The Rose Without a Thorn

A Meeting with the King

IT APPEARED THAT the King’s marriages—and this to Anne of Cleves was his fourth—must always be overshadowed by death.

When he had married his first Queen, many years ago, that had only been possible because of the death of his elder brother, Arthur; and King Henry had inherited a wife as well as a throne through that death. Then, when the first wife was put aside that the King might marry my cousin, the great Cardinal Wolsey, although he escaped the axe, died, it was said, of a broken heart and despair. Many deaths had followed that marriage: the noble Thomas More, the saintly Bishop Fisher, many monks—most barbarously—and all traced to that second marriage. My tragic cousin had gone to the block; and Jane Seymour’s brief reign had ended in her death. Now there was the new Queen, and Thomas Cromwell—one-time favorite—appeared to be in danger.

There was a charge of treason, and his enemies—chief among them my Uncle Norfolk—had been quick to seek the opportunity to destroy him. The King’s anger against him had been fueled by the fact that it had been Cromwell’s activities which had saddled His Majesty with a wife who did not please him.

I learned something of Cromwell then and marveled at the hazards people risked when ambition drove them on. I wondered how Cromwell, who had once been so powerful, was facing the fact that he was in growing and acute danger.

Many people were pleased to see him in this plight. I was amazed at the constant references to his humble birth. His father was sneered at for being a blacksmith and a shearer of cloth who kept a brew-house in Putney which was also a hostelry. And this Cromwell, a blacksmith’s son, had had the temerity to climb to the position of Lord Great Chamberlain of England.

I said, in my naive way, that the blacksmith must have been very industrious to have done so many things. As for his son, he must have been very clever indeed to have climbed so high from such humble beginnings.

Patronizing glances were turned on me. What did frivolous Katherine Howard know of such matters? They were determined to hold Thomas Cromwell’s origins against him, but it did not seem logical to me.

“Too much climbing up high from low places can bring his sort to the headsman,” I was told. I wanted to say that a great number of our noble families went that way too—in fact more often than humbler men. But I did not. I was not clever at arguments, and most of my expressed opinions were generally reduced to ridicule.

I gathered that when Cromwell became a member of Gray’s Inn he was singled out by Cardinal Wolsey as a man who could be useful. When I did go so far as to say that Wolsey thought highly of him, I was reminded that Wolsey was a butcher’s son. “Like to like,” they said. “And look what became of Wolsey in the end.”

“There had been a time when the King was very fond of him, as he was with Thomas Cromwell,” I pointed out.

It was obviously dangerous to be favored by the King. My cousin Anne had surely been more favored than any. I dreamed sometimes that I saw her, with her head on the block, and the axe descending. Unpleasant dreams, to be dismissed as soon as it was daylight.

And now it was Cromwell’s turn. Poor Cromwell, who had risen so high, from working in his father’s hostelry—as he might well have done—to supping with princes. And where had that led him? To the Tower.

I heard that my uncle and the Earl of Southampton were to visit the Tower to talk to him, to learn for what reason he had beguiled his master into making this unsatisfactory marriage. What was Cromwell’s arrangement with her family? Was he serving the interests of others rather than those of his master?

My uncle, I knew, was his greatest enemy. I was not sure of Southampton; but it was clear that there would be no mercy from them: and Cromwell would know that, too.

I wondered, when my uncle visited him, whether he had been aware of the Duke’s triumph, which I knew must have existed. He had been very annoyed when Cromwell had been made Chamberlain and the title of Earl of Essex had been bestowed on him. The Duchess had let that slip during one of the massage sessions.

She said: “The Duke has discovered faults in this man. It was his duty to expose them and, fearlessly, before the others at the Council table, he stood up and accused Cromwell of treason.”

I later discovered what the charges were. Cromwell, it was said, had liberated people for bribes, and also taken payment for licenses to export corn and other food; he had helped to circulate heretical books; and there was one other ridiculous charge against him: he had planned to marry the Princess Mary and take the throne.

The Protestants would have saved him if they could, but they were powerless to do so.

Poor Cromwell. He wrote appeals to the King from prison, begging for mercy and a chance to talk to him; but the King turned his back on the man who had once been so highly favored: Cromwell remained in the Tower. And, on a hot July day, he was taken from there to Tower Hill where he laid his head upon the block.

I was caught up in the dazzling prospect before me. My uncle, the Duke, had given orders that the garments I should need for my new position were to be supplied. I loved clothes and it was wonderful to be fitted by the seamstresses and feel the softness of the beautiful materials which were being provided. I had always wanted to possess such clothes. I was required to parade before the Duchess in my new gowns while she nodded approvingly. I swear she had never been so fond of me as she was then. There was a faint hint of sadness in her expression though, for seeing me in the splendid clothes naturally reminded her of my cousin.

But this would pass quickly and soon she would be watching me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation of my future. When I left her I basked in the envy of the ladies.

There was a shadow overhanging my happiness that came from my encounters with Francis Derham, which were more frequent than I liked. He was very sad and angry at the prospect of my going to Court.

“You think it is all balls and banquets … dancing and such pleasures,” he said. “My dear Katherine, that is how it seems on the surface. Beneath there is intrigue … scheming … treachery. It is the most dangerous place in England.”

“I am to serve the Queen,” I replied. “There can be no harm in that. They say she is a very gracious lady.”

“I do not wish you to go, Katherine. I forbid you to go.”

I looked at him in horror.

“Hush!” I cried. “What would anyone think to hear you talk thus. People listen. They repeat what they hear. Have a care, Francis, you will destroy yourself. It is you who will be in danger if you talk like that.”

“You must not go to Court, Katherine. Something tells me it would be bad. Let us go away together. We could go to Ireland. They would never find us there. Think! We should be together. Then you would feel toward me as you did before.”

I was angry. He was trying to spoil everything.

I ran from him and tried not to see him again. I could not bear the sight of his sad face. What I was trying to do with all my might was to forget the past. I wanted to think only of the glorious future … and Thomas Culpepper.

The Court was at Greenwich and thither I was to go in the company of the Countess of Rutland and Lady Edgecombe, who would teach me what was expected of a lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

To a novice like myself they appeared to be very formidable ladies, and they certainly made me feel how lucky I was that this post should have been given to one as ignorant of Court procedure as I was.

“In the first place,” said the Countess, “you are very young.”

“I am eighteen, my lady,” I told her.

“She looks much younger,” said the Countess to Lady Edge-combe, who agreed.

I must remember that my mistress was the Queen. They told me how I must address her, speak only when spoken to, act quietly and always in a seemly fashion. I must never forget that I was in the presence of royalty, and if the King should appear at any time, I must make the deepest curtsy I had ever made in my life, and not stare at him. I must behave as though I were in the presence of a dazzling greatness and keep my eyes averted. I was not quite sure how I was going to convey my awed respect if I were to act as though I were not there; but I supposed I should know when and if the time came.

One of the younger ladies was more approachable.

She said: “You will be all right. Just keep quiet and speak only when spoken to. That is best. We shall soon be in Greenwich. I like it better than this place. Did you know it is called Whitehall because of the white towers the King built here? It was York House before.”

When I learned that it had once belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, I remembered what I had heard of him. It could not have been so very long ago when he had lived here in splendor, as he had at Hampton Court. I had heard it said that his love of grandeur was one of the reasons why he had begun to fall. He had gained a great deal but he stretched out his hands for more and it was said he kept a more splendid court than that of the King. Derham was right. The Court could be a dangerous place. But surely not for humble ladies-in-waiting like little Katherine Howard, who only spoke when spoken to?

Hampton Court had gone to the King, a present from the great Cardinal. So had Whitehall. But even the presentation of such magnificent gifts had availed him nothing. Those were foolish thoughts which would intrude.

“And this,” I was told, “is the chamber in which the King married Queen Anne—not the present Queen, but Queen Anne Boleyn. It was here that they celebrated her coronation.”

Here were memories again. There was so much to bring back what was best forgotten. Stop it, I admonished myself. Think of the good things. Velvet gowns, the jewels my grandmother had given me, dances, banquets, grand occasions and being under the same roof as Thomas Culpepper.

Then we went to Greenwich—beautiful Greenwich, which had been made magnificent by the King who loved it dearly. Was it not the place of his birth? Here his marriage to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, had been solemnized; jousts were frequently held here. The King liked to celebrate Christmas here. The Princess Mary had been born here, so had the Lady Elizabeth. Then again, I was thinking of my cousin. How had she felt when the longed-for boy turned out to be a girl?

I could not understand myself. It was as though some devilish imp were at my elbow, whose sole purpose was to intrude into my carefree mood and destroy it.

I would be merry. I would rejoice in what was happening to me. This was Greenwich. The Court was here, and I was to be presented to the Queen. Life was going to be amusing and exciting.

From the moment the Countess of Rutland presented me to the Queen, I knew I could be happy serving her. There was a kindliness about her. She seemed to be aware of my nervousness, and wanted to make me understand that there was no need for it.

“Katherine Howard,” she repeated my name in a guttural accent which was not very attractive, but her smile was warm.

“The Countess will tell you …”

I could not understand the rest of the sentence, but then the Countess said: “The Queen tells you that I shall inform you of your duties and she is sure that you will do them well.”

I realized that the Queen’s knowledge of English was somewhat limited and that, when she arrived, she had been unable to speak a word of it.

I made my curtsy and retired. I felt very happy that I was to serve such a gracious lady.

I could not understand why the King had been so displeased with her. She was no beauty, of course. I was thinking again of my cousin and pretty Jane Seymour. I had never seen Catherine of Aragon, and in any case had I had the opportunity to do so she would have been quite old, so I could not have judged her: but I could see that this Queen was different from her immediate two predecessors. She was not very tall, but she gave an impression of largeness. It must have been because of her big bones. Her forehead was unusually high; her eyes were large and dark and with long dark lashes that were quite beautiful. I thought that she would have been good-looking, in a rather heavy sort of way, but for her pitted skin. The poor lady had suffered from smallpox at some time and it was the ravages of that disease which had spoilt her appearance and horrified the King. I had heard of the miniature which Hans Holbein had painted of her and which had so pleased the King when he had seen it that he had gone ahead with plans to marry her.

She did nothing to improve herself, in my opinion. Her gown was unbecoming, and with its tight sleeves and close-fitting, high collar, reminded me of a man’s. The gown opened in the front to show a kind of chemise drawn up with a ribbon, at the neck of which she wore a large brooch. Her hat, turned up at the front, would have been difficult for the most beautiful woman to have worn to advantage. On her, it made her rather large features look quite masculine.

Queen Anne of Cleves had no idea how to make the most of what personal attractions she had. I started to think of what I would have chosen for her if I had had the chance to do so. I saw her in a beautiful scarlet gown, velvet, of course, rather severely cut, for there is nothing more detrimental than to try to appear feminine when one is not fashioned that way. The Queen had a good, kind face; but I could see now that her pockmarked skin, together with her lack of femininity, had made her unacceptable to the King.

In the days that followed, I settled into my role. I lived now far more luxuriously than I ever had before. My duties were light, and it was very rarely that I was in the presence of the Queen.

The Duchesses of Richmond and Suffolk and the Countesses of Rutland and Hertford, with Lady Margaret Douglas, were those close to her. I should have loved to be nearer the Queen and to know what she was really thinking. I realized that the King neglected her and made little effort to hide his disappointment in his marriage; I was sure she was not of a nature to show her feelings and, if she were embittered and humiliated, she hid this very successfully.

It was at Greenwich that I met Lady Rochford. She was a distant connection, through her marriage to my cousin, George Boleyn, who was, of course, brother to Anne; he had died at the same time as his sister, charged with incest with her. Lady Rochford had given evidence at the time against her husband.

I remembered my grandmother’s saying of her that she was a vindictive woman and had been jealous of her husband’s devotion to his sister. Anne and George were two of a kind—brilliant, witty, clever and handsome. Poor Jane Rochford was different. It was natural that George and Anne were fond of each other’s company and the love between them was that of a gifted brother and a clever sister.

Jane Rochford was the neglected wife. Well, how could George be expected to spend his time in her company? So Jane had her revenge. All those wicked lies … it was just what poor George did not need at that time.

I remembered this now, but I did feel a little lonely, and Jane was friendly.

“My little cousin!” she cried. “So, you have come to Court. His Grace of Norfolk has arranged this, I’ll warrant. I believe your uncle has great influence in high places.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I believe it was my uncle who persuaded them to accept me.”

“Nothing pleases him more than to see Howards filling high places at Court.”

She was very talkative and so determined to be friendly that I found her company welcome. The ladies of the royal household were inclined to look down on me—a newcomer, very young, an unimportant member of the company.

I discovered that Lady Rochford was not only a great talker, but a reckless one and, as our acquaintance grew, she became more and more outspoken in a manner which might have caused trouble if it had been reported in certain quarters.

For instance, she was very frank about the relationship between the King and the Queen. She told me how the Queen had arrived in England and how disappointed the King had been on that first occasion when he saw her. He had been waiting for that moment for so long, ever since the death of Queen Jane, for the King was a man who must have a wife. There were some men like that. Many would be content to take a mistress, for it seemed unlikely that any marriage the King made would bring him a son. But he was a man with a conscience. Had I ever heard mention of the King’s conscience? I would sooner or later. All his marriages had brought forth his conscience. Conscience made him rid himself of his first wife. Was she in truth a virgin when he married her? Had her marriage with his brother been consummated? Didn’t it say something in the Bible—Leviticus, was it not?—that a man might not marry his brother’s wife? Then, of course, he was infatuated by our ill-fated cousin, Anne, and the old conscience was up in arms again. He’d find some work for it to do over the present Queen, she’d warrant.

That was the manner in which she talked. It amused me and, innocent as I was, I could not see the danger. Perhaps I did have a notion that I should not be listening, but I did learn a great deal of what was going on.

“Oh, he was shocked, I can tell you, at that first meeting,” she went on. “He could not hide it. He cut short the visit and could not bring himself to give her the furs—beautiful sable, they were—which he had brought as a gift. Anthony Browne had to present them to her instead. And ever since, he has been trying to find a way to be rid of her. It was not only her face which he did not like. There was her Dutch accent. He found it grating. She had so little English and he no Dutch. Doubtless he welcomed it as a reason for not spending much time with her. Then he tried to think of reasons why he could not marry her. It was like that time when he tried to be rid of Queen Catherine so that he could marry our cousin. I will tell you something.” She came close to me, looked over her shoulder and then began to whisper. “Now that he is married to her and she is truly Queen, he does not spend his nights with her. He says, ‘Farewell, sweetheart,’ and leaves her. And when she was asked if she were hurt by his neglect, her answer was that she was quite happy and she received as much of his attention as she wished. That will tell you how matters are between the King and the Queen.”

“Dost think the King will send her back to her own country?” “You may trust him to find a way of being rid of her.” “But her brother is the Duke of Cleves. It is not as though she were a subject like …”

“Like our poor cousin? No. But you may be sure that the King is looking for a way to be rid of her, and he is not one to give up what he has set his heart on. I would not like to be in Her Majesty’s shoes, but then, who would, I wonder?”

She laughed, and I could not help thinking of the kindly, gentle face of the Queen.

Then I met Thomas.

I was in the music-room playing the virginals, for I loved music. I could sing quite well and I liked to accompany myself on the lute, which was a favorite instrument of mine. As I played, the door opened and, to my intense joy, there stood Thomas.

“Katherine!” he cried, and ran toward me. He put his arms round me and we clung together.

“I heard you had become the Queen’s new lady-in-waiting, the prettiest lady-in-waiting at Court—that is what they are saying.”

“You lie,” I said, laughing, well pleased.

“’Tis God’s truth, I swear, and I’ll challenge any who denies it.”

“This is what is called Court manners, I’ll swear.”

“I tell you, I only say what is clear to us all. Let me look at you. Ah, sweet Katherine, how glad I am that you are here at last.”

“How fares it with you, Thomas?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Good … at times. At others … well, the royal temper is not as clement these days, for His Majesty is not a happy man.”

“Is it because of the Queen or his leg?”

“Neither gives him cause to rejoice. Most of those around him receive some abuse, and there is the occasional blow.”

“Oh, Thomas, that must be very distressing.”

“It is part of our duty to accept what comes our way. I do not suffer as much as some. At times, curses are thrown at us and we are told we should all be in the Tower.”

“Thomas!”

“Do not pity me. I am safe enough. He knows that none can dress his leg as I do. Is that not amazing, Katherine? The deftness of my hands and my ability to deal with an ulcer have elevated me to favor. But enough of me. Are they kind to you?”

“Oh yes. I have friends already.”

“It is wonderful to know that I shall be able to see you.”

“Shall we meet often?”

“It depends. I must be at hand when I am needed, and I am never sure when that will be. As for you, I suppose you have your duties. But depend upon it, I shall contrive to see you at every possible moment.”

“I cannot cease to marvel at the good fortune which has brought me here.”

“Oh, my Lord Norfolk would make sure that there is a place for his niece at Court.”

He suddenly kissed me with passion, and then said, as though to excuse himself: “We are to be betrothed.”

“I do not forget.”

“We shall marry and then mayhap go away from the Court. How would you like to go to Hollingbourne?”

“There is nothing I should like more.”

“We shall go there one day, Katherine. We will have done with the Court. I should be happy to be away from it—not to be at the beck and call of an irritable old man. What am I saying?” He looked around him. “No one heard,” he said with a grin. “Only my sweet Katherine, and she would never betray me. We shall go away together, my love. Hollingbourne is beautiful. There we could find perfect happiness … ourselves … and the children we shall have. We shall be happy for the rest of our lives.”

“Is it possible, Thomas?”

“We will make it so.”

“When?”

“First we must have the approval of my Lord of Norfolk. But why should that be denied us? My family is noble enough. But perhaps not noble enough for my lord. Do you know if he has any other plans for you?”

“He has not. The Duchess told me I was to be betrothed to you.”

“Then she must have His Grace’s approval.”

“So it will come to pass.”

“It must,” he said. “If it did not, I should die of a broken heart.”

It was wonderful to hear him talk thus, and to know that there would be other such meetings. This one was cut short by the sudden appearance of Lady Rochford, for while Thomas and I had stood there close together, the door had quietly opened and she had come in.

She said: “So it was here you came.”

“I was playing the virginals,” I stammered.

“And Master Culpepper found you here?”

“I was passing and heard the music,” Thomas explained.

“Mistress Howard plays very well, does she not?”

“She does indeed.”

“I am not surprised that you were attracted by it. I thought you might be here, Katherine, but I heard no music.” She smiled mischievously. “So I looked in.”

Thomas bowed and said he must be gone. I felt irritated with Jane Rochford for intruding. I had been so deeply engrossed in talking to Thomas.

“What a handsome young man Master Culpepper is!” said Jane.

“Yes, I suppose most would reckon him so.”

“Do you not?”

“Oh yes, of course I do.”

“I thought so.” She smiled. “Well, you make a pretty pair—the two of you standing there, close, by the virginals. Does Master Culpepper play?”

“I do not know.”

“Oh, I thought you were discussing music.”

I was silent.

“You seemed so absorbed,” she added.

I often spoke without thinking, and something prompted me to do so then.

I said: “We are to be betrothed.”

She was really surprised. “What? You and Culpepper?”

“My grandmother told me before I left Lambeth that it was to be.”

“I did not know.”

“There is no reason why you should.”

She laughed. “Well, I know now. That accounts … I mean, you seemed to be talking … intimately.” She raised her eyebrows slightly, as though to imply that she meant more than she had said.

“We are cousins,” I explained. “I knew him a long time ago.”

“That is good. It is always well for people to know each other before they are betrothed.”

I felt irritated that she should speak as an expert on the subject when she herself, as was well known, had suffered a most unsatisfactory marriage.

Then she leaned forward, still smiling, and kissed my cheek.

“I wish you all the happiness you deserve, dear Katherine,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She slipped her arm through mine and together we left the music-room.

Those were happy days. There was so much to interest me at Court. The main topic continued to be the relationship between the King and the Queen.

“If it were not for his leg, the King would have taken action by now,” said Jane Rochford.

There was an occasion when I saw the King. I was looking out of the window at the time so I could stare to my heart’s content. He was a majestic figure in his splendid padded garments, scintillating with jewels. He was with my uncle. I had never seen the Duke looking humble before. The King was talking; his face was red and I gathered that he was not very pleased about something. My uncle bowed slightly as he spoke. I was laughing inwardly, pleased to see him, for once, so deferential.

The King seemed very old to me. I knew he had been born in 1491, so he must be nearly fifty. There was a purplish tinge to his face and, although I was too far away to see him clearly, when he suddenly turned in my direction, I noticed that his mouth was thin and tight and his eyes seemed to disappear into his fat face. He was clearly angry; he lifted the stick on which he had been leaning and waved it at the Duke. I thought he was going to strike my uncle. He did not, however, but lowered the stick and they went on walking—the King leaning on the stick, my uncle hovering reverently a pace behind him.

I realized that I was staring directly down at them and I shivered, contemplating what would have happened if either of them had looked up and seen me at the window.

It was all very interesting, and it was a great relief to me that I could not come face to face with Francis Derham here at Court. I wished I could forget the past, but I could not entirely. Poor Francis, when he had said that his love would endure forever, had meant it. His face haunted me.

A few days after my meeting with Thomas in the music-room, the Duchess of Richmond and the Countess of Rutland sent for me. I was still rather nervous and I wondered if I had been discovered by others as well as Lady Rochford in “intimate conversation” with Thomas. I suppose I was still remembering that occasion when the Duchess had caught me “romping” with Derham.

I was relieved to discover that the summons had nothing to do with that incident.

“Mistress Howard,” said the Countess, “you have been with us for some little time, and I believe you have not yet attended a banquet of any importance.”

I smiled and blushed, as I had a habit of doing.

“We have been thinking you might attend this one which the Bishop of Winchester is giving at his house in honor of the King.”

“The King …” I stammered, seeing in my mind’s eye that huge, magnificent figure whom I had observed walking in the gardens with my uncle.

“Do not look startled. You will not be presented to him.”

My relief was noticeable, and they smiled.

“I should like to see the gown you plan to wear,” said the Duchess.

“Mistress Howard has some really fine clothes,” commented the Countess.

“I know,” replied the Duchess, “but I should like to see it all the same.”

The Countess nodded.

“Will Her Majesty the Queen be there?” I asked.

“The King will be, so it is unlikely that the Queen will.”

“I am sure Mistress Howard will conduct herself in seemly fashion,” said the Countess kindly.

I was excited. A banquet! And the King would be present!

“So you are going to a banquet,” said Lady Rochford. “What shall you wear? You must show me. I will tell you whether it is meet for such an occasion.”

“The Duchess of Richmond is looking after that.”

“And it is to the Bishop of Winchester that you go. A very important gentleman. At least, he believes himself to be so.”

“I’ll dare swear that, as he is the Bishop of Winchester, he must be.”

“I have heard that he is the son of a clothworker in Bury St. Edmunds.”

“Whether it was in Bury St. Edmunds or London would matter little, I’ll trow,” I said coolly. I was beginning to challenge her statements in this way, for it was her custom to attempt to lower all those in high places, especially people who were of lowly birth.

“He is another such as Wolsey,” went on Jane. “A butcher’s son of Ipswich. And Thomas Cromwell, a cloth weaver’s son, from I know not where. And look where they ended.”

“As I have said before, many of noble birth have gone the same way.”

“Well, the Bishop is a clever man. I’ll grant you that. He made his way to Cambridge, and had an education to match any, they say. He sidled his way into a great family. None other than your own, Mistress Howard. Did you know that the high and mighty Bishop, when he was plain Stephen Gardiner, was once a tutor to the son of the great Duke of Norfolk?”

“No, I did not.”

“I swear that was so. And there he was, under the patronage of the noble Duke, all set to take the leap to fame and fortune. All he had to do was ingratiate himself with the Duke—and that he clearly did. I will grant you, he has been of service to the Duke ever since. Is it not true that these two great men go hand in glove together, and doubtless will do so until it suits either of them to do otherwise.”

There were times when I was sorry for Jane. She was clearly an unhappy woman. Life had not been kind to her, but that was perhaps due to herself. I believe she had loved her husband passionately, but he was not of her kind. Erudite, witty, a courtier to his fingertips, another such as his sister. And they had both ignored poor Jane. Perhaps if they had been more thoughtful of her, kinder to her, she would have been different, not so embittered that, when the time came for revenge, she took it. And now, she must live with that. Was she, I often wondered, haunted by memories?

“Do you think I shall make some mistake, Jane?” I asked. “I believe Court etiquette is very strict.”

She looked at me through narrowed eyes and smiled grimly.

“That,” she said, “I will not deny is a possibility. You learned little of courtly ways in the Duchess’s household.”

I was not too put out. I would pass through the ordeal somehow, I was sure, and in any case, Jane was only trying to alarm me because she was piqued, not having herself been invited to the banquet.

The Countess of Rutland sent for me.

“You are prepared for the banquet, I hope,” she said.

I told her I was. “The Duchess thinks my gown suitable,” I added.

“That is well. The King likes to hear ladies sing at the table when the meal is over. The Bishop has arranged for a lady of his choice to entertain the King thus. Alas, she has some malaise of the throat and may not be able to perform.”

She paused and her next words startled me. “I believe, Mistress Howard, that you have a low and pleasant voice. One or two ladies will sing, of course, but if it should be necessary to include another … you could be called on.”

“I … to sing at the King’s table … !”

“Oh, he will not notice you. He is just fond of music, and likes to hear it at all times. If the need should arise, I want you to be prepared. You play the lute, do you not?”

“Yes, Countess.”

“Well, be ready. You could sing and strum as you do so. Do you know ‘Greensleeves’? It is a favorite with the King.”

“Oh yes … but I am not very good. I am sure someone else …”

“Do not be nervous. I will hear you sing and if you are practiced enough … I should think you could do very well. Let us go to the music-room and I shall judge whether you should sing … should the need arise.”

We went and I sang, nervously at first, and then I was carried away by the music. I had always loved the haunting melody of “Greensleeves.” It was said that the King himself had written the words and composed the music. It seemed strange that such a majestic and terrifying looking man should write so gently of love.

“You will do very well, if you are not nervous,” said the Countess. “So, if it should be necessary, I will tell my Lord Bishop that you will sing.”

It had spoilt the pleasure a little. I told myself that it was hardly likely that I should be asked. And yet, uneasy as I was, I should be a little disappointed if I were not.

How excited I was as we took the barge to the Bishop’s residence. All the ladies and gentlemen of the Court were laughing and merry and no one took any notice of me.

I was dressed in a gown of scarlet velvet which my grandmother had provided when I came to Court, and I knew it became me. It had seemed very grand until I mingled with the dazzlingly clad ladies of the Court. This was my first grand banquet, and the King himself was to be there. Perhaps I should be able to observe him at closer quarters than I had hitherto. But perhaps not. I should certainly not be seated near him at the table.

Should I be called upon to sing? Now that I was at this brilliant assembly, all my delight in the prospect disappeared. I wanted to hide away, watch them all and not be seen. Even more did I feel this when I saw that among the guests arriving at the Bishop’s house was my Uncle Norfolk. I hoped his eyes would not alight on me.

To my surprise, I was given a place at the high table.

“Because,” whispered the Countess, who happened to be close to me, “it may be that you will be called upon to sing. Be ready. Have you your lute with you?”

I said I had, and began to tremble with apprehension. I felt very insignificant.

The King sat in the center of the high table, looking out over the room; on his right was the Bishop, on his left my uncle. I recognized others; the King’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Suffolk, the Earl of Southampton, the Earl of Hertford and Sir Thomas Seymour. I was right at the end of the table with my back to the room.

It gave me an opportunity to look at the King. I had to do this surreptitiously, as I had been warned not to stare; and I knew that if I were found guilty of any unseemly conduct, this would be the last time I went to a banquet.

There sat the King, grand and glittering in his padded surcoat, with its puffed sleeves, which made him look even bigger than he really was. Jewels as big as eggs glittered in his garments, and his fingers shone with them as they moved.

The table was laden with food. I had never seen so much. I thought fleetingly of the days in my father’s house when there was often not even enough for all of us. There were several kinds of fish and pies of all shapes; the pastry of many of these had been formed into the shape of crowns or Tudor roses. Scullions were dashing to and fro, carrying dishes of sucking-pig, hot and steaming.

The King took the food in his hands and ate with relish, while the Bishop watched him eagerly, well pleased. Whenever the King spoke, everyone was silent, listening attentively. My uncle looked subdued and humble, as he had in the gardens.

The meal had been going on for some time and several of the guests were nodding over their wine. Then one of the ladies started to sing in a high treble voice which could scarcely be heard above the conversation. Her song over, another began to sing.

They will not want to hear me, I comforted myself. They really pay little attention to the singing. I wonder why they want anyone to do it.

The singing had ceased, and I was suddenly aware of my uncle’s eyes on me. I felt uneasy. Had I committed some fault? What? I had just been sitting quietly, listening. What could I have done?

The Duke nodded to someone. I could not see to whom. I told myself I was mistaken. He had not really been looking at me.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. A young man was standing immediately behind me. He picked up the lute, which was at my feet, and put it into my hands.

“My Lord Duke wishes you to sing, Mistress,” said the young man.

“My Lord Duke!” I looked along the table. There was no doubt now. His eyes were on me, cold, critical. My fingers trembled. They would not do as I wished. Frantically, I forced them to pluck at the lute and the feel of the instrument immediately gave me courage. I made myself think of the music-room, and pretended I was alone. I would play and sing as though to myself. I knew I could both play and sing well. I had so few accomplishments that I must be aware of this one which was mine. And no one was listening. They were all too interested in their own conversation.

I began to sing. I was playing a tune which I loved: and I was playing for myself.

When I stopped I was aware of a silence around the table. I looked in the direction of my uncle, and I saw that the King was gazing straight at me. There was a glazed look in his eyes.

He spoke then. “’Twas well sung,” he said. “Who is the lady?”

My uncle replied: “She is Katherine Howard, Your Majesty.”

“Ha!” said the King with a laugh. “One of your brood, Norfolk, with such a name.”

“My niece, Sire.”

“Is she of the Court?”

“Lady-in-waiting to the Queen, Your Majesty.”

At the mention of the Queen’s name, the King’s expression darkened. Then he glanced at me and looked pleased again.

“Niece, eh?” he said.

“My brother Edmund’s daughter,” the Duke told him.

“Very pretty,” said the King, smiling directly at me.

“Your Majesty is gracious,” replied my uncle.

“’Tis but the truth, Norfolk. Methinks I should speak to her, compliment her on her singing.”

My uncle came round the table to where I was sitting.

“The King wishes to speak to you,” he said quietly. “Come.”

I followed him and, as I stood before the King, I felt my uncle’s hand on my shoulder, reminding me that I must make the most humble obeisance that I had ever made in my life.

I went down to the floor and was afraid I was going to lose my balance in doing so. I almost did, and was aware of my uncle’s annoyance.

But the King was smiling.

“Come, come,” he said. “Rise, my dear young lady.”

A hand shining with jewels took mine. I was drawn close to him and I was looking straight into that fleshy face; the little eyes were glinting.

“You are very young, Mistress Howard. Tell me, how many years have you graced this earth?”

“I am eighteen years old, Your Majesty.”

“Eighteen?” he said rather wistfully. “’Tis a goodly age, eh, Norfolk? You and I left it behind some time since.”

“Your Majesty is right.”

“I liked your song,” he said to me. “It is one of my favorites.”

Everyone applauded and there was laughter, in which the King joined.

“You sang it with feeling. Did she not?” He looked round the table.

“She sang it as it deserved to be sung, Your Majesty,” said someone.

“ ’Twas so indeed. You will sing for us again, Mistress Howard, and you shall sing that song. It would please me much to hear you.”

I was not quite sure what was expected of me, and I was blushing. My uncle was frowning, and I guessed he was urging me to say something.

I stammered: “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

My uncle’s obvious exasperation told me that I had failed to come up to his expectations.

“My niece has but recently come to Court,” he said. “She is nervous and overwhelmed by Your Majesty’s kindness. Your Majesty must forgive her lack …”

“Lack, Norfolk? I see no lack.” The King was glaring at my uncle and I could not suppress my pleasure at seeing him disconcerted. “I like well her manners,” went on the King, patting my hand and looking affable again.

He bent closer to me. “Heed him not.” Then he said loudly: “I would have Mistress Howard sit beside me. I would speak with her.”

The chair next to the King was immediately vacated and I began to feel a little less nervous. He was the King, and it was clear that they were all in great awe of him, even my formidable uncle, but he was very pleasant to me.

“Now,” he said. “You and I will talk. We will pay no attention to Norfolk’s carping. You and I understand each other, do we not, Mistress Howard?”

I giggled, lost for words, and again he did not object. In fact, he laughed with me.

“And you have recently come to my Court. I guessed that, for I have not seen you before, and if I had, I should have remembered you. Perhaps you would have remembered me?”

I knew that was a joke, because everyone would remember him and count it an experience to have seen him. So we laughed together over that.

There appeared to be no need to worry about making the courtly remark. The King did not seem to mind if I just acted naturally.

“Your singing pleased me greatly,” he went on. “You have a pretty voice, but methinks, Mistress Howard, that everything about you is enchanting.”

I did manage to murmur: “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Oh,” he said jocularly, “that is one blessing for which you do not have to thank your King. But let me tell you this, it pleases me. It pleases me indeed. I like to see freshly innocent young ladies about my Court, and you are that, Mistress Howard.”

I was very pleased to discover that I was not expected to say much. I merely had to listen to him, and laugh when he laughed and put in the occasional “Yes, Your Majesty,” to be varied with “Your Majesty is gracious.”

He talked a little about my family and how the Howards and the Tudors had been friends.

“For the most part,” he added. He remembered my father, who had done well at Flodden. He asked questions about me, which did not strike me as unusual.

I found myself talking naturally to him, and if I forgot to say “Your Majesty” or “Your Grace” all the time, that did not seem to matter. I told him that I had been brought up in my grandmother’s establishment and how poor we had been when I was very young. He listened and nodded sympathetically.

He kept me beside him for the rest of the evening and together we watched some dancers whom the Bishop had engaged for his entertainment.

As we took the barge back to Greenwich, I realized that people’s attitudes toward me had changed. They no longer regarded me as the insignificant newcomer, ignorant of the ways of the Court.

I had been favored by the King in an unmistakable manner.

The next day my uncle came to see me. That in itself was significant. Before I had always been summoned to see him.

“Your singing was a success,” he said almost grudgingly.

“The King liked it, did he not?” I replied.

“I fancy he liked more than your singing.”

I laughed. I had changed. I would not have dared laugh like that before in the Duke’s presence.

“You must not be foolish. You must act warily. You will be advised.”

I wondered what about.

“You are very ignorant of Court ways,” went on the Duke.

“The King liked that.”

“H’m.” He was thoughtful. “You must not be too … free with the King.” He looked at me with some exasperation. “You must not act in an unseemly fashion.”

I did not understand what he meant. I wondered how anyone would presume to act in an unseemly fashion toward that great and glittering creature.

“You are such a child,” he said quite irritably. “You are young, even for your years.”

I was silent, not knowing how to apologize for that.

“I shall speak to your grandmother. You may need new dresses … some jewelry.” He lifted his shoulders and frowned, as though he were puzzled. I think he found it difficult to understand not just why the King could have liked my playing so much, but more, that he had talked to me during the evening. “But it may come to naught,” he went on, as though to himself. “Just a whim of the moment. Bored with Gardiner’s efforts to entertain him. Perhaps wait awhile … and see.”

I thought he was going to explain, but he just said: “We shall have to wait and see how deep the interest went. The song was his own. That could have been it.”

Then he left me.

The ladies were talking about the King’s interest in me.

The Countess of Rutland said: “You were honored indeed, Mistress Howard.”

“She played very well and sang with deep feeling,” commented Lady Richmond. “I think that was what interested him. He gets sentimental over ‘Greensleeves’. It was a brilliant idea to choose that piece.”

“Mayhap,” added the Countess thoughtfully, “it was more than the song.”

They exchanged glances and smiled.

“It is not everyone who pleases the King,” said Lady Richmond. “His leg gives him great pain … among other things.”

“Which,” put in the Countess, “may possibly be more painful to him.”

Then they seemed to come to an understanding, which I guessed meant they realized they were talking too freely before someone who was not included in their circle.

Lady Rochford was quick to seek me out.

“There is much talk about Mistress Howard,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The King was most impressed by her singing.”

“Oh yes, he liked it. It was because it was ‘Greensleeves’.”

“Was that so? Then we shall have all the ladies singing it. May the good Lord spare us! And what of my Lord Norfolk? He was, I’ll warrant, proud of his little niece on this occasion. That is somewhat rare with my lord, is it not?”

I laughed. I could always laugh with Jane Rochford.

I said: “I think he was more surprised than anyone. You know, he has not a very high opinion of me. Indeed, he always makes me feel more stupid than I am.”

“Oh come, Mistress Howard, you are not stupid. Methinks you have become a very important lady.”

“My uncle does not think so. But it was amusing, Jane. When he presented me to the King, he was very different from what I have ever seen him before.”

“That is the power of royalty, my dear Katherine. It is good to bask in it, but one must never forget it can soon be withdrawn. ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant’ can quickly be followed by ‘off with his—or her—head’.”

“Oh, Jane, you are very funny.”

“There is truth behind the mirth, dear child. I should like to know what the mighty Duke thought of the King’s interest in his little niece.”

“I think he was afraid I was going to disgrace the family. He was surprised.”

“You may do that yet.”

“What? Disgrace or surprise?”

“Both.” She laughed and went on: “Well, I think we may assume that at this time His Grace the Duke is not displeased with his niece.”

“I am not sure.”

“But the King was certainly not!”

“He did not seem displeased with me, of a surety.”

“’Tis a beginning, and where there is a beginning there must be an end.”

Some of the Queen’s ladies were invited to the Bishop’s house once more—I among them—and, to our surprise, we had not been there long when the King arrived; and among the courtiers who accompanied him were my uncle and the King’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk.

I noticed a look pass between my uncle and the Bishop, and it seemed to me that there was something conspiratorial about it.

My uncle came to me and looked me over with that critical manner to which I was accustomed. He took my arm and led me away from the others to the King, bowed, and said: “Your Majesty, may I present Mistress Katherine Howard.”

The King smiled broadly. “Of a surety you may,” he said, turning that smile on me.

“Your Majesty was kind enough to commend her for her singing. Your Majesty may remember the occasion. My niece was overwhelmed.”

“Now, let me think,” said the King, his eyes twinkling. “Sing, did you say? Ah, I recall the lady.”

“Your Majesty was most gracious.”

“The grace was not mine,” said the King. “Rather that of the young lady. Sit beside me, Mistress Howard. I would speak with you for a while.”

He waved his hand to dismiss my uncle, who bowed and moved away.

Then the King talked to me, asking me questions which he had asked before. Did I like living at the Court? It must be different from what I had done before—and so on.

On this occasion I was less shy. In fact, the King was so friendly that I forgot that he was the King. I am afraid I laughed rather immoderately until I remembered who he was and curbed it.

He realized this and, taking my hand, patted it gently. I was fascinated by those fat, glittering fingers, and could not take my eyes from them.

“You must not be afraid of me,” he said gently. “You are a good girl, Mistress Howard. I know that well. I like young ladies to be modest and virtuous. Such gifts are rare, and especially so in surroundings such as these. You are newly come and know nothing of this, so, prithee, Mistress Howard, do not adopt too many of the habits of my Court.”

His mouth fascinated me. It was so small and seemed particularly so because his face was so big. Such a thin straight line of a mouth. Such little eyes that seemed to peer forth from all that flesh. When I had seen him at first, I had thought it was a cruel face. It was quite different when he talked to me. There seemed something young about it now—almost like a baby’s. And then, talking about the morals of his Court, it was almost prim and definitely disapproving.

He noticed how I looked at him, for he said: “You study me, Mistress Howard. What do you think, eh? What do you think of your King?”

I was unsure how to reply and I stammered: “I think Your Majesty is very kind to me.”

He looked pleased and a great sense of relief swept over me because I must have found the right answer to this difficult question.

“To those who serve me well, I can be very kind.” He was smiling now and there was something very soft and sentimental about his face. I was amazed by the speed with which it could change. Now there was a glitter in his eyes and it was different again. It was a look which sent a shiver of alarm through me. I had seen it before, and suddenly I was thinking of Manox and Derham and my dear Thomas. The King was pressing my hand.

“I could be very kind to you, Mistress Howard,” he said.

“Your … Your Majesty is gracious.”

“And will be more … and will be more, I swear to you.”

He looked sentimental again, with that glazed expression in his eyes, and suddenly he said: “Tell me of your music. You play the lute, I know.”

I told him that I also played the virginals.

“You shall play for me,” he said. “I like much the virginals. We share this love of music, you and I.”

It grew increasingly easy to talk to him. I completely forgot he was the King. I pulled myself up sharply, putting my finger to my lips to prevent the informal words coming out, and he said to me: “What ails you, Mistress Katherine?”

I sought to explain. “Your Majesty is so gracious to me. I forgot you are … Your Majesty.”

That seemed to amuse him. His laughter boomed forth and everyone was looking our way.

For a moment I thought he might be angry, but his smile was more soft and sentimental than ever.

“I like that, Katherine,” he said. “I like it well.”

The Duchess asked me to visit her. This was not the command to which I was accustomed, more a request.

I sailed upriver in a barge which had been sent to take me from Greenwich to Lambeth.

She greeted me warmly.

“Ah, granddaughter,” she said, “you have become a success at Court.”

“I am not sure. But the King has spoken to me.”

“Spoken to you indeed! I heard he had you seated beside him and that you talked together. What could you have had to say to the King?”

“It was easy. I just talked. I forgot he was the King and I told him that.”

She looked at me in horror.

“It was all right,” I assured her. “I am not to be sent to the Tower.”

“Do not say such things … even in jest!” she cried, and I knew she was thinking of my cousin.

“Oh, it mattered not.”

“And it was at the Bishop’s residence that this happened?”

I nodded.

“Stephen Gardiner does not forget his allegiance to your uncle. That is as it should be, for where would Gardiner be without His Grace? He came up from nothing … his father a clothworker, was it? Something such. And if your uncle had not brought him to the attention of Wolsey … poor Wolsey. These people … they come and go. Wolsey … Cromwell … who next? We have to walk through life with the greatest care … those of us who live near the crown. It is well to remember that. So, it was at Gardiner’s place … and your uncle was there … and you did not know that you should meet the King.”

“No … no one knew. The King came without telling them that he would.”

She gave me a slightly supercilious smile.

“And the King paid attention to you … had you sit beside him? He talked to you and you forgot he was the King and he liked that. Is that all?”

“What else should there be?”

“I was asking you. Ah, I think I hear sounds of arrival. It will be the Duke himself.”

The Duke saluted his stepmother and acknowledged me with a nod.

“Katherine is here, as you see,” said the Duchess.

He turned to me then and I recognized the speculation in his eyes as he looked at me: there was a certain interest there which had never come my way before.

“You stand well with the King,” he said. “It is good that you have pleased him.”

“I have done as you asked,” put in my grandmother. “She shall not be short of a gown or the occasional trinket. The seamstresses are here now. They are waiting to fit her as it is necessary.”

The Duke was actually smiling at me. “I doubt not that you are eager to try these new gowns, and I’ll warrant you are as fond of finery as most girls are, eh?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He glanced at my grandmother, who nodded.

“Then go, child,” she said. “Try the blue velvet. They used one of your old gowns for size. It should fit. There are some beautiful materials and the colors should become you well. Let me see how you look in the blue velvet.”

I was always glad to get away when my uncle was present. Moreover, the prospect of clothes always excited me.

How they had changed toward me! The King’s attention had done this. I felt a warm glow of gratitude toward him. I was beginning to lose my awe of him. He had been so friendly, and he had shown clearly that he did not think me in the least stupid—or, if he did, he liked it. I was as a young girl should be, he implied.

I gasped with pleasure at the materials when I saw them. I may not have had much book-learning, but I did know something about clothes. I held up the material against me and the two seamstresses cried out in delight.

“Oh, how that scarlet becomes you, Mistress Howard! I think we should make it with the flowing sleeves.”

The flowing sleeves were a fashion which had been introduced to the Court by Anne Boleyn, because she had a deformity on the finger and the full sleeves helped to hide it. They were graceful and becoming and were still in fashion.

I examined the materials and we talked of styles. I tried on the blue dress. The bodice had a square-cut neck and the skirt hung open in the front to disclose a beautifully embroidered kirtle decorated with a tracing of silver thread. The women hovered round me, straightening the skirt and patting the material here and there.

“Ah, but you are beautiful in that gown, Mistress Howard,” one of them said.

They stood together, looking at me in admiration—I suspected as much of their own work as of me.

I was delighted. So often I had seen the Court ladies in splendid gowns and wished they were mine. And now, it seemed, they were.

“The Duchess wishes me to show her this gown,” I said.

They nodded to each other. They had no doubt of her approval.

I went back to my grandmother’s apartments. As I opened the door to the little anteroom which led to her chamber, the sound of her voice and that of the Duke made me pause. They must have left the door of the chamber open, so I could hear distinctly and I realized that they were talking about me.

The Duchess was saying: “It is not easy to believe that this could be happening … to her.”

“He is in a strange mood at this time. The shock of the Queen’s arrival … the disappointment.”

“Our girl is exceedingly pretty … in a simple way, of course.”

“But witless.”

“That could be an advantage. Remember …”

“I remember well, madam, and need no reminder. That was a disaster. He turned against the family for a time.”

“But has been won back,” said my grandmother. “If indeed it did come to pass … oh, she is not like that other. She was bold and thought herself clever.”

“More clever than she was in truth,” retorted the Duke grimly.

“Oh … this could be of great good.”

“Gardiner will do his best.”

“So should he, when it is considered what good you have brought to him.”

“But we shall have to be watchful… of her. She is so untutored … young even of her years. But as yet it is merely an interest. His moods are less predictable than ever.”

“We can only wait…”

“Yes, and be watchful.”

There was a slight pause and I wondered whether they had become aware that I was in the anteroom. But, as they had been talking about me and their words were revealing, I was reluctant to go into the room and stop this interesting discussion.

I waited for a few more seconds and, as they had fallen into silence, I went into the room.

“Ah, here is the child,” said my grandmother. “Let me look at the gown. Marry, and it becomes you well. Think you not so, my lord?”

He nodded; and he was smiling to himself.

I thought a great deal about that conversation I had overheard. They were not the only ones who were excited by the King’s interest in me. I was myself. It was so unexpected, after having been ignored, to be treated with a certain degree of respect.

What made it so pleasant was that I could be natural and that was what the King liked about me. He, who was surrounded by the cleverest and most beautiful women at Court, had shown a preference for the society of little Katherine Howard—witless, as her uncle called her, without education and unable to converse amusingly. All she had to recommend her was a simple prettiness; she was small but slender with it; she had an air of helplessness, a look of innocence, which seemed to make the King want to be gentle with her.

That was what they were saying about me. I did not care. I was going to enjoy being in favor.

Soon after this, I met Thomas Culpepper in the gardens.

“There is much gossip about you and the King,” he said and he looked uneasy.

I laughed. “It is wondrous how people talk,” I said. “I sang and the King liked my song because it was his own. He spoke to me, then I went to the residence of the Bishop of Winchester and the King happened to be there, so he talked to me again. That is all. Is it so very important when the King talks to one of his subjects?”

“It would depend on the manner of the talk,” said Thomas.

“Oh, it was just … talk. He asked if I liked being at Court and I told him what it was like when I was a little girl in my father’s house, that he might judge the difference between that and the Court. Then we talked about music. He loves music. He was very kind.”

“Did it not strike you as strange that he should talk thus to you?”

“Of what else should we talk?”

Thomas looked at me in faint exasperation.

“You know you are very pretty, do you not?”

“I have heard it said,” I replied with some satisfaction.

“Has it not occurred to you that that was why the King spoke to you?”

“He is an old man,” I said.

Thomas’s exasperation increased.

I went on: “My uncle, the Duke, and my grandmother are very pleased. My uncle has never been so gracious to me as he is now.”

“I can well believe it,” said Thomas grimly. “Oh, I like it not.”

Then he put his arms round me and held me tightly.

“Katherine,” he said. “Never forget that you are betrothed to me.”

“We have not been … formally, but I do not forget it was to be. I often think of going away to Hollingbourne. That is what I long for.”

“It shall come to pass.”

“Oh yes. Perhaps soon.”

“They will not accept me now.”

“My grandmother talked of it once.”

“Perhaps it might have been possible … once. But now … not yet.”

“I am eighteen years old. I am no longer young.”

“It must be so, Katherine. It must be.”

“And it shall, Thomas. Be of good cheer. Why are you so downcast?”

“I am afraid, Katherine.”

“You must not be. I love you and you love me—and do not forget they once spoke of our betrothal.”

“That was before you came to Court.”

“It has not changed me.”

He kissed me sadly.

“No,” he said, “you have not changed. It is the world around you that has changed. Katherine, do not cease to love me. I should not wish to live if you did.”

“Thomas,” I assured him. “I shall always love you. No matter what, I am yours.”