Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey (19 page)

True to his word, Francis went to Elizabeth that warm evening at Nonesuch to beg leave. The next morning, while she rode out with Arundel and Dudley to chase down the enormous stag that was rumoured to roam the park, Francis and I borrowed one of the earl’s litters and hitched up Francis’s beloved horse to take us home.

It had been months since we had seen the children. Thomas now toddled around beneath our feet and Anne had begun to learn her letters. They all looked so grown up and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw just how much I had missed. I realised then how spoiled I had been for the last decade. Unlike most of the women I knew, my presence had not been demanded at Court for many years. I had been able to stay home and watch my children grow up. Now that Elizabeth was on the throne, my days with them would be few until they were old enough to come to Court. I was determined to make the most of it while I could.

Francis and I spent the balmy evenings lying in bed talking about the future while the cool breeze through the open window ruffled the tapestries and played over our bare skin slick with the day’s sweat. The leaves finally began to change and the muggy heat that had blanketed the countryside started to dissipate. We revelled in the first rain of the season, huddled together before the fire while the fat drops of water pelted the windows. The world felt so safe and warm at Greys that I found myself dreaming up excuses to stall the return to London.

In mid-October our new baby girl arrived. It was a short and easy labour and I could see the relief in Francis’s eyes once it was over. He insisted that we name her Katherine.

“After all of the children you have borne me, you deserve to have a namesake. Besides, she may be the last child we have,” he said, putting an end to my resistance.

“Are you calling me old?” I exclaimed. The startled look on his face caused me to dissolve into laughter. “I guess you are right, I am in my thirty-fifth year. I am sure that my baby childbearing days are coming to an end.”

So I gave in. I was honoured that he felt that way, but I did feel a little silly naming my child after me, so I let him believe that Katherine was named for me, but in reality, when I looked at her honey-coloured eyes and the natural blush of her rosy cheeks, I thought of my cousin Katherine Howard. We would call her Katherine but, as I watched Francis scribble the date of her birth in the Latin dictionary he had brought with him from the Low Countries, I instructed him that her name was to be spelled with a K. I laughed when I realised later that he had spelled my own name with a K many years before when he had begun to list the names of our children. The secret would be safe with me.

Lettice and Harry both came home for Christmas and we celebrated as a family with a lovely roast, several meat pies, fig pudding and a tower of sugared subtleties. Harry and his father drank warm malmsey before the roaring the fire and caught up on the news of the court while Lettice and I did needlework in my bedchamber. Ten year-old Bess hummed a carol and practised her dance steps in the corner. It was lovely to be surrounded by my children.

Lettice stopped moving her needle for a moment and stared out of the window as if waiting for someone to appear at the end of the snow-covered lane.

“What has caught your eye, my darling daughter?”

She shook her golden red curls and furrowed her eyebrow. “I think someone is coming down our road. Are we expecting guests?”

She rose out of her seat, interest piqued, and walked to the window.

I anchored my needle in the fabric and tucked a stray hair back under my linen cap. “I will go down and let your father know.”

Lettice drew a sharp breath, “It is
him
! What is he doing here? Are you planning to marry me off to him?”

“Who are you talking about, Lettice?” I questioned her back.

She stomped her dainty foot and curled her hand into a fist at her side.

“Walter Devereux,” she whined. “The Viscount of Hereford.”

I set down my embroidery and carefully headed down the stairs. Bess had already run to the window to stare out next to Lettice.

“Francis ...” I called out.

He rushed over to the bottom of the staircase.

“Are we expecting a visit from the Viscount of Hereford?

Francis grinned, “Ah! He took me up on my invitation. Did you see him from the window? I should go and meet him.”

He started to turn around, but I reached out and grabbed the back of his doublet.

“What is going on? Why is Hereford here and why is our daughter so upset about it?”

Francis frowned. “Why should Lettice be upset? I would think Hereford would be an excellent match for her. He is a viscount and a baron, not to mention that he is descended from Anne Woodville, sister-in-law to Edward IV. He comes from a respectable line and I am certain Lettice will enjoy his manor at Chartley. He really is quite enamoured with our girl.”

I shook my head. “Francis, our daughter loves being the centre of attention at Court. She will be intolerable if she is trapped in the countryside.”

“Catherine, Lettice is sixteen now. The same age you were at our marriage. She is no longer a little girl. It is time she learned that she does not always get her way. Besides, once she realises that she will be able to dress in the newest fashions and take precedence after her own parents, she will thank us for making her such a good match.”

“All right, I shall speak to her. I promise she will be on her best behaviour.”

I climbed back up the stairs to find Lettice lying face down on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. Bess was rubbing her back and whispering to her.

I sent my younger daughter downstairs and sat down on the bed next to my eldest one.

“Lettice, why are you crying? This match is far beyond what you should expect. You will be a viscountess. Please tell me why you are so upset.”

Lettice sat up and, after a few sniffles, finally confided in me. Hereford had gone out of his way to be very kind and pay her special attention, but she was desperate to stay at Court. She loved her special treatment by Elizabeth and it seemed that she had grown quite popular while her father and I had been home at Greys. Another man had been paying her attention as well, a man that she fancied far more than poor Hereford.

At first she would not reveal to me who had been showing her favour, but eventually broke down and admitted that it was Robert Dudley.

“Lettice! Have you gone mad?” I shouted. “Robert Dudley is a married man. He is not on the table for marriage negotiations. And even if he were, the queen would never allow it. You need to put him out of your mind immediately!”

Lettice pouted. “But his wife is very ill and they say she may not make it much longer.”

My blood boiled at her callous remark. Being among the chattering and self-important maids at Court was turning her into a person I did not recognise.

“Lettice Knollys,” I said very slowly, trying to keep my voice low. “I did not raise you to be so cold-hearted. You will put Lord Robert out of your head this instant and then you will go to your room to put on your best gown. You will come downstairs and you will entertain your future husband with a smile on your face. Then, tonight, you will get on your knees to say your prayers and you will thank the Lord that you have a father who would make you such a wonderful match and then you will pray for Sir Robert’s wife, for her health and well-being. Do you understand?”

I had never needed to speak to my daughter in such a way and I could tell by the stricken look on her face that she was as startled as I was. She swallowed hard and then nodded.

“Yes Mother, I understand,” she whispered. “I will have my maid help me change.”

She got up without further protest and left the room. I sat for a moment composing myself, and then I marched downstairs, determined to be an excellent hostess to my future son-in-law.

Francis shot me a questioning look when I entered the hall. Hereford had already joined him and Harry in front of the fireplace. All three stood as I approached.

“Lady Knollys, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Hereford said, dipping into a small bow.

I offered him my hand and he placed a light kiss on the back of it. “Welcome to our home. Lettice should be down in a few moments. Please say you will stay for supper.”

“Of course, thank you for the invitation,” he said graciously.

I looked him over carefully. I found him far more handsome than Robert Dudley. His soft brown eyes were earnest, even his nose was straighter than Robert’s. He and Lettice would have fine children. I wanted to shake my daughter for her insolence, but then I remembered Richard and how desperate I was to marry him before I found out that I had been promised to Francis. Then I thought of her comment about pitiful Amy Dudley and I reminded myself that while I had loved someone I should not, never once did I wish ill upon anyone to fulfil my desires.

I shook the uncomfortable thoughts from my mind, smiled and took Hereford by the arm. “Come, we shall sit in the solar. The view is much nicer.”

Francis and Harry followed dutifully behind me.

Lettice came down sometime later and, while she certainly had not dressed in her best, she was humble and gracious to her suitor. She wore a simple grey gown with a high ruff, hoping that the lifeless colour would make her appear dull, but it only enhanced her alabaster skin and brightened the red hue of her hair. It was obvious from Hereford’s rapt stare that she had failed miserably at making herself unappealing.

Hereford and Francis talked so long into the night that I offered the viscount a spare room for the evening. He accepted graciously and was gone in the morning before I arose.

I noticed a rolled up parchment lying on the table as I walked through the hall. I paused to read the elegant script. It was a summons from Elizabeth. She requested our return for the New Year festivities. My heart sank. Our familial respite was over. It was time to get back to the business at Court.

The trip back to London seemed twice as long as it should have been. The weather was miserable and cold. I had been back in the queen’s rooms for only days before I was laid low with a fever. Elizabeth sent her best doctors to my bedside and with the care of my maid, Matilda, I was on my feet again in time to take over my new duties – the care of Elizabeth’s new pet monkey.

It was a dreadful thing, this New Year gift Elizabeth had received. The wild, gamey scent of it assaulted my nose and its shrieks pierced my ears. When I reached my limits in dealing with the thing, it took all of my willpower not to remind Elizabeth of her mother’s distaste of the creatures so beloved by Catherine of Aragon. Instead, I bit my tongue, knowing that it would only agitate Elizabeth more.

William Cecil worked Elizabeth into a frenzy over her imminent assassination by Marie of Guise and her faction. The Regent of Scotland was enraged that Elizabeth had insinuated herself into the battle with her lords. Marie brought in French troops and was succeeding in beating back the Protestant rebels until the English Fleet arrived in January. Cecil convinced the queen that she was not safe and banned her from accepting any gifts, lest they be laced with poison.

Elizabeth feared for her life, but she refused to show any fear. Instead she showed us rage. Many nights I retired to my bedchamber with Francis, sobbing over an insult hurled at me after some small mistake I had made – handing Elizabeth the wrong ring from her jewellery box, exhaling too loudly when I bent over to roll her new silk stockings up her leg, or moving about too much during the night on the pallet I slept on at the end of her bed. My days with Elizabeth had become emotionally exhausting.

Elizabeth’s burden lifted in June when Marie of Guise died in her bed and the fears of her assassination finally began to subside.

“Lady Knollys,” she called out across the presence chamber, her slender hand raised, beckoning me to her chair of state.

I stopped my conversation with Lettice immediately and walked over quickly, dropping into a low curtsey before her seat.

“Please, please, get up,” she gestured.

I straightened up and smoothed my skirts, keeping my gaze low.

Elizabeth stood. “My lady cousin, I realise that I have not been the easiest person to serve these last months and I apologise for any harm I may have caused. You are the last person in my service whom I would want to hurt and I love you above all others.”

My eyes began to well up, but I blinked hard, willing myself to hide my emotion.

“Yes, Your Grace. I understand.”

She continued, “You once gave me a trinket of my mother’s and I have treasured it all this time. I carry it around with me and gaze upon it when I find myself needing a moment of courage.” She gently patted a small purse tied to her skirt. “I have wondered how to repay you for that kindness, but nothing had ever seemed to convey my gratefulness. I prayed over this and the Lord sent me an answer.”

She paused for a moment and I waited, holding my breath, wondering where this story was leading.

Elizabeth smiled and reached for my hand. She tucked a small object into the palm of my hand and closed my fingers over it.

“This was found during an inventory of my father’s possessions. I would like you to have it. Please wait until you have returned to your room to look upon it for I am certain you will feel a flood of emotion. Just tuck it away and tonight when you settle into your rooms, bring it out. Carry it with you, as I do mine, and look upon it, not when you need courage, but when you need patience - with me. When I test your love, as I am sure to do, look upon it and remember that I still need a mother’s guidance and kindness. As the one woman in my service that was closest to my own mother, I hope you will continue to guide me in the way that she would have had she been allowed to live long enough.”

I was speechless. Elizabeth had never been shy of showing her emotion, but it was very rare that she would intimate such personal thoughts. I saw her as the studious, eager-to-please child once again.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I am beyond appreciative for your gift, but I am afraid that my guidance would be nothing like your mother’s. Yes, your mother was kind and compassionate, but she was also ambitious and courageous and she had the heart of a lion. I merely have the heart of a lamb.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Beloved cousin, you do yourself such a disservice when you fail to recognise the strength of the lamb’s heart. Was Jesus not the Lamb of God? If ever there was a symbol of courage, you could find no better one than He.”

I gripped Elizabeth’s hands in mine and gave them a small squeeze.

“Your mother would be proud to see her daughter ascend to the throne as you have. In you, it was all worth it. The hatred of the people, the anger from the courtiers, the death on the scaffold. She would do it all again if she had known that your ascension would be the result. Remind yourself of this in times of turmoil and that will give you all the strength you need.”

That night, after I removed my gown, I held out my gift from Elizabeth. It was a miniature of my mother. She looked so young and beautiful, a simpering smile playing across her lips. The miniature must have been made during her time as the king’s mistress. It was the only likeness of her that I had ever seen and I knew I would treasure it always.