Chapter 18 #2
“I know what I heard, and I know what she told me!” Kate cried, fierce in her indignation. “She swore on the damnation of her soul that she had never offended against the King with her body. I was there at her last confession.”
Francis was silent. “Is that what she said? Kate, I remember the gossip at court. She was thought to be pursuing Sir Henry Norris. She may not have offended with her body, but did she do so with her heart? In the King’s eyes, that would be treason, too, because it was alleged against her that she plotted with her lovers to assassinate him so that she could marry one of them and rule during Elizabeth’s minority. ”
“And you believe such calumnies?”
“She was convicted for it.”
“She was innocent! Why won’t you believe me? Are you so in thrall to the King?”
Francis sighed. When he spoke again, he sounded irritated.
“Kate, you sometimes seem to forget that I serve the King and that our prosperity depends on his bounty and favor. I have taken an oath of loyalty to him. I am sure you would not wish to be married to a man who breaks his oath. I believe you when you say that your aunt was innocent; it’s just that it didn’t seem like it at the time.
But let us not quarrel. I can understand why this news has upset you, but your royal blood hasn’t been such a bad thing, if you think about it. No, hear me out!”
Kate had opened her mouth to protest but subsided resentfully.
“It led to your enjoying a happy life in the household of the Lady Elizabeth and gaining preferment to that of the Lady Anna of Cleves. The King had a compelling reason for bestowing you well in marriage, and it is thanks to him that we have each other. And darling…” He leaned forward and reached out his hand to her.
“I love you no more and no less for it. To me, you are still the same Kate and always will be. I’m not going to look at you and think of you as the King’s daughter.
I will go on loving you as you, the woman I married.
” He took her hand. “I love you as you are, my sweet wife.”
Her heart melted at that. In an instant, Francis had given her back herself, made her realize that whoever her father was, she had not fundamentally changed.
And as nobody else was in on the secret, she could go on behaving as if she were indeed William Carey’s daughter; she did not have to own the King as her father.
Of course, she was still distressed that he was, but she would not let the knowledge rule her life.
Francis had just given her the strength to do it.
“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand, tears running down her cheeks. “You have made me feel a lot better. And I will not ask you to break your oath of loyalty to the King. We will not touch on the subject again.”
“There must be no barriers between us,” he said, frowning.
“Only discretion.” She smiled bravely.
—
Kate was seven months pregnant when, in September, Francis wrote from Windsor Castle that the King would be doing them the honor of paying them a visit in a week’s time. “His Grace is minded to go hunting with a small party of gentlemen. He does not wish us to go to any trouble to entertain him.”
Kate snorted when she read that. Everyone honored with such a visit went to a great deal of trouble, often at ruinous cost; in this instance, the burden would fall on her—and she had very little time to prepare. She sent for Bilkins and the cook.
“What food does one offer the King?” she asked them. Their faces registered both horror and excitement when she revealed that his Majesty was coming to Greys Court.
Of course, she felt only horror. She didn’t want that devil desecrating her home, didn’t want him pawing at her children or tainting the air with the stench of his diseased leg.
Yet she could not let Francis down. He would be expecting her to play the perfect hostess.
There was nothing for it but to do so—and do it to her utmost.
She set everyone to work dusting, polishing, and scrubbing.
She had a bed made up for her and Francis in the finest of the tower rooms, where the children would sleep with them, and ordered the servants to air the solar and make up the bed with the best linen for the King.
She prepared guest accommodation and hoped there would be enough space for the royal attendants.
Fortunately, Francis said, the King would be traveling with just his riding household, the select few he took with him on hunting expeditions.
She sat for ages with the cook and drew up lists of dishes, ticking those she thought the King would enjoy best. Fortunately, Francis had told her what his Grace liked to eat—and it was the hunting season, so there would be fresh venison, one of his favorites.
And all of this for that horror. She could not bear to think about it.
Everything was ready when the royal harbingers came ahead of the King’s party to check that all was in order.
They nodded approvingly at the rooms made ready for the monarch and his entourage, told Kate that they would only be staying for one night, fitted a complicated lock to the solar door, and set up a cloth of estate and a rich x-framed chair on the dais in the hall.
Then they went away to inform their master that all was ready for him.
The next day, Kate was on high alert, looking out of the windows constantly to catch a glimpse of the approaching royal hunting party.
She was wearing a new gown of green damask with the stomacher unlaced over the high mound of her belly.
Her oversleeves were of fur, her kirtle of cream satin with a matching French hood.
She had ordered new clothes for the children, too.
Little Hal, now rising two and a half, was racing around in a doublet and gown of crimson velvet that looked perilously near to being ripped, while baby Mary was the perfect little lady in pink, a color that complemented her red curls.
Determined to have everything looking perfect, for Francis’s sake, Kate tried not to curb their excitement too much—sweet Mary hardly understood what she was excited about—or make them sit still and await the King’s arrival. She did not want any tantrums.
When the hunting horns sounded in the distance, she hurried them into the courtyard, summoning her household to join them.
Standing by the mounting block, holding her children by the hand, she watched as the King and his gentlemen rode up the hill toward her.
To her joy, Francis was with them, elegant and handsome in his livery.
When they drew near, she sank into a curtsey.
“Mistress Knollys!” the King boomed. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Rise!”
She stood up. “Your Majesty does us great honor in visiting our humble house.”
Men stepped forward to help their sovereign heave his heavy bulk from his horse.
“We thank you for your hospitality,” he said, a little breathless.
Francis dismounted and joined them. “If your Grace would come this way…”
He led his master into the great hall, where one of the trestle tables had been laid with starched white linen and covered with an array of tempting dishes, the centerpiece being a whole side of venison in a giant pasty.
The King surveyed it with approval as servants came forward with bowls of rose water and towels so that he and the other guests could wash before dinner.
“Your Grace has arrived just in good time,” Kate told him. “Dinner is ready, if it is your pleasure.”
“Indeed it is, Mistress Knollys.” His gaze was fixed on Hal and Mary, who were standing by their mother’s skirts, clearly overawed by this huge, glittering man. “And these are your children?”
Kate drew in her breath. He was their grandfather, but she did not want him touching them, contaminating their innocent purity with his bloodstained hands.
“Yes, your Grace. Henry and Mary.” They had been well schooled: Hal bowed nervously, while Mary stared in awe at the huge, towering figure of the King.
“Their nurse is about to take them to the nursery to dine.” She motioned to Mistress Wellgood, who—well primed—led them away.
“Charming, charming,” the King said. “They are a handsome pair, and well behaved, too.”
“We are very proud of them, Sir,” Francis said, as they escorted him to his chair of estate. They were well-chosen words, calculated to flatter the old monster without acknowledging his connection to them.
During the dinner, Kate sat on the King’s right hand, as his hostess, and Francis on his left.
The other gentlemen occupied one trestle table, within speaking distance.
Kate felt tense as she sat there, trying to act normally.
Thomasina, seated at the other trestle tables with the rest of the household, was watching her sympathetically; she evidently knew her mistress well enough to detect when she was ill at ease, and she must be wondering why.
Kate could never tell her the truth, though.
Let her think that she was overwhelmed by the demands of the occasion.
To Kate’s relief, the conversation was flowing easily; she had to admit that the King was practiced at putting people at their ease and knowledgeable, it seemed, about every subject under the sun.
He began by discussing the day’s hunting and the weather, then spoke of his new Queen, with whom he was clearly well pleased, and moved on to talk about education, asking what plans Francis had for the children.
That led to discourses on literature, science, mathematics, and music.
Kate was sometimes out of her depth but had no problem with music.
“It is my great love,” she told the King, still wondering how she could be sitting here chatting in such a friendly fashion to the man who had butchered her aunt, her cousin Queen Katheryn—and many others. What hypocrisy! She hated herself for it.
“My wife is an accomplished musician, Sir,” Francis was saying.