Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

Order must be also taken with the Maidens that they repair each of them to their friends there to remain, saving Mistress Bassett, whom the King’s Majesty, in consideration of the calamity of her friends, will, at his charges, specially provide for.

—Order of the Privy Council, November 1541

16

When the progress left Lincoln, it moved on to Hatfield Chase, in Yorkshire. Both the king and queen were mad for hunting and Hatfield Chase contained a large, enclosed area rich in game. The company rode through scrub and woodland to take down nearly two hundred stags and deer. Then they ventured into the river, ponds, and marshes and killed enough young swans and other waterfowl to fill two boats.

Nan was numb to the wholesale slaughter. She felt as if she’d left pieces of herself behind in Lincoln, one with Ned and another with Constance. She knew it did no good to dwell on the past. She had made her choices. Only the present mattered. But she had never felt so alone.

Pavilions had been set up to house the court. These tents were lavishly furnished. The one that served as the queen’s privy chamber even had walls and windows.

Nan returned there after the hunt and was about to enter when the back of her neck prickled. Certain she was being watched, she turned slowly, her gaze sweeping the other tents as well as nearby alcoves and doorways. It came to rest upon a young man standing in the shadow of a pillar. Wat Hungerford.

Nan sighed. Another reminder of the past.

Wat stepped out into the daylight. His dark, wavy hair fell over his eyes and he impatiently shoved it aside with the back of his hand. “Good day to you, Mistress Bassett.”

“Master Hungerford. Have you come to ask the king to restore your estates?”

He scowled. “I came in the hope of spending time with you, Nan.”

Her eyebrows lifted when he addressed her with such familiarity, but she did not reproach him. His open admiration was a balm to her wounded pride. Discovering that Ned was married had come as a shock. Even though she’d rejected him, she’d somehow imagined he would be true to her forever, refusing to marry anyone if he could not have her. How foolish! Ned had always been on the hunt for a wealthy bride. She should be happy for him that he’d found one.

She regarded Wat Hungerford’s young, eager expression with skeptical eyes. “We will never make a match of it, Master Hungerford. You need a wife with a fortune and I want a husband with money and a title.”

Nan felt a pang of regret when she saw that her blunt words had hurt him, but he had the resilience and self-confidence of youth. He would recover.

“I will be Lord Hungerford one day,” he said as she turned away. “My estates and title will be restored. You could wait for me.”

Nan stopped just inside the silken pavilion, one hand pressed to her heart. Unwanted tears filled her eyes. If only he were a few years older. If only she were not so jaded.

When Nan had herself under control again, she joined Dorothy and Lucy where they sat sewing in a corner of the pavilion. She saw at once that they both looked worried. “What is wrong?” she asked in a whisper.

Dorothy’s gaze shot to Queen Catherine, who stood looking out a window. “Her Grace is watching Tom Culpepper cross the open expanse between the king’s pavilion and this one.”

In itself, this was not disturbing, but Nan had too often seen the expression of naked longing on the young queen’s face when she looked at her distant cousin. The other maids of honor had noticed the same thing.

“Someone should warn the queen that it is not wise to make the king jealous,” Lucy murmured.

Dorothy snorted. “And who would be so foolish as to try to tell Her Grace anything she does not want to hear? She is too headstrong, too spoiled, and too stupid to listen. Besides, the king has no idea what his wife is doing.”

“Hush, Dorothy. Someone will overhear.” Nan looked over her shoulder, but no one appeared to be close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“If matters continue as they are,” Lucy predicted, “His Grace is bound to notice her infatuation.”

“It is more than infatuation,” Nan said, “but Dorothy is right. Her Grace does not care for unsolicited advice.” Her hand went to her cheek, remembering the sting of the slap Queen Catherine had given her.

“I do not see how it could be more,” Lucy said. “Her Grace is never alone. Dalliance requires privacy.”

Dorothy snickered.

“She could not have—”

“Could and has, I’ll wager. Have you not noticed how Her Grace sends most of her ladies away when she retires to her bedchamber?”

“The king—”

“Does not stay long. In and out!” Dorothy gave a nervous giggle. “And sometimes His Grace does not visit her at all. Then the queen is left to her own devices, free to … entertain whatever … person she chooses.”

Two things Nan had observed suddenly took on an unsettling significance she’d heretofore missed. Wherever they’d gone on this progress, there had always been an inner stair or an outer door that gave private access to the queen’s bedchamber. And Lady Rochford was always on duty at night.

“Whatever we suspect,” she said aloud, “it is no more than speculation.”

The pretense of ignorance seemed the safest course for all of them. Nan turned a blind eye to the queen’s flirtation with her husband’s gentleman of the privy chamber. She told herself it was not her place to interfere, or to offer advice. Nor could she betray her mistress by telling tales to the king. No one ever thought well of one who brought unwelcome news. Besides, she did not think he would believe her.

THE PROGRESS MADE several more stops before arriving at Pontefract at the end of August. It was there that Queen Catherine acquired a new member of her household. A fellow named Francis Dereham took the post of private secretary. Within a week of his arrival, he was at odds with one of the queen’s gentlemen ushers, going so far as to brawl with him and shove him to the ground.

“Lucky for him the king did not hear of it,” Anne Herbert said to Nan as they strolled in the gardens to enjoy a rare glimpse of the sun.

Nan shuddered, remembering what had almost happened to Sir Edmund Knyvett. “I have noticed that Master Dereham is careful to efface himself when the king is nearby.”

“How odd. Most men thrust themselves forward. They want His Grace’s attention.”

“He has the queen’s.” Nan had observed that Dereham had a most familiar manner toward Queen Catherine. “Where did he come from?”

“He was recommended by the old Duchess of Norfolk.”

“The same one who raised the queen?”

Anne nodded. “Someone told me that this Dereham was a member of the duchess’s household when Queen Catherine was a girl in her keeping.”

A remark Catherine Howard had once made, back when she was a maid of honor, niggled at Nan’s memory. She did not wish to examine it closely. It was not safe to know too much, she reminded herself again. Nor was it wise to speculate.

THE PROGRESS MOVED on to York, arriving there in mid-September. Two weeks later they were in Hull and traveling slowly south once more. On the twenty-sixth day of October, they reached Windsor Castle, and then it was back to Hampton Court.

Home, Nan thought. As much as any one place could be to an itinerant entity like the royal court. The king was in high spirits. The queen smiled a great deal. Francis Dereham appeared to have taken himself off somewhere, to the great relief of everyone in the queen’s household.

And then, on Friday the fourth of November, the king’s guards appeared in the queen’s apartments. She was informed that neither she nor her ladies were to leave her rooms for any reason.

“How dare you!” Queen Catherine shouted. “I will go to the king. He will tell you that you have no right to confine me.”

But they would not let her pass and, in the morning, one of the yeomen of the guard let slip to Nan that the king had left Hampton Court for Whitehall.

The next two days were filled with wild speculation. Nerves frayed and tempers snapped. It was almost a relief when Archbishop Cranmer arrived, together with the Duke of Norfolk and several clerks with quills and paper. They closeted themselves with the queen.

Dorothy Bray was pale as death. “They are interrogating Her Grace,” she whispered.

“They will ask us questions, too.” Nan exchanged a look of panic with Dorothy. All the queen’s secrets seemed likely to come out.

Should she lie and pretend ignorance? Or tell the truth? Either course might result in being charged with treason.

THE NEWS THAT Catherine Howard was being questioned at Hampton Court spread like wildfire. It did not take long to reach the household of her predecessor at Richmond Palace, and it filled Anna of Cleves’s ladies with such elation that they had difficulty restraining themselves.

Cat Bassett had been fond of Lady Rutland, but she’d come to love Anna of Cleves. In Cat’s eyes, her mistress could do no wrong. She had felt frustrated and angry on the Lady Anna’s behalf when, to Anna’s detriment, she’d heard people singing Queen Catherine’s praises. Word of the king’s domestic troubles therefore pleased Cat mightily. It seemed only right that King Henry should suffer in retribution for all the sorrow he had caused others.

“His Grace should never have put Queen Anna aside,” Cat’s friend Jane Ratsey said. “Pray God he will see sense when he’s rid himself of Catherine Howard.”

“What! Is God working to make the Lady Anna of Cleves queen again?” Cat rather liked the idea, although she pitied any woman married to King Henry.

Jane was convinced of it. She rattled on while they sat and wrought, praising Queen Anna’s virtues and making rude remarks about her successor. “It is impossible that so sweet a queen as the Lady Anna could be utterly put aside,” she declared, just as they were joined by Dorothy Wingfield, one of Anna’s bedchamber women.

“I would think the king has had wives enough already,” Dorothy said, stitching industriously at the hem of a handkerchief.

“That is why he should take the Lady Anna back,” Jane insisted. “It would be as if Catherine Howard never existed.”

“What a man the king is!” Cat said with a laugh. “How many wives will he have?”

“Four and there’s an end to it,” Jane said firmly. “Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, and our own Lady Anna.”

“That’s only two,” Dorothy pointed out, “as the law says neither of the first two marriages ever existed.”

“Why, the poor man,” Cat said. “He has scarcely any acquaintance with matrimony at all!”

THE DUKE OF Norfolk waited in a tiny, dusty, windowless room. Nan was not the first person to be interrogated there. The place smelled of sweat and terror.

On trembling legs, she stood in front of the table where the duke sat. A clerk was hunched over a sheaf of papers at its far end, ready to take down whatever damning evidence Nan might have to give.

Norfolk was frightening enough in normal situations, with that hawk nose and long, deeply lined face. His eyes were devoid of emotion, dark and flat and utterly without mercy. Under his stare, Nan remembered hearing that his own wife had accused him of physically abusing her and putting his mistress in her place. Norfolk had also turned against his own niece, Queen Anne Boleyn, and presided over her trial at the king’s bidding, even pronouncing sentence of death upon her. It appeared he was prepared to do the same thing again to a second niece. Nan did not expect him to show any mercy to her.

Confined to their dormitory, the maids of honor had heard no details of the charges against Queen Catherine, nor had they dared speculate to each other. It was too easy to be overheard. They had pretended, to themselves as well as to others, that they had never noticed anything amiss. Nan prayed she had sufficient talent at deception to convince the duke of her innocence. She could not bear to think about the alternative.

“You are Mistress Anne Bassett, maid of honor to the queen?”

Nan had to swallow before she could answer. “I am, Your Grace.”

“Your mother is currently a prisoner in Calais and your stepfather is confined to the Tower of London.”

At his accusatory tone, Nan felt her spine stiffen. Her lips compressed into a hard, thin line. She answered with a curt nod.

“And Mistress Catherine Bassett, a maid of honor to the Lady Anna of Cleves, is your sister?”

That question caught her off guard. There was a quality in the duke’s voice warning her that he was not just verifying Cat’s identity. “She is.”

“Has Mistress Catherine Bassett ever spoken to you of the King’s Grace?”

Nan hesitated. It would be peculiar if she had not. “I do not understand the question, my lord.”

A flash of impatience darkened his features. “Has your sister ever said to you that Anna of Cleves should be queen again?”

“No, my lord.” That question, at least, she could answer honestly.

When he continued to ask questions about Lady Anna of Cleves, Nan wondered what the king’s former wife had done. There had been a rumor, following the king’s visit to Richmond a few weeks after his wedding to Catherine Howard, that he had gotten Anna with child, but like so many of the stories told of King Henry, there had been no truth to that one.

Nan gave careful answers, then offered an unsolicited remark. “My sister and I are not on the best of terms. She has been envious of me ever since I was chosen to be a maid of honor to Queen Jane and she was not.”

“You have made a profession of courtiership, I perceive.”

“As many have before me, Your Grace.” Until that moment, Nan had never thought of her position in quite that way, but it was an excellent description.

“You are an observant woman.”

“I like to think so, Your Grace.” Dangerous waters here!

“What have you noticed about Master Francis Dereham’s behavior in the queen’s presence?”

Nan had been prepared for questions about Tom Culpepper. She had not expected to hear Francis Dereham’s name. At her evident astonishment, the duke frowned.

“Well?” he prompted her.

“Master Dereham is somewhat forward.” Once again, Nan chose her words with care.

Norfolk made an impatient gesture with one hand. “Is he intimate with the queen?”

“I know of no improper familiarity between them, my lord. Why, Master Dereham only joined the queen’s household during this summer’s progress. And he came recommended by the old duchess—I mean, by your stepmother, Your Grace.”

Only by a slight tightening of the lips did the duke betray his annoyance. Then the questions continued. He kept at Nan for the better part of another hour, badgering her to supply the kind of details that would damn the queen.

Nan gave him little satisfaction. Anything she had suspected, she kept to herself for her own protection. The longer the interrogation continued, the more she realized that, in truth, she had observed very little of what must have taken place.

At last the duke seemed satisfied that he had wrung every drop of information out of her. He turned his cold, implacable gaze on her one last time. “You will not be returning to the maids’ dormitory, Mistress Bassett. The queen’s household has been dissolved. Your belongings have been searched and secured. They will be released to you when you leave Hampton Court.”

Nan started to protest that she had no place to go, but stopped herself in time. The Duke of Norfolk had no interest in her fate. Nor did she want him to. She’d prefer it if he’d forget he’d ever heard of her.

Drained of energy, as dazed as if she’d taken a blow to the head, Nan turned out of habit toward the queen’s apartments. Guards blocked the door to the presence chamber, effectively preventing her from reaching the privy chamber, bedchamber, and the other smaller rooms beyond.

Nan descended to the kitchens instead. She gave no real thought to where she was going until she found herself at the foot of the small spiral staircase that linked the two floors and allowed servants to deliver food to the queen without actually entering the royal lodgings. There she stopped, wondering where she thought she was going.

She had no place with Queen Catherine anymore.

She had no place anywhere.

The queen’s household had been disbanded, her attendants questioned and sent away … or to prison. Nan tried to take comfort from the fact that she had her freedom, but that did not solve her immediate need for a roof over her head.

Could she throw herself on Cousin Mary’s mercy? Or ask charity of Jane Mewtas or Joan Denny? Each of them had been kind to her, befriended her, but at the time there had been some personal advantage to them in coming to her aid. Now there was none. There might even be a stigma attached to offering her a home.

Where else could she go? Not to Ned, that much was certain. Not Calais. That left only Tehidy, the Bassett seat in Cornwall, where her sisters now lived with Frances, their widowed sister-in-law. Spending the rest of her life rusticating in the country was not acceptable. There had to be an alternative.

Nan was still dithering at the foot of the stairs when she heard the patter of rapidly descending footfalls. Anne Herbert appeared on the landing. Her eyes widened when she saw Nan. She glanced behind her to make certain they were not observed, then made little shooing motions to indicate that Nan should step out of her way.

“The pond garden,” Anne mouthed as she passed.

A short time later, they met near one of the sunken fishponds that gave the Pond Garden, located between the palace and the Thames, its name. Surrounded by low walls, the ponds housed fresh fish slated for the king’s table. From this vantage point, Nan and Anne had a clear view of anyone approaching.

“What has happened?” Nan demanded. “I’ve been told nothing, only questioned and ordered to leave.”

In the bright November sunlight, Anne’s face looked ravaged. She had been crying. “Oh, Nan. It is all so dreadful. How could it be that no one knew about the queen’s past?” Anne sank down on the stone-topped brick wall. “They say she took lovers when she was a mere girl.”

“Francis Dereham?” Nan guessed.

“And another man, too. She was no virgin when she came to the king, but she deceived him into thinking her innocent. No wonder he is in a rage.”

Nan’s stomach clenched and she leaned for support against one of the stone beasts that decorated the wall at intervals. If the king had seen through Catherine’s falsehoods, he might now suspect that Nan had also lied to him. She would truly be ruined if that were the case.

“And there is more,” Anne said. “The queen is accused of taking Tom Culpepper as her lover after she was queen. That is treason and the king will have her head for it! The old Duchess of Norfolk and her son, Lord William Howard, have been arrested and taken to the Tower. So have Lady Rochford and two of the queen’s chamberers. The queen herself is to be imprisoned in the old abbey at Syon.” Anne gave a humorless laugh. “I am to be one of her jailers. I am to accompany her there.”

“As jailer … or prisoner?”

Anne fiddled with her sleeve. “No one who served the queen is free of suspicion. I suppose I will be both until I prove my loyalty.”

As the king’s spy, then. Nan kicked at a loose clod of earth. “Have you heard any rumors about Anna of Cleves? Or about my sister?” She was worried about Cat. If Anne’s husband, Will Herbert, or her brother, Will Parr, knew what was going on at Richmond, Nan was certain they’d have told Anne.

Anne’s puzzled frown was answer enough. “What has Cat Bassett to do with Queen Catherine?”

“I wish I knew. The Duke of Norfolk asked me if she’d ever said anything to me about the Lady Anna desiring to be queen again.”

Anne caught Nan’s arm. Her expression was as somber as Nan had ever seen it. “There are those who think the king should never have divorced the Lady Anna. If I were you, Nan, I would stay away from Cat. In fact, do nothing that could call attention to yourself.”

It was good advice, but Nan did not think she could follow it. “Unless I wish to starve or freeze to death for want of a roof over my head, I must be bold,” she said. “Is the king still at Whitehall?”

Anne’s eyes widened in fear for her friend, but she nodded.

NAN HIRED A boat to take her downriver from Hampton Court to Whitehall. She disembarked at the water stairs and entered the palace through the gallery that ran from the water gate to the queen’s privy lodging. No one tried to stop her. She was not important enough to worry about.

The king’s presence chamber was crowded, as usual. Nan searched for the familiar faces of the king’s favorite gentlemen, but she saw no one she knew well enough to approach.

Confident that someone would eventually appear who could give her entrée to the king, Nan waited. Her nervousness increased as one hour stretched into two. The yeoman of the guard on duty cast suspicious glances her way. After another quarter hour, he approached her.

“What is your business here, mistress?”

“I have come to see the king.”

“Impossible. Be off with you.” He took her by the arm, set to evict her in spite of her tears and pleas. He froze at a command issued in the familiar voice of Anthony Denny.

“Yeoman, unhand Mistress Bassett, if you please.”

“She has no business here, Master Denny.”

“I will see to her,” Denny promised, and caught Nan by the same arm the yeoman had just released. He steered her rapidly out of the presence chamber and down a flight of stairs. “You should not have come here,” he said in a low, urgent whisper as he hustled her through the nearly empty Great Hall and out into the courtyard that lay between it and the chapel.

“I had to come to Whitehall! I had nowhere else to go. Would you have me repair to my sister at Richmond?” Her words came out in short bursts. Their rapid progress had her gasping for breath.

“That would not be wise,” Denny muttered.

“Why not?” Digging in her heels, Nan forced him to slow his pace. She could not imagine Cat in trouble, but then she’d never have guessed that Mary would cause so many problems for the family, either.

Denny closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength. They had reached a secluded corner of the courtyard. He all but shoved Nan onto a bench and stood in front of her as if he hoped to block the view of anyone passing by. Clearly, he did not want to be seen talking to her.

“What has Cat done? I must know,” she added when she saw the reluctance in Denny’s expression. “How else am I to keep myself safe?” And how was she to help her sister?

Denny kept his voice low. “She wondered aloud if Anna of Cleves would be queen again and asked how many wives the king would have.”

Nan was certain a great many people had been thinking the same thing, but to voice those thoughts could be construed as treason. Was Cat already in the Tower? The last thing Nan wanted was to join her there, but she had to know more. “Is she … where is my sister?”

“Still at Richmond, and still in the service of Anna of Cleves, but it was a near thing. She and two other women in attendance on the Lady Anna were examined by members of the Privy Council. They could have sent her to prison … or worse. Just now, the king has reason to be furious at everyone connected to either Catherine or the Lady Anna.”

“Why the Lady Anna?”

Denny checked again for potential eavesdroppers. “Your sister’s comments came to light because privy councilors were already at Richmond. They were sent to investigate the persistent rumor that Anna of Cleves has borne a child.”

“Oh, that old story!”

“No, a new one. In this version, King Henry is not the child’s father. Now, if you have no more questions, be off with you. Take my advice and stay out of the king’s sight. Do nothing to call attention to yourself.”

“That is what everyone keeps telling me.” Tears pooled in Nan’s eyes and she was not too proud to hide them. “But where is it I am to go? I no longer have a place at court. My mother is a prisoner in Calais. My stepfather is held in the Tower. I would be ill advised to join my sister at Richmond.”

“You have kin in the West Country.”

“Including some I share with your wife.”

He paled at the reminder.

“Do not worry, Master Denny. I have no way to travel to Devon or Cornwall, even if I wished to go there.”

When a look of resignation replaced Denny’s scowl, Nan thought he might be about to invite her to use one of his houses. Instead, he offered her his arm. “I suppose there is no help for it. You must speak with the king.”

At a brisk clip, he led her back into Whitehall, only this time he bypassed the Presence Chamber. She found herself in the small, sumptuously furnished room where she had once before met the king in private. This time there was no beautifully illuminated Book of Hours in sight, nor was the king waiting.

“Stay here,” Denny instructed.

Left alone, Nan was suddenly not at all sure it was wise to throw herself on King Henry’s mercy. She could think of a dozen reasons why this was a very bad idea indeed, but it was too late to change her mind.

Her nerves were strung tight by the time she heard a small sound at the door. A moment later, King Henry limped into the room, the corset he wore to contain his bulk creaking with every step. Nan sank into a curtsy, bowing her head until it almost touched the floor, and held that pose until the king’s grotesquely swollen fingers appeared in front of her nose and tugged her upright.

“Have you reason to be terrified of me, Nan?” His voice was deceptively mild. His small, suspicious eyes were a truer reflection of his mood.

“No, sire. But I am frightened for my future.” She dropped her gaze. “I am without resources, Your Grace. Without family or friends, saving only Your Majesty. I have nowhere to go now that I have no place at court.”

A long, tense silence followed. Nan could barely contain the trembling in her limbs.

“I do not blame you for anything that has transpired,” the king said at last.

She dared peek at him through her lashes. The thoughtful expression on his face contained neither anger nor annoyance.

“Your Grace,” Nan said, greatly daring, “I beg your pardon for troubling you with this trifling matter, but I have no home to go to, no one to take me in.”

He reached out with one pudgy, beringed hand to caress her cheek. She barely managed not to flinch in revulsion. The sight of those fat, white fingers was bad enough—they looked like sausages, only not so appealing—but his touch was worse. His skin was so cold that it put her in mind of a corpse.

“Did you think I could forget you, Nan?” the king said. “That I would ignore your plight? You must not worry. I will have Denny escort you back to Hampton Court and there you will stay. You will have new lodgings, something fitting for a member of the Lady Mary’s household.”

Lightheaded with relief, Nan swayed. “Your Grace is most generous.”

“I mean to spend some time in North Surrey,” the king continued, drawing her closer and planting a smacking kiss on her lips. “Beddington, Esher, Oatlands, Woking, and Horsley. I will be at Greenwich for Yuletide, as will Prince Edward and my other children. That will be most convenient, will it not? I will be able to see you, my dear, anytime I visit my daughter Mary.”

NAN SETTLED INTO Mary Tudor’s household with surprising ease. She already knew several of Mary’s attendants, including Bess Jerningham, Lady Kingston’s daughter.

In late December, the court moved to Greenwich for the holidays. Anna of Cleves remained at Richmond. Some said she still hoped the king would marry her again, but Nan doubted it. Anna had all she could ever want, without the trouble of a husband.

Anna was fortunate, Nan thought. She was no longer queen, but she had wealth and position. And she had the freedom to do as she pleased, so long as she did nothing to annoy the king. Unlike Catherine Howard, who was now imprisoned in the Tower of London, awaiting execution.

Yuletide passed quietly and, although the king gave Nan a pretty brooch as a New Year’s gift, he did not send for her to warm his bed. Nor, to her relief, did he appear to notice that she no longer had the ruby ring he’d once given her.

In January, the court moved on to Whitehall, where the king was to host a series of suppers and banquets. On the twenty-ninth, the guests were all young ladies who were also invited to spend the night at the palace. King Henry spent the entire morning inspecting the chambers they would occupy, even examining the furniture and bedding to be certain they were the best he had to offer.

“The king is looking for a new wife,” Anne Herbert said. Since she had permanent lodgings at Whitehall—those assigned to her husband—she had invited Nan, Dorothy Bray, and Lucy Somerset to spend the afternoon with her before attending the festivities that evening.

Dorothy visibly shuddered. Lucy sighed. Nan did not react at all. That King Henry would marry for a sixth time seemed inevitable. She hoped it would be soon. She had not yet been summoned to His Grace’s bedchamber, but she doubted her luck would hold much longer.

“Why else do you think you are here?” Anne, the only one of them who was safely wed, took a piece of marchpane from a tray and passed it on to Lucy.

“Are we to be paraded before His Grace like prime horseflesh?” Dorothy asked. “King Henry knows already what we look like.”

“He has invited several young women who have not previously come to court. There is Lord Cobham’s daughter, Bess Brooke, and—”

“That one’s no better than she should be,” Dorothy broke in. “You should have seen all the gentlemen gaping at her when she arrived. It was as if they had never seen a female before.”

In other words, Nan thought, Will Parr—Baron Parr of Kendal—had admired Mistress Brooke, and Dorothy was jealous. Dorothy had been Parr’s mistress and he her devoted slave for a long time, but with Queen Catherine’s arrest and the disbanding of her household, the two lovebirds had been separated. The spell had been broken. At least it had been for Anne Herbert’s brother.

“Bess Brooke is a mere child,” Lucy protested.

“Only a year younger than you are,” Dorothy shot back.

“Old enough to be wedded and bedded, but her virginity has been strictly guarded.” Anne lowered her voice. “My sister tells me that there is a bill before Parliament to require that any woman who agrees to marry the king must declare, on pain of death, that no charge of misbehavior can be brought against her.”

“What if a prospective queen reveals her past and confesses all her sins and the king still wants to marry her?” Dorothy asked.

“I do not believe Parliament considered that possibility, but they did have sense enough to realize that a woman in such a situation might lie. Another provision in the law states that anyone else who knows the truth about the king’s intended bride must come forward with it if the would-be queen is not forthcoming. The penalty for failing to do so is imprisonment for life.”

“If they are found out,” Dorothy said.

“It is never wise to deceive the king.” Lucy ignored the marchpane but took a handful of nuts from a nearby bowl, slanting a look at Anne as she did so. “Your sister is Lady Latimer, is she not? Did she come to London with her husband when the lords gathered for Parliament?”

Anne nodded. “They have taken a house in Blackfriars. I hope she will soon be able to visit me here at court.”

“No children yet?” Lucy asked.

Anne’s face fell as she shook her head. “Kathryn has been unable to give her husband an heir. She did not conceive during her first marriage, either.”

“Lord Latimer already has an heir.” Lucy’s sharp tone drew every eye her way. She blushed.

“I had forgotten. Lord Latimer has children by his first wife.” Anne’s lips twitched as she fought a smile. “As I recall, the eldest son is a toothsome lad.”

It would be a good match, Nan thought. Lucy was the younger daughter of an earl, and young John Neville, Latimer’s heir, would one day be a baron. In the not-so-distant past, Nan would have been jealous of Lucy’s prospects, but during the last few months she had become ambivalent about many things. If the king wanted her for his mistress, she’d have to force herself to comply. What choice would she have? Only by pleasing King Henry in bed could she ever hope to secure her own future.

A sigh escaped her. The ambitions she’d had when she left Calais had died a slow death in the years since. Now there were times when she almost wished that Queen Jane had chosen Cat to serve her.

Shaking off her self-pity, Nan began to attend to the babble of feminine voices around her. Lucy had been teased into admitting a romantic interest in John Neville and the conversation had moved on to news of marriages and births and deaths. Nan had little to contribute. She was glad when it was time to leave for the king’s supper.

TWENTY-SIX LADIES SAT at King Henry’s table and thirty-five at a second one close by. The seating was arranged by precedence, so that the highest-born ladies were closest to the king. Nan, whose status remained uncertain so long as Lord Lisle was a prisoner in the Tower, was placed next to a young woman she’d never seen before, a pretty girl with blond hair and blue eyes and a vivacious manner.

She reminded Nan of Catherine Howard.

“Have you tried this syllabub?” the young woman asked. “It is most delicious.”

Nan spooned up a small portion, tasted, and agreed, all the while studying her companion. The girl wore a copper-colored gown, richly embroidered. “Mistress Brooke?” Nan guessed. “Lord Cobham’s daughter?”

The girl’s smile was brilliant. “I am. And you are Mistress Bassett, are you not?”

Nan agreed that she was and thawed a bit in the face of Bess Brooke’s friendliness. They chatted amiably throughout the meal.

At the banquet, which was much less formal, the king made a point of speaking to each of his guests. He did not linger long with any of them until he came to Lucy Somerset. By the time he moved on, there were already whispers that he had singled her out to be his next queen.

Nan watched uneasily as King Henry made his way in her direction. He stopped to talk to this one and that, but it was clear he was headed straight for her. She sank into a curtsy as he closed the distance between them.

“My dear Nan,” he said as she rose. “You are thriving in my daughter’s household.”

“She is a most kind mistress, Your Grace.”

“And you value kindness?”

“I do, Your Grace.” She dared meet his eyes, expecting to find a sensual invitation there, or at the least a spark of admiration. Instead she found speculation, as if he were considering a matter of grave importance.

“I can be surpassing … kind,” the king said after a moment. “But I expect kindness in return.”

“That seems only fair,” Nan murmured, but she was confused. It was not like the king to speak in riddles.

“I mean to pardon your mother and stepfather,” he said.

Nan caught her breath in surprise. “That … that would be a most kind act indeed, Your Grace.”

He chuckled, patted her hand in an almost avuncular way, and moved on to Bess Brooke. “And who is this beautiful blossom?”

The king’s question, issued in a booming voice, caught the attention of everyone in the hall. Nan was able to retreat unnoticed and slip away soon after to her own small chamber in the Lady Mary’s apartments. Did His Grace really mean to free Lord and Lady Lisle? And if he did, she wondered, what “kindness” did he plan to demand in return?