Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (185 page)

‘God help me!’ she said at last. ‘Udal is gone, and the scullion that supplied me in secret has the small-pox. How may I get me things to eat?’

‘To have stayed to ask me!’ Katharine cried. ‘What a folly was here!’ For, as a daughter of the King, the Lady Mary was little more than herself; but because she was daughter to a queen that was at once a saint and martyr, Katharine was ready to spend her life in her service.

‘I would stay to ask a service of any man or woman,’ Mary answered, ‘save only that I have this great hunger.’ She clutched angrily at her skirt, and so calmed herself.

‘How may you help me?’ she asked grimly. ‘There are many that would put poison in my food. My mother was poisoned.’

‘I would eat myself of all the food that I bring you,’ said Katharine.

‘And if thou wast poisoned, I must get me another, and yet another after that. You know who it is that would have me away.’

At that hint of the presence of Cromwell, Katharine grew more serious.

‘I will save of my own food,’ she answered simply.

‘Till your bones stick through your skin!’ Mary sneered. ‘See you, do you know one man you could trust?’

The shadow fell the more deeply upon Katharine, because her cousin — as she remembered every day — the one man that she could trust, was in Calais town.

‘I know of two women,’ she said; ‘my maid Margot and Cicely Elliott.’

Mary of England reflected for a long time. Her eyes sunk deep in her head, grey and baleful, had the look of her father’s.

‘Cicely Elliott is too well known for my woman,’ she said. ‘Thy maid Margot is a great lump, too. Hath she no lover?’

The magister was in Paris.

‘But a brother she hath,’ Katharine said; ‘one set upon advancement.’

Mary said moodily:

‘Advancement, then, may be in this. God knoweth his own good time. But you might tell him; or it were better you should bid her tell him.... In short words, and fur ... wait.’

She had a certain snake-like eagerness and vehemence in her motions. She opened swiftly an aumbry in which there stood a tankard of milk. She took a clean pen, and then turned upon Katharine.

‘Before thou goest upon this errand,’ she said, ‘I would have thee know that, for thee, there may be a traitor’s death in this — and some glory in Heaven.’

‘You write to the Empress,’ Katharine cried.

‘I write to a man,’ the Lady Mary said. ‘Might you speak with clear eyes to my father if you knew more than that?’

‘I do not believe that you would bring your father down,’ Katharine said.

‘Why, you have a very comfortable habit of belief,’ Mary sneered at her. ‘In two words! Will you carry this treasonable letter or no?’

‘God help me,’ Katharine cried.

‘Well, God help you,’ her mistress jeered. ‘Two nights agone you swore to be my woman and no other man’s. Here you are in a taking. Think upon it.’

She dipped her white pen in the milk and began to write upon a great sheet of paper, holding her head aslant to see the shine of the fluid.

Katharine fought a battle within herself. Here was treason to the King — but that was a little thing to her. Yet the King was a father whom she would bring back to this daughter, and the traitor was a daughter whom she was sworn to serve and pledged to bring back to this father. If then she conveyed this letter....

‘Tell me,’ she asked of the intent figure above the paper, ‘when, if ever, this plot shall burst?’

‘Madam Howard,’ the other answered, ‘I heard thee not.’

‘I say I will convey your Highness’ letter if the plot shall not burst for many days. If it be to come soon I will forswear myself and be no longer your woman.’

‘Why, what a pax is here?’ her mistress faced round on her. ‘What muddles thy clear head? I doubt, knowing the craven kings that are of my party, no plot shall burst for ten years. And so?’

‘Before then thou mayest be brought back to thy father,’ Katharine said.

Mary of England burst into a hoarse laughter.

‘As God’s my life,’ she cried, ‘that may well be. And you may find a chaste whore before either.’

Whilst she was finishing her letter, Katharine Howard prayed that Mary the Mother of Mercy might soften the hatred of this daughter, even as, of old times, she had turned the heart of Lucius the Syracusan. Then there should be an end to plotting and this letter might work no ill.

Having waved the sheet of paper in the air to dry it, Mary crumpled it into a ball.

‘See you,’ she said, ‘if this miscarry I run a scant risk. For, if this be a treason, this treason is well enough known already to them you wot of. They might have had my head this six years on one shift or another had they so dared. So to me it matters little. — But for thee — and for thy maid Margot and this maid’s brother and his house and his father and his leman — death may fall on ye all if this ball of paper miscarry.’

Katharine made no answer and her mistress spoke on.

‘Take now this paper ball, give it to thy maid Margot, bid thy maid Margot bear it to her brother Ned.’ Her brother Ned should place it in his sleeve and walk with it to Herring Lane at Hampton. There, over against the house of the Sieur Chapuys, who was the Emperor’s ambassador to this Christian nation — over against that house there was a cookshop to which resorted the servants of the ambassador. Passing it by, Katharine’s maid’s brother should thrust his hand in at the door and cry ‘a pox on all stinking Kaiserliks and Papists,’ — and he should cast the paper at that cook’s head. Then out would come master cook to his door and claim reparation. And for reparation Margot’s brother Ned should buy such viands as the cook should offer him. These viands he was to bring, as a good brother should, to his hungry sister, and these viands his sister should take to her room — which was Katharine’s room. ‘And, of an evening,’ she finished, ‘I shall come to thy room to commune with thee of the writers that be dead and yet beloved. Hast thou the lesson by heart? I will say it again.’

II
I

It was in that way, however sorely against her liking, that Katharine Howard came into a plot. It subdued her, it seemed to age her, it was as if she had parted with some virtue. When again she spoke with the King, who came to loll in his daughter’s armed chair one day out of every week, it troubled her to find that she could speak to him with her old tranquillity. She was ashamed at feeling no shame, since all the while these letters were passing behind his back. Once even he had been talking to her of how they nailed pear trees against the walls in her Lincolnshire home.

‘Our garden man would say ...’ she began a sentence. Her eye fell upon one of these very crumpled balls of paper. It lay upon the table and it confused her to think that it appeared like an apple. ‘Would say ... would say ...’ she faltered.

He looked at her with enquiring eyes, round in his great head.

‘It is too late,’ she finished.

‘Even too late for what?’ he asked.

‘Too late in the year to set the trees back,’ she answered and her fit of nervousness had passed. ‘For there is a fluid in trees that runneth upward in the spring of the year to greet the blessed sun.’

‘Why, what a wise lady is this!’ he said, half earnest. ‘I would I had such an adviser as thou hast,’ he continued to his daughter.

He frowned for a moment, remembering that, being who he was, he should stand in need of no advice.

‘See you,’ he said to Katharine. ‘You have spoken of many things and wisely, after a woman’s fashion of book-learning. Now I am minded that you should hear me speak upon the Word of God which is a man’s matter and a King’s. This day sennight I am to have brought to my closet a heretic, Dr Barnes. If ye will ye may hear me confound him with goodly doctrines.’

He raised both his eyebrows heavily and looked first at the Lady Mary.

‘You, I am minded, shall hear a word of true doctrine.’

And to Katharine, ‘I would hear how you think that I can manage a disputation. For the fellow is the sturdiest rogue with a yard of tongue to wag.’

Katharine maintained a duteous silence; the Lady Mary stood with her hands clasped before her. Upon Katharine he smiled suddenly and heavily.

‘I grow too old to be a match for thee in the learning of this world. Thy tongue has outstripped me since I am become stale.... But hear me in the other make of talk.’

‘I ask no better,’ Katharine said.

‘Therefore,’ he finished, ‘I am minded that you, Mog, and your ladies all, do move your residences from here to my house at Hampton. This is an old and dark place; there you shall be better honoured.’

He lay back in his chair and was pleased with the care that he took of his daughter. Katharine glided intently across the smooth bare floor and took the ball of paper in her hand. His eyes followed her and he moved his head round after her movements, heavily, and without any motion of his great body. He was in a comfortable mood, having slept well the night before, and having conversed agreeably in the bosom of a family where pleasant conversation was a rare thing. For the Lady Mary had forborne to utter biting speeches, since her eyes too had been upon that ball of paper. The King did not stay for many minutes after Katharine had gone.

She was excited, troubled and amused — and, indeed, the passing of those letters held her thoughts in those few days. Thus it was easy to give the paper to her maid Margot, and easy to give Margot the directions. But she knew very well by what shift Margot persuaded her scarlet-clothed springald of a brother to take the ball and to throw it into the cookshop. For the young Poins was set upon advancement, and Margot, buxom, substantial and honest-faced, stood before him and said: ‘Here is your chance for advancement made ...’ if he could carry these missives very secretly.

‘For, brother Poins,’ she said, ‘thou knowest these great folks reward greatly — and these things pass between folks very great. If I tell thee no names it is because thou canst see more through a stone wall than common folk.’

So the young Poins cocked his bonnet more jauntily, and, setting out up river to Hampton, changed his scarlet clothes for a grey coat and puritan hose, and in the dark did his errand very well. He carried a large poke in which he put the larded capons and the round loaves that the cook sold to him. Later, following a reed path along the river, he came swiftly down to Isleworth with his bag on a cord and, in the darkness from beneath the walls, he slung bag and cord in at Katharine Howard’s open window. For several times this happened before the Lady Mary’s court was moved to Hampton. At first, Katharine had her tremors to put up with — and it was only when, each evening, with a thump and swish, the bag, sweeping out of the darkness, sped across her floor — it was only then that Katharine’s heart ceased from pulsing with a flutter. All the while the letters were out of her own hands she moved on tiptoe, as if she were a hunter intent on surprising a coy quarry. Nevertheless, it was impossible for her to believe that this was a dangerous game; it was impossible to believe that the heavy, unsuspicious and benevolent man who tried clumsily to gain his daughter’s love with bribes of cakes and kerchiefs — that this man could be roused to order her to her death because she conveyed from one place to another a ball of paper. It was more like a game of passing a ring from hand to hand behind the players’ backs, for kisses for forfeits if the ring were caught. Nevertheless, this was treason-felony; yet it was furthering the dear cause of the saints.

It was on the day on which her uncle Norfolk had sent for her that the King had his interview with the heretical Dr Barnes — nicknamed Antoninus Anglicanus.

The Lady Mary and Katharine Howard and her maid, Margot, were set in a tiny closet in which there was, in a hole in the wall, a niche for the King’s confessor. The King’s own chamber was empty when they passed through, and they left the door between ajar. There came a burst of voices, and swiftly the Bishop of Winchester himself entered their closet. He lifted his black eyebrows at sight of them, and rubbed his thin hands with satisfaction.

‘Now we shall hear one of Crummock’s henchmen swinged,’ he whispered. He raised a finger for them to lend ear and gazed through the crack of the door. They heard a harsh voice, like a dog’s bay, utter clearly:

‘Now goodly goodman Doctor, thou hast spoken certain words at Paul’s Cross. They touched on Justification; thou shalt justify them to me now.’ There came a sound of a man who cleared his throat — and then again the heavy voice:

‘Why, be not cast down; we spoke as doctor to doctor. Without a doubt thou art learned. Show then thy learning. Wast brave at Paul’s Cross. Justify now!’

Gardiner, turning from gazing through the door-crack, grinned at the three women.

‘He rated
me
at Paul’s Cross!’ he said. ‘He thumped me as I had been a thrashing floor.’ They missed the Doctor’s voice — but the King’s came again.

‘Why, this is a folly. I am Supreme Head, but I bid thee to speak.’

There was a long pause till they caught the words.

‘Your Highness, I do surrender my learning to your Highness’.’ Then, indeed, there was a great roar:

‘Unworthy knave; surrender thyself to none but God. He is above me as above thee. To none but God.’

There was another long silence, and then the King’s voice again:

‘Why, get thee gone. Shalt to gaol for a craven....’ And then came a hissing sound of vexation, a dull thud, and other noises.

The King’s bonnet lay on the floor, and the King himself alone was padding down the room when they opened their door. His face was red with rage.

‘Why, what a clever fiend is this Cromwell!’ the Lady Mary said; but the Bishop of Winchester was laughing. He pushed Margot Poins from the closet, but caught Katharine Howard tightly by the arm.

‘Thou shalt write what thy uncle asked of thee!’ he commanded in a low voice, ‘an thou do it not, thy cousin shall to gaol! I have a letter thou didst write me.’

A black despair settled for a moment upon Katharine, but the King was standing before her. He had walked with inaudible swiftness up from the other end of the room.

‘Didst not hear me argue!’ he said, with the vexation of a great child. ‘That poxy knave out-marched me!’

‘Why,’ the Lady Mary sniggered at him, ‘thy brewer’s son is too many for your Highness.’

Henry snarled round at her; but she folded her hands before her and uttered:

‘The brewer’s son made your Highness Supreme Head of the Church. Therefore, the brewer’s son hath tied your Highness’ tongue. For who may argue with your Highness?’

He looked at her for a moment with a bemused face.

‘Very well,’ he said.

‘The brewer’s son should have made your Highness the lowest suppliant at the Church doors. Then, if, for the astounding of certain beholders, your Highness were minded to argue, your Highness should find adversaries.’

The bitter irony of her words made Katharine Howard angry. This poor, heavy man had other matters for misgiving than to be badgered by a woman. But the irony was lost upon the King. He said very simply:

‘Why, that is true. If I be the Head, the Tail shall fear to bandy words with me.’ He addressed himself again to Katharine: ‘I am sorry that you did not hear me argue. I am main good at these arguments.’ He looked reflectively at Gardiner and said: ‘Friend Winchester, one day I will cast a main at arguments with thee, and Kat Howard shall hear. But I doubt thou art little skilled with thy tongue.’

‘Why, I will make a better shift with my tongue than Privy Seal’s men dare,’ the bishop said. He glanced under his brows at Henry, as if he were measuring the ground for a leap.

‘The Lady Mary is in the right,’ he ventured.

The King, who was thinking out a speech to Katharine, said, ‘Anan?’ and Gardiner ventured further:

‘I hold it for true that this man held his peace, because Cromwell so commanded it. He is Cromwell’s creature, and Cromwell is minded to escape from the business with a whole skin.’

The King bent him an attentive ear.

‘It is to me, in the end, that Privy Seal owes amends,’ Gardiner said rancorously. ‘Since it was at me that this man, by Cromwell’s orders, did hurl his foul words at Paul’s Cross.’

The King said:

‘Why, it is true that thou art more sound in doctrine than is Privy Seal. What wouldst thou have?’

Gardiner made an immense gesture, as if he would have embraced the whole world.

Katharine Howard trembled. Here they were, all the three of them Cromwell’s enemies. They were all alone with the King in a favouring mood, and she was on the point of crying out:

‘Give us Privy Seal’s head.’

But, in this very moment of his opportunity, Gardiner faltered. Even the blackness of his hatred could not make him bold.

‘That he should make me amends in public for the foul words that knave uttered. That they should both sue to me for pardon: that it should be showed to the world what manner of man it is that they have dared to flout.’

‘Why, goodman Bishop, it shall be done,’ the King said, and Katharine groaned aloud. A clock with two quarter boys beside the large fireplace chimed the hour of four.

‘Aye!’ the King commented to Katharine. ‘I thought to have had a pleasanter hour of it. Now you see what manner of life is mine: I must go to a plaguing council!’

‘An I were your Highness,’ Katharine cried, ‘I would be avenged on them that marred my pleasures.’

He touched her benevolently upon the cheek.

‘Sweetheart,’ he said, ‘an thou wert me thou’dst do great things.’ He rolled towards the door, heavy and mountainous: with the latch in his hand, he cried over his shoulder: ‘But thou shalt yet hear me argue!’

‘What a morning you have made of this!’ Katharine threw at the bishop. The Lady Mary shrugged her shoulders to her ears and turned away. Gardiner said: