The Chalice (27 page)

Elizabeth interceded with her husband, and I was permitted to remain through Christmas. But while here I’d need to adhere to certain rules, for the duke plainly did not trust me. Arthur Bulmer was never to be permitted inside the house. I must not correspond with anyone. I could not discuss the arrests of the Courtenays, Baron Montagu, or the rest inside the walls of Howard House. I was not to read any books. The last rule left me stunned. Elizabeth explained that her husband detested reading. Literature and theology and politics were all forbidden topics at Howard House.

Everyone fearfully complied with the duke’s edicts except for one member of the Howard family—the Earl of Surrey, Norfolk’s twenty-one-year-old son and heir. Surrey broke every rule.

On my fourth day there, he materialized at dinner with his wife, Frances. Like Catherine Howard, when prompted, he recognized me from the party last year. But he was not preoccupied by festivities now. The treacherous politics at court were his chief concern. “There’s no specific evidence of treason against Courtenay and the rest,” he declared. “They may serve long terms in the Tower, but the king won’t let Cromwell kill these good men based on no evidence at all.”

I ached to question Surrey, to learn more about how my friends fared in the Tower. Elizabeth, knowing my mind, shook her head warningly at me.

Surrey leaped to his feet and threw a goblet at the fireplace. It shattered. “Cromwell wants no one but low creatures like himself around the king,” he roared.

My next encounter with Surrey was more personally troubling. I was asleep when the words of a bawdy tune exploded down the passageway outside my room.

I opened the door a crack to discover the cause of the disturbance. Surrey clung to the wall, his mother at his side.

“You!” he shouted. “You are the one who hates my father.”

He lunged into my room, pushing the door open with such force that pieces of wood split into the air. “I will speak to your cousin,” he said.

Now that he was close, I smelled the vomit on his clothes. The earl’s face was reddened and shiny. Men drank too much wine—I knew that. But there was a horror to this level of drunkenness.

“She’s your cousin, too,” Elizabeth pointed out, worried for me.

“I don’t want to talk to
you,”
he growled. “I want to talk to Joanna Stafford.”

“Then do so,” I said, disgusted. “Speak your peace and leave me be.”

Surrey pushed his mother out and closed the door. “I know what people whisper behind my back. That my father was a pimp for Anne Boleyn. It’s a damn lie. The Boleyns never listened to him. They did what they wanted always. What did we get out of that marriage? Nothing. She talked to him worse than she would to a dog.”

A memory stirred. A few days before he died, my father told me the most sordid story about Norfolk. When Queen Anne was with child, the king caught sight of my beautiful cousin Margaret and lusted for the daughter of the man he’d had killed. He wanted Margaret brought to his bed. Norfolk tried to force her to comply, thinking his sister-in-law could prove a mistress of benefit to him. When a revolted Margaret fled the court, my father hid her from Norfolk until she could go north.

Perhaps the duke ended up loathing his niece Anne Boleyn, but I suspected that in the beginning he’d pushed for that dalliance, too. The doubt must have shown in my face. Surrey redoubled his efforts to persuade me of his father’s worth.

“Why does it matter to you what I think?” I asked wearily.

“I want you to know the truth—I want everyone to know the truth,” he said. His face whitened, he covered his mouth, and he stumbled out the door. I heard him coughing and spitting outside my room. Elizabeth, who had been waiting, spoke soothingly.

“Oh, Mother,” moaned Surrey, and began weeping. Childish wails filled the passageway. They grew fainter as he retreated to his room. Unhappy Howard House fell silent once more.

I
kept my promise to Elizabeth, training Catherine Howard in the skills she’d need for court. I helped with the planning of Christmastide, the ordering of meats and mince pies and sweets.

But I longed for the company of my friends in Dartford as never before. Within these walls, there was no one remotely like selfless Brother Edmund—or his devout sister, Winifred. As for Geoffrey, thoughts of him were never far away either. In the middle of the night, tossing sleepless in my bed, I saw Geoffrey emerge from the shadows of the alcove at the top of the stairs. He’d press me into his arms so tightly, my cloth of silver burned my flesh. But, come morning, I always felt deep shame at my weakness. Geoffrey Scovill would be best off without me. I had brought him little but trouble, and if we came together in the future, it could mean his death.

Then there was Arthur. Worry bore into me like a wasting disease. My father had entrusted him to my care—and I had failed. Who was looking after him? How was he faring? It was so cruel that Norfolk had forbidden Arthur to come to me or for me to send word to those who cared for him. It was the duke’s guilt over Margaret’s death, I suspected, that made him take such a stance. My cousin Elizabeth felt nearly as miserable
about Arthur, I knew that. But there was little she could do—her own position was precarious. One night, after a quarrel with the duke, Elizabeth wept in my arms for hours.

“What was your quarrel about?” I asked.

“He wants to match our daughter Mary with Thomas Seymour, a lout and wastrel. But I know Mary loathes Seymour, and I tried to take her part. She has refused to marry him and stays away from London. How he cursed at me.”

I tried to comfort my cousin, but I was terrible at such a task. Margaret would have talked with her, pressed compresses on her forehead, brushed her hair, prayed with her. I tried to do those things, but my own mood was so fraught, it was difficult to lift her spirits. In addition, she steadily refused to help me make my way home to Dartford, not Stafford Castle. “Don’t harangue me about that now!” she always implored me, rubbing her forehead.

It was Catherine Howard who noticed my deepening sadness, much as I tried to hide it, at needlework one morning. She had shadows to her own nature, and was far from the “pretty simpleton” that Elizabeth dubbed her. Catherine rarely spoke of her past, but I learned that her childhood had been one of hardship. No grown member of the Howard family cared what happened to her until the duke thought her fit for court. Even now, her happiness was of no importance—all that mattered was the possibility she could do well enough to advance the clan. It had been made clear to her she must attract a husband with enough coins in his pocket to take her off the Howards’ hands.

“If you are unhappy here, why don’t you return to Stafford Castle?” Catherine asked.

“I made a life for myself in Dartford with friends and a little boy who needs me,” I said. “I mean to start a tapestry business. At this moment, my loom sits, unused, in a building office on the High Street.”

“I can barely keep my stitches straight, and you can create whole tapestries?” she asked, awestruck.

“Catherine, your stitching is far better than you give yourself credit for,” I said, pointing to the work in her lap. “You’ve improved, without question.”

The smallest compliments had such an impact, for she was so starved for them. She said, “I have an excellent teacher,” a dimple appearing in her soft cheek.

It was the end of November and quite cold when everything changed one morning. I had not broken my fast, for I was determined to go without food all day. It had been too long since I fasted.

There was a soft tap at the open door. Catherine beckoned for me, her face flushed. “You must come with me now,” she said, and pulled me out of the room.

“Why?” I asked as we hurtled along. But she wouldn’t answer.

Shortly I found myself walking down the long passageway on the main floor, and I watched, surprised, as Catherine removed a key from her pocket and began fiddling with a door at the end.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Shhhhh,” Catherine said, and then burst out giggling.

“I am glad to see you in better spirits, but I must insist you tell me what we’re about here,” I said firmly.

Catherine whispered: “There’s a man come to see you, and I’ve hidden him in here.”

Geoffrey. He’d been unable to bear our separation any longer. I felt a flash of joy, swiftly swallowed up by fear. How incredibly dangerous to come to the Duke of Norfolk’s own house.

As soon as Catherine got the door open, I pushed in ahead of her. It was a dark storeroom, filled with chairs and trays.

Brother Edmund stepped out of the corner.

“Sister Joanna,” he said, “I’ve come to take you home.”

B
rother Edmund said, “Won’t you speak to me, Sister?”

But I couldn’t, for it was too impossible to believe that he stood before me, after all these weeks. I soaked in every detail: Brother Edmund’s ash-blond hair, grown long because he never wanted to take the time to cut it. His sensible dark brown doublet, the one I had helped him order from a tailor after we were forced to put away our white habits and black cloaks. His sturdy shoes, caked with dried mud. He must have walked the entire way from Dartford to Howard House.

“It’s you, ah it’s you—” I choked.

He stepped forward quickly to comfort me. It was not the same sort of embrace as Geoffrey Scovill’s. He squeezed my shoulder with one hand and gently patted my back with the other. “I am here, hush, I am here,” he said.

“You are my friend,” I said, as if I were a small child. Brother Edmund smiled and said, “Did not your favorite Dominican, Thomas Aquinas, say, ‘There is nothing on this earth to be prized more than true friendship’?”

“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.” I turned to Catherine. “Thank you for this.”

She explained that she saw Brother Edmund walking up the path from her window this morning. She recognized him from when we both came to Howard House last year; she was
the one who greeted and conversed with us before we donned our masks. She’d rushed down to find out why he’d come. A few sentences persuaded her that Brother Edmund best be brought inside and hidden until I could be secured.

“How is Arthur?” I asked.

“He is well, Sister Joanna, do not be troubled. He lives with me and Sister Winifred.” Brother Edmund shared the precious details of Arthur’s arrival and subsequent activities. “Of course Arthur misses you, as have I.” He added quickly, “And Sister Winifred and Sister Beatrice and all the rest—Sisters Eleanor and Agatha and Rachel. We all miss you.”

I asked, “How did you know I was here?”

Brother Edmund explained that when he brought Arthur to Dartford, Geoffrey Scovill relayed the news of the Red Rose arrests. Geoffrey said that the Duke of Norfolk forced Lord Dudley to rescind my arrest and then commandeered me. “Master Scovill said that though he did not have knowledge of your whereabouts, you knew where he was and would send word when the time was right. He advised waiting.”

So Geoffrey did not tell him of the duke’s warning to hang him if he were found with me. A significant omission.

Catherine said, “But you didn’t wait.”

“No,” Brother Edmund said. “I didn’t wait.” His cheeks reddened slightly. “I remembered Howard House from when we came here, Sister Joanna. It was my first destination.”

Catherine had already told Brother Edmund about the duke’s shifting plans for me.

“I am prepared to speak to His Grace on your behalf as soon as he returns and make a case for your coming back with me to Dartford,” Brother Edmund said.

Catherine and I exchanged a look of horror.

“The duke won’t listen to you, Brother Edmund,” I said. “I appreciate your wanting to do this, but it will only succeed in bringing his wrath down on you.”

Brother Edmund was silent. He peered out the window, the corners of his mouth turned down. I knew what this meant—his supple Dominican mind turned the problem over.

“I don’t see where the Duke of Norfolk’s authority originates from,” Brother Edmund said. “He is not your father or husband or brother—you don’t have any. Being married to your cousin Elizabeth does not give him the right to determine where
you
should live and what you should do. It’d be different if you were accused of some crime and he had legal powers granted in the matter. But that is not the case. You simply wish to pursue a life he disapproves of.”

“Everything you say makes sense,” I said. “But all he has to do is issue commands and everyone around him obeys.”

“At Howard House, yes, but I would like to move this matter to a different sphere,” said Brother Edmund. “I think it is time we found you legal counsel in London.”

Again I was rendered speechless. It was ludicrous to think a lawyer could get the better of a nobleman, and especially one who commanded armies.

“I see you are skeptical,” said Edmund. “But do not rule out the possibility of a legal solution. In the last twenty years, lawyers have become a force to be reckoned with. Didn’t the king turn to the law of the land when denied his divorce by the pope?”

“This is hardly a matter of the same magnitude,” I said. “But I agree it’s a plan, and the only one that could possibly work.”

Catherine was eager to assist. She and I would leave the house together, saying we sought exercise. Brother Edmund would meet us down the road, and he and I would then make our way through Southwark to London Bridge. Since the Duke of Norfolk was sure to send men to Dartford to search for me, we would find lodgings at a London inn until legal discussions commenced.

In no time at all, Catherine and I were out the front door of Howard House. When I said good-bye to her at the bend in the road, while Brother Edmund waited by a leafless oak, she pressed a purse of coins into my hand. I knew it was all the money she had, and so I tried to give it back, but she wouldn’t allow it.

“I will miss you, Joanna,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re the only person who’s shown me kindness without expecting anything in return.”

We embraced, and then, my arm encircling Brother Edmund’s, I walked quickly up the road. Every time a horseman trotted past, my stomach leaped. I feared seeing the gold-and-black livery and hearing my name shouted once again. But no one seemed to pay us any notice. The streets grew more crowded, the manor houses disappeared. We entered the rougher part of Southwark, and then, finally, we reached London Bridge.