Chapter 30
They decided to use false names. Francis was Master Edward Smith and Kate was his wife, Anne.
The names were chosen with the deliberate intention of being unmemorable.
Kate was enjoying the sense of anonymity this new life in Frankfurt afforded her.
She was settling into it better than she had expected to, and the children and the servants were adapting well.
Soon, there would be a new baby. The joyful reunion had quickly borne fruit, and the child would arrive in the New Year, by Kate’s reckoning.
She’d be rising thirty-four by then, old to be venturing on another pregnancy, and yet she had delivered all the others without too much trouble, so felt confident that she would sail through this confinement, too.
And she felt more positive this time, for although this little one might be born with an uncertain future, it would be born in safety.
In England, new laws were making it increasingly difficult for the exiles to obtain any income, but there were ways.
Francis wrote to his attorney, Master Stafford, directing him to send all monies to Master Weller’s bank in nearby Offenbach, whence they could be forwarded to him.
The new arrangement worked, and the family were able to pay their way and live comfortably, despite the cramped conditions.
It was limiting for Kate and Francis to have their youngest children sleeping in their bedchamber, but it was another trial that had to be borne.
They were lucky to have been taken in by such kind people.
Kate liked Frankfurt. She loved the tall, timbered houses festooned with flowers at the windows, the cheery bierkellers, the colorful shops. The Wellers’ home was near the river, on the banks of which she liked to take the children for walks.
In the autumn, Kate and Francis visited the book fair, marveling at the huge array of printed books and manuscripts on display.
There were many Protestant tracts for sale, and Francis bought quite a collection, while Kate indulged herself with a few romances and a volume of poetry, which were among the few books in English for sale.
Most were in German, which she was trying to learn, yet was still defeated by that language’s complicated declensions.
Thankfully, Francis was becoming fluent, having spent hours mastering them.
It still seemed incredible to be able to practice their faith openly and bring up their children in it.
If only things could be different in England.
But the news from home was not encouraging.
The persecution was raging as fiercely as ever, and it was reported that Queen Mary was due to bear a child in March.
Kate’s spirits sank when she heard that.
“It could spell the end of all our hopes,” she said to Francis, as they helped to clear the dinner table.
“Take heart, darling. Remember what happened last time. I do not believe that she can bear a child. She is too old.”
“But what if she does?”
“Let’s meet that when we come to it.” And he took her in his arms, gentling her.
It would be a good life, Kate thought, were it not for the fact that they were exiles longing for home.
In December, they were admitted as full members of the Protestant congregation of Frankfurt.
Francis was active in the church and Kate was admired for her devotion to the faith.
Each Sunday, they attended with their children and their servants, all dressed in sober black and white, sitting in a row listening attentively to the sermon and saying their prayers devoutly.
But the bustle and spirit of Frankfurt still could not make up for what she so missed—the beauty of the changing English seasons, the peace of Greys Court, and the laughter of the children they had left behind.
—
January 1558 began with the saddest of news. They received a letter from Francis’s brother via the bank, informing him that their mother had died. The news hit Francis hard.
“I wish I had seen her one last time and been able to say farewell,” he said bitterly, tears in his eyes.
“By God, I’d like to damn Mary to Hell for the trouble and grief she has caused us!
” It was a rare outburst because he was not a man given to extremes of emotion, but he was in the grip of grief and Kate understood only too well how he felt.
She too mourned for Lettice and wept at the realization that she would never see her again.
They did not quite know what to think when, a week later, they learned that the French had captured Calais, England’s only remaining territory in France.
“As a true Englishman, I am horrified,” Francis said, frowning as he stared at the newsletter that had lately arrived from Antwerp.
“Yet this is what comes of the Queen taking a foreign consort, for he has dragged our country into his continental wars when she is already bankrupt. This is one reason why there was such an outcry against the marriage. People could foresee what might come of it.”
“Do you think they will rise against the Queen?” Kate asked.
“We need another Thomas Wyatt,” he said grimly. “I cannot think that this will boost Mary’s popularity.”
“If she has any left!” Kate said sharply. “Yet she is to bear a child in March. And if it lives, this misrule and persecution will go on. Can God not see how our land is suffering? Why does He not do something?”
“We must not question His will or judgment,” Francis reproved. “Remember, the mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly small. The day of reckoning will come, mark me.”
“It cannot come soon enough!” Kate said.
Late that month, her baby came, a healthy boy whom they called Thomas.
“Let us hope that he grows up in a world in which he will be free to practice his faith,” Francis said, looking down on the tiny face that was the mirror of his own.
“Amen to that,” Kate said fervently.
—
One day in March, Francis steered Kate toward the tiny window of a jeweler’s shop.
“I want to buy you a gift for your birthday,” he said.
“There’s no need,” she protested, “but I appreciate the thought. Shouldn’t we conserve our money? There’s no knowing how long we’ll be here.”
“No, darling. You’ve been a true helpmeet to me and a wonderful mother to the children. I want to buy you something special. I can afford it.”
Touched by his love for her, Kate capitulated. Looking at the display, she saw a locket in chased gold—not too ostentatious, for it would not do for people to think them wealthy or that their tastes were too worldly.
They went into the shop to find a customer already being served. As they were waiting, a man in a black furred gown of fine quality followed them in. Kate heard Francis catch his breath.
“Francis Knollys!” the newcomer exclaimed. “Fancy finding you here in Frankfurt. I have been looking for you for months. You left some unfinished business in England and her Majesty appointed me to search for you, so that it might be resolved. Pray come with me now. My friends are waiting outside.”
Kate froze. Who was this man? She had never seen him before, yet he reminded her of the man in black she had seen in Basel, although he was of heavier build.
Francis had gone very pale. “Come, my dear,” he said, “I do not know this person nor am I about to go with him.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the shop, then they ran together to the nearest alley, dived down it, and emerged at the other end.
Kate heard footsteps behind them and men’s voices shouting, “Halt! Stop!” Terror gripped her.
Francis plunged on to the left and they ran, weaving through passersby as if the hounds of Hell were at their heels. Kate feared her heart would burst, but Francis urged her on until they came to a convent.
“In here!” he said. They dived through the gates and into the portress’s lodge. An elderly nun peered through a grille.
Francis pleaded with her, speaking German, while Kate waited in terror, aware that their pursuers might burst in at any moment. But the nun nodded and said something she did not understand.
A bolt slid back. “She says we can hide in the parlor,” Francis said. “Danke, danke, meine Schwester!”
The door opened, then the good nun locked it behind them, smiling encouragingly. She showed them into a sparsely furnished room with a plain crucifix on the wall, then spoke again.
“She is going to fetch Mother Abbess,” Francis translated.
The Abbess came presently, a stout woman with a starched wimple and rosy cheeks. Fortunately, she spoke some English. She told them that no one else had come knocking and that there was no one loitering in the street—certainly no one with a description resembling the man in the shop.
“It is probably safe to leave,” she said, “but you should go in disguise. I bring you habits. Wait here.”
She came back quickly with a nun’s habit and veil for Kate and a cowled priest’s robe for Francis, two pairs of sandals, and a sack, then left them to change.
They stripped, bundled up their clothes in the sack, and put on their disguises, pulling down the veil and the cowl to hide their faces.
Then, grinning nervously at each other’s appearance, they put on the rough sandals.
“I may not agree with their Romish beliefs, but I must say that in future, I will have a hearty respect for nuns,” Kate said. “They have been our saviors this day. We can never fully thank or repay them for their kindness.”
“I will make a donation, when it is safe to do so,” Francis vowed.
They returned to the lodge, where they thanked the portress warmly for her kindness and urged her to express their gratitude to the Abbess on their behalf.
Then they emerged into the street, cautiously looking about them.
There was no one suspicious in sight, so they made their way back to the Wellers’ house, keeping their heads down as they went.
Weller was dumbstruck when he saw them. “Have you converted back?” he asked, only half jestingly.