “No, they are under my protection. Let me speak to the king.”
She had taken a few faltering steps when Charles Brandon, the duke of Suffolk, pushed his way through the guards to her side. He caught Catherine in his strong arms and held her still.
“There is nothing you can do,” he whispered. “The king is convinced Tilney is a witch and that she cursed not only Prince Edward but also Margaret Tudor. He also thinks she has cursed you, which is why you are not yet with child. By removing her, he is convinced you will be protected from her evil ways.”
“But…” stuttered Catherine, trying to make sense of events through her rising tide of panic.
“You have no choice, Kitten,” said the duke urgently. “If you fight for Tilney, the king will believe you were part of the plot and it will be your head on the block. Let her go, Kitten, there’s nothing you can do to save her, Bulmer or Dereham. Dereham is already in the Tower.”
Blinking back tears of terror, she nodded and the duke released her. Hating herself, she stood aside and allowed the guards to take Katherine Tilney and Joan Bulmer, two young girls, white-faced and sobbing with terror. As the doors slammed shut behind them, the women wailed in shock and fear.
“Fetch my uncle Norfolk,” whispered Catherine to Suffolk. “He has been closeted with the king these past days. This is his doing.”
“Don’t fight it, Kitten,” warned Suffolk. “You cannot win.”
Catherine glared up at him. “I’ve got to try,” she replied and swept into her inner chamber, followed by her ladies.
Chapter Six
Thomas Howard, the duke of Norfolk, was beside himself with glee.
“In the Tower,” he chortled. “Jumped up little madam. Why did she think she was anything other than a dispensable whore? Giving herself airs and graces, imagining she was going to be queen. You silly Howard girls are all the same, thinking you can outwit me. Madge Shelton took up her position on her back when Anne was carrying a child; Tilney was merely another body to keep the king satisfied. Better one of our family than someone else trying to usurp our place of power.”
“Despite your plans, sir, it seemed Katherine Tilney was not entirely loyal to her family. She was spying for the Seymours too,” said Edward Baynton, “and believed she could play you off against one another in order to gain a throne.”
“Then she’s an even bigger fool than I first thought — a Seymour help a Howard to power? Greed and lust, that’s what drove the fornicating little goose, and now she is being suitably punished!”
Catherine, who had been sitting white-faced by the roaring fire, staring at the flames while her uncle crowed over Katherine Tilney’s downfall, started at these words. She looked up, her blue eyes steely, ready to shout her uncle down, but her brother Charles caught her eye and gave a minute shake of his head. Tilney’s arrest still horrified her. Admittedly, she had never liked the girl much, but she would not have wished this on her or anyone for that matter.
“I knew those letters to Cranmer would work!” chuckled the duke, rubbing his hands in delight.
“What letters?” asked Charles.
“I persuaded that pompous fool John Lascelles and his witless sister, Mary, to send a few of my suspicions to Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, claiming them as their own,” he laughed.
“Mary? But she asked to be relieved of her court duties because of ill health, she wanted to return to her husband…” began Catherine. But the duke, still smirking, cut across her.
“No she didn’t,” he crowed in delight. “Well, she did, but on my orders. Mary Lascelles wasn’t sick, she was in my pay. I needed her reunited with her idiot brother so I could feed them a few suggestions, but I couldn’t be seen to be involved, hence my idea of her asking for leave from your court, Kitten.”
“What sort of suggestions?” asked Catherine quietly, raging inside at her uncle’s manipulation of all their lives.
“That Tilney was in league with the devil, you know, that sort of thing,” said the duke dismissively. “I also suggested that Dereham had been her lover throughout her time with the king and that she might try to pass his bastard off as the king’s child. Cranmer clearly felt there was enough evidence to warrant further investigation into the possibility of treason.”
“Treason on what grounds?” said Catherine.
“Fornicating with other men while she was the king’s concubine,” responded her uncle.
“I thought that was only treason for a queen,” she said.
“The king is easily persuaded if he thinks his royal personage is in danger.”
“It would have been considerate if someone had informed me that my ladies and my secretary were about to be arrested. This affects me and my court directly. Why did you not tell me about your plans?”
“Inform you?” her uncle was incredulous. “What business
is it of yours to meddle in court politics? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. You might be queen, but your duty is to open your pretty little legs and give the king an heir, not to become involved in men’s work.”
“Except, when I fulfilled that duty, my insane husband beat the child out of me,” she said. “Now he intends to murder two women and one man under my care. Would you not say that I’m involved, Uncle?”
Catherine’s voice had not risen above a quiet murmur, yet every word she uttered fell into the silent room with the impact of a cannon ball.
“You say we women are disposable — Mary and Anne Boleyn, Madge Shelton, even poor Jane Boleyn. Now it’s Tilney and Bulmer. Who’s next? Me, if I don’t produce a child soon? You say you don’t need us women, but without us you would have no heirs, no daughters to barter with in the marriage market. You cannot sit on the throne but, as a woman married to the king, I can. Take care, Uncle, you have made me queen. While he is sane, my husband does all he can to please me. You would be wise to remember that on occasion.”
“Are you threatening me?” laughed the duke.
“No, just explaining that I might not always be on the end of the string when you wish to play puppet master with my life, and the lives of those under my care.”
There was an uneasy silence; the duke was so stunned by Catherine’s unexpected words that he did not have a response. Edward Baynton spoke, bringing the conversation back to the matter in hand.
“Have you implicated any of the Seymour men yet, your grace?” he asked, taking a step forward in order to block the duke’s view of Catherine. “If you have, we need to remove any of their kinswomen from Catherine’s court immediately.”
Thomas Howard was still staring wonderingly at Catherine, but he turned his attention to Baynton.
“No, not yet, but that’s not to say I won’t at a later stage…”
An urgent knock on the door only added to the tension in the room. On the duke’s shout of “Enter,” Henry Howard, earl of Surrey, the duke’s eldest son, thundered in and bowed. Surrey looked white-faced and strained as he handed a note with an official seal to his father.
“The dowager duchess of Norfolk has been arrested. She’s being taken to the Tower. She’s insisting you go to her,” he said.
Even the duke was startled by this unexpected turn of events.
“My stepmother?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, Agnes Tilney, the dowager duchess,” repeated Surrey.
There was a tense silence. Catherine felt her heart quicken. If the dowager had been arrested, who would be next? Would she be in danger? Or Isabel? Thomas Howard seemed to be thinking along similar lines.
“Catherine, return to your chambers and remain there. If the king sends for you this evening, make no mention of the arrests unless he does and then pretend you know nothing about them. Let him tell you everything, it would be interesting to hear his views on the situation.”
He turned away, dismissing her with his gesture. Catherine was about to comment when Charles took her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Don’t say anything to him, we don’t want him turning on us like he did with cousin Anne and the rest of the Boleyns,” he whispered. “You need to make sure the king is utterly smitten with you, in case Uncle Norfolk decides things are getting too difficult for him and tries to makes you the scapegoat.”
“Can he do that?”
“Anne didn’t even see it coming, and she was shrewder than all of us put together.”
Catherine nodded. She took her brother’s arm and allowed herself to be led back to her chambers. As they entered, her women curtseyed and Catherine was aware of the many white and tear-stained faces. She realised that a number of people were absent, most noticeably Lady Cromwell, who by birth was Elizabeth Seymour, the sister of Henry’s former queen, Jane Seymour. Margaret Morton, who had worked closely with Katherine Tilney and had been her friend, was also missing. So was Margaret Benet, a former friend of Joan Bulmer, a sly girl who would do anything to be the centre of attention. Her absence did not bode well, thought Catherine. She was tempted to sweep past and closet herself away with her favourites but she knew she should say something reassuring first.
Isabel, Margaret Douglas, Kathy Knollys and Margaret Arundell were waiting to one side. Catherine nodded to them, then turned to her ladies.
“This is a shocking and frightening time,” she said, her blue eyes moving from one familiar face to the next. “But rest assured, I will use all my power to protect you. If anyone knows anything that could help either Katherine or Joan, then please know you can confide in me in complete confidence. Neither woman has committed the crimes of treason or witchcraft of which they have been accused and I will do the best I can to have them removed from the Tower at the first possible opportunity. Francis Dereham, likewise, is innocent of treason, and I will endeavour to secure his release too. In the meantime, we shall continue as normal.”
She nodded regally, then swept into her private solar, followed by her two sisters, along with Margaret and Kathy.
“Kitten, what do you think you’re doing?” snapped Margaret Douglas. “Your speech out there, it was treason. If we have any spies planted here by the king, you could be the next one in the Tower.”
Catherine stared at her white-faced. “I wanted to offer some reassurance. Tilney and Bulmer are annoying, but they don’t deserve this punishment,” she said, unrepentantly. “If we have a spy in our midst, we’ll soon know. In the meantime, is there anything we can do to save Tilney and Bulmer?”
“No,” said Margaret Douglas. “You have no choice but to go along with this, Kitten.”
“Very well,” she said, but she seemed to be speaking to herself. She walked to the fireplace and, feeling along the ornate wooden frieze, stopped at a section of carved Tudor roses and acorns. Taking great care, she slowly slid out an entire section to reveal a cavity within which contained a packet of letters, spare writing parchment, ink and a quill.
“We must write to Lady Cleves immediately,” she said removing the writing implements and carrying them to her small ornate writing table. “We must warn her to burn all our correspondence in case this situation becomes more troublesome.”
Her ladies watched her in astonishment.
“While I write, would you all please bank up the fire and burn these letters one at a time, ensuring every scrap is destroyed,” she said, handing them to Isabel. “Although Anne and I have always written in code, a spymaster could crack them.”
“Kitten, when did you write these?” asked Isabel in amazement. Catherine smiled.
“At night or in the early morning, when you were sleeping. Anne and I are the only living women who know what it is to be married to the king. We have given each other great succour when times have been difficult. She is a true friend and I would hate for our letters to put her in danger.”
Margaret Douglas could not help herself; she opened the top one and stared at it in surprise.
“This is a complex code, Kitten,” she said, impressed. “I assume you’ve been changing the cipher word each time. How do you and Anne tell each other?”
In her state of paranoia, Catherine was surprised at this question and felt disinclined to answer it. Instead, she smiled, “We have our own way. Would you burn them please, Margaret?”
Realising what she had said, Margaret nodded.
“I’m sorry, Kitten,” she said. “We shouldn’t be discussing such things. I’ll make sure they’re all destroyed.”
Lady Arundell joined her at the fireplace and they began placing each letter in the flames, watching and waiting to ensure no scrap of it remained before they added the next. At her writing desk, Catherine pulled her Bible towards her and flipped through to the book of Esther. She always used a key word from this book, while Anne used the story of Susanna. Following the lines with her finger she came across a suitable line of text and chose a key word, then quietly scribbled a series of numbers and letters on the cor
ner of a scrap of parchment: Est 7, 5, 7. Later, she would conceal this in her ruby ring and send it with the letter so Anne would know how to decipher it.
She had just finished the short note when there was a flurry of activity in her outer chambers. Edward hurried in, accompanied by the princesses Mary and Elizabeth. He bowed low to the queen and the two young women curtseyed.
“The king has summoned you,” he said, simply.
And Catherine felt fear grip her heart.
Chapter Seven
“The princesses have been instructed to help you dress,” continued Edward. “Then you are all to be accompanied to the Great Hall by Henry’s guard.”
Catherine forced a smile to her numb lips. “How wonderful,” she said. “A surprise from my husband, as well as time spent with his beautiful daughters.”
The others took their lead from Catherine and immediately lightened their expressions, although it did not stop Edward’s eyes from flickering around the room and taking in the scene. His eyes sought Isabel’s, who swept forward, followed a heartbeat later by Kathy Knollys, both women aware of how to play the game of court politics.
“And what a treat to see you both,” said Isabel raising Mary and Elizabeth from their curtseys, blocking their view of the fireplace. As Isabel and Kathy fussed around the princesses, Margaret Arundell slid the frieze back in place with one smooth, deft movement. “The queen was catching up on some correspondence, so you must excuse the mess, Edward. No lady likes to be interrupted unexpectedly.”
Although her smile was warm, Isabel’s eyes were fierce and Edward touched her elbow complicitly.
“And it is not for me to pry into the inner chambers of my queen,” he said, but his next words were loaded with meaning. “However, the king expects you all in the Great Hall within the hour, so it would be best to have cleared away all your feminine fancies by then, dear wife.”
The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 26