Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey (8 page)

I had left the court just in time. In July, as the mangled body of Anne Askew was being dragged out to the stake, her body having been racked until she could no longer walk, an arrest warrant was issued for the queen. Queen Katheryn had made the mistake of quarrelling with the king over something in the Bible in front of the leading Catholic at Court, Bishop Gardiner. Gardiner then delighted in whispering poison against the Queen into the king’s ear.

Francis told me later: “Fortunately for her, someone dropped the bill of articles against her outside the door to her rooms and she was alerted to the plot. In her fit of terror, the king sent his doctor Mr Wendy and he convinced her to beg the king for his forgiveness. The next day she came into the king’s rooms and threw herself on his mercy. Of course, he never truly wanted to act against her so he forgave her right away and to teach Bishop Gardiner and that little toad, Secretary Wriothesley, a lesson, he neglected to tell them of the queen’s escape. When they came to arrest her, he slapped Wriothesley full across the face and yelled ‘Knave! Fool! Beast!’ They could not scurry from his presence fast enough.”

Gales of laughter pealed from us both as we pictured the porcine Wriothesley waddling out of the king’s sight. His rise under Secretary Cromwell had been much rewarded, but I still thought he was a weasel.

“Francis,” I heaved, breathless from my mirth. “I wish I had been there to see it.”

He patted my belly. “But I am so glad you were not. The reformers were all terrified for the queen. Court has been a frightful place and I am relieved to know you are safe in our home.”

I put my finger to his lips and then brought them to mine. After a deep kiss, I asked him, “But are you safe, my love?”

His wary eyes stared into mine. “For you, I will do everything I can to keep myself safe.”

And, as promised, he continued to stay in the king’s good graces and was promoted to Chief Steward and Keeper of the Courts in August.

My pains came in the autumn, and as the leaves turned red and gold, our baby, Edward, made his debut. Born on the 12
th
October, the same day as the prince and on the eve of the feast of St Edward the Confessor, it was only natural that he was named Edward. This labour was easy and the babe came with minimal fuss. He was a fair child with light brown hair and wide emerald green eyes. He took to the nurse’s breast the quickest of all my children by far.

Court was at Greenwich for Christmas, but I was not ready to go back. Looking back now I am glad I did not go. The king, was closeted at Whitehall deathly ill. While the court was celebrating our Saviour’s birth, my father’s closest companions were preparing for his death.

Francis brought news of his passing when he finally came home in February.

“We kept his death a secret for three days while Lord Hertford rode to the prince. He took him straight to Enfield and told both Edward and Elizabeth of their father’s death. He sent for Mary and now all three wait at Court for Edward’s coronation. It is set for the twentieth of this month and your presence is expected.”

I nodded. “Of course, husband. Edward is, after all, my half-brother. I would not miss it for anything.”

He traced his fingers down my bare arm. My poor Francis looked exhausted. I hoped that he could come home for a while after the coronation, but I knew that it would not be possible. As uncle to the new king, the Earl of Hertford would be closest to the throne and all the reformers would be at Court working to influence Edward. Francis would be needed.

The next day my maid Matilda and I tore my closet apart looking for a suitable gown for a coronation. We settled on pale blue damask with cloth-of-silver woven through. Matilda went to my jewel box and came back with a pair of sapphire and pearl earrings, a gift from the king when I first came to Court. I sat on my bed and held them in my hand, staring as they sparkled in the light. Maybe if I held them in my hand and prayed hard enough, my father would come back. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that was not possible. The king was not coming back.

I had rarely spoken to the man in all my time at Court. I had served three of his wives, danced at his masques, walked through his gardens and in all that time, we had barely exchanged words. Why did I grieve so? After a while, I realised it was because when I saw the king I knew that I belonged. He looked like my father. We had the same nose and squinty eyes. My golden red locks matched his. I had none of the Boleyn traits and I looked nothing like the Careys. I always knew Stafford was not my father so it was no mystery to me why we looked so different. Until I knew where my appearance came from, I had felt like a stranger, as though I did not belong in my own family. Then I came to Court and saw myself mirrored back in the faces of the king and the Lady Elizabeth. It mattered not whether the king recognised me as his, my eyes did not lie.

The king’s death was the end of an era. Now we had an untried child on the throne and a bevy of men crowding around to get their piece of the power. Things had been unstable and changing under Henry, but now they were downright frightening. Francis was thrilled, of course, because Edward had been brought up as a reformer. But I had seen enough at Court to know that the situation was never as straightforward as that. My Uncle Norfolk, the leading Catholic at Court may have been locked in the Tower, but there was always another that would rise in his place. The faction wars would continue and they would get even more volatile with a young, malleable boy on the throne.

The door to my room banged open, startling me out of my reverie. In ran my children. Harry, now a tall boy of six, shouted, “Mama, Uncle Henry says I can help him deliver the new pony when it comes!”

“That will be great fun, Harry,” I said smoothing back his hair.

Mary crawled onto my lap. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to give me a smile.

“Beautiful girl,” I said kissing her on the forehead.

Lettice, entering a most rebellious third year, bounded in with her doll in her hand. “Don’t be such a baby Mary!
I
don’t suck my thumb any more!” she teased as she crawled up on the bed beside me.

I hugged them both. “Girls, we all grow up in our own time. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses and, above all, we do not tease in this house.”

The baby nurse brought in Edward, and William toddled in behind her. I moved Mary from my lap and set her next to me, taking Edward in one arm and William in the other. In that moment, I realised that it did not matter if my father was gone, I would always belong in this house, with the family I had created with Francis. I looked to each of my children and saw how different they were. Each one special and wonderful in their own way, and it occurred to me that I did not have to look like my brother or stepfather. They had loved me anyway.

Like our father before him, King Edward spent the week before his coronation in the Tower. Francis and I stayed at Whitehall with the rest of the court. On the afternoon of 19
th
February, the young king and his retinue left the Tower of London. Francis was in the procession so I went with Nan Bassett to see the festivities. We traipsed through the streets of London, winter frost crunching underneath our feet. Our layers of velvet and damask warmed us against the biting cold, but our faces were left unprotected. Nan pulled her hand out of her sable stole and covered her nose in a feeble attempt to thaw it. A puff of white breath came out of her mouth and we both laughed.

“Poor King Edward is probably in a worse state than us. Did you see how skinny his legs were? No meat on that young man to warm him. Not like us anyway,” she giggled, patting her voluptuous bottom.

“Nan, do not talk of the king’s skinny legs!” I chided her.

“He cannot hear me.”

I shook my head in mock indignation, but I adored her sense of humour. Nan always brought a sense of levity to a serious situation.

The king’s gentleman, chaplains and esquires of the body walked at the head of the procession. My husband and stepfather were among them. As they passed, Nan squeezed my arm and I beamed with delight. When the trumpeters sounded, the nobility made their appearance on horseback. The king followed close behind.

We were close enough to get an excellent view of our new king. He was dressed in snow-white velvet embroidered in silver. Lover’s knots with pearls trimmed his doublet along with diamonds and rubies. The jewels sparkled in the afternoon sun and shone so brightly it was as if Edward was surrounded in a holy light. Over it all he wore a golden gown and sable cape to keep out the cold. His fine palfrey was covered in crimson satin and decorated with pearls.

The king was flanked by his uncle Edward Seymour and Nan’s brother, John Dudley. Both had been promoted to the peerage and were now the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Warwick, respectively. As the king’s closest councillors they would be the premier nobles now. As the procession wound down the street, Nan and I followed behind. This was likely to be the last coronation we would see in our lifetime and we didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Cheapside was richly decorated to welcome the king. It was obvious that more money had been spent on welcoming the king than its inhabitants had spent on food all winter, and the pageants did not disappoint. My favourite was the tribute to Jane Seymour. A phoenix, which had been her device, descended from the heavens to land on a York and Lancaster rose-covered mount. A crowned lion approached with his cub, and two angels from heaven crowned him. Of course Edward the Confessor made an appearance, that was only to be expected as the king had been named for him. Other tableaux greeted our new monarch as he marched towards Westminster. The conduits ran blood-red with wine.

After we took all the cold we could bear, Nan and I hurried back to the palace, eager to warm ourselves before the fire. We sipped spiced mead and watched the fire dance in the hearth.

I took a sip of my warm mead and turned to Nan. “What shall you do now that there is no queen to serve?”

Nan rocked back and forth silently while she considered her response. “I have been called to serve the Princess Mary and will leave for her household after the coronation festivities are over.”

I contemplated this. “I suppose that would be an excellent place for you. She still keeps the old ways and I know your family has always kept to them. She will treat you well.”

Nan stopped rocking, “What will you do now, Catherine?”

I replied thoughtfully. “Oh, I am certain I will be with child again soon. It is different for me. I have a house full of children waiting for me back at Greys Court. Besides, you know the princess would never request my services,” I lowered my voice, “with my husband being a heretic and all.”

Nan snorted. “Yes, well, there is that.”

“Francis says that should the king die before he has an heir we should all be in fear for what she will do. But I have known Mary since I came to Court. She may be stubborn but I don’t think she would cause harm to anyone. All this fuss over religion. Does it truly matter the way that we worship? I shall never understand.”

Nan nodded and said sagely, “It has become a game of power.”

She was right. I just prayed that my Francis would not be sacrificed in the struggle.

By the time I woke up the next morning, Francis was gone. I knew it would be another long day and the weather was still just as cold, so I bundled into my pale blue gown and found a sable to match. I dug the sapphire earrings out of my jewellery box and kissed them before placing them on my ears. If you are listening, Father, I hope you see your son ascend your throne today, I thought to myself.

The king had come by barge down the frigid Thames from Westminster to gather his robes. We watched him, clad in crimson and ermine, process under a canopy carried by the barons of the Cinque Ports to Westminster Abbey. Lords Dudley, Parr and Seymour carried his train. This time the Seymour uncle was the jovial and dashing Thomas. Francis and Stafford followed behind with the other gentleman of the court.

Nan and I took a carriage to Westminster Abbey. I had never seen it decorated so gloriously. The little king walked stiffly to the dais that held his throne. He was so weighed down in his robes and jewels that it was a wonder he made it there at all. He climbed into that imperious chair that had held all the monarchs before him and I wondered if he felt buffeted by their strength around him.

Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, began his sermon. He called on Edward to be like Josiah. The biblical King Josiah ascended the throne at the age of eight and set about reforming his church. Cranmer’s insinuation was not lost on us. He was asking Edward to continue his father’s efforts to break from Rome and free England from its idolatry.

The service dragged on for hours, but eventually Cranmer produced the imperial crown. In a break with tradition, both Cranmer and the lord protector, the Duke of Somerset, placed it on Edward’s head. His thin shoulders sank under the weight. The archbishop anointed him and replaced the cumbersome crown with a lighter one that had been created especially for this occasion. Certain members of the nobility handed Edward the sceptre, orb, St Edward’s staff and the spurs. Through it all Edward showed a gravity that belied his tender age. This was the moment he had been preparing for his whole short life. The nobility rose and came before him to kiss him, one by one, on his cheek. The young prince had finally come into his inheritance.

After the ceremony, we walked to the great hall to feast. Edward sat high on the dais surrounded by his liege men. It was Lent so, much like the feast after King Henry’s marriage to Anne of Cleves, there was no red meat. Platters of trout, crab and oysters made the rounds, along with pheasant, duck and plover. The subtleties were most impressive. I saw palaces made of delicate sugar, and a dragon of St George in the most vivid shades of green and red.

It was a beautiful day in the tiltyards and the perfect weather for a tournament. Francis would not be participating as he was not a knight, but he would be down in the lists preparing the players, so I enjoyed the show with Nan. We climbed the stands that had been set up and found ourselves a comfortable spot.

The peal of trumpets sounded and we all jumped from our seats at King Edward’s entrance. He still appeared quite small, but this time he was not drowning in robes. He wore a doublet of Tudor green trimmed with ermine. The smaller crown from the coronation service sat on his head and sparkled in the late morning sun. He raised his hand and waved to the courtiers. Someone shouted, “God save the King!” and we all responded, “God Save Good King Edward!” The king clapped his hands together in excitement. The Duke of Somerset put his hand on his shoulder and urged him on.

The king made his way to the diminutive throne that had been set up for him and once he was seated we all followed suit. The knights began their parade. Nan’s brother came out first, astride a raven black destrier. He tipped his cap towards us as he rode by and stopped for his wife’s favour. Next, came the king’s other uncle, Thomas Seymour, now Baron Sudeley. Thomas rode a snow-white destrier and, as he came closer to us, he held out his lance to Nan. She giggled shyly and glanced at me.

I sighed. “Well, grant him your favour.”

She pulled off a scarf that was tied to her wrist and attached it quickly to Seymour’s lance. He gave her a wink and finished his round.

“What was that about?” I asked her.

She flushed. “Lord Sudeley is quite charming. I am sure it was just a mere flirtation.”

My eyes followed Seymour as he rode out of the arena. “Yes, I am sure it was.”

The afternoon flew by in a rush of lance slivers and flashes of armour. Thomas Seymour won the day and it greatly pleased the king. He was honoured at the banquet that night with a seat next to him on the royal dais. Somerset seemed very annoyed. He spent the evening glaring at his brother and monopolising the conversation with the king.

The dowager queen had moved to her new home at Chelsea so there was no need for me to stay on at Court, but Francis desired my company so I obliged him. The Princess Elizabeth left shortly after the celebrations to go back to her studies at Hatfield. The night before she left I went to visit her rooms to bid her farewell. As I left my bedchamber, I grabbed a small trinket from my jewellery box.

Elizabeth’s rooms had been cleaned already. The scent of sage in the fresh rushes greeted me in the doorway. Her back was to me, so I knocked lightly on the door to avoid startling her. She spun around. “Mistress Knollys, you startled me! I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

“I came to say goodbye. I will miss seeing you at Court. It has always been a pleasure to serve you during your visits.”

“Thank you. I have enjoyed our time together as well.” She considered me thoughtfully, “You know I often forget that we are cousins. No one ever talks about my mother.”

She plopped down on her bed and sighed. Her legs swung back and forth, just brushing the rushes below her feet. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Do you miss your children when you are at Court, Mistress Knollys?”

“Please call me Catherine, my lady. Yes, I miss them very much. I wonder how they have grown and what they are learning. I want to tuck them into bed at night and kiss their little cheeks.”

She nodded her head. “Yes, I suppose mothers do want to do those things.”

I shook my head. “No, not all mothers do, but I do. I feel like my children are a part of me and I miss them as I would miss a part of myself. But not all mothers feel the same way.”

She sat in silence, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the heel of the other. Finally she asked, “Mistress - I mean - Catherine, do you suppose my mother would have liked to do those things?” She looked at me hopefully.

I held out my hand, offering it to her. She put her hand in mine. Her fingers were gracefully long and her milky skin was smooth to the touch. They were warm despite the chill in the air.

“Of course I think your mother would have loved to do those things. She loved you very much. I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know that. My mother told me how she would visit you at your household at every opportunity. And your wardrobe! She wanted you to have the best pieces and the latest fashions, though you were not old enough to do much more than mess yourself in them.” We both chuckled heartily at my remark.

“Catherine, will you tell me what you remember about her?” she asked earnestly.

I searched my memory. “She despised monkeys, I know that. The old queen, Catherine, had a monkey that Anne could not abide, but she did enjoy other animals. She had an adorable puppy named Purkoy that she loved. When she was pregnant with you she craved apples. She loved to dance and, oh, how she loved music. She made such beautiful music on her lute. Your mother was intelligent, well-read and she had the best sense of humour, but she had such a temper.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me.”

“Of course, my lady.” I brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes. “You have her eyes. You look like a Tudor in everything else, but you got your eyes and lips from her.”

Those deep brown eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She stood up from her bed and looked sadly around the room. “I wish we could keep talking, but I have to get ready to go back to Hatfield now. Thank you for all the kindness you have shown me.”

I stood up and pulled the trinket out of the small bag I had tied to my girdle. I placed it gently in Elizabeth’s hand, closing her fingers around it.

“Keep this with you always. My mother gave it to me and now it is yours.” I said.

She looked down and stared at the miniature of her mother, tracing her fingers across the picture.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I will treasure it always.”

After serving three queens, I found it rather nice to live at my own pace. Not needing to be in the queen’s rooms by a certain hour meant that I could come and go as I pleased. While Francis tended to his duties, I spent my afternoons walking in the gardens at Whitehall, practising my horsemanship in the park, and curling up next to the fire with my embroidery. At night, Francis and I loved made love like newly-weds. I was finally able to give him all my attention.

In March, Lord Chancellor Wriothesley was arrested and forced to resign his post. Francis informed me that it was because he refused to affix the Great Seal to the letters patent naming Somerset lord protector. Lord Rich was appointed in his stead and now Somerset was the most powerful man in England after the king. Francis was pleased that his ally was rising at Court, but he fretted over Somerset’s increasing greed and arrogance.

The king and Somerset’s men set about destroying the last of the Catholic icons. Royal agents stormed the churches smashing statues of the Virgin Mary and Jesus, breaking out the stained-glass windows depicting Jesus’s miracles and making off with the church’s goods.