Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

This year, the fourth day of August … Clement Philpott, gentleman, late of Calais, and servant to the Lord Lisle … with six persons more, were hanged, drawn, and quartered.

—Charles Wriothesley, Windsor Herald, Chronicle, 4 August 1540

13

My lord of Rutland,” Nan said, dipping her head, “a word with you?”

His frown told her she’d caught him in the middle of some important business. “Be brief, if you will, Mistress Nan.”

“The queen … the Lady Anna has little need of my services, my lord.”

“You wish to leave her household?”

“No, my lord. I beg leave to travel to London to visit my stepfather.”

“Ah. Hmmm.” He tugged at his beard as he considered her request. “I suppose there is no harm in it. Did you wish to take your sister with you?”

“I would not dream of depriving Lady Rutland of Cat’s company. My maid will accompany me. I will not be away long. A week at the most.”

One of Rutland’s secretaries approached carrying several letters. Rutland ignored him. “Will you make the journey by water or by road?”

Nan had brought the horse the king had given her to Richmond. “I will ride, with Constance on a pillion behind me.”

“My lord,” murmured the secretary, “it is a matter of some urgency.”

Even rushed, Rutland was conscientious. “You may leave in the morning, but I will send two of my own men with you. They will escort you to my house in Shoreditch. You will reside there during your visit.” It was less an invitation than a condition. “There is plague in London again this summer. The number of deaths there reached nearly three hundred last week. Once you pass through Bishopsgate, ride straight to the Tower. Keep your pomander ball to your nose at all times to avoid breathing in the contagion.”

Nan was not much concerned about the plague. There were outbreaks every summer, particularly in heavily populated areas like London. That was why the court usually spent the hottest months of the year in the countryside. She thanked the earl effusively and was at Rutland House by evening the following day.

The next morning, Nan explored the premises. It did not take her long to discover a way to leave without being seen by the small staff left behind by the earl and countess. A short time later, Nan’s old friend the megrim provided her with an excuse to retire to her bedchamber. She was out again within an hour.

They walked to the Tower of London, where Nan approached one of the warders, unmistakable in the king’s livery, and demanded to be taken to her stepfather. As she’d expected, she was escorted instead to the constable of the Tower. Or rather, to his lodgings, where Lady Kingston greeted her and offered her a choice of barley water or ale while they waited for a servant to fetch Sir William.

“Lord Lisle is in excellent health,” Lady Kingston said.

“I am relieved to hear it, but I wish to see for myself that he is well and has everything he needs.”

“I assure you, he lacks for nothing. High-born prisoners’ expenses are paid out of their confiscated estates. He has two servants, a comfortable apartment in the Bell Tower, and a goodly supply of coals, wood, and candles.”

Nan suppressed a smile at Lady Kingston’s defensive attitude. She kept her expression somber and lowered her voice. “That is all very well, but others who were once lodged here in similar comfort have since been executed.” She did not have to name them. Lady Kingston had known the Marquis of Exeter and Lord Montagu and their friends from her days at court, and Thomas Cromwell, too.

The two women politely exchanged news of mutual acquaintances until Sir William appeared. Already briefed, he offered to escort Nan to Lord Lisle’s rooms himself.

To reach the Bell Tower, which stood sixty feet high and housed a bell in the wooden turret at its summit, they had to pass through the lord lieutenant’s lodgings. These were in the process of being rebuilt. The noise and confusion of the construction project was so great that Nan was surprised her stepfather had not slipped away under its cover. She understood why he had not when she saw the two burly guards posted just outside the door to his rooms. Sir William left Nan there, promising to return for her in an hour.

Lord Lisle’s appearance filled Nan with dismay. He had lost weight and more than ever looked his age.

“My dear,” he said when he’d kissed her, “it is good to see you. But how does your mother fare? They will not let me write to her.”

“The same restriction must apply to her,” Nan said, “for I’ve heard nothing from her directly. But I am certain she is well treated. And neither of you has been put on trial. That has to be a good sign.”

Lord Lisle’s shoulders slumped. “Reason for optimism? Ah, Nan, I wish I could believe it.”

“Is there anything you need, my lord?”

“Aside from the king’s pardon?” He managed a small smile.

“Aside from that.” As a last resort, she would plead with His Grace for her stepfather’s life. She would ask for a pardon for him and for the release of her family in Calais. But, for the moment, all her kin seemed safe enough. Ned Corbett was another matter.

“I have creature comforts,” Lord Lisle said. “And I am allowed to walk on the leads for exercise. In time, I may be granted what they call ‘the liberty of the Tower’—the freedom to wander anywhere in the precinct.”

Nan spent the full hour with her stepfather. By the time Sir William came for her, she knew considerably more about daily life in the Tower of London. She also knew that Ned, as a gentleman, had a cell to himself, and that his manservant, Browne, had been allowed to move in with him to see to his needs. The plan she’d conceived at Richmond could work. Its success or failure now depended upon the character of the constable.

The bell in the Bell Tower began to ring as she and Sir William crossed Tower Green. “That is the signal that it is five o’clock and time for all the gates to be shut and locked for the night,” he said. “All prisoners are required to withdraw into their chambers. Have you a place to stay in London?”

“I thought perhaps an inn …”

The rules of hospitality obligated Sir William to invite her to spend the night in his lodgings. Over supper, Nan flattered her host by asking questions about his duties and listening carefully to his answers. But she waited until Lady Kingston excused herself to use the privy to broach the subject of the men who had been released from prison following Lord Cromwell’s death.

“I have heard that His Grace took pity on them, even though they had been exempted from the general pardon.”

Sir William discarded a well-gnawed chicken bone. Relaxed by good food and wine and relishing the attention of a pretty maid of honor, he had no qualms about trying to impress her with his special knowledge of the matter. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Nan sent him an eager look. “About those men from Calais?”

The constable nodded. “The king did not order their release. The lord chancellor took it upon himself to let them go. They were misguided in matters of religion, but not guilty of doing any real harm.”

“And there was no trouble over it?” Sir William’s attitude was unexpected but most welcome—if he meant what he said. Nan chewed and swallowed but had no idea what she was eating.

Sir William chuckled. “The king was, and is, preoccupied.”

“Yes. He is. I wonder … if you had someone in your charge who had done no real harm, might you be inclined to extend the same mercy to him?”

A look of alarm raced across his face. “I cannot free your stepfather. His absence would be noticed.”

“I can see that. He is too important.”

“Yes. A nobleman. I could no more let him go free than I could release the old Countess of Salisbury.”

Nan had forgotten that Lord Montagu’s mother was still a prisoner in the Tower. She’d been charged with treason for nothing more than corresponding with another of her sons. Unfortunately for her, that son was Reginald, Cardinal Pole.

Nan bit delicately into a piece of manchet bread. “What if the prisoner were someone of no importance?”

He chuckled indulgently. Clearly, he did not think she was seriously proposing that he do such a thing. “I suppose it would depend upon the crime, and upon the man.”

“And whether anyone would notice he was gone?”

“Indeed.”

Nan hesitated. There would be no going back once she mentioned Ned’s name. On the other hand, what she’d already said was probably enough to condemn her, even if the constable did think she was jesting.

“Sir William, I am in earnest. If you truly believe a man innocent, and if no one would notice he’d gone, then surely—”

“Who would you have me release?” His voice hardened but he made no move to call the guards.

At the last moment, Nan lost her nerve. “There is a servant. A man named Browne. He is unimportant, save to my tiring maid. Constance has an attachment to the fellow.”

“Ned Corbett’s man?”

“Yes. I know Browne was exempted from the king’s pardon, but so were those men in the Fleet.” Nan took a deep breath and added, “So was Master Corbett himself.” Her heart was in her throat but she managed a little trill of laughter. “He is not very important, either.”

Sir William ran a finger under his collar, as if it suddenly felt too tight. “I agree that neither man deserves to die. I’ve read their depositions. Corbett did nothing more than assist a friend, but that friend turned out to be a foul traitor.”

“So he knew nothing of the plot to overthrow Calais?”

“So he says, but that will not save him. He’ll be executed along with the rest of the conspirators.”

Except for Sir Gregory Botolph, Nan thought bitterly. The king’s men had found no trace of him. Aloud, but softly, she said, “Corbett and Browne need not die. You could save them.”

“Not without considerable risk to myself.” He picked another piece of chicken off the platter.

With Lady Kingston likely to return at any moment, Nan proceeded with the plan she’d conceived before leaving Richmond Palace. It might have a better chance of success than she’d originally thought, given Sir William’s avowed sympathy for Ned.

“Would clear title to Painswick Manor make the risk more bearable?”

Sir William froze with a chicken leg halfway to his mouth. “Painswick? I already own it. I purchased the property from Lord Cromwell after he obtained it from your mother and stepfather. True, the transaction was only half complete at the time of Cromwell’s arrest, and his lands were forfeit to the Crown, but I have sued out a special grant. I expect to have clear title to the property any day now.”

“Painswick,” Nan said, telling the bold lie without a flicker of hesitation, “was not my mother’s to sell. It belongs to my brother John Bassett, who is not attainted and is therefore free to challenge your ownership.”

“But Painswick cost me fourteen hundred pounds.”

Nan said nothing for several minutes, letting Sir William jump to the conclusion that he would never get his money back if John pressed his claim and won.

“Sir William,” Nan said softly when she thought he’d stewed long enough, “Ned Corbett and my brother are great friends. If Corbett and his man Browne are released, John will leave matters as they are with regard to Painswick.”

Nan’s fate, as well as Ned’s, hung in the balance while Sir William considered what she’d said. She thanked God he was already inclined to help, that he’d approved of the lord chancellor’s action at the Fleet. She only hoped that her threat—or perhaps it was a bribe—would be enough to convince him to do as she asked.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the constable’s eyes narrowed. Had he seen through her fabrication? Was he about to arrest her?

“Have a boat waiting in the shallows of St. Katherine’s Dock at midnight tomorrow.”

Nan had only enough time to nod before Lady Kingston entered the room.

NAN AND CONSTANCE left the Tower early the next morning.

“Do you think he will let them go?” Constance’s anxiety echoed Nan’s.

“I pray he will, but it is up to us to procure a small boat.”

“I can steal one,” Constance offered as they fought their way through the usual crowds that clogged London’s streets.

“Can you also steal a ship bound for foreign parts? They will need to leave England as soon as possible. Otherwise, they could be arrested again, and us along with them.”

Ned was too well known among Lord Lisle’s acquaintances. All it would take would be for one of them to see him and there would be an inquiry into his release from the Tower. Even if Ned tried to shield her, Nan had no illusions about Sir William Kingston. He’d throw her to the wolves to save himself.

“This is Master Husee’s house,” Constance said in surprise when Nan stopped before the familiar edifice.

“It is,” Nan agreed, and marched up to the door.

Ten minutes later, she was alone with John Husee in his counting house, what had once been a parlor. “I left Lord Lisle’s employ some time ago,” he reminded her.

“Why?”

“To serve other clients in the same manner but for better profit. I have turned part of this house into business premises.”

“Did you know of Botolph’s plot? Is that why you abandoned my stepfather?”

Husee could not meet her eyes. “I was uneasy about the fellow,” he admitted, “and I was … advised to look elsewhere for employment.”

Nan’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Someone warned you? Who?”

“I … I would rather not say.”

Nan leaned across Husee’s worktable, staring at him until he looked up. “I did not come here to cause you trouble, Master Husee. But I could. If you had suspicions of Sir Gregory Botolph, it was remiss of you not to warn Lord Lisle.”

Husee sent her a rueful look. “An unfortunate oversight. Is there some small way I can make it up to you, Mistress Nan?”

“You can arrange passage for two men on a ship bound for the Continent. It should sail on tomorrow’s tide.”

“Do these men have passports to travel out of England?”

“Passports? I did not need one when I left England for Calais.”

“That is because you were a member of the lord deputy’s family. Everyone else requires the proper documents to travel abroad.”

Dismayed, Nan soldiered on. “How … who issues such papers?”

“Any number of people.” Husee regarded her steadily for a long moment. His fingers drummed on the tabletop in front of him. “I might be able to obtain something that will do, without going through the usual channels, but it will be expensive.”

Forged documents would be better than nothing. Nan tugged off her glove and removed the ruby ring from her finger. “The king himself gave me this. I do not know its value, but it should be worth enough to cover your expenses.”

By the way Husee’s eyes widened, Nan guessed the ring would sell for enough to leave him with a profit. “It will do. I need your friends’ names.”

Nan thought quickly. “John Browne.” His name was too common to present any problems, but there was no way Ned could travel as himself. “And Martin Rogers.” She chose the alias on the spur of the moment, but it was a good, steady, English name.

“Where can I find you when I have made the arrangements?”

“I will wait here.”

Husee looked as if he wanted to object. Then he opened his hand and took another look at the ruby. “I will return in a few hours. Make yourself at home.”

NED CORBETT’S CELL was in the Beauchamp Tower on the western curtain wall. Three floors high with a lead roof, brick floors, and whitewashed walls, it was used to hold prisoners of middling status who had been accused of treason. There were seven men currently lodged on the middle floor.

The conditions of Ned’s captivity had improved since he’d first been brought to the Tower. After he’d been allowed to send to the London goldsmith who held his money for him, he had paid to be unshackled and for a camp bed, bedding, candles, food, and drink. There had been no need to buy firewood or coals for a brazier. This was the hottest summer anyone could remember and it was warm, if damp, even within the thick stone walls of the Tower.

He was rousted from his bed in the middle of the night when the door to his cell was suddenly flung open. A man entered, carrying a lantern. It took Ned a moment to recognize him as the constable of the Tower.

On his pallet on the floor, John Browne grunted and sat up. He blinked warily at Sir William Kingston, then looked to his employer for guidance.

Kingston cleared his throat. “Get up, dress, gather your belongings, and come with me. You are both to be released at the king’s pleasure.”

Ned opened his mouth, then closed it again, sensing that there was something peculiar about this turn of events but reluctant to miss a chance at freedom. The feeling of wrongness increased when he stepped out of the cell. There were no guards in sight, nor did he see any as Kingston led them down the stairs and out of the Beauchamp Tower. As soon as they were through the outer door, Kingston closed the lantern and relied on the moon and the light from nearby buildings to guide them.

They followed the wall south toward the lord lieutenant’s lodgings. Ned recognized that building as the place where he had been questioned when he was first brought to the Tower. The kitchens there provided food for all the prisoners. Those with sufficient rank were sometimes invited to dine with Sir Edward Walsingham, the lord lieutenant. A few were even lodged in his house.

Did Walsingham know what Kingston was up to? When the constable continued to keep to the shadows, Ned decided he did not. Kingston was not releasing them. He was helping them escape.

A sense of elation filled him. He’d had no real hope of a pardon. He had nothing to lose by attempting an escape. His heart pounded with anticipation, not fear, as they went through the Byward Arch and passed the large, semicircular barbican where the royal menagerie was kept. Ned remembered visiting it years before to view four lions and two leopards in wooden cages.

Kingston proceeded along a path that looped around the Middle Tower and led to a gate. It was closed and locked and guarded by two warders, but to one side there was a little wicket. As soon as the guards were looking the other way, Kingston ushered Ned and Browne through.

Ned inhaled a deep breath of salty, sewage-filled Thames air. Freedom!

But they were still not safe. The path wound back, taking them close under the outer wall. Should anyone chance to look out a window, they’d be plainly visible in the moonlight.

They continued on until Kingston stopped and pointed. “There the moat is so narrow and the water level so low that you can climb down the bank and cross on foot. Continue on to St. Katherine’s Dock.”

By the time Ned and Browne reached the other side, Kingston had disappeared back inside the fortress.

“I’ll look for a boat,” Browne said.

“Here,” a soft voice called.

Ned stood stock still. Impossible! But that had sounded like—“Nan?”

“Hurry!”

It was Nan. She was one of two cloaked and hooded figures waiting for them in a little rowing boat. In haste, he and Browne lowered themselves into the small craft. Browne gave a strangled cry when he recognized the other person as Constance, Nan’s maid.

Suddenly Ned felt like laughing. He might have, and hauled Nan into his arms and kissed her soundly, too, but she held a finger to her lips, reminding him that they were not yet out of danger.

“Take the oars from Constance,” Nan whispered to Browne, “and row downriver. Hurry.” She shifted on the passenger seat to make room for Ned.

She kept her eyes on the wharf as they pulled away. Ned followed her gaze. He saw two cranes, used to lift goods from boats, but not a single sign of man nor beast between Petty Wales and St. Katherine’s. No one pursued them. No one even knew they were gone.

“How did you manage it?” he whispered.

“Luck, lies, a few threats, and a little judicious bribery.” She laughed softly.

Browne grunted as he bent his back to the oars. Downriver was against the tide. “How far, mistress?”

“Put in on the opposite shore,” Ned said. “We can walk back to the Red Lion in Southwark.”

“No.” Nan grabbed his arm and gestured for Browne to row on. “If you are recognized, you will be taken back to the Tower.”

“I thought we’d been pardoned,” Browne said.

“Not quite. You will have to leave the country.”

“Exile?” Ned’s jubilant mood evaporated.

“Would you rather be dead?” Nan leaned toward Browne, pointing to a small merchant ship anchored just ahead. “There. You’ll sail as soon as the tide turns. Your passage to the Low Countries has been paid.”

“And once we arrive? We have no money. No passports. No friends.” Ned gave a bitter laugh. “Better to put us ashore in Southwark and let us hide out in one of the brothels.”

Nan and Constance stared at him. Browne stopped rowing.

“I can take myself off to Winchester. Or York. Someplace where no one knows me. I’ll still have no money or gainful employment, but at least I will not need a passport.”

Nan pressed a purse made of leather into his hands. He heard the clink of coins. “I am sorry I could not manage more, but there is nearly five pounds here. And I have also procured these.” She produced two passports from the folds of her cloak.

“How—?”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Do not ask questions. Go to the Low Countries and do not look back. That passport gives you a new name. Use it to build a new life for yourself.”

Browne resumed rowing and brought them alongside the ship. Crewmen, expecting them, threw a rope ladder over the side. After a momentary hesitation, Browne climbed aboard.

Ned seized Nan’s hand. “Come with me. We would not have much, God knows, but all I have I will share with you.”

She ducked her head so that he could not have read her expression even if there had been enough light, but a tiny, choked sob reached him. “I cannot.”

“Why not? With your stepfather under arrest, you cannot expect to make a great marriage. Have you even retained your post at court?”

Nan jerked her hand free. “I have lost nothing, and I will not, so long as you leave now. If you care for me at all, Ned Corbett, then go.”

“Nan—”

“I must return to Queen Anna. To do otherwise will ruin everything. We will be pursued. Captured. Imprisoned. All of us. I cannot go with you.”

“No,” Ned said bitterly. “You do not want to.” She was unwilling to give up her post as a maid of honor. He should have known better than to think that, just because she’d risked so much to save his life, she would ever put his desires above her own.

He reached for the rope ladder and began to climb. From the deck of the ship, he looked back. Constance was already rowing away. The incoming tide carried the small boat swiftly out of sight.

CONSTANCE STARTED TO cry as soon as she and Nan abandoned the rowing boat they’d stolen and set off on foot. Her tears continued to flow all the way back to Rutland House. By the time they reached the small door hidden in the garden wall, racking sobs made Constance’s entire body shudder.

“Stop that noise at once,” Nan hissed at Constance.

The maid sniffed, gulped, and finally subsided, although anyone who noticed her puffy eyes and reddened nose would know she had been weeping.

“Control yourself,” Nan warned.

“If John Browne had asked me to go with him,” Constance said in a broken whisper, “I’d have been on that ship in a flash.”

Nan pretended not to have heard. For just an instant, she had been tempted to accept Ned’s invitation, but aside from the reasons she’d given him, there was one more thing keeping her in England. Jamie was here. She did not see him often, but she was loath to put even more distance between them.

Nan slipped back into Rutland House unseen, and into her chamber. “To bed, Constance. A few hours of sleep, and then we will pay a visit to Cheapside.”

They set out on foot at midmorning. Nan had intended all along to visit her son on this trip to London … if she managed to avoid arrest. He’d have grown since she’d last seen him. She hoped she would recognize him.

Her anticipation built as they neared Cheapside. Nan stopped to buy a poppet from a street vendor to take as a gift. She clutched it tighter when Master Carver’s shop came in sight, an excited smile on her face. It was only when she reached the door that she realized the establishment was closed. All the doors and windows were boarded up and an air of neglect hung over the building like a pall.

A cold dread began in the pit of her stomach and traveled throughout Nan’s body. She could feel the heat leach from her face. Something was terribly wrong.

Constance caught Nan’s arm to support her. “I will ask the neighbors where Master Carver has gone.”

Nan continued to stare at the empty shop, fighting to stave off the most obvious answer. But once Constance returned, there was no escape.

“It was the plague.” Nan heard her maidservant’s words through a buzzing in her ears. “The whole family died of it.”

In the back of her mind, Lord Rutland’s matter-of-fact voice echoed, reporting almost three hundred plague deaths in London the previous week.

She did not faint, but her body shut down. Unable to bear thinking, she blanked out everything. Afterward, Nan was never sure how Constance got her away from the silversmith’s shop. By the time she came back to herself and into the worst anguish she had ever known, they had returned to Shoreditch.

Devastated by the loss of her son, guilt ridden because she had not visited him more often, tormented by the thought that if she had married Ned and kept the boy, he might still be alive, Nan was barely aware of where she was or what those around her were doing.

Constance took her back to Richmond, back to the maids’ dormitory. Nan went through the motions of a normal life, but for a long time, nothing seemed real.

A small kernel of self-preservation kept Nan functioning day after day. She did not cry for all she had lost except late at night, when she was safely closed in behind the bed curtains. Even then, she was careful not to let any sound escape. She grieved in silence, despaired in solitude.

THE DAYS AT Richmond passed with such sameness that Nan scarcely noticed them slipping by. She felt only half alive, and took refuge in sleep whenever she could. She knew that Constance looked out for her and was grateful, but nothing shook her out of the darkness until the day the king paid a surprise visit.

“Why is His Grace here?” Nan whispered to Dorothy Bray. And where was his new bride?

The other maid of honor, wide eyed and tense, only shook her head. Her nervousness communicated itself to Nan—the first real emotion she’d felt in days. Hands twisted together, she waited for His Grace to enter the presence chamber of Anna of Cleves, now officially his “sister.”

The former queen received King Henry with polite affection. He kissed her cheek and presented her with a small gift. When they stepped aside to speak together in private, Anthony Denny approached Nan.

“Do you wish to remain here or join Queen Catherine’s household?” he asked after they’d exchanged pleasantries.

“I prefer to wait on the queen.” The words came out without hesitation. More than anything, Nan wanted the distraction of life at court.

“Then make preparations to leave at once for Windsor Castle. In a little more than a week, the king and queen will leave there to go on progress through Oxfordshire.”

Denny started to move on to Dorothy Bray, then turned back. “You may not have heard. The men who conspired with Sir Gregory Botolph to betray Calais were executed at Tyburn two days ago. Not your stepfather,” he hastened to add when she swayed. “I mean Clement Philpott and several others whose names I do not recall.”

With an effort, Nan regained her poise. “So should all traitors die,” she murmured.

And so Ned would have, if she had not acted when she did. She waited for Denny to mention the disappearance of two of the conspirators, but he said nothing more. Their absence on the scaffold had apparently gone unnoticed. Nan wished she could be sure, but she dared not risk reminding Anthony Denny or anyone else that Ned Corbett had once been a prisoner in the Tower of London.