The Rose Without a Thorn Read online

  “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, “b
ut 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 n
ot 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.