Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (81 page)

Nan considered this news, wondering if she could use it to her advantage. She was not close to her brother. She had seen him only once after she’d been sent into France to be trained. Before that, the Bassett sons and daughters had largely been raised apart. But John’s sickness, she decided, was a valid excuse to approach the king, especially if she exaggerated how ill her brother was.

She did not attempt to see King Henry alone, but chose a time when His Grace was visiting Queen Catherine’s apartments to approach them both. The king was in a cheerful mood, in spite of his grossly swollen and throbbing leg, which rested on a jewel-studded stool. The bandages on his leg were more noticeable than they had been, as if it required additional layers to contain seepage.

King Henry smiled benignly down at Nan when she knelt before him to ask a boon. “What would you have, my pretty Nan?”

“Your Grace, I have received word that my brother is sick and like to die.” His smile vanished. Belatedly, Nan remembered his aversion to illness. He did not even like to hear about those who were ailing. She rushed on, hoping to make her case before he turned against her completely. “Sire, I beg you. He is at Lincoln’s Inn. If you could permit my mother to go to him in his hour of need, it would be a great kindness.”

The king’s face turned an ugly shade of red. Suddenly afraid, Nan fell silent. She did not dare say more. She had no need to in any case, for the king knew full well who her mother was and why she was unable to go to her son’s deathbed without royal permission.

“You ask me to set a traitor free?” His voice was harsh. He glared at
her through small, hard eyes devoid of compassion. Piggy little eyes, Nan thought, and then was horrified lest he somehow guess what was in her mind.

Nan bowed her head and waited for the next blow to fall. She clasped her hands tightly together in a futile attempt to keep them from trembling. He was going to refuse. She had no doubt of that. But what if there were more serious repercussions? What if His Grace decided he did not want a traitor’s daughter at his court?

“I have already done you the favor of freeing your sisters,” King Henry reminded her.

“Yes, Your Grace. Your Grace has been most benevolent.” She sent him a beseeching look.

“That is all I am prepared to do. I will hear no more of this matter.” The finality in his voice left Nan close to tears. She’d waited so long to choose her moment and now she’d chosen wrongly. She stumbled as she backed away from him.

The king watched her. She felt his eyes upon her on and off for the remainder of his visit to Queen Catherine. The queen prattled on, as she always did, talking of inconsequential things. Once or twice she made His Grace laugh, but his good mood was much diminished.

A week later, Nan’s brother died.

Tom Culpepper recovered.

A
S SPRING ADVANCED,
the queen was full of plans for the next progress. They were to set out from London at the end of June and head north, visiting Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, counties where there had been uprisings a few years earlier over the king’s decision to dissolve the monasteries. Another outbreak of dissension caused a furor at court. The small band of rural rebels was quickly quashed by well-trained royal troops, but King Henry’s response did not end there. He ordered the execution of the old Countess of Salisbury. Cardinal Pole’s mother, who had been held in the Tower of London since shortly after her older son was executed, was beheaded.

When Nan heard of it, she went straight to Anthony Denny, hoping for reassurance. “Are there to be other executions?” she asked. “Is my stepfather in danger of losing his head?”

“Not to my knowledge.” But the pity in Denny’s eyes told her that the situation could change at any moment.

When days turned into weeks and nothing more happened, Nan began to feel more confident. Once on progress, she thought, the king would forget all about Lord Lisle and his wife.

They set out as planned, but then the skies opened and rain fell in torrents, turning the roads into quagmires. As the caravan traveled from Dunstable to Ampthill and on to Grafton Regis, the king’s councilors advised him to abandon the journey.

King Henry would not listen. His annual progress was the means by which he showed himself to the people and gave them the opportunity to present him with petitions. Besides, he and the queen slept warm and dry every night. They were not much concerned that hundreds of others, those of lowest rank like Nan’s Constance, spent the hours of darkness in tents pitched in the sodden fields and the days shivering in wet shoes and damp cloaks. Nan’s maidservant was a sorry sight, but there was little she could do to relieve the girl’s discomfort.

The progress stopped in Northampton, then left there in the third week of July to spend a few days at the king’s house at Collyweston. In early August, the entourage reached the outskirts of the city of Lincoln. Tents were set up seven miles south of the gates, at Temple Bruer, where the king enjoyed his dinner under a canopy before continuing on into Lincoln itself.

He changed into garments of Lincoln green for the ride to Lincoln Castle, where he and the queen and their closest attendants would be housed. The queen was carried in a litter. She kept the curtains closed for warmth and privacy. Her maids of honor rode behind. On horseback there was little protection from the elements, especially since Queen Catherine had commanded that they put aside their cloaks to better show off their elegant black livery.

Nan was drooping with fatigue by the time the procession neared the castle. She was weary of travel, tired of the rain and unseasonable cold, worn out by nagging fears about the future that never quite went away.

She barely glanced at the large crowd gathered to see the king pass through the city. King Henry’s subjects had collected in large numbers all along the route of the progress. Their faces had become a blur. And yet, just as Nan was about to ride through the castle gate, her gaze fell on one particular man in the crowd. For an instant, his face was clearly visible. Nan’s breath caught and her heart stuttered.

Imagination, she told herself. Ned Corbett could not be in England. Besides, the fellow she’d seen was clean shaven. Ned had always had a very fine beard.

But the incident left her shaken. More than once in the course of the evening, she caught herself wondering what her life would have been like if she’d gone with Ned into exile.

V
ERY EARLY THE
next day, Constance slipped into the chamber assigned to the maids of honor and touched Nan’s shoulder to wake her. Constance held her finger to her lips, reminding Nan that the slightest sound might wake her bedfellow. Quietly, she rose, closing the hangings behind her, and dressed with Constance’s help. Whatever her tiring maid had on her mind, it was clearly important or she would not have left Temple Bruer before dawn and walked seven miles in the dark.

Carrying her shoes, Nan tiptoed out of the chamber and followed Constance along corridors and through antechambers until they stepped out into a courtyard. There were already scores of people stirring, preparing for a day of festivities, but no one took any notice of Nan and Constance as they scurried through the gate and out of the castle.

“This way,” Constance whispered, and hurried downhill, into the town.

“What is this about?” Nan demanded as she followed. “Where are we going?”

But Constance only walked faster, forcing Nan to do likewise, and led her to a large and prosperous-looking house of the sort owned by wealthy merchants or lawyers or physicians.

A violet-eyed woman wearing an expensively decorated French hood let them in, examining Nan with blatant curiosity as she escorted her into a large and finely proportioned hall. She did not stay with them, but rather disappeared back behind the screen that shielded the room from drafts. Two men stood at the far side of the room, beneath an oriel window and near an unlit hearth. The diffuse light of early morning shone down on them, showing them in silhouette.

Nan gasped. For a moment the room around her dimmed. She pulled herself back by sheer willpower. A spurt of anger drove away any remaining chance that she would faint. “What are you doing in England?” she demanded. “Have you lost your senses?”

Ned Corbett turned as she stormed toward him. She
had
seen him the previous day. Except for the lack of a beard, which revealed a strong, square jaw, he was just the same—brown haired and blue eyed, with laugh lines around his eyes; a head taller than she was and well proportioned, if a bit leaner than she remembered.

“I could not abide foreign parts,” Ned said when she stopped only inches from him.

“But the risk—”

“Very small. I have been here in Lincoln for the last five months and no one has questioned my identity.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. He felt real, warm and solid. His scent was the same wonderful mix that had drawn her to him so long ago.

It had been nearly four years since she’d come to England to become a maid of honor, and just over one year since she’d helped Ned escape from the Tower of London and set sail on that Dutch merchantman. Just over a year since their son had died.

Nan closed her eyes against the sudden pain of that memory. It was difficult to think of Jamie. Far easier to pretend he’d never existed.
That made her feel guilty, but not so guilty that she stopped trying to forget.

“Nan?”

Her eyes popped open. Hope flickered to life. If Ned was back, safe, then they could—

But no. Nothing had changed. She could not leave court without arousing suspicion.

“Nan?” This time she heard a smile in his voice. A grin overspread his familiar features. “You are thinking too much. Just ask me what you want to know.”

“How? Why did—?” She stopped short of asking him why he had not contacted her. Why should he? She had sent him away and refused to go with him.

Belatedly, she noticed Constance. Her maidservant stood a little apart, wrapped in the arms of Ned’s companion. John Browne had returned to England, too.

“You should not be here, Ned. There are others who might recognize you. The Countess of Sussex. Lady Rutland. The—”

“I will stay out of sight until the progress moves on, but I wanted to see you once more. I did not intend to talk to you, even after you saw me in the marketplace, but Browne went looking for Constance, and although she has agreed to marry him, she would not stay in Lincoln unless I told you everything.”

“Constance?” She turned to her tiring maid in surprise. “Are you certain?”

“Oh, yes, mistress. Never more so.”

“Then you have my blessing, but I will miss you terribly.” And she envied Constance, Nan admitted to herself.

“Nan, I’ve something to tell you.” Ned was no longer smiling. “Constance says you know already that Lord Cromwell was behind Sir Gregory Botolph’s plot.”

“You
knew
?”

“Not until I caught up with Botolph on the Continent. It took
months to locate him, but finally, in January, I tracked him down. He confessed everything, how the entire plot was a ploy to discredit your stepfather and oust him from Calais.”

Just as Wat Hungerford had said. “So many men dead. So many lives ruined. And for what?”

“Greed. Power.” Ned shrugged. “All the evils of the court. I am glad to be well away from such things.”

“And Botolph? Can you tell the king’s men how to find him?”

“He’s dead.” The stark words and the hard look on Ned’s face discouraged questions.

Nan’s heart sank as her best chance to help Lord Lisle died, too.

Ned glanced up at the window as a beam of sunlight struck his face. “The morning advances apace. You must go back to the castle before your absence is noticed.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

“No, Nan.” His voice was gentle and a little sad. “Best you do not. I have yet another new name now. And I have a wife.”

“The violet-eyed woman,” Nan said slowly. Suddenly details of her appearance, barely noticed a few minutes earlier, came back to Nan with crystal clarity. Ned’s wife was young and pretty and she wore her gown unlaced at the front, as women were wont to do when they were with child.

For a moment, Nan couldn’t remember how to breathe. She felt as if she’d lost both Ned and Jamie all over again.

“Nan?” Ned sounded worried. “I never meant to hurt you. I owe everything I have now to you. I owe you my life.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I am happy for you.” She forced herself to look away from Ned and focus on Constance. “For all of you. And you are right. We must not meet again.”

In haste, before she could lose her fragile control of her emotions, she bid them farewell and fled. Back into Lincoln Castle. Back to her duties as a maid of honor to the queen.

Order must be also taken with the Maidens that they repair each of them to their friends there to remain, saving Mistress Bassett, whom the King’s Majesty, in consideration of the calamity of her friends, will, at his charges, specially provide for.

—Order of the Privy Council, November 1541

16

When the progress left Lincoln, it moved on to Hatfield Chase, in Yorkshire. Both the king and queen were mad for hunting and Hatfield Chase contained a large, enclosed area rich in game. The company rode through scrub and woodland to take down nearly two hundred stags and deer. Then they ventured into the river, ponds, and marshes and killed enough young swans and other waterfowl to fill two boats.

Nan was numb to the wholesale slaughter. She felt as if she’d left pieces of herself behind in Lincoln, one with Ned and another with Constance. She knew it did no good to dwell on the past. She had made her choices. Only the present mattered. But she had never felt so alone.

Pavilions had been set up to house the court. These tents were lavishly furnished. The one that served as the queen’s privy chamber even had walls and windows.

Nan returned there after the hunt and was about to enter when the back of her neck prickled. Certain she was being watched, she turned slowly, her gaze sweeping the other tents as well as nearby alcoves and doorways. It came to rest upon a young man standing in the shadow of a pillar. Wat Hungerford.