Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

32

After Kathryn’s death, Tom Seymour was a changed man. He lost weight, giving him a gaunt and haunted appearance that was emphasized by the black garments he wore in mourning. His eyes blazed with a burning intensity.

He was often with us at Norfolk House, once more full of complaints about the lord protector. He had brought suit against his brother touching the queen dowager’s servants, jewels, and the other things that were hers. He talked of making his manor of Bewdley in Shropshire his country seat and keeping as great a house there as he had in Kathryn’s lifetime.

“I have been considering remarriage,” Tom confided just before Christmas. “A number of noble, even royal ladies are well disposed to consider my suit.” Catching sight of Will’s disapproving expression, he hastily added, “But not, certes, until my year of mourning is past.”

Will busied himself refilling our glasses and the awkward moment passed.

Tom sipped the fine, imported Xeres sack, then lowered his voice. “There are stirrings in the countryside, Will. You know that well. My brother has been trying to force his brand of religion on everyone, and the steps he’s taken are not popular with the people. They cannot see how it serves God to strip their churches of all images and melt them down for the gold.”

“Nor did the common man understand how dissolving the monasteries did so, but King Henry’s reforms moved ahead despite objections and ended by enriching those of us who supported them. Never say you did not gain by the establishment of the Church of England, Tom.”

“Some who objected to the closing of abbeys and priories and nunneries rebelled,” Tom reminded him. “There are rumblings in the land. More troubles are coming.”

“You come perilous close to speaking treason.”

“Only if you believe that my brother and not young Edward is king. Because the mighty Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset and lord protector of England, insisted upon purging so much all at once, those who have always taken comfort in tradition are cut adrift. The average man does not understand why there are no longer any candles on Candlemas or ashes on Ash Wednesday or palms on Palm Sunday. When the new Book of Common Prayer, rendering the entire Latin mass into English, is forced upon every church in the land, there will be riots.”

“Perhaps Kathryn’s death has unhinged his mind,” I suggested after Tom left us. “He must be mad to talk openly of rebellion.”

“He’s always been a hothead. Even Kathryn found him difficult to manage and I believe he did truly love her.”

“Not enough to stop him flirting with every other woman who crossed his path. His words about remarriage to a noble or royal bride disturb me.”

“Just talk.” Will dismissed the idea, but I remembered the confidences Princess Elizabeth had shared with me at Chelsea and worried.

During the next few weeks we heard all manner of rumors. It was said that the lord admiral sought to marry Anna of Cleves, King Henry’s fourth wife, whose marriage to the king had been annulled so that he could wed Catherine Howard. Then Princess Mary’s name was mentioned as a possible bride. And then it was Princess Elizabeth he was supposed to be courting. By then Her Grace had taken up residence in her own house of Hatfield, only seventeen miles from London. At first I discounted such stories, but more accusations surfaced. I heard that Lady Tyrwhitt, who had been with the queen dowager until the end, now claimed Tom had poisoned Kathryn. And that he’d promised Lady Jane Grey’s parents he would arrange a marriage for her with Jane’s cousin, King Edward.

I had no love for my lord protector’s grace, and I was certain he had already heard the same wild tales, but as the year drew to a close I became more and more uneasy. Tom maintained close ties with Will, and continued to hint that he should exploit his ownership of so many estates in the north and remove there. If Tom was plotting rebellion, it made sense that he would want someone in place to raise those counties against his brother.

I tried to warn Will, but he had a blind spot where Tom Seymour was concerned. In the end, I took matters into my own hands. I went to the Duchess of Somerset and told her everything I suspected about the feckless brother-in-law we shared, including what Princess Elizabeth had confided to me when we were both living with the queen dowager at Chelsea. If Tom had not been attempting to seduce Elizabeth then, he was certainly considering it now.

At first nothing happened. I told myself my warning had been unnecessary. I consoled myself with the thought that I had demonstrated our loyalty to the Crown. That could never be a bad thing.

Then, on a cold morning in mid-January, Will returned to our lodgings at Hampton Court only a short time after leaving them for the daily Privy Council meeting. “Tom’s under arrest,” he announced, and went straight to the cupboard for a bottle of Rhenish.

My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp.

“The damned fool went armed with a pistol,” Will said between deep swallows of wine. “In the hope of speaking to His Grace in private, Tom and two servants broke into the privy garden and reached the king’s bedchamber without passing through the watching chamber, presence chamber, or privy chamber.” Shaken, Will drained his goblet.

I refilled it in silence.

“Tom had a key to the outer door of the bedchamber, but one of the king’s spaniels attacked him before he could reach the inner door. Tom lost his head and shot the dog.”

“Worse and worse,” I whispered. He’d signed his own death warrant with that bullet.

“The sound of the pistol being fired woke the king’s bodyguards and they raised the alarm. They caught Tom standing over the spaniel’s corpse, the smoking pistol still in hand. He tried to bluff his way out of trouble. He claimed he was conducting a test to make certain that His Grace was well guarded. No one believed him.”

“Is he to go to the Tower?”

“He is likely halfway there already. And the order has been given to search Seymour Place, his house in London, for more proof of treason.”

I clutched his arm. “Will they find anything there to implicate you, Will? Do not try to spare me. If we need to prepare—”

His fingers touched my lips, stopping the spate of words and stilling my fears. “I have long been Tom’s friend, Bess, but there’s not a man who knows him who would trust his judgment.”

And women? I wondered. Had they trusted him?

The answer was not long in coming. Princess Elizabeth’s governess, Mistress Astley, was arrested five days after Tom’s attempt to kidnap the king. She was taken to the Tower and questioned about her part in Tom’s plan to marry Elizabeth. In time, she confessed to aiding and abetting the lord admiral’s courtship. She claimed she’d seen no harm in it.

My heart went out to the young princess, deprived of her beloved lady governess. Elizabeth Tyrwhitt, who had always despised Tom Seymour, was sent to Hatfield in Mistress Astley’s place.

Tom himself was executed for treason on Tower Hill on the nineteenth day of March. Crowds gathered on that day shouted that the Duke of Somerset, who would kill his own brother, was a “bloodsucker” and a “ravenous wolf.”

ALTHOUGH I WAS aware of growing unrest throughout the land, I was preoccupied with another matter. In spite of my best efforts since the validation of my marriage to Will, I had not become pregnant. I wanted a child, and the queen dowager’s baby daughter had been orphaned by her father’s death. The child, christened Mary, was in the keeping of the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, but they did not want her. Tom’s wish had been that she be raised by the Duchess of Suffolk, but he had not bothered to ask Catherine Suffolk if she wanted the responsibility. She did not. She agreed with me that I should have little Mary.

“Are you mad?” Will demanded when I broached the subject. “We narrowly avoided being implicated in Tom Seymour’s treason and now you want to call attention to my friendship with him by taking his spawn into our house?”

“That spawn is your sister’s child! Your niece! How can you be so callous?”

“Political necessity, Bess. I thought you understood that. My sister Anne and her husband have not asked for custody of the baby, either. Lord Herbert is a canny fellow. I mean to follow his example.”

“An innocent child should not be made to suffer for her father’s sins. If Lady Suffolk will not take her, she’ll be raised by Anne Somerset. I can think of no worse fate.”

Exasperation made Will’s voice harsh. “You’ve never even laid eyes on the girl. She may have inherited all of Tom’s worst qualities.”

“I long for a child,” I whispered. It had been just over a year since our union was validated. By this point in her marriage, my sister Kate had already borne a son.

Will took me in his arms and kissed me tenderly. “It cannot be this one, my love. It is better to be safe than sorry, and I want you to be safe, Bess. I want that more than I want my next breath. The lord protector will take good care of Tom’s daughter, if only to keep control of her inheritance from her mother. And for that same reason he will never yield her to us.”

“Then let us try again to make a baby of our own.”

He was happy to oblige, but although we made fervent, passionate love that night and each of the ones that followed, I did not conceive.