Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (69 page)

Nan could not help but sympathize, and she was as tired of waiting
as Kate was, but she said nothing and only half-listened as Kate began to ramble on about a fellow named Parker or Palmer or some such. Nan’s thoughts drifted to King Henry.

The king had been gracious the few times she’d seen him since his return from Greenwich, but he had not sent for her again. She did not believe it was because he was happy with his new bride, or because he wished to avoid being importuned to get rid of the Dutch maids. She suspected he wished to avoid temptation. She smiled to herself, liking that explanation. It fit the fact that His Grace seemed bent on a public display of harmony between himself and Queen Anna.

“Nan?”

She gave a start. From the look on Kate’s face, it was not the first time her cousin had called her name. “I beg your pardon, coz. My mind wandered.”

“Thinking about your son, I warrant.”

Nan felt her cheeks grow warm. Nervously, she glanced toward Constance and the other maidservants, but they were on the far side of the chamber, busy with the mending. Constance was darning the heel of one of Nan’s stockings. Kate’s maid was repairing a tear in a kirtle.

“Have you seen him since you gave him away?” Kate’s sudden interest in Jamie set off alarm bells.

“No,” Nan lied. “That part of my life never happened.”

“That is as it should be.”

Nan did not like her cousin’s sly smile. With regret, she abandoned her plan to pay another visit to the silversmith’s shop. She would wait until Kate lost interest. Another week. Or perhaps two. There was, she supposed, no great rush.

I
N EARLY
M
ARCH,
Ned met John Husee at the Red Lion in Southwark, the inn Husee had often used as his headquarters before he’d acquired lodgings of his own in London. It was a hospitable place, but at this hour of the day the common room was nearly deserted. Their only companions were an old man half asleep on a bench along one wall and
a blue-coated servant distracted by a fight between two urchins in the street outside the inn.

“It is quiet these days in Calais,” Ned remarked, “what with Botolph and Philpott still here in England.” He coughed when he inhaled a wisp of smoke from the fire in the hearth, then took a long pull of ale to soothe his throat.

“Sir Gregory Botolph did not come to England,” Husee said. Ordinarily calm and matter-of-fact, he suddenly seemed agitated, scrubbing at his short brown beard with the back of one hand.

“Are you certain? Lord Lisle gave both Boltolph and Philpott leave to travel to England more than a month ago, to attend to personal business. Botolph was planning to visit his brothers.”

Husee continued worrying his beard. “When I saw Philpott, he told me he was on his way to Leystocke, John Botolph’s country house, on Sir Gregory’s behalf. He was to collect some money owed to Sir Gregory, then travel on to Suffolk to see the third Botolph brother, Sir William, who has a small living as parson of Hofton.”

Ned shifted uneasily on his stool. Something was not right. When he’d last seen Botolph, the priest had meant to catch the tide at two in the morning. He’d left Calais with Philpott before the gates were shut for the night and had planned to pass the time at the Rose until they sailed.

“If Botolph never planned to come to England at all, then where did he go?”

“Catholic lands surround the Pale of Calais. Botolph may have decided to join other English priests who have followed the example of Cardinal Pole.”

“Live in exile?” Botolph, for all that he detested seeing religious houses shut down, had never struck Ned as one who wished to live the monastic life.

“There is another possibility.” Husee had both hands clasped around his flagon and stared disconsolately into his ale. “I have heard a most distressing rumor,” he confessed. “A matter of some valuable gold plate that disappeared from the religious house where Sir Gregory was once a canon.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed. The implication was clear, but he wanted to be sure he understood what Husee was telling him. “Do you mean to say that you recommended a suspected thief to Lord Lisle?”

“I did not know anything about the missing plate then. And, indeed, Sir Gregory came to me most highly recommended.”

“By whom?”

“A number of men. Good men.”

“And how did they know him?”

“I … I do not know. Perhaps a third party …” His voice trailed off. He looked unhappy.

Someone powerful, then. Archbishop Cranmer? Lord Cromwell?

“If Botolph committed a crime in England,” Ned mused aloud, “it follows that he would wish to avoid returning here. The theft of such valuable goods is a hanging matter.” Unless, of course, it was the king who seized religious property for his own use when he dissolved a monastery or convent.

“Speculation is useless,” Husee said abruptly. “The fellow will turn up again or he will not. We have more important matters to deal with.”

Clearly Husee wished he’d never broached the subject of Sir Gregory Botolph. He did not mention him again, but rather spent the next hour discussing Lord Lisle’s business. When they were done, they had a last drink in the dimly lit common room and Husee relayed the latest news of Lady Lisle’s daughters.

B
EFORE HE RETURNED
to Calais, Ned went to court. He found Nan in the queen’s presence chamber, for in the middle of the previous month, the Dutch maids of honor had been dismissed and the English maids of honor recalled.

Nan took his breath away. She was attired in a new gown of soft tawny velvet with a bonnet in the latest style that showed a great deal of her beautiful brown hair and flattered her pretty face. That face, however, was marred by an expression of alarm when he asked for a word with her in private.

“We have nothing to say to each other that cannot be spoken of before witnesses.”

“Not so, Nan. There is a delicate matter concerning your youngest sister that I have been ordered to discuss with you in strictest confidence.” He had been given no such commission, but it was as good an excuse as any to get Nan alone.

“Mary? Is she ill again?”

“She is in love.”

“Go, Nan,” Kate Stradling said, giving her a shove, “but be prepared to tell all when you return.”

Her laughter followed them out of the queen’s apartments. Nan led the way through a maze of rooms and corridors until they came to a window embrasure that overlooked a garden. Even in winter, it was a stunning sight, filled with topiary beasts and beds set out in patterns.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I lied.”

“Mary is not in love?”

“Oh, she is, but she did not ask me to share that intelligence with you.”

“Who?”

Ned shrugged. He saw no harm in telling her. “The young seigneur de Bours, Gabriel de Montmorency.”

“He’s a child.”

“So was Mary when you last saw her. She has grown up into a beauty.” He reached out to run the back of his hand down Nan’s cheek. “As pretty as you are, my love.”

She jerked her head away. “If that is all you had to tell me, then I will return to my duties. The queen—”

“The queen will not even notice you are missing. She was nowhere in sight when I found you and Kate. What is the matter, Nan? Why does it make you so nervous to be alone with me?”

“I am reluctant to be
seen
alone with you.”

“Still afraid someone will guess that we were once lovers?”

“I would deny it if any dared suggest such a thing.” Anger flashed across her features, sparking the same emotion in him.

“Have you finally caught the eye of some poor fool of a nobleman?” The thought was more unsettling than he’d anticipated.

“A nobleman?” she scoffed. “Oh, no, Ned. I have done better than a mere nobleman.”

Ned’s stomach twisted. She’d told him of the king’s interest in her. Warned him off. He’d joked that he’d be willing to take King Henry’s leavings. But back then, Nan had not been the king’s mistress. Ned had convinced himself she never would be. The image of them together, his Nan with that fat and diseased old man, repulsed him. “So, you’ve won the prize.”

“And hope for even more. Please, Ned. Do not cause trouble. He believes he was the first.”

He had no difficulty in understanding her. “And to think I once admired your ambition! This is madness, Nan. Remember what happened to the others.”

One divorced. One beheaded. One dead of childbirth. Even if she wouldn’t have him, Ned wanted better than that for Nan. He wanted her to be safe as well as happy.

Nan stamped her foot in frustration. “You’re just jealous and you have no right to be. Go away, Ned. Leave me be. I know what I’m doing.” With a final glare to make her point, she turned on her heel and strode rapidly away from him.

Ned stared after her, his emotions in turmoil. Why was he so upset?
Was
he jealous of the king? No, that wasn’t it. Not entirely. And he should never have lashed out at Nan the way he had. She could not change her nature any more than he could change his. He should be pleased for her. Instead, he was worried that if she attained her goal, she would pay a terrible price for it.

N
ED’S VISIT PUSHED
Nan into taking action. Because she’d found the king such an unappealing lover the one time they’d coupled, she’d made
no particular effort to attract his attention since. But if she was to have the ultimate prize, if she was to be queen, she could not afford to delay any longer.

Henry Tudor was unhappy in his marriage to Anna of Cleves. Everyone knew that. There were rumors that the king had been unable to force himself to consummate the marriage. And Nan had heard there were grounds for annulment—an earlier betrothal between Anna and some minor German prince. If the king decided to pursue that course, he would soon be in the market for a fifth wife.

Nan had dreaded being summoned to the king’s bed as his mistress. But if she could be queen … that was entirely different. The privileges, the power, the beautiful clothes—all those things would compensate for the distasteful aspects of intimate relations with the king.

King Henry believed he was the one who had deflowered her. That meant he would not expect a virgin on their wedding night. There did remain one problem. If His Grace ever found out that she had a child, he would know she’d deceived him.

Nan sighed. If she was to succeed in winning the king, she would never be able to see Jamie again. On the other hand, as queen, she would be in a position to advance anyone she chose. Members of her family, acknowledged and unacknowledged, would profit from her position. When Jamie Carver was a little older, perhaps she could bring him to court as a page.

Nan trusted Constance not to betray her secret. Cousin Kate would expect some material gain for her silence, but that could be arranged. Once she was queen, she would have the means to give Kate many “tokens” to keep her sweet.

The first step was to seduce the king. Nan chose her time with care. There were occasions when Queen Anna did not wish to have an entire retinue following at her heels. When she went to walk in her gallery for exercise, she took only four maids of honor with her, leaving the other two to their own devices.

Freed from her duties on the afternoon following Ned’s visit, Nan
hurried to the maids’ dormitory. She washed with perfumed water and changed into clean linen. Constance, summoned from whatever place maidservants to maids of honor went when they were not needed, appeared in time to tie her laces and assure her that her headdress was on straight and her hair, what little showed of it, looked clean and neat.

“Are you certain about this, Mistress Nan?” Constance’s lips pursed with disapproval as she made one last adjustment to Nan’s skirts.

The fluttering in Nan’s stomach intensified. “About what, Constance?”

The maidservant sighed. “There is only one reason you’d be primping in the middle of the day. The mouse is off to play while the cat walks in the gallery.”

Nan had to smile at Constance’s odd turn of phrase. “His Grace means to discard the queen and marry again,” she said. “You have heard the rumors.”

“The wagering belowstairs favors it,” Constance agreed.

That surprised Nan, though when she thought about it she realized it should not have. Servants heard all kinds of things while waiting on their betters. “His Grace told me once that if he were not obliged to marry the princess of Cleves, he’d take me to wife. Once he rids himself of this woman he cannot abide, there will be no barrier to keep him from putting me in her place.”

Constance’s eyes widened. “But if he finds out—”

“He will not.”

“But you are no—”

“His Grace believes himself to be … responsible. Now say no more of this, Constance. If you love me at all, never speak of it again.”

Constance’s expression remained grim but she nodded. “God go with you, mistress.”

Nan sallied forth from the maidens’ chamber in search of the king. She knew his routine. At this time of day he was most often in his own gallery. He was unlikely to be alone. She was prepared for that. But
unless someone important, like Lord Cromwell, walked with him to discuss serious matters of state, she was certain he would be happy to send the others away.

She’d smile and tell him how much she had missed him. Flirt with and flatter him. Let him know she wished to be sent for when His Grace retired for the night. How could he resist? If all she’d heard was true, he had not made love to a woman since the night he’d taken her on the rush matting.

The king was indeed in his gallery, but his companion was not the Lord Privy Seal or the groom of the stole or any of his gentlemen attendants. It was Catherine Howard who walked beside him. She was so tiny that she only came up to the king’s shoulder. He had to bend down to speak with her, but this seemed to please him. A broad grin split his face at her answer.

King Henry’s attention was so fixed on the pretty young woman attached to his arm that he failed to notice Nan’s presence in the gallery. Shaken and dismayed, Nan watched the king and his companion. How, she wondered, could she have missed the signs? Catherine Howard had returned to court dressed in the latest French fashions, and yet Nan knew the young woman had no fortune. Her parents were dead. She had numerous brothers and sisters and half brothers and half sisters, all with a claim on what little Lord Edmund Howard had left. A stepmother, too. So those clothes had been gifts from someone else.