No Will But His (20 page)

And then he put his very disreputable cap back on his head and was gone, amid the other barn cleaners and horse tenders.

She shook herself a little and went on toward the house, hoping no one had seen her.

What foolishness that had been? Why had her mind seized upon what seemed suddenly to be a vista of freedom? Had she really thought that Francis would take her with him in what amounted to no more than the life of a privateer?

And she was looking forward to the life in Lambeth and then, at length, in the court, whenever the new queen chanced to come. She could imagine it in her mind's eye—new clothes and music and dancing. She would amuse herself as she never had so far, and everyone would be enthralled by her.

But all the same, she shivered, clutching Dereham's cash bundled in a filthy handkerchief. She felt, in some inexplicable way, as though she were taking a step in the dark, where her foot would meet with nothing when it landed, and she would tumble, headlong, into an abyss.

What foolishness, she thought to herself, again.

Later that night, when she was alone, she opened the handkerchief to see what sum Dereham had thought could save her from an unwanted marriage, if it came to that pass.

Inside the kerchief was a hundred pounds, an amount that Kathryn had never seen all together in one place before, in various currencies from various lands, but all of it good.

She put it where she had put other treasures in the past—under a loose board beneath her bed.It wasn't until she was well on her way to Lambeth that she remembered she had never retrieved it, but she reasoned that she would collect it when next she came to Horsham again.

Section Four

The Rose Without a Thorn

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kathryn could hardly sleep for the excitement the last night she spent at the duchess's  Lambeth Palace before going on to the palace to take her place as a future lady-in-waiting to the queen.

Queen Anne. How strange it was that when last Kathryn had been in Lambeth, it had been to see the coronation of a Queen Anne, her own cousin. And now, she was in Lambeth again, and about to become maid of honor to Queen Anne. This Queen Anne was very different, though the word in the court was that she was very beautiful and that all the potentates of Europe had vied for her hand, which King Henry had won only at great cost.

She was the sister of a German prince, and the King's own painter, Hans Holbein, had been sent to paint a portrait of her, which, when shown at court, had caused many a gallant to sigh and vow that he'd never seen a better-looking lady.

Only the duchess had held out upon the idea that one Queen Anne who'd been a beauty was enough, and that this Queen Anne, "Is very well setup, no doubt about it. Beautiful eyes and a very straight nose. But to my mind, those German women don't look like our kind. And her face is heavy and set . . . well, like that of a cow. She's not a patch on your late cousin, girl, and she never could be. But then, neither could any woman."

Yet the king, at least in rumor, was half mad in love with the portrait and the report of this Anne of Cleves, and waited in impatience for her appearance. The queen's household was forming in all possible speed, and it included a full complement of maids-of-honor—two hundred. As many as had served the late Queen Jane, whom the duchess had finally stopped calling "that whey-faced wench," perhaps in deference to the dignity of death, or perhaps because the queen was, after all, the mother of the prince heir.

In early August, Kathryn had been dressed in her best and taken to be seen by Lady Rutland, who had looked her over from head to toe and nodded, approvingly. "She is a very small lady," she'd said, talking above Kathryn's head to the duchess. "Though very beautiful."

"Although she be small," the duchess said, "she's fair vivacious, and always full of fun. She'll bring joy and life to the court."

Lady Rutland had looked doubtful at this, but after she'd asked Kathryn to play the lute and sing, she had sighed and said, "Do you speak French, child? Or German?"

Kathryn had curtseyed in the exact way she'd been taught to and said, "If it please you, my lady, neither, for my kind grandmother doesn't think it good that women should be too educated or too clever."

At this the two older women had traded a look over Kathryn's head, and Lady Rutland had nodded once. "A good thing, that," she said. "For a repeat of that is not needed."

"No," the duchess said. "And you know, it was only Thomas Boleyn's fancy to educate that girl as though she were a princess. Everyone in their place, I always say."

Lady Rutland had conceded the wisdom of this and inclined her head. "Well, and mind you," she said. "The only good thing about her speaking German would be that she might be able to talk to our new queen, for I have heard that the dear lady speaks nothing but German. Not one word of English."

And with that the two women traded a look over Kathryn's head again, and something seemed to be understood between them that neither took the time to explain to Kathryn.

Lady Rutland had given the duchess a long list of clothes that Kathryn must have—a seemingly unending number of dresses in the French fashion, as well as coifs and undergarments, which must be made of lawn and not of the linen that Kathryn had worn her whole life. There were even lists of how many pearls and other adornments must be sewn to what garment, till Kathryn was sure that the Duchess must refuse—for she'd never even heard of such a rich trousseau, much less wearing one.

But the duchess had smiled and told Kathryn that the Duke of Norfolk had contributed a fair amount to his niece's elevation and that everything should be done according to the best possible manner and in the most expensive and easiest way.

For the first time in Kathryn's life, such promises were true, and the next few months were spent very pleasurably, indeed, choosing material and jewels, and having things done the way she'd always dreamed they should be: This she desired, and it was given to her. That she craved, and it was handed over. She had only to say a word, and things would be showered on her.

In Lambeth, this time, she slept not in the maids dormitory—in fact, since that infamous night, she'd been kept almost completely away from her peers—but in the antechamber to Her Grace's room, and Her Grace took care to show Kathryn how to array herself and what to do to make herself attractive, as well as imparting to her a thousand small tips about how to go on in the presence of any nobleman, even the king.

"You've been too easy with your smiles and your favors, so far, my girl," the duchess would say. "Far be it from me to impair that natural friendliness, which is one of your principal attractions, but at court you cannot go on like that."

Fortunately, though she'd never been schooled, Kathryn found she had a natural quickness for gestures and words, for orders of precedence, for how far one curtseyed for an earl, a marquess, and even the king himself.

"Mind you," the duchess said. "Don't you go into the palace starry eyed and full of nonsense, for that is a sure way to your doom. As married as often as Harry has been, he is an old reprobate and as likely to tumble a pretty young thing as not. Mind you the fate of Bessie Blount, got with child and then married off to Lord Clinton, who never, ever forgave her indiscretion, even though it was with the king and even though Clinton benefited by it in honors and lands. Mind you that, my dear, as well as the fact that your cousin Thomas is a proud man and is not likely to take used goods, even from the king."

"But how am I to respond?" Kathryn said, perturbed. "If the king importune me?" So far she hadn't done so very well at refusing the attentions of far lesser gentlemen, much less the king.

The duchess had seemed to understand that. She had smiled wryly and said, "For all the king's vices, he has never yet imposed on the unwilling. Tell him you are honored, of course, and prostate yourself, but always remind him that you are a poor maid, whose only form of riches are in your honor—and that you have nothing else to tempt a husband with. Which, mind you, is near enough to the truth, considering how your poor father left you penniless. You must tell the king that, and also that you trust in him not to do you violence. And also—" Here the duchess's smile became yet more broad and yet more wry, as though she could well imagine what was going on in Kathryn's head. "If he tells you how much he is suffering and what a great need of you he has, you are to tell him that you hate to give him pain, but you cannot give in, because your future as well as the well being of your soul depends on it. Promise to remember that!"

Kathryn could well promise it, since that last had come with a light blow to the head, to make sure the knowledge penetrated and was well received. She was doubtful, as she was not very sure she, who was the smallest of his subjects, could truly refuse the sovereign.

But then, she called to mind the other words that the duchess had said often while she prepared Kathryn to become a maid-of-honor. "Mind you, my girl," she said, "the fate of your cousin Anne Boleyn."

This injunction was used in respect to her becoming swollen up with pride at her new clothes and jewels. It was offered about her practicing the lute and becoming too sure of herself in respect to the playing of it. It was said again and again, as the duchess reminded her to mind to whom she gave her favors. "And preferably," the duchess had said wryly, "that should be only to your husband, once those negotiations are concluded. Before him and after him, to none. I would think you have had enough adventure for a lifetime."

And so, by pleasant days, they had come to the last night that Kathryn was supposed to spend in the antechamber to the duchess's chamber. She lay there, in the little space between curtain and door, not really sleeping, though she dozed, her mind full of the delights ahead and yet misgivings about what traps might lay hidden in what seemed to be a glittering future.

She hadn't heard anyone go by and thought that only Lassells was in the chamber with the duchess, but she must have slept while someone else went past, because she woke with a man's voice rumbling from the duchess's chamber.

"It is a dangerous game," he said. "And for all we know, this German queen will live many long years and give him a passel of children. I've heard that these Germans are nothing if not fertile."

Kathryn recognized the duke's voice and blinked a little in puzzlement.

"Pshaw," the duchess said. "You have always been a thin-blooded coward, Thomas Howard. Nothing to your father, who was one of the bravest men who ever—"

"A bravery, which, alas, brought no reward."

"Bravery is its own reward. Sometimes you have to gamble with the chips you have."

Thomas Howard laughed. "What, my mother, was my brother Edmund your natural son? For those words could have come from him. He always gambled and, alas . . . he always lost."

"We shall not lose," the duchess said. "Think you I don't have any spies? I have it on good authority that Cramner made sure that portrait looked the very best it could, and that no wonder, mind you, as she's not a patch on our Anne."

"Who is, alas, dead."

"Indeed, but we aren't. And while we remain alive, it is our lot to continue striving for advancement. Or would you prefer, Thomas Howard, the quiet of the tomb?"

"Madam, I—"

"You will let me play my hand for once. You will do your best to help with it, too, for if I win, it is to the good of the whole family and even, dare I say, to the good of the kingdom."

Thomas had cleared his throat and spoken in the aggrieved tones of a stingy man. "I have already contributed, have I not? Money for dresses and fripperies."

"Dresses and fripperies that will bring back their weight in gold," the duchess said.

"Perhaps. If this queen doesn't outlast him."

"She will not. My spies say she's heavy of tongue and heavier of figure, a great woman with a bovine understanding of the social graces. She is no Howard girl."

"Let's not forget what happened to the last Howard girl to try for the glittering crown."

"No. But this one is nothing like her. Where Anne was bold, she is mild, and where Anne could torment, she's kindhearted."

"Perhaps too kindhearted?"

"I have instructed her well."

"Let us hope so, my dear mother-in-law, for you know the wrath of kings is death."

Unable to comprehend any of it, Kathryn decided this must all be a very strange dream and, turning, pulled the blanket over herself and fell asleep, this time deeply. So deeply that if the duke had truly been in the duchess's chamber, his departure failed to rouse Kathryn.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Though Kathryn had joined the queen's maids in August, it was well into December before there was a queen, or at least before the woman who was to be queen arrived in England.

Anne of Cleves having got to Calais in August was there delayed by bad weather till the day after Christmas, when she was finally able to make her crossing.