The Rose Without a Thorn (32 page)

His face was suffused with purple color. I did not care. I was too much afraid of death to be afraid of him; and I knew by now that he would have done nothing to help me. Indeed, he was on the side of those who would destroy me.

I said: “Then does it depend on who commits the act whether it is a sin or not? What of the King himself? The Duke of Richmond was his natural son.”

“Be silent! Do not add idiocy to your immorality. If you talk thus, there will be short shrift for you. I told you that when the King heard of your conduct, he wept … yes, bitter tears. Think what a future you could have had. The King believed in you. You deceived him completely.”

“I did not. I did not. I was myself… all the time.”

“You … a low wanton, sporting with a servant!”

“A higher rank than a laundress, and he is a Howard.”

He glared at me, ignoring the reference to his Bess Holland.

Then he said: “There are more than one claiming the name who are unworthy to do so. Your grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, has with her son behaved in a most unseemly manner. What a sad day for the family when they joined it. You have spurned my help, as has your grandmother. She is a foolish old woman. She is in the Tower now and this could cost her her head.”

“Oh no. She has done nothing … nothing.”

“She is a traitor. She knew of this … this intrigue between you and Derham and she accepted it. She allowed you to marry the King, when she knew full well that you were unworthy to do so.”

I was silent. It was true, in a way. She had known what had taken place between Derham and me. She had not allowed me to mention it. Then she had shown her guilt by opening Derham’s coffers, for fear something incriminating might be found there. She had given Damport money to persuade him not to reveal anything he might know against Derham. I could see that she had behaved in a very guilty manner. But she was old and tired and frightened. And the Duke would do nothing to help her—any more than he would for me. He would show himself to be against us more vehemently, in order to ingratiate himself with the King.

I could see that he was indeed our enemy.

There was only one who would help me: and that was the King himself.

I cried out: “I will speak to the King. I can explain to him. He will understand. He will listen to me. He will not be cruel … as you are.”

“You talk like a fool. Do you think the King will see you now that he knows you for the slut you are?”

“He will … he will. I know he will.”

“You have done enough harm already. Why am I plagued with such a family? And you are worse than any. To think that you are a niece of mine! There was that other niece. You know what happened to her, do you not? And here you are, proving to be such another. Your Uncle William and his wife! We have always been a great family … and these intruders!”

I wanted to tell him that the family had not always held high honors, even before his father married a second wife, who was his own stepmother. I felt wretched, thinking of her in that cold prison—she who had always felt the cold so keenly, and now she was old, infirm and very, very worried.

I wanted to shout at him, to tell him how heartless he was, how he cared only for himself, but what was the use? I was terrified that I would fall into one of my wild moods, when I became hysterical and in an even worse state than I was now.

I was greatly relieved when he went. He left me with a firm resolve. I had been right when I had said I must see the King.

I must. He was the only one who could save me. A word from him and everything would be well. I believed he would help me, if I could only talk to him.

I was obsessed with one thought. I had to find a way of seeing the King. I realized that no one would help me reach him. I had to find my own way to him. I would kneel to him. I would beg. Did I not know how to enchant him? I would appeal to him, remind him of what we had been to each other. Had he not said he had never had such pleasure in a woman as he had had in me?

I knew how to cajole and caress. I knew what pleased him. I would enchant him again, just as I had when we were first married.

I could do it. I knew it. The most difficult part was to reach him.

Although I did not see most of my ladies-in-waiting now, and Jane was the only one who talked with me, they were still in the household. They must not know what I intended to do.

Jane had said: “You know the King still loves you. They say he is very melancholy. He does not take pleasure in his food, as was his wont. They are saying he would have you back if it were not for his ministers. That is what he really wants.”

“I’m sure … if I could only speak with him …”

“They have sent messengers to France informing King Francis of all that has happened, and Francis has sent his condolences and sympathy. If only they had not done that.”

“What then?” I asked eagerly.

“The King would not want King Francis to think that the King of England could keep a wife who behaved as they say you
have and then mildly forgive her. That is why they sent those messages to France, before the King could make some excuse for having you back.”

“Oh, no … no,” I said.

“But yes. It would destroy the King’s dignity … his standing. It would show him to be too dependent on you. Oh, they have made it difficult for him, but the fact that he wants you back should put heart into you.”

“It does. It does indeed, for, if he wants to … surely he will.”

“Well, you see, these people who are responsible for putting you where you are now … well, it would go ill with them if you were taken back to favor. They would think you would have your revenge.”

“Oh, I would not. I would not. I would be only too happy to forget.”

“Poor Derham. He will never be the same again. He is destroyed. Innocent Damport … you see, you could not forget.”

“Oh yes, poor Derham. He was so handsome. Oh, Jane, what can he be like now?”

“It is for you to think of getting back. If the King loves you enough … it could be so. They are saying he is more unhappy now than when he was ridding himself of Anne Boleyn, and that his feelings were no stronger for her than they were for you … in the beginning.”

“Oh, Jane, if only I could speak to him.”

“If the opportunity should come, you must be ready.”

“I swear I will, Jane. I swear it.”

I looked for it. I waited for it, and it came at length.

The King was at Hampton Court. My spirits rose at the thought of that. If it were going to happen, it would be now.

I realized that, although I was not in a cell, I was to a certain extent a prisoner.

My ladies were there, as they had been, although apart. They were, in a sense, my jailers. I had never attempted to break free
from them, having no inclination to walk out. I could not face anyone at Court in my present situation. I was in no mood or any state to do so. All I wanted was to hide myself.

But now I must leave my apartments and get to that section of the palace where the King might be. I knew at what hour he would be attending Mass in the chapel, where I had often been with him. If I could reach him while he was there, I could be certain of seeing him, and that was what I proposed to do. To reach the chapel, I must traverse the long gallery which led to it, and this entailed descending the backstairs from my apartment before I came to the gallery: then I could hurry along it to the chapel.

I had only a vague idea how I should act when I saw Henry. My hair was flowing about my shoulders in the style he most liked. I would throw myself at his knees and I would sob out my misery. I should tell him that I only wished to live if he and I could be happy again as we had been when we were first married.

I pictured him as I had seen him so many times, his face creasing into tenderness, the slackness of his mouth, which could look so cruel and yet be gentle for me; I could see the tears of sentiment in the little eyes. I knew exactly how to make him look like that, and all I needed was to be with him.

I left my bedchamber and went quietly to the adjoining room. There was no one there. Cautiously I opened the door which led to the ladies’ quarters. I paused and listened. I heard the sound of voices. Some of them were there.

I hesitated. Jane had said that they would try to prevent my leaving. I dared not wait too long or Mass would be over and the King gone. I should have to chance being seen. In any case, who were they to prevent my going where I wished? I was not their prisoner … or was I?

I glanced into the room. A group of them were seated at the far end. I did not have to pass them—just slip quietly to a door and out to the stairs.

I was half-way to it when one of the ladies looked up. She exclaimed with surprise and stood up. I saw that it was Margaret Morton.

“Your Majesty…” she began, but I took no notice and sped toward the door.

They were all on their feet now.

“Your Majesty, what is it you require?”

I did not answer. I was through the door and starting down the stairs.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” They were coming after me. I knew they would try to stop my reaching the King, as Jane had warned me they would. I felt the hysteria rising in me. I must see him. I must. Everything depended on it. They were close to me now … not just one of them, but at least half a dozen.

“Where are you going?” I thought that was Katherine Tylney.

“Your Majesty! Come back. We are here to serve you.”

I thought: you are here to prevent my reaching the King.

I was in the gallery now. I ran as fast as I could. I was breathless … and they were very close to me. One of them reached out and caught my gown. I snatched it away. I had reached the chapel, but they were surrounding me.

I saw Katherine Tylney, Margaret Morton and Joan Bulmer among them. There was fear on their faces. They were as determined not to allow me to see the King as I was to see him. But I was one and they were so many.

They were all round me. They laid their hands on me.

“Leave me,” I commanded. “Leave me.”

They did not answer. They looked sly and triumphant as they pulled me away from the chapel door.

“Take your hands from me,” I cried.

“Your Majesty is unwell. We are going to look after you. Come … let us take you back to your apartment.”

I kept crying out to them to leave me, to take their hands from me, but they dragged me away, nearer and nearer to the stairs. I was sobbing, cursing them, screaming with fury. Perhaps he would
hear. But perhaps he did not
want
to hear. I must make him look at me. Only my presence could do that.

I could hear that wild hysterical voice, and realized it was my own. I was bereft of all hope as they dragged me up the stairs. I was back in my chamber … in prison. I could hear them talking of me.

The Queen had had another of her mad turns.

I lay still while the wildness passed away. I felt limp, exhausted, saying to myself, I can never escape. It is coming to me as surely as it came to my cousin.

I was sunk in utter melancholy and despair.

The Journey to the Tower

IT WAS A FEW DAYS LATER
that I heard I was to leave Hampton Court for Syon House.

Jane Rochford said that this might be a good omen. It meant that there were people who would be uneasy about my seeing the King. They had prevented me on one occasion, but what if I should succeed? What if he were to decide to take me back, as many people thought he might be inclined to do? How would all those who had worked against me fare then?

It was the sort of theory one welcomed when one was feeling desperate. I forgot that Jane was one who liked to build up a dramatic situation, to have a plan and attempt to discover devious ways of putting it into practice.

Common sense told me that, if the King really wanted me back, he would soon find some means of getting me. But in my present desperate state, it was comforting to grasp at any hope.

Jane was with me at Syon, a house on the north bank of the Thames near Richmond. It had been a nunnery suppressed by Henry in 1532, when the house had passed to the Crown.

How different it was from Hampton Court! Here indeed I felt a prisoner.

Perhaps I was thinking of poor Lady Margaret Douglas, who had recently been held here under restraint and had been sent away to Kenninghall to make way for me.

Margaret, too, seemed a person destined to fall in love with the wrong people. Perhaps she and I shared a weakness in that way. She had been in the Tower before on account of her attachment to my uncle, Lord Thomas Howard. She had been released
from there to be sent to Syon House; then her lover had died and she was freed. Now she was in disgrace again, because of a liaison with another member of my family. This time it was my brother Charles, and she found herself a prisoner in Syon House until my coming, when she was moved to another place of confinement.

Poor Lady Margaret! She must often wish she had not been born royal. It seemed unfair that she should be imprisoned for falling in love and wanting to marry the brother of the woman the King had chosen for his Queen. If Lady Margaret could not expect reasonable consideration, could I?