The Queen's Mistake (24 page)

“I am happy to surprise you, so long as the combination is a pleasing one.”

“How could it not be?” He bowed to her, and she curtsied deeply in return just as the tune came to an end.

As he returned to the queen and Catherine walked back to her
place beside Jane, she saw him. Thomas was standing beneath a massive tapestry, and he most certainly was not smiling.
Splendid
, she thought, acknowledging him with a happy little nod, much as the king had done to her. She still intended to get what she desired.

And what she still desired was Thomas Culpeper.

Just after midnight, a rap sounded on her chamber door. Catherine knew who it would be. As she pulled the door open, Thomas slipped in, quickly closed it, and wrapped her in a desperate embrace. Catherine knew he was familiar enough with the halls and passageways of the palace to have reached her room unobserved. He tilted her face up and kissed her feverishly, holding her so tightly against him that she could not breathe. But she did not care about breathing at the moment.

Thomas drew her forcefully toward her small bed, unlacing her cambric nightdress and his own nether hose. He did not speak. There would be neither words nor gentleness this time. Only intoxicating passion.

He forced her down onto the bed and rose above her like a powerful warrior above the vanquished, but she did not struggle. She was wild with happiness at his show of passion, his desire to possess her. She had never felt more alive, and she knew that Thomas could not avoid his true feelings for her during moments like this.

Afterward, as she lay sated in his arms, happier than she had ever imagined she could be, Thomas gave her an amused smile and kissed her forehead tenderly. “You certainly are a clever one, aren’t you? Is there anything you cannot make a man do?”

“That remains to be seen,” Catherine replied, smiling innocently at him. “I shall certainly let you know if I think of something.”

As they lay together, Catherine waited again for him to say that
he loved her, but her hopes were met with silence. She tried to be content with the fact that he was there with her, and they had all the time in the world. But she could not help but feel disappointed.

Cromwell fell silent in the glow of the firelight that evening as Norfolk sank into a chair near the massive carved hearth. On the table beside Cromwell was an open volume of Cicero, bound in exquisite red Spanish leather, and a nearly empty cup of spiced Gascony wine.

“You poor fool bastard.” Norfolk sighed as he shook his head. “I do loathe you. But the bishop has convinced me to extend a bit of courtesy to you. Is that not correct, Stephen?”

Stephen Gardiner stood like a sentry near the closed door, his hands behind his back, his outfit an ominous black. He nodded in agreement, but the expression in his deep brown eyes was blank.

“The court moves to Greenwich in the morning,” Norfolk said, as Gardiner walked toward two carved, painted traveling chests that lay open and half packed on a table. He touched a neatly folded silk bedcover.

“You need not have brought out your luggage,” the bishop said to Cromwell with a smirk on his face. “You are to remain in London.”

Norfolk bit back a triumphant smile, pleased that the king had entrusted him and the bishop to bear the news to Cromwell. He felt like the lead hound on a hunt, privileged to make the first cut on a cornered stag.

Cromwell was taken aback. “Of course I will attend the king in Greenwich.”

“No,” Norfolk coldly corrected him. “It seems you have a problem that requires your presence here. The king demands a divorce
from Anne of Cleves based on proof of nullity, which we recently presented to His Majesty. As you are the one who pressed him into this sour union, His Majesty commands you to extricate him while he is away.”

The bishop picked up where Norfolk left off, barely acknowledging the stunned expression on Cromwell’s fat face. “We know what you must be thinking. It shall be a difficult situation to navigate while you struggle to maintain his trust. But you cannot possibly deny the king now that the duke has found a legal basis for divorce, which you rashly overlooked in your zeal to choose a wife.”

Gardiner walked around the room with an air of authority as he spoke. It was as if he were giving a prepared speech, which he was, unbeknownst to Cromwell. Each word had been planned for maximum effect before they had arrived at Cromwell’s door.

Norfolk’s expression was one of amusement as Cromwell’s fell in devastation.

“So we understand you are wondering how you could engineer a divorce with the least number of harmful repercussions to yourself,” Gardiner continued. “Let us consider your options. If you do comply with the king’s wishes, you would have to admit that your counsel to His Majesty was faulty and useless from the start, and you would certainly lose your title and reputation, if not more. If you do not, you would be acting in defiance of the king, and you would most certainly lose your life.”

“Indeed a dilemma.” Norfolk nodded. “So you see, joining the court’s progress tomorrow and enjoying the hunt, the banquets and the women would be most unwise, particularly when your head is on the chopping block, so to speak,” he added with obvious cruel pleasure.

“To the devil with both of you!” Cromwell shouted furiously, his full cheeks flushing with anger.

“The devil might be the only one who takes you after all the damage you’ve done,” Gardiner observed, shaking his head and making a little
tsk
sound. “Think on it. First there was your support of Wolsey as he rid England of Catherine of Aragon, the only true queen. . . .”

“Thereby ridding England of the true Catholic faith . . .” Norfolk added in a tone of delight.

“And seeing our great king excommunicated by the Holy Father in Rome . . .” Gardiner pitched in.

“Ah, yes, Gardiner, that might well be the worst part,” Norfolk replied in mock contemplation.

“The mounting offenses really are almost too numerous to mention,” Gardiner added.

Cromwell was overcome with anger, but a hint of fear had crept into his eyes. “I am Earl of Essex, as well as Lord Great Chamberlain—two of the most powerful titles in all of England. You know not of what you speak!”

“Those
were
powerful titles, my lord. But circumstances change,” Norfolk said, no longer hiding the smile on his face. He stood and looked around the large room at the trappings of a lifetime of work, scheming and success. Cromwell’s apartments were not dissimilar from his own grand rooms down the vast corridor, but Cromwell’s had a better view.

That alone was enough to make Norfolk despise him.

“You sought to trap me from the very beginning,” Cromwell said accusingly.

“Of course,” the duke coldly replied.

“But we all knew that you encouraged the alliance with Cleves, just as I did! Surely the king remembers that!”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong. I told you what you wished to hear as you schemed. I wisely told the king nothing of the sort.”

Cromwell was desperate now, and full of panic. His expression reminded Norfolk even more of a hunted stag. “And you, Gardiner, a man of God—did you forsake me as well?”

“I followed my conscience and God, as I do in all things, my lord chamberlain,” the bishop piously replied.

“I am Henry’s most trusted minister! You shall not get away with this!” Cromwell bellowed.

“Ah, but I believe we already have,” Norfolk replied in satisfaction. “I only hope you live long enough to see what I have in mind for my encore.”

A letter, propped neatly on a polished trestle table near her bed, was waiting for Agnes Howard when she returned from the banquet.

“That will be all for now,” she dismissed the young girl who waited to help her out of her heavy, tight dress.

The dowager did not recognize the handwriting, which she took as an ominous sign. It was late, and her bones ached from far too much wine and dancing. For a moment, she considered not opening it at all, but the pull of the unknown was seductive for one of an age when life contained few surprises.

She sank onto the edge of her bed and placed the missive in her lap. There were many things it could be, only one of which she feared. With trepidation, Agnes broke the heavy wax seal with her thumb and opened the letter.

If I could wish unto you all the honor, wealth and good fortune you could desire, you would lack neither health, wealth, long life, nor prosperity. Nevertheless, seeing as I cannot . . .

Words and phrases leaped out at the dowager.

There will be a lawful divorce between them; and as it is widely
believed that the king, in his goodness, will bestow the honor on you next . . .

Agnes scanned the rest of the letter until she saw the final line:

I trust the queen will not forget her secretary and favor you will show . . .

It was signed by Mary Lassells.

The dowager knew that Mary knew about Catherine’s indiscretions with Henry Manox and Francis Dereham at Horsham, and she also realized the Lassells girl could ruin everything for the Howard family if she passed that information on to the king. Someone had placed it here for an unknown reason. It was clear as well that Mary Lassells wanted something, and quite likely it only began with a place at court. The dowager knew she was taking an enormous risk, since if she granted Mary’s request, she was also personally placing her right where she could do the most damage. . . .

SUMMER

The Second Season

“Yours as long as life endures.”

—CATHERINE HOWARD

Chapter Nine