Gilt (39 page)

With the money, I could purchase the materials to make more lace. Make my own way. My own choices. My own life.

The walls of London rose around me, the crushing weight of alleys and crowds. The assaulting odors of hundreds of strangers. The liberating painlessness of anonymity. And above it all, the finger of St. Paul’s, beckoning me to my future.

Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I’m a little obsessed with English history—particularly Henry VIII and his six wives. Dates and statistics create a framework but to me aren’t the appeal of history—the characters are, their motivations, strengths, weaknesses, loves, and beliefs. And the places—Hampton Court, Windsor, the Tower of London. I have always been able to picture the scenes and characters in my mind, the gowns and jewels, the crowded rooms and even the smells (though I’m sure my imagination doesn’t come close to the reality).

Because I find history riveting in its own right, I’m dedicated to maintaining historical accuracy in my novels. I spend hours reading histories and biographies. I visit castles and houses and even fields and street corners where palaces once stood, just to get a sense of place. But I have to admit I’ve taken poetic license when it suits the story.

The facts are these: Catherine Howard was born sometime
between 1521 and 1525. For my purposes, I settled on 1524 for her birth year, her age suiting the character I envisioned.

Little is known about Katherine Tylney. I couldn’t discover where she came from or where she went. I don’t even know how old she was. I invented her age, her character, her family. I gave her the same birthday as my father.

Wherever possible, I used Katherine Tylney’s documented testimony to illustrate her role in Catherine Howard’s life—they shared a bed in the maidens’ chamber, she carried messages between the queen and Jane Boleyn, she admitted that one night on the progress she came into the queen’s chamber and blurted, “Jesu, is the queen not abed yet?” She appeared to be a witness and not a participant. I chose to make her appear more.

Because we know so little about Kitty, we don’t know anything about her romantic life. I discovered a T. Gibbon in the Duke of Norfolk’s entourage, but changed his name to William because of the multitude of other Thomas names in the story (Culpepper, Wriothesley, Cromwell, Howard). And Ed. Standebanke is mentioned once as a member of the king’s guard. I dubbed him Edmund and chose to make him young and handsome, as well.

The two boys are the only fictional characters in the novel. Others are fictionalized—we don’t know if Alice Restwold was a “spy” for the Duke of Norfolk or why Jane Boleyn chose to facilitate the queen’s affair. Part of the joy of writing historical
fiction is the license to take what we do know and ignite it with the question
what if?

One historical figure I chose to cut entirely. Henry Manox was the music teacher in the dowager duchess’s household, and Catherine Howard’s love interest before Francis Dereham. History tells us that it was he who informed the duchess of the midnight revels in the maidens’ chamber. But to avoid complicating the story further, and in an effort to shorten the first third of the book, I took him out of the picture. Because Mary Lascelles tattled about Catherine Howard’s affair with Manox, I chose to make her the informant on Francis and just cut out the middleman. It tied neatly into the plot because Mary actually did start the snowball of information that eventually brought Catherine Howard down.

There are a couple of other instances where I fudged the truth. Joan Bulmer was in Yorkshire when she wrote the “blackmail” letter to the queen, yet I keep her placed firmly in Norfolk House. I neglect to mention that after the king’s illness, the court went on a mini-progress around the south of England before stopping in Greenwich for three weeks—I made it look like they were in Greenwich the entire time. I did this to avoid tangents and explanations that got in the way of the story itself.

While researching this novel, I read the related works of Julia Fox, Antonia Fraser, Karen Lindsey, Lacey Baldwin Smith, David Starkey, and Alison Weir, amongst others. They
write brilliantly and their ability to express the minutiae of historical detail in a profound and engrossing way never ceases to astound me. I am also forever in debt to the encyclopedic knowledge and dedication to detail of my copyeditor, Janet Pascal. Any historical mistakes and all poetic license are entirely down to me.

Like Cat, I wouldn’t be anywhere without my friends and mentors. I just hope I have made better use of their advice and am able to show the extent of my gratitude.

My brilliant agent, Catherine Drayton, saw the potential in me and in Kitty and launched us further than I ever imagined. Thank you for believing. And my thanks to the rest of the InkWell team who are behind this book: Richard Pine, Lyndsey Blessing, Alexis Hurley, and Nathaniel Jacks.

I couldn’t have asked for a more honest or sympathetic editor, but more than that, Kendra Levin’s comments and suggestions are always spot on, and for that I am more than grateful. I am also indebted to Regina Hayes for ensuring the book lived up to the title and vice versa. I am eternally beholden to Irene Vandervoort for adoring this book with a sumptuous cover and to Kate Renner for equally embellishing the interior.

From the beginning, I’ve had the YA Muses to help keep me
sane, to keep me on track, and to keep me going. Novels are not written in a vacuum, and I am thankful for the insight and friendship of Bret Ballou, Donna Cooner, Veronica Rossi, and Talia Vance.

I have also enjoyed the support and encouragement of writers and illustrators I have met personally and those I’ve only met online. My local critique group, the Apocalypsies, the Class of 2k12, and countless members of the SCBWI, were all kind enough to share their thoughts and wisdom on this rollercoaster, especially Susan Hart Lindquist, who gave me the tools I needed to write this book.

I wouldn’t have made it through my crazy life without the friends who populated my childhood and shaped my adolescence, and those I’ve encountered along my journey through adulthood. You are too many to name, the greatest riches a girl could want. But for this particular book, I must mention Mona Dougherty specifically, because she reads everything I send her.

Lastly, all the words in the world can’t express my thanks to my family: Graham Neate, my father-in-law, who never fails to ask how the writing is going; Judy and John Longshore, my parents, who let me find my way; Martha Longshore, my sister and sister of my soul, my first reader and biggest role model; my sons, Freddie and Charlie, who help me believe that anything is possible.

And Gary, who lifts me up and keeps me grounded.