Whitehall Palace, February 1540
Whitehall Palace, February
IN FEbrUARY, I FIND boxes in the Howard hall and my uncle’s travelling cape thrown over them.
‘You’re going away, my lord?’ I ask, curtseying to him.
‘To France,’ he says. ‘To persuade Francis of France that whoever our king marries, even if his bride is a Lutheran, we are still their friend – and a better friend than they’ll find in Spain.’
‘God speed,’ I say piously.
The duke takes my elbow in a hard grip. ‘You can tell your patron, Thomas Cromwell, that if I can turn the King of France back to our side, then we won’t need friendship with Cleves, nor with any paltry German princes, nor with any whining Lutherans.
And if we’re not bound to them, we can be rid of the heretic queen and – more – we can say a fond farewell to the fool who made the marriage! ’
I stand stock-still, and he releases me.
‘Not if she conceives a child,’ I say, to test his knowledge.
The scowl from under his craggy eyebrows tells me that he doesn’t know the king’s failure. Kitty Howard has not reported to our uncle; the queen’s secret is still safe. I rather like Kitty for this unexpected loyalty to her queen.
‘When pigs fly with their tails forward,’ he says; but he is bluffing.
‘He comes to her bed every night.’
‘He complains she’s not inviting,’ he says uncertainly.
‘A king doesn’t need invitation. No man in England is more potent than him.’
My husband died at the hands of this man, for questioning the king’s potency. ‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘We all know that.’
KITTY HOWARD AND I are supposed to be laying out the queen’s evening gown; but she is prancing about with a cape over her shoulders instead of spreading it out on the chest.
‘I’m glad you don’t tell your uncle all the secrets of the queen’s bedchamber,’ I remark. ‘Take that off, child.’
‘How d’you know that?’ she asks wonderingly. ‘Do you know everything that happens everywhere, your ladyship?’
‘Yes,’ I say, laughing. ‘I am the she-pope, all-seeing and all-knowing.’
‘But you are terribly clever, aren’t you?’ she asks engagingly. ‘I mean, you read all the time, and you can understand Latin and everything.’
‘You could understand Latin,’ I say. ‘I could teach you?’
She makes a pretty little pout. ‘I don’t need to know Latin,’ she says. ‘I have enough trouble reading and writing.’ She looks shyly at me. ‘But could you advise me about my money?’
None of the maids can resist buying ribbons and jewels with their salaries; they are always in debt. ‘I can try,’ I say.
‘I have a hundred pounds in coin, and I don’t know where to keep it safely,’ she says. ‘It’s not mine, or I’d just spend it. I’ve promised to keep it: but where?’
‘A hundred pounds? That’s a fortune. Where did you get it from?’
She looks both embarrassed and defiant. ‘My young man – a young man of my acquaintance – left England and gave it to me for safekeeping until he returns.’
‘Is it stolen?’
‘Oh no! Well, at least not a robbery?’
‘He’s cheated someone out of it?’ I hesitate. ‘It’s not counterfeit money, is it?’
‘No . . .’ She wriggles like a child at the question. ‘I don’t know for sure. I didn’t ask. I didn’t think. I think it may be . . . I think it is profit from his work.’
‘That’s very profitable work,’ I comment acidly. ‘And a lot of money for a young man to trust to a friend. Are you betrothed, that he should give you his life savings?’
‘Oh no!’ She laughs, blushes, and then catches at my hands.
‘Oh, don’t ask me! You know what it’s like, when you’re first in love – you make all sorts of promises, and you do all sorts of things!
But now I’m come to court, I see that it was nothing serious.
He means nothing to me now that I’ve met young noblemen.
Fancy giving me money but not for spending! Saying he may never come back!’
‘You’d better give it to me, and I will keep it in my treasure chest in my room.
It’ll be safe there. If he comes back, you can tell me, and I’ll return it to him myself.
That way, you’re not obliged to him, nor him to you.
And if he doesn’t come back, then I’ll return it to you and we’ll say no more about it.
As long as you’re sure it’s not stolen, Kitty?
What work did he do to earn such a fortune? ’
‘He was a purveyor for my grandmother’s household at Lambeth,’ she says airily. ‘So you can see, I would never have been betrothed to a young man like that.’
‘Indeed not,’ I say. ‘He’s far beneath you, and our family would never have consented. But at any rate, we can see how he made his profit: he stole from the dowager duchess.’
She looks stricken. ‘I suppose he must have done,’ she says. ‘I thought he was wonderful when I lived there. But now I have come to court and seen gentlemen like Master Culp—’ She breaks off.
‘There are many handsome gentlemen and noblemen at court,’ I say severely.
‘Far better suited for you than your grandmother’s purveyor.
But there are rogues and tricksters at court, as at Norfolk House.
You must take care, Katheryn. You’ll have to marry where you’re ordered, not where you like.
You’re the daughter of a great house. Our good name is your name. You must carry it with pride.’
‘Oh, I do!’ She widens her hazel eyes; she is completely unconvincing. ‘I really do.’
‘Did the duchess or your uncle promise you a great marriage?’ I ask curiously. ‘Did they tell you what to say when the king came in disguised at Rochester?’
She gives a little giggle. ‘Over and over again! They tried it out a dozen different ways. They rehearsed it like a masque until I knew exactly what to do. But it was easy – the king is such a sweet old man, and old men always like me.’
‘You can’t allow any favours,’ I warn her. ‘Not to old lords any more than young ones.’
‘Oh no!’ she says. ‘My grandmother is very strict. She says I may be surprised at my good fortune if I can stop myself behaving like a slut.’
‘Good advice,’ I say. ‘Though rather blunt. But you do that.’