The Rose Without a Thorn

Nights in the Long Room

I WAS OVERAWED BY THE GRANDEUR of my new home and, as we approached the great stone edifice with its battlemented towers and embrasures, I felt a touch of nostalgia for the one I had left.

We passed through the gates and were in a cobbled courtyard. There seemed to be people everywhere, chattering, laughing, and all very interested in our arrival.

One girl cried out: “’Tis Her Grace’s granddaughter. She is come!”

They clustered round me, laughing, familiar, friendly.

“Her Grace did say that Mistress Katherine Howard should be brought to her as soon as she arrived.”

“Marry, she did,” said another.

One of the men lifted me down from my horse. I felt tired and a little unsteady after riding far that day; but I was very excited.

They surrounded me as we went into the hall, which was like ours at Lambeth, built in the same style, extending, I imagined, the whole length of the house; but the timbers in the roof here were more elaborately carved. At one end of the hall was a dais on which was a long table; and there were big windows looking out over lawns. The weapons on the walls were highly polished and, as I looked round and compared this hall with the one I had just left, I realized afresh how dingy and neglected ours had become.

There was little time to dwell on comparisons, for I was hustled through a door and, with a girl on either side of me, taken up a staircase, through a gallery and up more stairs until I arrived at what I guessed to be the Duchess’s apartments.

She was seated and seemed as regal as she had in the hall at Lambeth. She looked as though she had just awakened from a doze.

One of the girls who had escorted me remained beside me, the other left us.

The girl who was with me curtsied to the Duchess and said: “Your Grace. Mistress Katherine Howard is come.”

The Duchess yawned and looked about her as though not quite sure where she was. Then she said: “Ah, Katherine Howard.” She seemed as though she were trying to recall who I was. “So, here you are. Pretty child. Tell me, how old are you?”

“I am ten years old, Your Grace.”

“Very young. But it was no place for you in your father’s house. You’ll be better here.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Yes, you do have a look of your cousin. It is hard to say what, but it’s there. The Howard look. We can hope you do as well as she has.” She laughed. “You could not do that, of course, but I see a bright future for you. Too young to go to Court yet.”

She laughed again suddenly. “You lack the grace of your cousin. You may see her one day. Then you will understand what I mean by that. But you do have a look of her. The Howard look. I saw that at once. You could have stayed there in your father’s house and been passed by. You’re too pretty for that.”

She yawned again and half closed her eyes. I did not know what I was expected to do, and suddenly I wanted to be back with my brothers and sisters—even with my elder brother, who despised us younger ones, and my domineering sister Margaret, who did everything better than I did. Yes, I was already thinking lovingly of the squalor and dingy hangings, the unpolished furniture, the meals that were never on time and scanty when they did come.

My grandmother seemed to remember why she had sent for me, for she suddenly said to the girl who had brought me to her: “Isabel shall look after her. Go and bring Isabel to me.”

The girl disappeared and my grandmother half-closed her eyes again, and there was nothing else for me to do but study the room while I awaited the arrival of Isabel.

Through an open door, I saw the bedroom containing a large four-poster bed with bed curtains in elaborately embroidered material. I could glimpse an ornate carved chest. The walls of the room in which I waited were covered in tapestries which depicted battles, in which I presumed members of the family had taken part and scored successes. There was a painting of a very splendid gentleman, whom I guessed to be my grandfather, the second Duke of Norfolk.

I studied him intently, remembering that he was my father’s father, who had been a prisoner in the Tower of London until Henry VII, the present King’s father, realized he should be working for him instead of being his prisoner, and then he had won the Battle of Flodden Field and worked with the King ever since.

The girl who had brought me to the Duchess then came in with another young woman of about seventeen years of age, buxom and lively looking; she had light green eyes, closely set together, and rather thin lips that were not in accord with the rather frivolous nature with which I was to become familiar.

Isabel made a deep curtsy to my grandmother and said: “Your Grace sent for me.”

“Ah,” said my grandmother, rousing herself from what seemed to have been a delightful dream which she was reluctant to leave. “Isabel, this is my granddaughter, Mistress Katherine Howard. She is come to live with us. You will see that she is looked after as becomes her rank.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You will show her where she will sleep.”

“Your Grace will have given orders.”

The Duchess yawned again and nodded. “You will look after her and show her the customs of the household. Now, you may take her away.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Isabel looked at me and smiled, and we both made a deep curtsy to my grandmother. We went out together, followed by the girl who had first taken me to my grandmother’s apartment.

As soon as the door shut, Isabel and the other girl laughed silently, and Isabel said: “Mistress Katherine Howard, of the great Howard family, I shall be your guide and I shall make it my pleasure to attend you.”

We had moved away from the door as the girls’ laughter was no longer silent. I thought this was all rather odd, but it seemed jolly, and I said: “Thank you, Isabel.”

“I am going to show you how we live here, Mistress Howard. We have good fun, do we not?” she asked of the other.

There was a nodding of heads and secret smiling.

“We shall have to remember that you are Mistress Katherine Howard, of course.”

That made them laugh again, and then they put on rather prim looks, which I understood were not to be taken seriously.

I expected to be taken to my apartment, but Isabel quickly discovered that none had been prepared for me and that I was to sleep in the Long Room.

That seemed to amuse Isabel. In fact, I was discovering that a great deal amused her.

My memories of that day are a little hazy. I ate dinner at a long table in the hall near the kitchens. Isabel sat beside me and there was a great deal of chatter among the young people. Isabel told them that I was the Duchess’s granddaughter, Mistress Katherine Howard—one of the family and “please do not forget it,” she added, at which they all laughed.

They were friendly enough and some of the men—and one of the girls—told me I was very pretty; and one of the men added that I should find much that was interesting here; and that seemed to amuse most of them. All I had to do, they said, was grow up … just a little … but not too much.

A good deal of what they said seemed to have a hidden meaning which I could not understand but which to them seemed very funny: and I was so fascinated by all these people that I forgot to be homesick.

By evening time I was very sleepy. Isabel had been my companion all through the day. She showed me the house and the grounds, and introduced me to people always with the words: “Mistress Katherine Howard, the Duchess’s granddaughter.” And she always added: “Pray, do not forget she is a Howard.” Then they would laugh. I could not understand why.

Isabel noticed how tired I was.

“Marry,” she said, “’Twas a long journey. You need to sleep.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Will you be so kind as to show me my bedchamber.”

“I have learned,” replied Isabel, “that you are to sleep in the Long Room with the rest of us, as no separate apartment has been prepared for you. The Duchess must think you are so young that you need me to be near you in case you should need anything. Did you sleep alone in your home?”

“No. With my sisters.”

“So you have sisters. And brothers?”

“Yes.”

“Did they sleep in the same bedchamber?”

I saw that look in Isabel’s eyes which I already knew meant she was enjoying some secret joke.

“Oh no,” I said. “Just my sisters.”

“Well, you will not be lonely in the Long Room, I promise you. I will take you now. Then you can fall asleep before the others come to bed.”

“What others will there be?”

“The other ladies. All those of us who attend upon Her Grace. We have one large room in which we sleep. The Long Room. I will show you.”

She took me up some stairs. The Long Room was almost at the top of the house.

I looked at it in amazement. It was indeed long, and there were two rows of beds in it. On some of them lay garments.

My first thought was one of relief. I had imagined myself sleeping in some ghostly chamber alone. I should have plenty of company here.

I turned and smiled at Isabel and she returned my smile.

“Here you will have some amusement,” she said. “And, Mistress Katherine Howard, I believe you are of a kind to enjoy the fun. This will be your bed. Here … at the end. I shall draw the curtains about it so that you will not be disturbed when the others come to bed. Then you will quickly recover from your long journey.”

“I am sure I shall, and, to tell the truth, I like not to sleep alone.”

That amused her again. “No, you are not of that kind, Mistress Howard.” She hesitated. “Some of the girls can be very merry. Heed them not. Just sleep tonight, and tomorrow you will feel as fresh and well as you ever did, I’ll warrant.”

Isabel had drawn the curtains. I was exhausted by the long journey and my new experiences. I soon fell into a deep slumber, completely unaware that the first step toward my ultimate doom had been taken.

It is not the following days which live in my memory … but the nights; and it was on my second one that I first witnessed some of the strange scenes which occurred in the Long Room after the household had retired.

I had gone early to bed and lay there with the curtains drawn, as Isabel had advised, because, she said, the ladies were apt to forget how late it was when they came to bed and when others, like Mistress Katherine Howard, might be wanting to sleep.

I was not so tired as I had been on the previous night, yet it was my custom to fall asleep as soon as I lay down, and this I did, to be awakened some time later by the sound of low laughter.

I opened my eyes. I could see the light of some candles through a gap in the bed curtains, and I lay there listening.

People were talking in low voices; there was a good deal of giggling and what I imagined to be suppressed laughter. I lay in my bed, wondering what was happening beyond my curtains.

I guessed that several of the girls were awake. Certain sounds made me wonder whether there was some sort of feast. I could contain my curiosity no longer. I must see what was happening out there.

I slipped out of bed, stood close to the bed curtains and, very cautiously, parted them.

It was a strange scene. A number of the girls were sitting up in bed. I could not believe that I saw aright, for the girls were not alone. Young men were there. Some of them were lying on the beds, their arms about the girls.

I had been right. They were eating and drinking. Several held goblets in their hands and it was clear that they were having a very happy time.

I could not understand why the young men were there. They had their own apartments, surely. Some of the men were familiar to me, for I had already seen them about the house. The Duchess had a big retinue of people to serve her, and among these were the young men and women of lesser houses whose parents sought to introduce them into a ducal establishment.

They were whispering together and, young as I was, I was old enough to know that they were doing something which, if it reached the ears of those in authority, would bring dire punishment upon these men and girls. I was stunned, shocked; and I knew they must not catch me spying.

I went silently back to bed and lay there shivering—not with cold, but with fear. I was asking myself what I ought to do about this startling discovery.

The next day, Isabel said to me: “I saw you last night. You were peeping through the curtains. What did you see?”

I felt myself blushing.

“Come, Mistress Howard,” urged Isabel. “You must tell me.”

I stammered: “I saw the women … in their beds.”

“Yes. What else?”

“I saw the men … beside them.”

“It was just a little gathering … of friends. An entertainment. You understand? It is the sort of party people have when they are grown up.”

“I did not know.”

“Of course you did not. You are not grown up, are you? You did not live in a great house like this one. There is much you do not know, but you will see and learn here. Have you told anyone what you saw?”

“No. No one has asked me.”

“If your grandmother should …”

“I did not see my grandmother.”

“No, but if you did, you must say nothing to her.”

“Why? Is it wrong then?”

“Wrong? Who says it is wrong? Did you think it was wrong?”

“I … I don’t know … but as you say not to tell…”

“You are too young to understand. It is what people do but do not talk about.”

I was bewildered, struggling to understand, and suddenly she put her arms about me.

“Mistress Katherine Howard,” she said. “I am growing very fond of you, and you are growing fond of me, I do swear.”

“You have been kind to me.”

“So you will promise me that you will say nothing of what you saw last night.”

I promised.

I had been in Horsham more than a week before my grandmother remembered me, and a summons came for me to present myself to her.

I had changed a little since my arrival. Some new gowns had been provided for me, and, although they were by no means grand, they were a marked improvement on my previous wardrobe. I sat down to regular meals, which I took with the waiting women, and this pleased me because Isabel had now become my closest friend and she was always pleasant to me in a rather conspiratorial way, which I realized was because I shared the secret of what happened in the communal bedchamber on some nights. No governess had been provided for me, and I was left a great deal to myself, for all the waiting women, though not overworked, had certain duties to perform. It was an extraordinary life, largely because of those scenes which I witnessed through the bed curtains. They did not occur every night, and I was never told when they would. I would go to the Long Room before the others and sometimes sleep through the night. On other occasions, I would wake and hear the giggles, the protesting murmurs which, some instinct told me, were more invitations than protests. I would be unable to resist the temptation to slip from my bed and peep through the curtains and look at the girls and men laughing, whispering and fondling each other.

Life was very different here from that in my father’s house, but, of course, there had not been all these young men and women in the service of the household, and I had not been able to observe how people behaved when they grew up.

When my grandmother sent for me, I went to her in some trepidation, for I feared she was going to find some fault with me and decide she did not want me to remain in her house.

I had begun to think that she had forgotten all about me, and was hoping that this was so, but now I knew that this could not be the case as she had sent for me. I realized that I did not want to leave. Life here fascinated me, particularly the night scenes I witnessed through the bed curtains. I sometimes wished that I could go out there and join in the fun which they seemed to enjoy so much.

As I approached my grandmother’s apartments, I heard music. I rapped on the door and, as there was no command to enter, timidly I lifted the latch and walked in.

My grandmother was seated on her chair, as she had been on our first encounter in that room. Beside her was a table on which was a tray of sweetmeats. She was eating—presumably one of them—and on a stool nearby her sat a young man playing the lute.

He was beautiful, I thought, with dark hair falling about his face, almost to his shoulders, in graceful curls. He went on strumming and, glancing at me, gave me a very warm smile.

My grandmother said: “ ’Tis Katherine Howard. Come here, child.”

“Your Grace sent for me,” I said.

“Did I?”

As she had apparently forgotten, I wondered whether I had been wrong to come.

“Silence, Manox,” she said to the musician, who immediately bowed his head and let his hands fall from the lute.

She took a sweetmeat from the bowl and threw it toward him; he caught it with graceful dexterity and put it into his mouth.

He then stood up, and said: “Your Grace would dismiss me?”

She considered for a moment, then she said: “Nay, nay. I would hear you play a tune for me. One that my granddaughter, the Lady Anne, will be listening to at Court. So … Manox, stay.”

“I thank Your Grace,” he said with great respect, but he was looking at me.

“Now, Katherine Howard,” she went on. “Your new gown becomes you. You look more as Mistress Katherine Howard should than when you came here. And the women look after you well?”

“Isabel does, Your Grace.”

“And behaves to you as she should toward my granddaughter?”

“I … I think so, Your Grace.”

“You must always remember that you are a Howard. More so now that our star is rising high. You are the Lady Anne’s cousin and great things will come to her, and through her to us. Come closer, child, where I can see you better. Yes, there is a faint resemblance. Of course, she is a fine lady. She has been well tutored. All those years in France. There is no gainsaying that there is something about the French. They are our natural enemies, but that does not mean they have not a certain elegance. The Lady Anne likes well the French fashions. Those hanging sleeves. She only has to wear them and others follow. French fashions are everywhere at Court. I shall be leaving for Lambeth soon. I trust it is just a matter of settling this ‘secret matter.’ Secret no longer. We all know of it. You know of it, Manox, do you not?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.”

“And is not our Katherine Howard a little like the Lady Anne? I thought I detected a resemblance when I saw her. Have you seen the Lady Anne, Manox?”

“I glimpsed the lady when she called upon Your Grace recently.”

“And did you see what I mean? Cousins of the blood, they are.”

“Yes, indeed, Your Grace. There is a shared excellence. They both are blessed with beauty of a distinctive kind.”

“Beauty. Bah! Many girls have beauty. There is that extra … the Howard look. Do you see what I mean?”

“I do, Your Grace. It is a rare … quality.”

My grandmother threw another sweetmeat to the musician and took one herself.

“You may offer the dish to Mistress Katherine Howard,” said my grandmother.

He rose from his stool, took the dish and proffered it to me with a deep bow.

I smiled and took one of them. He replaced the dish and sat down on the stool, smiling at me.

I felt elated. The sweetmeat was delicious.

“It will be well, Manox,” went on my grandmother, “that you do not fail to treat Mistress Howard with respect at all times. She is a Howard and my granddaughter. Please inform those around you of this.”

“I serve Your Grace with all my heart,” he said. “And in all ways I will give the utmost respect to Mistress Howard.”

“Manox is as good a courtier as he is a musician,” said the Duchess to me. “Do you like music?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.”

“And were you taught to play an instrument in your father’s house?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Well, it is different here, is it not?”

I said it was, and I found myself thinking mainly of the nights in the Long Room. I was feeling a certain relief, because I had feared my grandmother would ask about those nights and I should not know what to say, since Isabel had warned me not to speak of them.

The Duchess was saying: “The King loves music, and the Lady Anne is very musical. But, of course, she is gifted in many ways. I think you should have some music lessons here, and Henry Manox is on the spot to give them to you. What say you, and you too, Manox? My servants are lazy. So, Manox, here is a new task for you. Instead of sitting strumming your lute to please yourself, you shall instruct Mistress Katherine Howard on the virginals.”

“Your Grace could offer me nothing I should like better.”

“’Tis agreed then. Henry Manox, you will begin without delay to teach Mistress Katherine Howard to play the virginals.”

He was smiling at me. “It will be my great pleasure,” he said.

The Duchess was regarding him intently. “And, Manox, you will remember that the young lady is my granddaughter, that she is a member of the illustrious Howard family, cousin to one who will soon …”

She stopped abruptly, smiling to herself, and Henry Manox said: “I understand, Your Grace.”

“And, Manox,” went on my grandmother, “make sure that the others understand this too.”

“I shall always remember Your Grace’s words,” replied Manox. “What I desire above all things is to serve well Your Grace and her noble family.”

The Duchess sat back in her chair, smiling with self-gratification.

I understood enough to realize that she was feeling a little conscience-stricken for forgetting me until now, but she had made up for that by arranging music lessons for me.

I had a new interest in life. I was enjoying my music lessons. I learned quite quickly and without a great deal of effort; and I looked forward to my daily sessions with my tutor.

He was always helpful and kind. He said I was the perfect pupil. I learned more quickly than anyone else, he told me, and he was sure my grandmother would be delighted with my progress.

Apparently she made no inquiries about it; nor did she summon me to her presence again. I had quickly come to the conclusion that she felt no great interest in me except when she fancied she saw a resemblance to my cousin Anne; but, as she rarely saw me, she was not often reminded even of that. There were so many young people in her establishment—those who had posts in the household and impecunious relatives and dependants of the Howards—that she could not remember who they all were. I believed that I came into that category, and it was only that faint resemblance which singled me out.

I began to understand that she had taken me into her household on the whim of a moment because of that resemblance, and once there I had become one of a crowd.

I must adjust myself and make my own friends. This I was enjoying doing. I had Isabel and some of the other women, and now my music teacher.

Henry Manox was a good musician. The instruments in his hand seemed to speak to me. I would sit listening entranced while he played, letting the music carry me along.

He had a very pleasant tenor voice too; he would play the lute for me—he was teaching me that instrument as well as the virginals—and suddenly he would break into song.

One morning, he was playing the lute and singing a sad song about a man who had died because his mistress no longer loved him. I sat listening, my eyes closed, when suddenly I felt his hand on my cheek stroking it.

I opened my eyes quickly and saw his face close to my own. I noticed his bright, dark eyes, with their long eyelashes.

“You would not have been so unkind, sweet Katherine,” he said.

I blushed. “Oh … you mean the song.”

“He died of love,” he said softly. “Fancy! He died because the lady he loved was cruel to him.”

“She was not cruel,” I replied. “She could not help that she did not love him in return.”

“His heart was broken.”

“But that was not her fault.”

“What do you know of love, Mistress Katherine?”

“Very little, I suppose.”

“But you would learn very quickly.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I see that in you. There is much that you know and do not realize you know. I saw it the first moment we met.”

I managed to say: “ ’Tis a strange way to talk, Henry Manox, and in a way which is not connected with music.”

“It is connected with music, and everything else around us. The world would stop, dear Katherine, if it were not for love.”

He laid his hand over mine and suddenly lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

I did not know what I should say, and at that moment Isabel came in.

She said: “The music lesson has been long this morning.”

“Mistress Katherine amazes me so much with her talent that I am apt to forget the time.”

Isabel laughed. “Come, Mistress Katherine Howard,” she said. “You must tear yourself from the lute, the virginals and the musician, I fear. It is time to eat.”

Henry Manox stood up and bowed, and Isabel, smiling to herself, took my arm and drew me away.

That night, I was awakened by revelry in the Long Room, and, peeping through the curtains, I saw Isabel and, sitting on her bed was a young man whom I had never seen before. He was kissing her and she was looking very happy.

It was the usual scene—the laughter, the giggling, the banter. Isabel knew that I watched them through the bed curtains. Some of the others did, also.

I knew this because I had heard Isabel tell Dorothy Barwike, a young woman who had come from a village nearby, and who had joined the household only recently.

Dorothy had said: “You take great risks. Katherine Howard knows. I have seen her looking out through her bed curtains. What if she were to tell the Duchess?”

“Katherine will not tell,” Isabel had replied. “She has promised not to. She doesn’t altogether understand. She is only a child really. Young for her years in some ways. I know she has that air, in a way. I don’t know what it is. She is so little and slender, but there is something. In spite of her youth, she is almost a woman in some ways, if you know what I mean. She may not have the book-learning, but she’s got something else. She likes to watch, so she’s part of it in a way. She would not tell.”

“Well, don’t forget, she’s a Howard.”

They had laughed.

“Great ladies!” Dorothy had said. “They can be as bad as the rest of us. Often worse.”

That was all I had heard of that conversation. I wished I had heard more, but eavesdropping is often unsatisfactory. Conversations are cut off when they become the most interesting.

I talked to her about the young man I had seen with her.

“He was kissing you, and you seemed very closely entwined with each other. I was surprised.”

“People who spy often get surprises!”

“Spy!” I cried. “I am no spy.”

“What else? Let me tell you this, Mistress Howard. The young man who was with me that night had every right to be there. He is my affianced husband.”

“You are going to marry him!”

“Soon now.”

“I did not know him.”

“He is not of the household. He is a farmer. When I marry, I shall leave this household.”

“You mean go away from here?”

“Of course.”

“But who will be my friend?”

“There are many here who will be friends to you if you will with them. The Duchess has said that Dorothy Barwike will take my place when I go.”

“And the man you are going to marry is allowed to come here at night to be with you?”

“Hush, Mistress Howard. You are but a child. You do not understand these matters.”

I was mildly irritated that, when I asked people to explain something to me, they often began by telling me I was a child so could not understand.

She sighed and went on: “He comes at night because I arranged that he shall. We are to be married, so it is best that he should be with me.”

“And no other,” I said.

She looked at me sharply, and I thought she was going to say again that I was too young to understand, but she changed her mind and gave me a little push.

“You must tell no one,” she said. “You understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

I was really too worried to learn that she was going away to think of much else.

Later I heard another scrap of conversation between Isabel and Dorothy.

Dorothy said: “Katherine Howard is growing up. It may be that she knows a little more of what is going on than she admits. I declare you should be careful. If the Duchess knew, she would have to bestir herself, much as she would like to forget all about it.”

That was all I heard, but I thought about it a great deal.

One day Isabel said to me: “You are getting on very well with your music.”

I smiled, gratified. “I can play the virginals well, Master Manox says. And if I am not quite as good with the lute, he says I shall be in time.”

“You are very happy with your music teacher, I believe,” went on Isabel.

“Oh yes. He is a good teacher.”

“So I understand. But what does he teach you beside the virginals and the lute?”

“What should he? Perhaps to sing a little?”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, take no heed of what I say. I think he is very handsome.”

“Oh yes, is he not? He looks very graceful when he plays the lute. He is like a statue I have seen somewhere.”

“He admires you very much.”

“He says I am a good pupil.”

“Oh, it is more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks you are beautiful. I wonder … but perhaps, you would not want to … it would be an opportunity …”

“What are you talking about, Isabel?”

“About you and Henry Manox. Would you not like to talk to each other … not always at the music lesson?”

“Well, yes, I would. I always enjoy talking to Henry Manox.”

“Then why do you not? I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“Well, for you and Henry to see more of each other, to improve your acquaintance apart from music lessons, I mean. Why don’t you ask him to one of the evenings … ?”

“You mean … ?”

“Why should you not? You are growing up. You have a good friend. You could ask him to come one evening … when the others do. Why not?”

She was looking at me eagerly, and I knew she was urging me to agree to this.

“How … ?” I began.

“It is simple. You write to Henry Manox, asking him to come to the Long Room when the household has retired.”

It was surprising that the first difficulty that presented itself to me was the writing of this invitation.

I said: “I am not good with the pen.”

“I will help you,” said Isabel. “We shall do it together.” So we did, and the note was sent to Henry Manox.

They had drawn back the bed curtains. They were all very pleased to see this and they clustered round my bed laughing and all talking at once.

“Well, I feel no surprise.”

“She is so pretty.”

“Too pretty to spend her nights looking out through her bed curtains.”

“And Henry Manox is coming.”

“He is very handsome.”

“And skilled in music.”

“And in more besides, I’ll warrant.”

When he arrived, every one of them welcomed him, but he was not interested in any of them—only in me.

I sat in my bed, dressed in flimsy night attire which Isabel had found for me, and Henry Manox sat with me.

“They said I must ask you here,” I told him. “Before, I watched through the bed curtains.”

“How happy I am to be here,” he said. “I never thought to attain such happiness.”

His hands were on my shoulders. He kissed my cheek, then my forehead, and my lips. Pleasurable sensations crept over me. I fancied some of the others were watching us with amusement, although they pretended not to be.

I was excited. At last I was one of them.

Henry Manox had an arm round me and was holding me closely. We talked, first of music. He told me how he dreamed of being something more than just a teacher of the virginals and lute, as well as the harpsichord, to people who would never understand the magic of music. They were unlike myself, of course, who was a natural musician. He wanted to have a house of his own and to live his life with a companion who, like him, was devoted to the art.

I told him of my father’s house, of my brothers and sisters and how poor we were. He listened intently. Then he said: “But now you have come to the Duchess, and fate has brought us together.”

I thought that sounded wonderful, and I laughed gleefully, at which he bent his head and kissed my bare shoulder.

Isabel called from her bed, where she was snuggling against her farmer: “Not so fast, Manox. Do you want to get us all sent to the Tower?”

There was a great deal of laughter, and Manox said: “You can trust me to play this right.”

“It is not the virginals now, Manox,” said someone else.

And everyone was laughing. I laughed with them. It was so exciting and amusing.

I shall never forget that first night, when I became one of them and not merely an onlooker, sitting up in bed with my own good friend who, I thought, was more handsome than any of the others, as well as being such a fine musician.

There was a certain tension throughout the house. People were whispering and looking wise.

I heard scraps of conversation.

“They say the King is tired of waiting.”

“He is not a patient man, our noble King.”

“They say that he is determined to marry her and that he cares for none … not even the Church or the Pope himself.”

“What then?”

“Some say he is already married to her.”

“How can that be?”

“They say with kings all things are possible, and with our King Henry, what he desires will most certainly be.”

“And the Lady Anne?”

“She lives as the Queen already.”

“Some say she is with child.”

“Then we can be sure she will be his Queen.”

“What of the Queen herself?”

“Poor lady. I fear she suffers.”

“Hush, be careful what you say!”

“Foolish one, what matters it here?”

“It matters wherever such words are spoken if they are overheard by some bent on mischief. The King likes not those who even hint that he is in the wrong.”

“I did not. I just said ‘poor lady.’ And what am I? Waiting woman to the Duchess!”

“It matters not who, so have a care what you say.”

It was all very exciting, and a little sinister, and it was particularly interesting to me, for one of the main people at the heart of the drama was my own cousin.

During the nights, when we were gathered in the Long Room after the household had retired, they still talked of the King’s divorce and how the Pope would not agree, and that Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, had brought forth the theory that there was no need for a divorce after all, because the King had never really been married to Queen Catherine. Had she not been married to his brother Arthur previously, and if that marriage had been consummated then the ceremony of marriage to Arthur’s younger brother, Henry, was no true marriage at all.

It was one of those laws which were set out in the Bible. And there was a great deal of speculation over this. It was an ideal solution. Had the marriage been consummated or not? That was the theme of conversation in the Long Room. Prince Arthur had been only a boy at the time of the marriage, and he had died very soon after. Of course, it was very possible that they had never truly been husband and wife, but hardly conclusive.

It was all very amusing to the young people, and meanwhile I sat with Henry Manox’s arms about me and each night we progressed a little further with our lovemaking.

The Duchess sent for me one day. This time she was not seated in her chair and I was told to enter her bedroom where she was reclining on the four-poster bed. There were two maids with her. They were bringing clothes from her wardrobe and she was nodding and saying: “Not that, you addle-pate. Take that to Lambeth! Only the finest, I said, did I not?”

In another room, seamstresses were working on new garments and there was bustle everywhere.

“Ah, Katherine Howard,” she said when she saw me. She looked at me, nodding. She seemed rather pleased with me.

“Growing up fast,” she said. “You will have to look to your manners, girl. We are going to Lambeth. Oh, don’t look alarmed. Not to your father’s house. We shall be closer to the Court.” She smirked with satisfaction. “I shall be there, I doubt not. My granddaughter will not let me be passed by. And, as for you … you must prepare yourself. I am having a few gowns made for you. She is your cousin, after all … and we must be prepared. Who knows, there may be a place for you at Court!”

I was alarmed. It sounded frightening, and I was enjoying life at Horsham, especially the nights shared with Henry Manox and the rest of them.

“Don’t gape, girl. Oh, if you but had the grace of your cousin! How I long to see her Queen of England, which she will be ere long. So now you know that we are going to my residence at Lambeth.”

“To see my cousin, Your Grace?”

“To see her crowned Queen of England. Yes, we are going to see the coronation of Queen Anne. Now … I have little time to see to these matters. I want you to be able to curtsy gracefully. Manox tells me you play both lute and virginals well and are a good pupil. I want to make sure that, if the Queen does decide to honor you, you are ready for it. You must have some knowledge of the art of dancing and learn not to flush and stammer when you are spoken to, and to answer brightly and wittily, as your cousin has always done.”

I was uncertain as to what was expected of me, but as no one was sent to instruct me, I need not have worried. I had realized by now that my grandmother would have sudden reminders of what she should be doing and then quickly forget all about them. I had seen that happen more than once in my case. In the first place, she had brought me here because it had occurred to her that my father’s house was an unfit place in which to bring up a child, and that child a member of the Howard family; and she had chosen me because of the resemblance she had thought she had detected to my cousin, Anne Boleyn. Then she had forgotten me. Later, something would bring me to her mind and she bestirred herself. If the memories persisted, she took some action—as in the case of my music lessons.

Meanwhile, preparations went on apace and there was talk of little else in the Long Room, for everyone was excited about going to London, and at Lambeth we would be very close to the Court.

Isabel’s happiness in her coming marriage was a little dulled by the fact that she would not be coming to London. I was seeing more of Dorothy Barwike who would take Isabel’s place with me.

It was spring of the year 1533 when we set out for Lambeth. We should be in time for the coronation of Queen Anne, for, in spite of all the opposition and the long fight to attain his desires, the King had decided to accept the case as set out by Archbishop Cranmer, to defy the Pope and declare that he had never been married to Queen Catherine of Aragon and therefore could no longer live in sin with her. So he had married Anne Boleyn at the beginning of the year.

She was already pregnant and on the coming Whitsunday was to be crowned Queen of England.