Secrets of the Tudor Court (22 page)

The progress through the North is a merry journey. We tour different cities and accept the hospitality of local nobles. Everywhere we go we are feasted and celebrated. A court on progress lacks the structure of a mobilized court within the confines of palace life, and everyone behaves like children freed of their studies. We romp and play and I cannot think of a time when I have been happier.

Kitty and Culpepper seek each other out under Jane Boleyn's watch, and I ignore it. I immerse myself in Cedric and my own intrigues. We find each other at every opportunity and, with as much subtlety as possible, conduct our affair. I do not think of Norfolk or his reaction, should he learn of what he would perceive to be my wantonness; I do not think of Surrey. I think of myself. For once in my life I think about me.

When we return to Hampton Court and Kitty is not with child, I begin to face the situation's gravity at last. She has been married over a year now. Enemies are circling, eager to see the rose wither. Old "friends" from Lambeth are given positions in her household, the ancient exchange of glory for silence. One is Francis Dereham, a rakishly handsome courtier with black hair and intense features whose hungry eyes follow Kitty with the possessiveness of a man whose blood is running hot with desire. He has been appointed her personal secretary.

"We meant something to each other once," she tells me, her expression dreamy, as I question the wisdom of having him so close. "Poor chap believed we were married." Her eyes are wide. "Of course we weren't," she whispers. "I don't know why he insists it was so. I always thought it was sort of a game between us; calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' you know?"

"When you played at husband and wife," I begin in hushed tones, "did--did you do everything a husband and wife would do?"

"Well, yes," Kitty says, lowering her eyes. My heart begins to pound. Does Norfolk know? Would he have pushed her this far if he knew? Oh, God, save Her precious Majesty..."That's why he was so put out when I corrected him. But I think we have an understanding now. He is happy as my secretary and is quite over it all, I am certain."

"Are
you certain, Your Majesty?" I ask her. "He doesn't resent you for...anything?"

She shakes her head. "Why would he? He left me for a year while he became a pirate or some stupid thing like that. What did he expect me to do? Wait for him after I thought he was dead?" She shrugs. "I think he's more realistic than that. He realizes life just went on and accepts it."

"Does he know about...about Culpepper?"

"What do you mean?" Her blue eyes flash in petulant anger. "What are you suggesting?"

I kneel before her. "Your Majesty, I...I know about your goings on. And I fear for you. His Majesty is--oh, Kitty,
please
be careful!"

Kitty's face softens and she reaches forward, removing my hood. She sets it in her lap, then leans forward to cup my face between her slim hands.

"You mustn't worry. I am sure to keep His Majesty happy," she assures me. "I keep everyone happy."

I want to believe her. How much I do want to believe her!

T
he happiness Kitty promises is short-lived, as I knew it would be. When a man named John Lascelles learns of Kitty's past with Dereham through his sister Mary Hall, a chambermaid at Norfolk House, he runs with it. It is his moral responsibility, he feels, as he is a reformer against the Catholic faction (in short, the Howards) and takes it upon himself to seek out Archbishop Cranmer, informing him that Kitty had a precontract in marriage to Francis Dereham.

On November 2 at the Mass for All Souls' Day, Cranmer passes His Majesty a note with the charges. It is kept private at first. I suspect nothing till the king leaves the palace on the fifth.

I keep close to Kitty and the other ladies. Kitty is unaware that anything is amiss, as is most of the court. We make merry in her rooms, dancing and giggling as we always do in her presence, when the archbishop enters, his face somber.

"Your Majesty," he says, bowing. He sighs. "We have learned the truth about you and Francis Dereham."

The room is silent. I begin to tremble. My stomach aches. My eyes stray to Kitty's white throat.

"What?" Kitty asks, smiling. "What truth?"

"That you were precontracted in marriage, that you are lovers."

Kitty's little mouth is agape. "It is a lie!" she cries. "I...I want to see the king! I shall explain everything to the king! He will understand. Please, take me to His Majesty."

The archbishop shakes his head. His eyes fill with pity. "His Majesty has retired to Oatlands Palace, brokenhearted." He pauses, approaching Kitty, who is trembling. "You must confess, Your Grace. Confess your sins and you may be spared."

"Spared?" she breathes. "Spared what?" She draws in a breath. "Spared
what?
" Her blue eyes are wide with terror. "Archbishop?"

The archbishop closes his eyes. All of us know what she may be spared from. Nobody wants to hear her confession. I place a hand on my churning stomach. I want to run to Kitty, take her in my arms and comfort her.

Her face has gone white. "If I confess I will be saved? I will not go to the scaffold if I confess, is that right?"

"That is possible, Your Grace," says Cranmer.

Kitty lowers her eyes. And confesses. She tells him everything that happened at Lambeth with Dereham, how he took her both clothed and unclothed, how they played at being married. Her words, as strange as they are, are so childish and fraught with innocence that I cannot imagine how a man of the archbishop's years and experience cannot dismiss them as anything but a childish mistake. Kitty could not have been more than thirteen at the time the incident in question transpired.

"I didn't even know the king then." Kitty is sobbing. "What difference does it make if I didn't even know him?"

Cranmer nods. "That is what we will try to tell him. That because it is a precontract it invalidates your marriage. That if, technically, you are not married now, no further accusations can be made against you."

"Further accusations?" She sniffles.

"I must go to the king," he says in gentle tones. "You are not to leave these rooms." He pauses near the doors. "I will pray for you, Queen Catherine."

When he leaves we gather around her, patting her shaking shoulders and stroking her auburn hair. Her pretty hair...

"I have to see the king," she sobs. "I have to see him. He cannot resist me. He loves me so much. Once he sees me I can make him understand. Isn't he the smartest man in the land? That is why God made him king? If he is so smart, he will understand. Won't he?" She is near hysteria. "Won't he?"

"Oh, Kitty," I whisper, pulling her in my arms, rocking back and forth.

She tilts her face up to me. "Uncle Thomas. Uncle Thomas will help me, won't he? Will you get him?" She sits up, brightening. "Uncle Thomas loves me well. He protects me and calls me his little kitten. He will help me. Won't he, Mary?"

I begin to sob.

When I am able to leave the queen, I seek out Norfolk.

"What are we going to do?" I cry. "How are we going to help her? Dereham has been arrested. He has confessed to everything, under torture. Some of the servants have also betrayed her."

"Do you think you're telling me something I do not already know?" asks Norfolk in his cool tones.

I pace before his desk in agitation. "We must do something. We must help her. She believes you can rescue her somehow. She has so much faith in you. You must do something."

Norfolk shrugs. "I think we're a little beyond that, Mary. It's over." He sighs and rubs his face. "Two nieces. Two of the stupidest girls to ever be spawned from Howard loins. For God's sake."

"My lord!" I sob. "What are we going to do? We have to help her! We have to stand by her!"

Norfolk shakes his head. "There is no help for her now, Mary. You know it as well as I." He ponders me. "Do you know what he said when he found out, Mary? He requested a sword, that he might run the girl through himself." He shakes his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. "It's over, Mary. She's done."

I cover my face with my hands and run back to my little queen.

I stay with Kitty, offering what little comfort I can. The archbishop hounds her daily with interrogations. She has no idea how to answer his questions and sobs, begging for His Majesty, till Cranmer gets so frustrated with her that he has to excuse himself. Why he should expect more from a terrified sixteen-year-old girl is beyond me.

At one point, little Kitty throws open the doors and runs from the room down the gallery, screaming, "Henry! Henry! Save me! Henry, save me!"

The guards seize her, dragging her back to the room. She throws herself onto her bed, sobbing herself sick.

"Henry..." she sobs. "I did love him, for as much as I could." She gasps and gulps like the child she is. "I didn't mean to hurt him. If we could just talk it over. He would understand. I know he would understand."

Unfortunately her estimation of her husband is greatly miscalculated, but no one tells her that. No one can bear to tell her anything.

"What of Uncle Thomas?" she asks me, wiping her red, puffy eyes. "Is he going to help me?"

I shake my head. "I don't know, Kitty," I say, abandoning protocol.

"Will someone send for him?" she asks, her eyes directed at me. "Will someone send for my uncle Thomas?"

No one moves.

She begins to sob harder. "I want my uncle Thomas! Please! Send for him!"

Still, no one moves.

Kitty is removed, with a handful of ladies, to Syon Abbey for more questioning. As she begins her imprisonment, Margaret Douglas is released for her own crime of loving a Howard. She is to retire at Kenninghall for a time.

I request to go with her. I can do nothing for Kitty now, and I do not want to remain at this cursed court.

Norfolk grants the request and accompanies us to my childhood home. I say good-bye to no one; not Cat Parr, not the friends I have acquired during Kitty's brief reign, not even my Cedric. I cannot bear to see anyone.

Bess waits for us there, beautiful and well looked after. Living as first lady of Kenninghall agrees with her, it seems. I want to embrace her, but wait until Norfolk takes to his bed. I am relieved to be in her arms again after all these years. At once tears begin to slide down my cheeks. Bess rubs my back as she calls for supper to be sent.

Margaret settles in her rooms.

Still I sob.

At supper we update Bess on the court and Queen Catherine. Her eyes mist over with pity.

"And your father? How is he faring?"

I shake my head. He is still in bed, thank God, and I do not want to think about him. "I do not know," I tell her.
I do not care,
I want to add, but dare not. Despite everything, I cannot voice what is undoubtedly everyone's disrespect for the man.

"Well, have a rest here," she says. "We are glad of the company, in any event."

"Rest," I say, my voice wrought with weariness. "Yes. It seems I haven't rested in...so very long."

Norfolk keeps to himself for the duration of his stay and I do not make any attempts at seeking him out. True respite is found when he returns to court. Margaret and I relish our friendship, and though she is in exile, I cannot imagine she would want to be anywhere else during these dark times. The news from court is not good. Culpepper has been arrested along with another young man from Kitty's Lambeth days, a music master named Henry Manox, who tried to trifle with the affectionate Kitty when she was but ten years old. How anyone could fault her for anything in this instance is something I cannot comprehend, but they do. They fault her for everything.

All of the men confess. Their judge--Norfolk, of course--announces the verdict. Guilty. They are sentenced to death accordingly. Because of Culpepper's rank as gentleman of the king's privy chamber, he is spared hanging and quartering and is beheaded at Tower Hill.

Few are spared. Even my step-grandmother is brought from her sickbed to be questioned in the Tower.

Jane Boleyn is arrested as well, for helping the queen betray her husband. As much as I try, I cannot summon any pity for her. She knew the risks. After everything she has lived through, she knew well the risks. It is no surprise that she confesses all of Kitty's misdeeds. I cannot help but hope Lady Jane dies. As evil as it may make me, she is a vile woman, a madwoman, as mad as the king ever was, and hers will be no loss.

I wait at Kenninghall, my stomach aching, my head throbbing, as I fret over Kitty's fate.

And then one February day the message comes.

I have been invited to my cousin's execution.

After all the questioning, after all the misery and pain, Kitty is not given a trial of her own. There is more than enough evidence to convict her and an act of attainder is passed against her.

My father is the one who tells her of her sentence. He convinces her to sign a statement admitting her sins and asking for forgiveness, then has guards drag her screaming and kicking onto the barge that traverses her to the Tower.

He has the grace to seem moderately troubled by this when I see him the night before her death.

"Fool to the end," he says as he stacks some papers on his desk. "She just didn't understand what was happening. No matter how many times I explained it, she just didn't understand. She thought I was there to help her, for God's sake. Fool."

"She is sixteen," I tell him. "How can you expect her to understand anything?" I swallow tears. "How can you expect her to think you would turn away from her?"

He shakes his head and turns toward the window. "You know what she said to me as they took her away? She said, 'Why don't you love me anymore, Uncle Thomas?'" He pauses. "'Why don't you love me anymore?'" he repeats in soft tones, his voice catching. He shakes his head again. "What could I say to that?" he asks. "Fool. Such a fool..." He draws in a breath. "Well. I'm off."

"Off? What do you mean,
off?
" I demand.

"To Kenninghall," he answers, quite recovered. "Put a little distance between this unfortunate event and my good name. I have written the king informing him that I have taken no part in my niece's disappointing fall and beseeching his gentle heart to remember the loyalty of his friend, who has, through it all, had only his best interests at heart."

I am stunned. I wonder if he composed the letter before or after Kitty's death sentence. I shake my head, swallowing my revulsion. "But you can't just leave her. Not now."

"Do you honestly think she will derive any comfort from my presence?" he asks.

I shake my head. Words stick in my throat, words I dare not utter. There is no point.

I curtsy. "Safe journey, then, my lord," I tell him, and the insincerity of my statement causes me to cringe.

It is February 13. She has been practicing with the block, I am told. She was always the nervous type, afraid of faltering before a crowd. This is one event she wanted to perform with grace and composure.

She is led by her ladies to the platform, appearing so tiny and childlike, all curves lost in the face of her anxiety. Her chest is as flat as the child she is. She is sobbing. When she parts her lips to speak, they are trembling.

She beseeches the crowd to pray for her soul; she begs mercy for her family--the family that betrayed her, I think to myself, tears streaming down my cheeks as I clutch my brother Surrey's hand. It seems he is always present for the executions. His face is somber, however. I can at least credit him for having the courage to be here, unlike Norfolk--Norfolk, who walked away without looking back and now "rests" at Kenninghall. Then there is the king, absent once again from another of his wives' deaths. He is probably even now scouring the world for his next victim.

Kitty's ladies are holding her elbows. She can barely stand as she surveys the crowds with her wide blue eyes. She draws in a shuddering breath, finishing her speech with, "I die a queen but would rather have died the wife of Thomas Culpepper." She looks around one last time, then looks up at the sky. It is raining. She blinks against the sprinkling, then kneels in the straw, placing her tiny head on the block. "I commend my soul to God," she whispers.

And then...

I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear the stroke of the axe.

She is gone. Another Howard girl gone.

She is buried at the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula in an unmarked grave, near our other ill-fated cousin, Anne.

The only justice that is served is that Jane Boleyn's execution immediately follows. Her speech is rambling and she is clearly mad, but she does confess to betraying George.

"God has permitted me to suffer this shameful doom as punishment for having contributed to my husband's death," she says, her eyes wild. "I accused him of loving in an incestuous manner his sister, Queen Anne Boleyn. For this I deserve to die."

I cannot help it. I cry for her. I hate her but I cry for her. No more do I want her to die. I do not want anyone else to die. Why can't it stop? Why can't it all just end?

Another stroke of the axe. Another life is over.