The Lady in the Tower (57 page)

It was hopeless to try to get Mary to see good sense, but having done what I could, I did feel a little better.

Christmas passed and the New Year was with us.

News came from Kimbolton where Katharine had been sent, that she was very ill indeed. We heard this through Eustace Chapuys, which infuriated the King. He sent for Cromwell. Poor Cromwell, he seemed to be blamed for everything, and yet the King knew that he could not do without him.

“Why is it that I first hear news of what is going on in my castles from foreigners?” he demanded.

Cromwell humbly said he would take Sir Edmund Bedingfeld, who was in charge of Katharine's household, to task.

He came back with Bedingfeld's report, which was that, because he was the King's servant, the Dowager Princess Katharine concealed everything from him. He had known she was ill but not how dangerously ill.

Katharine begged Henry to let her see Mary.

I watched his mouth tighten. They had plotted to bring in the Emperor's armies, to oust him and set Mary up on his throne. That was something he would not forget or forgive.

“There shall be no meeting between those two,” he said. “How do we know that this illness is not feigned, and they are not meeting to plot treason?”

It was the letter of a dying woman. Henry was disturbed on reading it, but he could not bring himself to go and see her. He sent for Chapuys and told him to go at once to Katharine at Kimbolton and give her his good wishes.

“Let Lady Willoughby go to her,” he said. Maria de Salinas, who had come with Katharine from Spain and had married Lord Willoughby, had been Katharine's dearest friend throughout her years in England. So although she was denied the presence of her daughter, she did see her friend.

On 7 January she died in the presence of Lady Willoughby and Chapuys. So it had happened at last, and I am afraid I was impetuous enough to say in the hearing of several people: “Now I am indeed the Queen.”

I was washing my hands when the news was brought to me, and so relieved was I that I gave the messenger the bowl and cover. He was delighted, for it was a costly bowl.

In spite of his conscience, which had been aroused by Katharine's letter, Henry was elated.

“Praise be to God,” he said. “We are delivered of all fear of war. Now I can handle the French. I can keep them wondering whether I will join
forces with them or the Emperor. This is a day to praise God indeed. It is His way of showing He will look after me.”

I wondered if Katharine could hear those words in Heaven. They were so typical of him. He did not see why God should not remove Katharine to show Henry how much He cherished him.

He dressed in yellow that night. Why should he go into mourning? he asked. Katharine was never his wife.

There was no absence of festivities. In sumptuous yellow—as I was, too,— a white plume in his cap, he sent for Elizabeth. She came, my little one—just past two years now, very bright, eager to learn about what was going on around her. I was proud as I watched her being carried by her great glittering yellow-clad father.

It was a good omen, I told myself. This was going to be a happy year.

Jane Rochford whispered to me that the King seemed mightily taken with Mistress Jane Seymour.

“It must be a passing fancy,” I said. “She's such a mouse. I feel sure she could not interest him for long.”

“She is not his mistress, you know,” Jane went on. “She is holding out against him … just like…”

“How can you know so much?”

“I keep my eyes open. I think it is important to the family.”

I was angry. I hated gossiping with Jane. But I did want to know what was going on.

“They say he sent a letter and a purse full of sovereigns. You can imagine what was in the letter. She sent the sovereigns back saying that her honor was her fortune and she could receive money only from the man she married.”

Oh God! Familiar talk! Had she learned it from me? That silly little creature! One would never have thought she could learn anything.

Still, I did not worry unduly.

I was sitting with my ladies. We did a great deal of sewing for the poor. I was changing, finding less pleasure in the excitement of the Court. I thought often of the needy, and I wanted to better their lot. I think that had been inspired by my interest in the new religion.

A tournament was taking place, and the King was riding that day. I had not attended. I should have to be there, of course, for the presentation of the prizes but that was not until tomorrow.

Norfolk came bursting into the apartment.

“The King has fallen,” he said. “His horse has thrown him.”

I stood up. I felt the child move within me and I fainted.

When I opened my eyes, Norfolk had gone and I was surrounded by my women who were pushing hartshorn under my nose.

“What… happened?”

“The Duke of Norfolk came and you fainted.”

“Oh…I remember. The King…”

“They have brought him in.”

“He is…”

“We don't know. Your Grace. But I think he is all right.”

“I must go to him.”

“Your Grace should rest. You have had a shock. Lie down and rest awhile. As soon as there is news, it will be brought to you.”

I felt dizzy. I lay on my couch and closed my eyes. What would happen to us if he were dead? What would happen to the realm? Who would be sovereign? Could it be…Mary? And then what of me? She would not tolerate me. She hated me as the one who was responsible for all the ills which had befallen her mother. And if not Mary…Elizabeth? A baby. They would prefer Mary.

I was very frightened.

I need not have been. Henry was soon up. The fall had been nothing, he said. No horse could get the better of him. All his life he had been an expert horseman.

I felt I should rest for a little as the shock could not have been good for the child.

And as I lay, my thoughts went to Jane Seymour, who had refused the sovereigns and talked of her honor.

It was the familiar pattern which had worked so well in my case. What if it worked for Jane Seymour?

How could it? I had been alert, clever, and Jane was a fool. She would never be able to plan as I did to hold him off.

I had many enemies at Court, and they would, of course, know of his feelings for Jane. They had always sought a way of being rid of me. What if they saw the answer in Jane? It suddenly struck me. She had two very ambitious brothers. I wanted to find out, if I could, all about those Sey-mour men.

I discovered that they claimed descent from a companion of William the Conqueror who took his name from St. Maur-sur-Loire in Touraine. The St. Maur had become Seymour. The two brothers, Edward the elder—he must have been about my age—and Thomas, a little younger,
were eager to make their way at Court. I had no doubt that they had noted the spectacular rise of the Boleyns at Court—in a small way through Mary's liaison with the King and a much greater way through his marriage with me.

It must be that they were seeking advancement through their sister Jane.

The idea seemed quite preposterous, because she was such an insignificant little creature.

I did not think a great deal of the matter then, for I was now very preoccupied with my coming child.

Then came the day when I found them together. I had come into the room suddenly and there they were. She was seated on his knee; she was simpering and he was looking at her fondly. I saw that glazed expression which I remembered so well as it had been so frequently directed at me.

Jane Seymour sitting there on the King's knee! Where was the virginal young lady who had to guard her honor? She did not seem to be so very concerned with that at this moment.

I just stood for some seconds staring at them.

Jane Seymour saw me. She leaped to her feet. The King looked full at me, and there was anger in his eyes. He was caught, and he hated to be caught. He always looked then to blame someone else. He would blame me, of course. But I would not be humiliated before Jane Seymour.

I turned abruptly, and departed.

I felt sick and ill. How far had it gone? Was he trying to repeat what had happened to us? Who was behind her? Edward and Thomas Sey-mour, the ambitious brothers? Who else? How many enemies had I at Court? Too many to be counted.

I went to my chamber.

Nan Saville ran to me in alarm. “Your Grace…you are not well.”

“I think I will lie down.”

She helped me to my bed. That night my pains started. I was in agony. It was far too soon. I could not bear to be disappointed of my one great hope now.

They sent for the midwife and the doctors. I could imagine how the news was spreading around the palace.

“The Queen is in labor. But it is too soon.”

“Oh God,” I prayed. “You know how much I want this child. My future depends on it… perhaps my very life.”

But God did not answer my prayers. My child—a son—was born dead.

Henry came into my room. He looked down at me. I saw his clenched fists, his glittering eyes, his cruel mouth.

His disappointment was as bitter as my own.

“You cannot give me sons,” he said. “You are no better than that other.”

I hated him. If I had married Henry Percy, I thought now, I might have been a happy woman. But he had chosen to guide my life. He had robbed me of my lover and offered me a crown…and now he was threatening to snatch it away from me. I hated him—and I did not care that he knew it. I was finished. I knew that, as sure as I knew anything. I understood Katharine's feelings as never before. She had served him well for twenty years…I not yet three… but it was long enough for him to tire of me and want to be rid of me.

I said: “It is you who have done this. It is your infidelities… that have upset me so that our child is born dead. I saw you with that silly slut on your knees.” I laughed. “You might have chosen someone more worthy.”

He was furious. He hated me for having caught him in such a position.

He roared: “I see God does not wish to give me male children. And you…you will have no more sons by me.”

He was blaming me. I was speechless with indignation.

He murmured: “When you are on your feet, I will speak with you.”

Then he left me.

I lay numb with misery and fear. I had lost my last chance.

I wondered what would happen to me now.

I did not see him for several days.

I knew there was no way of luring him back to me for the time being. He seemed to be completely obsessed with Jane Seymour. His affair with her was common knowledge. But how far it had gone, I did not know.

He went on one of his journeys through the country. I did not accompany him. It was given out that I needed to rest to recover from my miscarriage.

I was in a precarious position.

I turned to George—the only one I felt I could trust.

I was resting in my bed when he came to me. It was a good place to talk because we could be quite alone.

He sat by the bed, looking grave.

He said: “I am worried about the Seymours.”

“You think they are plotting?”

“I know they are. There are not two more ambitious men at Court than Edward and Thomas Seymour. They look for great things through their sister Jane.”

“They profit from our example, George, I'm afraid.”

“You must try to get back to Henry.”

“He hates me, I believe.”

“Love and hate are said to be very close.”

“He has said I shall have no more boys from him.”

“When did he say this?”

“When I was lying exhausted after I lost my child because I was so upset when I came upon him with Jane Seymour on his knee.”

“He knows you saw him?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That would make him angry. He hates to be caught.”

I laughed bitterly. “There is little you can tell me about him, George.”

“You must get a boy. It is imperative.”

“A thought has come to me. Katharine had many miscarriages, did she not? And now … look at me. We have both had girls… but always if the child is a boy it miscarries. Why should that be?”

“Perhaps boys are more difficult to come by.”

“That does not seem to be the case. There are many of them about.”

“What are you thinking, Anne?”

“That it is due to something in Henry. I begin to believe he will never have a healthy boy.”

“He had Elizabeth Blount's boy.”

“Yes… but that was long ago. And have you noticed young Richmond? There is a delicate look about him. I do not think he will live long.”

“But at least he was born.”

“Mary is delicate, but she lives. But she was born to Katharine after several miscarriages. Elizabeth was my firstborn and she is very healthy, but I think she gets that from me. I have these misgivings, George. And if I am right, it means that Henry will never beget a healthy boy.”

The horror of this dawned on him.

Then he said: “What hope is there then?”

“None. The more I consider it, the more I believe that the fault lies with him.”

“He would kill anyone who suggested it.”

“I know. Perhaps sometime I shall say it to him.”

“Anne, for God's sake have a care. Is there anything that might make you think…”