Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (4 page)

To my disappointment, Jane and Mother left to meet Father at court, while Mary and I were bade to stay behind. Oh, how I wanted to see the glamour that was the royal castle, to meet the king and all the courtiers!

I pursed my lips in a pout when Mother told me, but was rewarded with only a clipped, “Your time will come,” before they left me to my endless studies.

May 10, 1553

There was much to be explored in our new home, and I’d taken to traversing the grounds and castle corridors every second that I could.

Upon our arrival in London, many courtiers visited Dorset House. A number of them formidable looking, and all speaking in hushed tones.
Today, I’d seen at least five men arrive within minutes of each other. Their attire rich and formal. It had only taken minutes for me to convince my tutor I needed to use the privy—oh, how I loathed my studies—and only five more for me to ferret out the men’s whereabouts.

Father’s study.

The door was tightly closed, and in the dimly lit hall a strip of light seeped from beneath the door. The muffled voices of several men sounded from within, and then the angry tones of my father. What could they be discussing?

I glanced around the corridor, making sure I was alone, and then knelt at the floor, putting my eye to the keyhole. From what I could see they all stood around the table, jabbing their fingers at each other in an effort to be heard. Whatever it was they discussed was important.

I turned my ear to the keyhole, closed my eyes and held my breath, as I’d learned that was the best way to eavesdrop.

“No, I say! I’ll not have her marry a man of such low birth,” Father
said.

“With all due respect, Your Grace, as members of the king’s council, we do heartily impress upon you the urgency of such a match.” I did not recognize the speaker.

I knelt back on my heels and chewed my lip. Marriage? Whose wedding were they planning? Jane’s? Should I tell her what I’d heard?

“Lady Katherine!” Mr. Aylmer’s voice echoed in the hallway.

I dropped to my hands and knees and patted around the floor. “Good, sir, I seem to have lost my earring.” I glanced up at him with practiced doe-eyed innocence. “I think it may have fallen beneath this door.” I tumbled onto my backside with a light laugh. “I seem to have tripped over something here.”

My tutor, having never thought me capable of much
, rushed forward and dropped to his knees. While he felt around on the floor, I plucked off my earring and made an effort to slip my fingers just beneath the door.

“I’ve found it!”
I said with glee.

Mr. Aylmer grunted his annoyance and stood, offering me a hand. “Let us return to your studies.”

But little good returning did, as my mind was still on what I’d heard behind my father’s closed door.

May 19, 1553

“Mother, no! I cannot!” Dear God, what I’d heard had not only been about Jane but me as well!

Mother
’s salon was dark, as gloomy as the news she’d imparted on me. The curtains were drawn, and a dozen candles blazed on the chandelier that hung from the plastered ceiling. I imagined them crashing down on me, burning Dorset House to the ground.

Mother slammed a hand down on her carved oak writing desk, making a loud cracking noise as if the wood would splinter beneath her palm. She fixed her narrowed gaze on me.

I had never raised my voice to Mother before, and I sincerely regretted doing so. This would for certes lead me to a most awful punishment.

“Katherine, do not quibble like a babe in s
waddling clothes. You will obey. Lord Henry is the son of the Earl of Pembroke, and so shall he inherit his father’s title. He is a suitable husband for you, and your sister Jane shall be glad to have your company on her wedding day, as will Catherine Dudley, who is to be married to Lord Hastings.”

But Jane is fifteen
, and I am only twelve…
I felt betrayed, for Mother had always promised we’d not be married until at least aged sixteen. I did not voice my concerns, for doing so would only have gained me a stinging slap.

I glanced around the room at the rich furnishings, the
oak-paneled walls, brightly colored tapestries and portraits of lords and ladies past whose images caught the light of the candles, making shadows dance across their faces. I avoided my mother’s gaze for as long as I could, until I heard the click of her nails in irritation against her desk.

The sweet rolls Cook
had given me as I passed through the kitchens, felt like a solid block in my belly. I would rather be studying Greek and translating the Old Testament from Latin into French than standing here before my mother discussing the imminent demise of my youth—and considering how I avoided Latin all together...

I swallowed hard. The idea of marrying was deplorable, even if it would be during the same ceremony as my sister and the Dudley girl. I had so many years yet to live. I had not been to court, and I had hoped
Mother would take me when next she went. I wanted to attend the royal joust and feast. Listen to courtiers read their poems of love and make merry with other young ladies. But now I shall never get the chance. Now I will be a married woman. Shut up in a dark castle somewhere, breeding heirs to an earldom.

I was powerless to stop the creasing of my brow or the frown on my lips. But when
Mother’s own brows drew together, I did my best to wipe the disappointment from my features.

“
’Tis the way of things, Katherine. Do not deign to question it. Your father and your future father-by-marriage have negotiated a good marriage contract, which will only succeed in furthering your future and the future of our families in this realm. You will present yourself to your new family as you’ve been raised. Do not cause your father, me and indeed your cousin, King Edward, any embarrassment.”

The Duchess sat stoically upon her cushioned chair
, her back so straight her spine might snap if she moved too quickly. Her chin was thrust forward, shoulders squared. Her beauty radiated behind the shadow of creamy, saggy flesh, and streaks of gray sliced through her vibrant auburn hair, pulled severely back beneath her headdress. When Mother was young, she’d kept her willowy figure with rigorous daily walks in the garden and by pecking at her food, but the stress of birthing babies, her position—life in the court, even—seemed to have ravaged her.

I vowed at that moment not to let courtly intrigue ravage me. Although, I would have to figure out a way to make it so. Did Mother try and fail? Would I fail
, too?

There was no question of Mother
’s upbringing, of her importance, being the daughter of Henry VIII’s sister. She was a true princess.

Whenever she looked upon me, I felt lacking, as though she wished I were someone else—perhaps more like Jane. More interested in studies and religion. More poised. But I was not
. I was only me.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hands wringing at my waist.
“Will I have to…” I trailed off, not wanting my mother to know the extent of my knowledge on marital relations—I spent many a good minute listening in on conversations I should not. A bad habit that would surely get me a lashing, but ’twas the way in which I garnered information. No one bothered mincing words when sweet, naïve Katherine was around.

Mother
’s eyes narrowed as she tried to discern my meaning. “Will you what?” Her voice was exasperated, and I sensed her limited patience was coming to an end. “You will be a dutiful wife, Katherine. You will do your duty as your husband instructs. You will make your family proud. You are a princess of the blood. Start acting the part.”

I sucked in a ragged breath and lowered my gaze to the floor. So it shall be…

“When?”
When will my imprisonment begin?
Because marriage was nothing but a prison, was it not?

“Three days.” Mother waved her hand at me in dismissal and turned to read a rolled parchment on her writing desk.

My world crashed down around me. How could she dismiss me thus, when she had delivered me a death sentence?

“Th
-three days?” My mouth fell open in outrage. My earlier conviction to never raise my voice at my mother was tossed to the fire. That was hardly enough time to acclimate myself to the idea of marriage!

Mother did not look up this time, but simply shook her head as if she
’d already given up and arguing was futile. “Are you deaf, girl? Three days. Now go, you must finish your studies.”

“But—”

Mother slammed down the parchment. I jumped. Her gaze flicked to mine, anger flashing in her eyes. Her voice was low and menacing, her words clipped. “But what?”

I did not know how to voice my concerns.
Were three days enough to put together a trousseau? Would I get a chance to speak to my betrothed before we were wed? Did he have the same aspirations as I? Where would I live? Would I ever see my family again? Why had she broken her promise? My mind was a whirl, and I could not concentrate, let alone get the words to come forth.

Mother
, again, drummed her nails against the polished oak of her desk,
click click click
, and the clock on her mantle chimed five times, as I looked about frantically, trying to pull myself together. To be fair, Lord Henry was not the very
worst
of grooms. He was close to my age, and I did know him, if only sparingly. He was a quiet sort and awkward with his limbs. Still as much a boy as I was just a girl.

With a sigh of resignation, I shook my head. “
’Tis nothing, Mother. I thank you and their lordships for having arranged so advantageous a marriage for me.”

“That is more like it. You should show your gratitude, Katherine. People will be much more likely to appease your needs if you should use proper manners and etiquette. Your pretty face will only last so long.”

I nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly with what she had to say. ’Twas something I’d learned to use to my advantage already. When she again dismissed me, I walked from the room in search of Mrs. Helen, my governess. She would answer my questions, and she would do so with patience and love. She would embrace me and ease my fears.

And I
would endeavor to enter this imprisonment with the dignity expected of a princess of the blood—or else suffer for it.

Chapter Two

To whose mishaps and hateful fate,

a world hit self gives place.

Not long ago the case so stood,

a knight of great estate

In native soil by destiny’s lot

a Lad
y’s favor gave...

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan
soldier and poet

May 21, 1553

My eyes stung. My head felt heavy. Even forcing my eyelids closed with my fingers, sleep refused to find me last night. Instead, I lay in bed, staring at the stone walls. I counted over two hundred cracks in the white plaster ceiling by the window. Made imaginary patterns out of the swirling embroidery on my bed curtains.

’
Twas my wedding day, but I would not be a happily wedded bride. After the feast, I would travel with my new husband to Baynard’s Castle, where I would reside under his family’s care—as if being fostered out to a guardian and not a woman wedded. My only saving grace was the castle was in London. In truth, only a short float down the Thames, and so I would be able to see my family often—I hoped.

I
rubbed my eyes. My betrothed and I had met before, briefly, last spring. I’d paid him no mind, not realizing what our fate would be. My sister Jane had made Henry’s acquaintance at court on occasion when he’d accompanied his father, Lord Pembroke, and she had described him as quite an oaf. At age fourteen, Henry was gangly of leg and arm and stout in the belly. He guffawed when he laughed and dribbled grease on his soft face when he ate.

Not what I
’d dreamed of when I fantasized about becoming a wife. Biting my lip, I also lamented becoming a wife at age twelve.

Mrs. Helen
, my companion, bustled into the room and flung open the drapes, the screeching of the iron rings on the rod making my head ache. I felt justified in seeing the bleak gray sky. Clouds hung over the horizon, mixing with the smog of London.