Chapter 17 #4
“Yes, he knew. But he was mad for Anne. Nothing else mattered. Anne told me that he sent secretly to Rome and obtained a dispensation that allowed him to marry anyone related to him in the first degree—which meant he could have wed his sister or even his mother. But it was worthless, since the Pope had not annulled his marriage to Queen Katherine—and never did. So when it came to getting rid of Anne, he was able, quite rightly, to plead an impediment to their union. Before that, however, it was essential that word of his affair with me did not become common knowledge. And it didn’t; only a few knew of it, although there must have been whispers.
Now you can see why my family kept me in the background.
They didn’t want to risk anyone who might have had suspicions putting two and two together and making four.
Thus, when I caused a scandal by marrying Will, Anne was all the more outraged because she feared that others might find out that there had been even greater cause for scandal. It’s hard to keep secrets in a court.”
She fell silent, leaving Kate to reflect on just how unscrupulous the King really was.
All that talk of conscience, that pretense of virtue.
Yet she was not surprised. What really mattered to her was that she had not inherited any of his faults or his wickedness.
It was disconcerting to know that bad blood might be flowing in her veins.
“I had my own reasons for wanting to maintain discretion,” Mother said.
“I did not want to embarrass your father or risk his being branded a cuckold, and later I did not want his memory to be stained with any slur. So I insisted on naming you after Queen Katherine, thinking that would deflect any speculation or gossip. And I hope that you, too, Kate, will honor my memory and that of your father by keeping our secret.”
“I assure you I will,” Kate vowed.
—
In bed that night, she lay sleepless. So much that had seemed mysterious in the past had now become clear, but she was shocked and in turmoil, struggling to come to terms with her new identity.
She felt guilty about having royal Tudor blood and appalled at being the daughter of a man who treated women so badly.
Truth to tell, she even found herself wishing to distance herself from her own family, whose ambitions had led them to collude in such a great deception.
She wondered, with a slight chill, if the King saw her as a threat to his lawful heir.
The awful dawning awareness that she was effectively as much a bastard as Elizabeth and the Lady Mary was, in a curious way, some comfort, because bastards were unable to inherit anything from their parents.
And yet she had heard people speak of Henry Fitzroy and how at one time, desperate to have a son to succeed him, the King had contemplated making him his heir by an Act of Parliament.
If that had happened, Fitzroy would have taken precedence over the Lady Mary, whose legitimacy had not then been questioned.
No, Kate told herself, I could never be seen as a threat.
I’m only a girl, like Mary and Elizabeth.
And yet, she had to ask herself, what if Prince Edward died?
What then? She would have as much right to the crown as either of her half sisters.
Thank God they did not know who she really was, for then they might perceive her as a threat.
It was better by far to keep that a secret.
Much as she would have liked to share the precious bond of sisterhood with her beloved Elizabeth, she must never know.
—
As her mother grew weaker, Kate stayed on. She could not in all conscience leave her. Informed of the situation, Bilkins wrote to say that all was well at Greys Court and that the children were thriving in the care of Mistress Wellgood. She need not worry.
Resolved to stay until the end, Kate took upon herself the tender nursing tasks that were all she could now do for her mother.
She and Will sat with her, reading aloud or reciting prayers.
They were comfortable together, bonded by their shared sadness.
Kate realized that she had come to think of this strong, caring man as a father figure.
The news that the King was to take a sixth queen, Katharine Parr, the widowed Lady Latimer, made little impact on them.
Kate hoped that this wife would fare better than the others, but that would be a triumph of hope over experience.
The court seemed very far away. Their world had narrowed down to the sickroom in this quiet corner of Kent.
One evening, as the light was dying and Mother lay wakeful, Will knelt down by the bed, slid across a wooden panel, and drew out something wrapped in gold cloth.
“This is my Bible,” he told Kate.
She stared at it. It was the same as the Great Bible that the King had ordered to be placed in every church these four years past. Prior to that, it had been illegal even to read the Bible in English, let alone possess a copy.
“Your mother and I have derived great comfort and pleasure from it,” Will told her.
Kate looked at Mother, lying in the bed, and saw her close her eyes, with a slight smile on her face.
“It is a wonderful thing for ordinary folk to be able to read the Scriptures for themselves and not have to rely on a priest to interpret them from the Latin. Some priests hardly know any Latin!”
He placed the book on the bed, opened it, and began to read the story of the Sermon on the Mount.
“When He saw the people, He went up into a mountain and when He was set, His disciples came to Him and He opened his mouth and taught them, saying: blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled. Blessed are ye merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”
He paused and looked down at Mother. His eyes met Kate’s and filled with tears.
“She has gone to her Maker,” he said. “It is a blessed release.”
Kate took the dead hand and burst into sobs. “Oh, Mother, oh, dear Mother!” She feasted her eyes on the still face, pale as the pillow, wishing to imprint it on her soul forever. “I shall pray for her,” she wept.
“No,” Will said. “There is no need. She and I believed that our Lord Jesus is the sole mediator between God and man, and that praying for the dead is unnecessary, for He alone will determine the fate of a soul.”
Kate was astonished. “But should we not have Masses said for her?”
“No. That would be disrespectful to our Lord, whose judgment is perfect.”
She had never heard anyone express such a view, and she was sure that it couldn’t be right. Yet she didn’t like to say so. “Is that really what my mother believed?”
“Yes, Kate. Like me, she was a convert to the reformed faith. I am trusting you not to reveal this to anyone, as it could go badly for me if it were discovered that I am what some term a heretic. And you know what they do to heretics.”
“I do. And I would never betray you.” She loved him too much, even though she was startled to hear that Mother had secretly embraced the Protestant faith.
“Your husband is one of our number,” he said gently.
She nodded. “I know.”
“It is my constant prayer that one day, Kate, we will be able to worship God in our own way, free from the threat of persecution. But for now, we must compromise and follow the ways laid down for us by the Church and the State. Your dear mother will have a Christian burial, even if it is not in the form she would have liked. But we all pray to the same God, whose nature is always to be merciful. I take comfort in that.”
—
They laid her to rest in the parish church of St. Mary the Virgin at nearby Sundridge.
There were no fanfares, just a simple committal service.
Will had said that he would not raise an elaborate tomb or have a brass placed on the grave.
“A stone will suffice,” he said. “God knows where she lies, and she will forever be in my heart. Besides, her inheritance is your brother’s to do with as he wishes. He may wish to erect a memorial.”
Kate knew that Will’s only bequest from Mother was the manor of Abinger in Surrey, where he was going to base himself as soon as he had set everything in order at Henden.
But he was departing for France at the end of the month at the head of a hundred foot soldiers, to begin four months’ military service.
It would divert him from his grief, he told Kate.
Kate doubted that Mother would have wished for an imposing monument.
She would have wanted to be buried in peaceful obscurity, as she had lived her last years—and, indeed, much of her life.
She had been lucky, for she had found true happiness, which was more than many people could say, and she had died greatly beloved.
—
After a tearful parting from Will, Kate set off for home.
Having learned that Elizabeth was at Hatfield, she thought she might make a detour there to visit her.
She felt the need to do so, even though she knew she could not tell her what she had learned from Mother.
She reflected sadly that she now knew how painful it was to lose a mother, and felt she had come to a new understanding of Elizabeth’s tragic past.
She was still reeling from the news that the King was her father.
The horror she had felt had not diminished.
The only father she wanted now was Will, who exemplified to her all that a father should be.
Not in a million years could that monster ever compare with him.
The worst thing was how her sense of herself had changed.
She could not forget that there must be something of the King in her.
Heaven forfend that she was anything like him!
She had resolved to suppress any character traits that resembled his.
None should ever have cause to say that she was her father’s daughter.