It was widely known that Henry’s father, Henry VII, the first Tudor monarch, had altered documents to serve his own purposes. The most famous being the back-dating of his reign to beginning on the 21 August 1485, the day before the Battle of Bosworth. A cunning move, thought the duke. If he were already king, all those who backed Richard would have been considered traitors, so it was easier to confiscate their lands and wealth, as well as stripping them of their titles. Henry VII had used this power to control people and stop them questioning his right to the throne, thought Norfolk. Perhaps I can change the records to protect Catherine.
If he did this, she would be safe forever. Granted, the Howard family name would once again carry the taint of treason but he would know the truth and any potential dishonour in the eyes of posterity would be worth it in order to keep Catherine away from the king. After all, he reasoned, who will ever look again at the Bill of Attainder that was passed to execute Katherine Tilney and Joan Bulmer? It had passed through Parliament without a murmur. It’s possible no one will ever discover my subterfuge; the scribes and monks will keep it somewhere until the mice eat it. The king had not even signed it, the document had been passed by the Lord Privy Seal, William Fitzwilliam, earl of Southampton using Henry’s dry stamp. Yet, for him, it would serve a purpose and it would remove any possible threat to Catherine if the king thought she was dead.
If his madness ever lifted and he remembered his young queen, he could show the king the document and assure him he was free to marry again. Charles Brandon, the duke of Suffolk, would support him and between them, they would pull the remaining nobles into line; they were the most powerful dukes in the country, they would be able to persuade or, if necessary, threaten and blackmail the nobles into supporting this alternate version of events. Even the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, would gain status if the king decided to marry Katheryn Parr. She was, after all, his niece. Thomas Howard nodded, he saw no problem persuading Cranmer to collude in their lie either.
He summoned his servant and sent a message to the Lord Privy Seal, William Fitzwilliam, the earl of Southampton. He had always known it would be useful to have one of the most powerful men in the court indebted to him. He would promise to write off Southampton’s gambling debts if he helped him in this scheme.
Afterwards, the duke decided, I can retire from court, knowing I have gone some small way to repair the damage my long history of scheming and plotting to advance my family has created. He smiled: this was the solution. Not only would they all be safe, but he rather enjoyed the strange symmetry it created in the way Henry had chosen his wives: a foreign princess divorced, a Howard girl executed, a Seymour girl died, then repeat. Although, of course, he had no way of knowing how Katheryn Parr would fare if she did become Henry’s sixth queen.
For the first time in months, he felt a soothing sense of peace. He could not physically change the past but he could do this, and in so doing, perhaps protect future generations of Howards and atone for his failures with their parents.
Chapter Four
Catherine was uncomfortable. No matter how she arranged herself at the writing desk she could not ease her discomfort. She was only small and this baby was so huge it seemed to have taken over her body. She tugged fruitlessly at her gown. It was loosened to its fullest extent but it was still too tight. Reaching forward, she dipped her quill in the inkwell and leaned awkwardly towards the parchment on the desk. Isabel had warned her that the child was near and, while she had persuaded her sister not to lock her away in confinement as was usual with noble women, her sisters and other companions had warned her things would happen soon whether she was in confinement or not.
However, she was determined in her endeavours, for the letter she had to write was too important to leave to chance. She wanted to ensure it was despatched and that Isabel had her instructions, in case the worst happened. Shifting again, she considered the best way to address the situation. She trusted Isabel implicitly but she also knew that Isabel only had so much power, which was why she had decided to turn to the Lady Anne of Cleves for help. She was too tired for codes, this letter would only be despatched upon her death and if she wrote carefully enough, it would look like nothing more than a final bequest from one former bride of Henry’s to another. She had to ensure her ring and locket were safely passed on and that her child knew its true parentage, even if neither of its parents were alive or able to acknowledge it.
My dearest friend, she wrote, the days grow dark once more, but with the coming of the Yuletide celebrations, I give you this gift, a letter to keep in trust until the day comes when it may be needed, along with the tokens which I have enclosed. It is a story I have written and tells of great adventures, yet every word is true. Should ever it need to be told, I ask with all my heart that you will pass on my sacred words to those who should hear it. If God is willing, we will meet again soon. Take care, my dearest friend, my love will always protect you.
She would place the ring and locket with the letter so that Anne would know it was from her. Anne would also ensure that, when the time was right, her jewellery would be passed on to her child. The other item of importance she would include was the story she had written, The Legend of the Llyn Cel Mermaid, telling the tale of a woman with royal blood who was forced into hiding in order to keep her child safe. To disguise herself, she had created a love story, including the birth of twins to the woman.
The tale ended with the woman becoming a mysterious mermaid who would return to land whenever there was a storm and search for her lost love. It was based on a local legend told to them by the housekeeper Mrs Page, but Catherine had altered it to include her story. Lady Cleves would understand the meaning, that Catherine was the mermaid whose children had been taken away. She felt giving the woman twins somehow included the other child she had lost through its father’s brutality. Although, she thought, the size I am, it feels as though I’m truly carrying more than one child. Perhaps my tale will prove to be prophetic.
As for Mrs Page, she knew she had her utmost loyalty, as she was the woman for whose life Catherine had begged when she had not long been queen. Her uncle had arranged for the Pages to come to Marquess House shortly after Catherine had saved the woman’s life. Perhaps, thought Catherine, he finally felt the pangs of guilt for the sacrifice of their poor murdered daughter, Maud, and had given the Pages a new and better life away from the horrors of London.
Sealing the letter, Catherine stretched and moved closer to the fire. The relief of deciding to send Anne the story and the instructions of where her two pieces of jewellery should go if she did not survive the birth, was huge and she felt herself relax. Holding her hands out to warm near the blazing logs, she wondered whether her uncle, the duke of Norfolk, would arrive this day, as Isabel had said he would. He claimed he wished to ensure Catherine’s safety during the birth and the protection of both her and her child afterwards. She hoped she could trust him to carry out the plans they had discussed and agreed upon, especially if the worst happened.
Warm now, Catherine waddled to the window seat which offered views of Llyn Cel, the huge, grey expanse of water that dominated the west side of the estate. Her thoughts turned to her loyal band of ladies. Their prolonged absence was beginning to cause a stir at court and, as no one wished to raise suspicions or inadvertently lead anyone to Catherine’s hiding place, there was no choice but for them to resume their old lives after the birth.
Catherine knew Margaret Douglas was eager to escape to Scotland, preferably with Charles, although her plans were being hampered by the current unrest as Henry had sent an army to meet James V at Solway Moss. The duke of Suffolk was leading it, even though Norfolk was supposed to have taken charge. He had claimed ill health in order to join Catherine in Pembrokeshire. The court assumed he was at his own country seat of Framlingham in Suffolk. With every passing day, Margaret waited anxiously for news from her half-brother on how the battle was advancing and also for news of the pregnancy of the Scottish q
ueen, Mary of Guise. The arrival of a strong, healthy heir was now of the utmost importance.
Isabel would soon have to return to court. Her husband Edward had been forced back to London on her uncle’s insistence. Henry was wooing Katheryn Parr, and as previous Vice Chancellor to all Henry’s other wives, it would look odd if the reliable Sir Edward Baynton were absent. His loyal and respected wife could also not be seen to be missing for much longer. The thought of Isabel leaving caused Catherine such intense sadness, she could not allow her mind to dwell on the prospect for long.
Kathy Knollys was also eager to return. She was a creature of the court and found the isolation of Marquess House a trial on her nerves. It was her devotion to Catherine that had kept her there for so long. Only Catherine’s other, older sister, Margaret Arundell, would remain to care for Catherine and her child. Catherine also hoped that, in time, their younger sister Mary Howard could join them in Pembrokeshire too, along with some of their Leigh half-sisters.
Catherine sighed. She ached all over and wanted the confinement and the birth to be over so she could cradle her child in her arms.
“Have you finished, Kitten?” Isabel had walked quietly into the room.
“Oh yes,” replied Catherine. “This is a letter for the Lady Anne of Cleves,” she paused and took a deep swallow, taking control of her wavering voice. “If I should die in childbed, will you please ensure this is delivered to the former Queen Anne.”
“Of course, my darling,” said Isabel. She was too seasoned in the birthing chamber to make any false promises. “And now, if you’re ready, we must leave for the priory. It’s snowing again, so Margaret and I have decided it would be safer to walk through the passage.”
“Very well,” said Catherine taking a final glance around her solar. It was a warm and comforting room, one that she had adopted for her daytime use. She took a long last look at the lake before struggling to her feet. “I didn’t see the mermaid,” she said as Isabel fastened the fur-lined travelling cloak around Catherine’s shoulders.
“The mermaid?” her sister said laughing. “What nonsense is this, Kitten?”
“Did you not hear Mrs Page’s tale?” asked Catherine. Isabel shook her head. “According to local legend, there’s a mermaid in the lake.”
“Really?” said Isabel, smiling at Catherine’s whimsical nature. “I thought they were creatures of the sea, not lakes.”
“Where’s your sense of romance, Issy?” smiled Catherine. “There might be such wondrous creatures as mermaids living in any stretch of water. Wonderful and amazing things happen. After all, whoever thought I’d escape the cruelties of my marriage? But I did. We’re here. There’s always hope, Issy, always hope and mermaids.”
She smiled with such radiant beauty that a lump rose in her sister’s throat.
“You’re right, Kitten,” said Isabel, gathering Catherine into her arms and hugging her tightly. “There is always hope and mermaids.”
“Come then, my sweet sister, let us go to the nuns and pray with them for a swift and safe delivery of my child,” said Catherine.
She held out her hand and the sisters walked towards the beautiful entrance hall where Catherine’s new and unusual motto: Fide, sed cui vide — Trust, but be careful in whom — was emblazoned over the doors. They walked out into the gathering twilight of the November afternoon and followed the path to the small chapel. The other women: Lady Margaret Douglas, Lady Kathryn Knollys and Lady Margaret Arundell, were waiting. Together they processed up the aisle to a small door that led them down a winding staircase to a long, torch-lit tunnel, taking them to the priory on Llyn Cel island.
As they emerged into the cloister of the small convent, Catherine turned and looked across the lake towards Marquess House, nodding her thanks to the building that had given her refuge during her darkest hour. She prayed she would soon be back inside its warm embrace with her child safely in her arms.
Looking down at the choppy grey water of the lake, her eyes scanned the surface, hope lighting them as she searched for a glimpse of the magical mermaid. As the snow thickened, falling in white drifts of purity and innocence, Catherine was momentarily dazzled by the brightness and as she blinked, she thought she saw a shadow travelling smooth and fast below the surface of the lake: a long, fish-shaped tail but also human arms and flowing hair, shimmering red, but she blinked again and it was gone.
Behind her, the Prioress was beckoning and Isabel was calling her name. Catherine Howard tore her eyes away from the waves and allowed herself to be led away to her destiny.
PART SEVEN: Marquess House, 2018
Chapter One
Perdita stared down at her grandmother’s notes. Here were the answers. The final secrets revealed. It was as she had hoped, Catherine was the secret and this ruby ring, wherever it was, would prove it. Her grandmother had reached the same conclusions as she had herself.
Reaching for her computer bag, she removed her now battered and annotated copy of her grandmother’s manuscript and began mentally ticking off the discoveries and theories in her head as she assessed each chapter heading. If this was what had happened to Catherine Howard, and she was almost certain it was, why had history been rewritten and by whom? Was this the work of The Scribe who Alistair had told them about?
Holding the manuscript like a talisman, Perdita allowed her mind to wander. It was something she did when she was looking for connections to prove a hypothesis. She found if her brain was relaxed, forgotten nuggets of information often floated forward to reveal important links. Her grandmother believed, as she did, that Catherine had escaped from her violent marriage. The codex, the Book of Hours and the account books had proved she had travelled to Marquess House, a property owned by her uncle, Thomas Howard, 3rd duke of Norfolk. These documents had also proved she had been pregnant. The question was, if Catherine Howard had given birth to a child, what had happened to it? Had it survived? Equally as important, had Catherine?
Suddenly, and for reasons she could not fully explain to herself, it became a matter of paramount importance to Perdita to discover whether Catherine and her child had lived. All the records they had led up to November 1542 but, at present, they had nothing transcribed that could tell them the end of the tale. If only we had the next set of account books here, she thought. They might tell us something, but they’re in Andorra while I sit here in a house full of history.
A house full of history. Then she remembered: the Tudor graffiti.
Alistair had mentioned it on her first visit. Perdita had, of course, examined it, but then it had meant nothing. Now, though, as she recalled the words carved into the wall, her heart began to race. Was this graffiti the answer to the question? The truth hidden in plain sight all along, just as her grandmother suggested? And the ring mentioned by Penelope Fitzalan in her letters, who must surely be the same person who had compiled the book of legends. To have drawn the same image in both the letter and the book of legends had to be significant. Had her grandmother and Bethan Bridges discovered the fireplace when they were children? Was there a secret cavity within it?
Placing the manuscript and the missing chapter back in the box file, she stowed it in the safe behind the ancient framed tapestry of a mermaid. Collecting her phone and a notebook, Perdita hurried out of her apartment and down to the library.
Throwing open the double doors, she flicked on the main lights and hurried to the far end of the room where the magnificent stained glass windows dominated one wall. The five panels each depicted a woman, the imagery all taken from Greek mythology. Perdita, however, for once did not pause admire its beauty. Instead, she headed for the central window and the Perspex sheet situated beneath it. This protective covering shielded the last remaining section of original Tudor panelling where there was the priceless example of sixteenth century graffiti.
Using her phone as a torch, Perdita examined the carvings, before taking a series of photographs. Then, balancing the notebook on her leg, she sketched the graffiti. Carved into
the ancient wood were the letters CH and the date: 1542. Next to this, faintly scratched, were the names: Elizabeth and Nicholas.
Perdita traced her finger over the covering, following the letters: CH. Catherine Howard. It has to be the real Catherine Howard, thought Perdita, her heart pounding, especially as 1542 was the date they could irrevocably place her at Marquess House thanks to the household accounts.
Adrenalin pumped through her as the enormity of her discovery hit home. Her eyes scanned down to the final part of the carving, the names Elizabeth and Nicholas. Both Tudor names, although Nicholas was not used often. Elizabeth and Nicholas. Elizabeth and Nicholas. Why those two names? She stared at it for a moment, then realisation hit her with the full force of a tsunami.
Shit, she thought, rocking back on to her heels so she was kneeling; her eyes level with the ancient letters. Tracing her finger across the names, she finally allowed herself to think this most unbelievable thought: Catherine Howard had twins, a girl and a boy, and their names were Elizabeth and Nicholas.
This was more than Perdita had ever imagined. When they had been searching the household accounts, they had discovered costs for a wet nurse, a birthing chair, swaddling bands and herbs associated with easing the pains of childbirth: wood betony, columbines, mallow and peony. There had also been an order for a cradle, all for Lady Tudor. They had assumed Catherine had given birth to one child, but here, written on the wall were two names — a girl and a boy, a princess and a prince. This was backed up again by the legend of the Llyn Cel mermaid: the woman in the story, Catherine, gave birth to twins who were brought up by other families, unaware of their true heritage. The coincidence was too great to dismiss. The story also said she had left them trinkets so they could identify themselves and she would recognise them: was this a reference to her own jewellery, the rings and the locket?
The Catherine Howard Conspiracy Page 37