Katherine the Queen: The Remarkable Life of Katherine Parr (42 page)

Henry had given his will to Seymour for safe-keeping not long before he died. The king and his closest advisers worked on it over Christmas 1546, laying out precise and detailed instructions for the type of government that would rule during Edward’s minority. This was based on a Privy Council of sixteen (the executors of the will) who were appointed for life. The arrangement has been described as being ‘hermetically sealed’ – there was no way in and the only way out was death. A further twelve assistants to the councillors were named, though they were not to be privy councillors themselves. It was a system designed to negate, as far as possible, the possibility of faction and to provide continuity, as well as good counsel, for the young king as he grew towards manhood.
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In addition to keeping the machinery of
government going, the councillors were expected to devote themselves to Edward’s development and training for the day that he would assume direct control himself. This was a grave responsibility and it is something that was taken very seriously by the politicians who served Edward, whatever their personal disagreements. There is no doubt that very careful consideration was given by Henry VIII to how the regime that succeeded him could be made to function. Yet in giving the will into Seymour’s hands he demonstrated, even before its provisions could be put into practice, that his brother-in-law was likely to emerge as the key player in the new government.

As Henry’s life was drawing to a close, the corridors and antechambers of Whitehall were scenes of whispering and activity, in preparation for what was to come. In the three days following the king’s death, while the charade that he still lived was faultlessly executed, Paget and John Dudley stayed in London to ensure that all was in place when the announcement was made on 31 January. It was delivered to a sombre House of Lords by Wriothesley, the lord chancellor, who wept as he made his statement. Seymour, meanwhile, had set off to break the news of Henry’s death to Edward. The boy was living with his sister Elizabeth at the time in Hertford Castle. The two children heard the news together and were greatly distressed. Their sorrow is not hard to understand. Edward could hardly have been expected to welcome the crown soon to be placed on his young head, and Elizabeth faced an uncertain future. She may have been considerably reassured later when she learned that her father’s will had left her a wealthy and independent young woman. The terms of that will regarding the succession were read to the Privy Council on 31 January. Nothing else was disclosed, which was only prudent, as monetary sweeteners had been written in by the canny Paget, to ensure the acceptance of the role now publicly sought by Edward Seymour. The following day, with his uncle at his side, Edward VI returned to London, taking up residence in the Tower prior to his coronation. The earl of Hertford completed his assumption of power
by appropriating jewels and plate from the royal jewel-house and by securing the agreement of his colleagues that he should be named Lord Protector of the realm and Governor of the king’s person. The day after Henry VIII’s funeral he was given the title of duke of Somerset, on the interesting grounds that the late king had wished to strengthen the nobility, an explanation that Henry, who had worked throughout his reign to weaken that institution, would have found rather rich.
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Thus were the terms of the will, on which the old king had laboured in his last weeks, disregarded before the new king was even crowned.

Edward Seymour’s promotion was cleverly executed but apparently widely endorsed by members of the Privy Council. A collective form of government of the sort laid down in Henry’s will might, in any case, have been unworkable in the longer term and it is not surprising that the decision was taken early to amend it. The hierarchical nature of Tudor society meant that citizens, at all levels, felt more comfortable with a single, identifiable leader. There were some caveats, the most important of which was the notion that the Lord Protector would ‘take counsel’ from his colleagues. The new duke of Somerset progressively dispensed with this dictum and time would show that, despite his diplomatic and military experience, he was not equal to the great office he had so assiduously sought. For the time being, he had the goodwill of most of the key personnel of the last years of Henry’s reign. But by no means everyone close to the old king or the new was happy with the arrangements struck behind closed doors. Katherine Parr, for one, had anticipated a quite different outcome.

A
TRIO OF DOCUMENTS
, two no more than barely legible fragments, provide the clues to what the queen had desired. They reveal that, for a while, she refused to accept how Henry VIII and his erstwhile advisers, who suddenly wielded power in England (and whose wives, only days before, were her own ladies-in-waiting)
had simply cut her out of political life. Though there has been much discussion about the authenticity of Henry’s will and the machinations of his councillors, little attention has been paid to Katherine Parr’s expectations of the regency and her attempts to clarify her position. All the emphasis has been on her personal life, her impetuosity in following the dictates of her own heart at last, the apparent abandonment of her dignity as she swiftly succumbed to a former suitor’s charms. Yet Katherine’s behaviour may well have been prompted by more than a combination of petulance and romantic love. It could, also, have had a considerable degree of self-interest.

As Katherine whiled away the Christmas season at Greenwich with Mary, she undoubtedly had time to ponder her husband’s absence and to grow uneasy about what was happening at Whitehall. Her security depended on being close to the king. She knew he was very ill – the deterioration in his condition was evident to all who saw him – but he had survived other, serious bouts in the past, and though his death seemed imminent, neither the queen nor anyone else could be certain of when it would come. Her return to Whitehall in the second week of January may have given her the hope that she would be able to see the king again, but there is no evidence that she did. Whether or not she requested and was denied access we cannot know, but the likelihood is that if Henry had expressed a desire to see her, he would not have been disobeyed. His behaviour in cutting himself off from both Katherine and Mary in the last two months of his life points to the firm conviction on Henry’s part that he did not want emotional partings and that neither woman would have any future role in government. At the end of his life, Henry was as consistent in his dismissal of female competence in such matters as he had always been. A temporary regency, in time of war, when he was absent for a short period, was perfectly acceptable. But he saw no need for a female regency once he was gone, especially as Katherine Parr was not the natural mother of his heir.

Isolated and anxious, Katherine did not know that Henry had made a new will, dry-stamped with his signature on 30 December 1546. Her hopes seem to have been pinned on the 1544 will, which has not survived, but evidently made her think that she would be appointed regent for her stepson. The evidence suggests that she clung to this belief even after she was told of Henry’s death, since there are two documents among her accounts for the year 1547 which are signed ‘Kateryn the Quene Regente KP’.
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Neither has a legible date. So when could they have been written? Might it be that Katherine was informed of the king’s death when the official announcement was made (or even earlier) but that the shape of the new regime, and the fact that she had no role in it, were not divulged to her at the same time? If so, Edward Seymour and his colleagues were risking a confusion that could have been dangerous, though they may have believed that the dowager queen was in no position to mount a challenge to their authority, however it had been acquired. They would have been right in the sense that Katherine had no army or supporters to call upon to uphold her. The weakening of the queen’s position in the last half of 1546 had increased the power of those who shared her religious interests. Yet now they were determined to abandon her and keep her well away from any exercise of power. They knew her too well. Her strength of character, her place in the new king’s affections, her energy and drive were an alarming combination in their eyes. Such a woman must not be allowed to preside over their deliberations.

It seemed that there was little Katherine could do and no one to whom she could turn. Archbishop Cranmer had admired the queen as a person, and he and other reformers applauded her patronage of new ideas. As the consort of Henry VIII, she had been a highly effective conduit, but as his widow she could deliver little. Cranmer was Edward VI’s godfather and now fully embraced the opportunity offered by the ‘new Josiah’, as the little king was called, to push forward a much more radical agenda than would have been permitted by his late master. Edward
Seymour and most of the council agreed with Cranmer; he no longer needed the much-reduced influence a dowager could wield. Nor was there any help forthcoming from members of her own family. Katherine’s brother, William, had known Edward Seymour since childhood. He was inextricably tied to the new order and sided with his friend in his successful bid for the Protectorship in the days after Henry’s death. His reward was to be created marquess of Northampton on the day of the royal funeral; and the price was the abandonment of his sister’s ambitions. Looked at objectively (and William Parr was not actually a cold man) Katherine had served her purpose. Anne and William Herbert enjoyed good relations with Edward Seymour too and were not in a position to help with Katherine’s political aspirations, though they were to provide her with clandestine support of a rather different sort as the months progressed.

Then there was, still, Cuthbert Tunstall. Now aged seventythree and suffering from spasmodic ill-health, Katherine’s elderly cousin never considered retirement. Mostly, he was away in the north, ensuring good government and overseeing the defence of the borders with Scotland. Despite his personal reservations about the progress of religious reform, he enjoyed a good working relationship with the new regime and took part in the coronation of Edward VI. He was also one of the executors of Henry’s will, and given Katherine’s evident concerns about her role and her rights, it is quite possible that she discussed her situation with him during his time in London in February 1547. Tunstall had watched over Katherine since her early childhood, helped arrange her marriage to Lord Latimer and received gifts from her when she became queen. He and her uncle, Lord Parr of Horton, were the abiding parental influences in her life and she clearly valued them both greatly. Tunstall may have been a man of God but he had a politician’s instincts. However much he cared for Katherine and sympathized with her point of view, he would, surely, have counselled that she was best to accept her fate. Certainly, he would have wished her happiness in the new-found freedom that
she did not necessarily want. Perhaps he advised her to put the past behind her and take her life in a new direction. Now, after all, she could please herself.

Yet even with all the odds stacked against her, Katherine did not give up easily. She clearly believed that she had a legal case to make and so she took expert advice. In the manuscripts of the marquess of Salisbury at Hatfield House there is a note from the lawyer Roger Cholmeley ‘and others’ addressed to Queen Katherine. It is endorsed ‘Minutes noting the Queen’s estate and some [of] her Grace’s affairs depending upon the same.’ Its contents are, understandably oblique, framed in the cautious legal language of men who were well aware of the sensitivity of the topic on which they had been asked to give counsel. ‘Whereas her Grace asked to be advised of them’, they wrote, ‘whether a certain oath taken by the King’s servants, and sent for their consideration, is invalidated by his Majesty’s decease, they reply that they think not. Touching certain other questions submitted to them, they have delivered their opinions to Sir Anthony Cope, her Grace’s vice-chamberlain.’ The document is signed by Cholmeley and three other lawyers.
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Historians do not know what the ‘certain oath’ taken by the king’s servants was. Clearly, Katherine had in her possession evidence that she believed bolstered her contention that she should not have been left out of Edward VI’s government. The term ‘the queen’s estate’ does not, in Tudor times, refer solely to Katherine’s lands and possessions but to her place in national affairs. But if Cholmeley’s carefully worded response gives only the most teasing of clues to Katherine’s struggle for power, and apparently offers some encouragement, the queen did not use it as the basis for furthering her cause. It has always been assumed that she gave up, lured by other distractions. Heady romance, many have thought, deprived Katherine of her judgement, emphasizing the fact that she had accepted defeat in her quest for power. That, however, is not the only possible interpretation of the relationship that she rekindled after Henry VIII’s death.
For the queen’s lover was every bit as frustrated as she and together they could hope to achieve much more effectively what had been denied to them separately.