The Queen's Mistake (25 page)

 

 

W
hile Cromwell remained in London to deal with Parliament on the question of the king’s divorce, the court left the city. The huge progress included over two thousand courtiers and ladies on horses, as well as countless carts and wagons. They passed through the vast meadow behind the city, up the hill to the cooler, cleaner air of Greenwich, and ended at the king’s vast brick Greenwich Palace amid turrets, towers, pathways and lush privy gardens.

From the time of their arrival, Catherine’s presence was constantly requested by the king. Along with Jane, the king’s two nieces, Lady Margaret and Lady Frances, and Anne Basset, Catherine spent her days with Henry and his closest friends, singing, dancing, masquerading and hunting. Always, Henry made an excuse for the queen’s absence. “She is at prayer,” the king would say blithely. “She is writing letters. . . . She is resting with a headache.”

But the truth behind her absence was known to everyone, particularly Catherine. She had begun to feel guilty for the attention she received from the queen’s husband, despite the fact that she liked the feeling of power that it gave her.

Catherine was so in demand by the king in those first two
days at Greenwich that it was difficult to steal away with Thomas. But Catherine consoled herself by exchanging flirtatious glances and smiles with Thomas when they were in the company of the king.

One late afternoon, as the sun was setting, the king’s coterie, consistently comprised of the same courtiers and ladies, sat beneath a fluttering blue canopy, playing cards and laughing. Catherine sat between the king and Lady Lisle’s daughter Anne Basset as a singer from France crooned out a soft French tune to the accompaniment of a lute.

Catherine and Henry were engaged in a heated game of pri mero, which Catherine was quickly losing. “Perhaps, if you allow me, I could help you.” The king winked at Catherine.

“But then Your Majesty would more easily win.”

“I always win, Mistress Howard.” He chuckled, as everyone else laughed with him.

“Very well, I will show you everything,” Catherine relented.

Henry tipped back his head and laughed more deeply. “Now, that is a promising response.”

“I meant the cards, sire.” She fought a little shiver of revulsion as she watched his bearded jowls shake with delight as he laughed.

When his laughter subsided, their eyes met. Catherine touched his shoulder playfully, trying to make light of the connection as she looked away.

“Of course that was your meaning, Mistress Howard. For now, anyway,” he said as they returned to their game.

When Catherine glanced up again, she saw Thomas’s eyes hard upon her. Her own smile fell until she remembered her duty. Always duty. She quickly caught herself and forced another smile. It was a game, all of it. She had learned it at Horsham, and now she was a master player at court. In spite of the risk that the king might come
to think of her as more than simply entertaining, Catherine had no choice but to succeed. She was not about to let any of it go to waste when she was trying to win Thomas’s declaration of love and her uncle’s approval. After all, with no real money of her own, and an uncle who was a rather frightening enigma with his own agenda, she and her husband would need to remain firmly established in the king’s good graces to succeed. Now that she had tasted the finer things in life, keeping Henry VIII’s favor was the only path she could clearly see before her.

To win the king’s friendship and his approval of her relationship with Thomas was the ultimate prize, and her experiences at Horsham had hardened her enough, she believed, to accomplish that.

Wisely, risking everything, even Thomas, she caught the king’s eye again and smiled her sweetest smile.

“Mistress Lassells desires a place at court,” the dowager said with a sniff later that day, “and there was most definitely an implied threat in her request.”

Norfolk sat back, stunned by the revelation. “Do I even know a Mistress Lassells? Who is she?”

“She was one of the girls at Horsham with Catherine. She knows things about your niece that could ruin us,” Agnes explained. Norfolk had been so busy engineering his niece’s and the Howard family’s rise to power that he had not considered any potential threats to his plans, other than Cromwell.

“How did you reply?” Norfolk queried.

“I have not replied to her yet.”

“You must.” He rubbed a hand over his craggy face, uncharacteristically unnerved for such a steel-tempered man. “With the king about to divorce the queen, he is at his most vulnerable, and we shall
never again have such a keen advantage. We cannot let a country girl ruin our prospects.”

The dowager hesitated before her reply. “He came to me. He asked me if she was still a virgin.”

“Dear God.” Norfolk drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “What did you tell him?”

“Well, he did not ask in so many words, so my response was equally vague. But His Majesty interpreted my words to both of our liking.”

“You told him she was an innocent?” Norfolk was stunned. Now that Catherine’s “innocence” had been established with the king, Mary posed a real threat.

Agnes arched her silvery brows. “Would you have wished me to tell him otherwise?”

“Of course not. But truth has a way of coming to the fore with the king. Our family barely survived the Anne Boleyn debacle. Neither you nor I would be able to live with ourselves if something like that happened again.”

“That is impossible,” Agnes scoffed, frustrated at the duke’s lack of will to do what they must. “Henry is irascible, but even he would not behead a second wife.”

Norfolk was uncertain. “Who knows what a man is capable of when he is determined? Take me, for example.”

“Nonsense.” She was firm but her tone was more motherly now. Agnes knew how high the stakes were; they could not allow their resolve to weaken. “Thomas, my dear, do not ever show your doubts when it comes to this family, or you will end up out of favor and at risk, just like Cromwell is for his own particular weaknesses in judgment. It is not the way to win. Do you understand me?”

“Henry can be a vindictive king when he is angry.”

“Then keep his anger aimed elsewhere,” the dowager replied simply.

“It is aimed at Cromwell right now,” the duke said, glad for that stroke of good fortune.

“Splendid,” Agnes said. “We shall use Cromwell as a diversion, which will give us time enough to move Catherine in while Anne of Cleves is moving out. If we keep our wits about us, it shall occur before anyone, even the king, realizes what has happened.”

But Norfolk remained skeptical. “I am told she grows closer to Thomas Culpeper.”

The dowager breezed past this information. “Unfortunately for her, Culpeper is not part of the grand plan. Their feelings in this matter are unimportant. Catherine knows what it means to be a Howard. We never entertained any illusions. Our plan to make her queen will not come as a complete surprise when she is informed.”

Norfolk ran his hand through the silver sweep of hair over his forehead in frustration. “But will she comply, Agnes? Or will she fight us? We must not forget that the girl has a strong will of her own.”

The dowager laughed. “Queen of England? Think on that. Is there any girl in the world who could resist the lure of such power for love alone?”

The next day, in the late-morning sun, Thomas sat alone on a stone bench by a wide and murky pond with green lily pads floating on its surface. Beneath a broad azure sky, he watched the swans cut across the still surface as he tried to think of the next line of the song he was writing for Catherine. But the words would not come. Strumming the small lute, he played what he had so far.

My love shall always conquer my fear, as your beauty conquers my soul. . . .

He liked that line, but it was all he had so far and he was stymied. Thomas usually maintained an emotional distance between himself and the women he pursued. But Catherine Howard affected him. She unnerved him, and now he was vulnerable and in love. God’s blood, he was undeniably in love. That had not been part of the plan when he met her, but Catherine was a rare and brilliant jewel.

He knew that men in love were a careless lot and made too many concessions. He was afraid that his love for Catherine would interfere with his ambition to secure a title and estate from the sovereign. But it seemed that she loved him in return. She had said so. Certainly she cared enough to make him jealous, which she accomplished brilliantly. Perhaps her love was worth the risk.

He could not think of anything else. He was overcome with desire to the point of obsession, but their stolen moments, secret smiles and occasional touches were harder to pull off these days. Though they feared getting caught, Catherine had agreed to meet him that night.

Thomas sang the words again, strumming softly on an old battered lute that had once belonged to his father. His drunkard father, God rest his soul, had sold it for a cup of ale. His distant relationship to the Howard family, through Catherine’s mother, Jocasta Culpeper Howard, had earned him little but a place at court. He had used his looks and wit from there. With the first money he earned, Thomas had sent a lad into London to buy the instrument back. It was the only tie he retained to his life before court.

He was startled by a single round of applause behind him. Thomas turned around, bolted to his feet, and swept into a deep bow.

“Lovely, Culpeper,” the king announced. “I had no idea you were composing a new song.”

Henry, dressed in a costume of hunter green silk sewn with gold beads and diamonds, stood between Charles Brandon and Thomas Seymour, both of whom studied Thomas with discerning, slightly jealous eyes as he bowed to the sovereign.

“It is nothing, Your Majesty. Just a bit of foolishness with chords and words.”

“Nonsense. I know a lovely piece of music when I hear it. I may have to honor you by borrowing the tune to sing to a certain lady tonight.”

“There could be no greater honor, sire,” he lied as he bowed, feeling sick at the thought that a song meant for Catherine would be sung to someone else, probably pretty Anne Basset, whom the king increasingly fancied.

“I shall need to say I wrote it myself, of course.”

“An even higher honor, Your Majesty,” Thomas replied, feeling even sicker.

The king smiled slyly, looking like the wild young prince he had once been. “I knew I was right to keep you near me, Culpeper. Now, come teach me how to sing your tune, and we shall add a few more lines to it when you are done.”

Henry had unwittingly taken his rival’s love song as his own.

The queen’s apartments were humming with quiet activity. The queen was absorbed in a conversation with the Earl of Waldeck, which no one understood, while Jane and Catherine sat together sewing, as they did with mind-numbing frequency. The leaded windows were open and the warm spring air wafted in, filled with the scent of lavender and gillyflowers. A small boy played a tune on his pipe to which no one listened.