Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

The King had never been merry since first hearing of the Queen’s misconduct, but he has been so since, especially on the 29th, when he gave a supper and banquet with twenty-six ladies at the table, besides gentlemen, and thirty-five at another table adjoining. The lady for whom he showed the greatest regard was a sister of Lord Cobham. … She is a pretty young creature, with wit enough to do as badly as the others if she were to try. The King is also said to fancy a daughter … by her first marriage, of the wife of Lord Lisle, late deputy of Calais.

—Eustace Chapuys, imperial ambassador to England, to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, 9 February 1542

17

Although Nan had told the king that his daughter was a kind mistress, she lived on the periphery of the Lady Mary’s household. She had no official position and few duties. She was puzzled when Bess Jerningham told her that Mary wanted a word with her and even more bemused when Mary, who was walking for exercise in a long indoor gallery, sent her other attendants away.

“You may wonder why I asked for you.” The princess set off at a brisk pace. As she walked two or three miles every day after breakfast, Nan had to scramble to keep up.

“It is not my place to wonder, Your Grace.”

Mary laughed. “I doubt that stops any of my ladies from speculating in the privacy of their own minds. No matter. I have observed you for some time now, Nan Bassett, ever since Lady Kingston first presented you to me.”

Nan remembered that day. Queen Jane had been struggling to give birth to Prince Edward.

“Why did the king, my father, send you to me?”

The blunt question took Nan aback, but she had her answer ready. It was nothing but the truth. “I had nowhere else to go, Your Grace. My stepfather is still in the Tower and my mother is held prisoner in Calais. Two of my sisters are dependent upon my widowed sister-in-law and the third serves the Lady Anna of Cleves.”

“Did His Majesty send you to spy on me?”

“No, Your Grace.” Nan was genuinely shocked.

“Then perhaps he wished us to become friends. It is no secret that my father intends to marry again, or that he is encouraged to do so by his advisors, who want him to produce more sons to secure the succession.”

Nan remained silent. She knew enough of Mary’s history to understand that, until King Henry had divorced Catherine of Aragon and married Anne Boleyn, Mary Tudor had been heiress presumptive. She had been raised by her mother to rule England. Then she had been disinherited and declared illegitimate. The king might someday restore her to the succession, but in the meantime it must gall her to contemplate the prospect of yet another stepmother, yet another rival for the throne.

“A few days ago, you were summoned to a banquet at Whitehall, Nan Bassett.”

“I was, Your Grace.”

“I am told by the imperial ambassador that the king was particularly attentive to three of his guests. You were one of them.”

Mary strode purposefully along and Nan had to walk quickly to keep pace with her. She was beginning to tire.

“He was kind enough to say that he means to release my stepfather from the Tower, Your Grace.” He had not yet done so.

Mary paused to stare at Nan with her nearsighted squint as she considered that information. “There is more, I think, to His Grace’s interest in you. There are some who believe he considers that you would make him a most excellent queen.”

“I do not think such an outcome is likely, Your Grace.”

“Why? Because you were once his mistress?”

Nan shrank back before the vehemence of the question. She was not physically afraid of Mary. The other woman was small and spare, almost delicate looking, and very thin, while Nan, for the most part, enjoyed robust good health. But Mary had an air of authority about her. A sense of power as yet unleashed. There was no safe reply Nan could make. She could not deny that she had been intimate with the king, but telling his daughter that they’d coupled only once did not seem like a good idea.

With admirable calm, Mary resumed her daily exercise. At the end of the gallery, she stopped and turned, framed by a wall of glass and a view of the snow-covered garden beyond. “You were at the king’s banquet and I was not. You were singled out for His Grace’s attention. I have no doubt that you took note of which other ladies he favored.”

“He took care to speak with each of his guests, Your Grace.”

Mary made an impatient gesture. “The ambassador tells me that His Grace showed the greatest regard for Lady Wyatt. How is that possible?”

Nan blinked at her in confusion. “Lady … Wyatt?” She did not recall meeting anyone by that name.

“Sir Thomas Wyatt’s wife, a woman he put aside some years ago with the claim that she’d committed adultery.”

Nan frowned. “The king would never consider marrying a woman with such a scandal in her past. Besides, her husband is still alive.” And, ironic as it seemed, given the reason for the rift, it was nearly impossible to dissolve a marriage in England now that King Henry had broken away from the church of Rome.

“She was described to me as a pretty young thing,” the Lady Mary said.

“That cannot be Sir Thomas’s wife.” Nan remembered a little about the old scandal now. “She has a son older than I am.”

“But who else could she have been? The imperial ambassador told me that the woman in question was Lord Cobham’s sister, Elizabeth Brooke.”

Nan stifled a laugh. “Your Grace, there is a second Elizabeth Brooke, a girl of fifteen or so. She is the current Lord Cobham’s daughter. Lady Wyatt is her aunt.”

“Ah, I see.” Mary’s thin lips twitched and there was laughter in her bright brown eyes. “Yes, that makes more sense.”

His Grace should consider an older woman, Nan mused. Someone who could nurse him as he himself advanced into old age. She did not express that radical thought aloud.

“Who was the third?” Mary’s abrupt question brought Nan back to her surroundings.

“The third lady in whom he is interested? I am not certain, Your Grace.”

The princess’s expression was rueful. “I fear the ambassador is not always reliable when it comes to English names, his native language being Spanish. He identified her as the daughter of Madam Albart, but I know of no such woman. And he said she was Sir Anthony Browne’s niece.”

Nan struggled to recall if the king had paid special attention to anyone in particular. After a moment, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “I believe, Your Grace, that he meant Lady Lucy Somerset, the Earl of Worcester’s daughter. Worcester’s secondary title is Lord Herbert of Ragland.” Herbert and Albart, she reasoned, sounded enough alike to cause a foreigner to err.

“And is she Sir Anthony Browne’s niece?”

“Her father’s second wife, Lady Lucy’s stepmother, is Sir Anthony’s sister.” Nan was grateful for her mother’s coaching in the relationships between courtiers. It was often useful to know who was kin to whom.

“You have been most helpful. I am in your debt, Mistress Bassett.”

“I wonder, Your Grace …”

“Yes.”

“How was I described that you could identify me?”

“That is no mystery. The ambassador called you a daughter by her first marriage of the wife of the former deputy of Calais. Who else could you be?”

Philippa, Cat, or Mary, Nan thought.

The princess dismissed her with further expressions of gratitude, leaving Nan with no duties to take her mind off the implications of what she’d just been told. She’d denied the king’s interest in her as a potential wife when the suggestion came from her friend Anne, but if even King Henry’s daughter believed it was a possibility …

Nan told herself this was another mistake on the part of the imperial ambassador, akin to identifying the wrong Elizabeth Brooke, but she did not believe it. That night she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, unable to stop worrying about the future. Did the king want to marry her? Was that why, even though she had been given her own small chamber, he had not sent for her? Was that why he planned to release her mother and stepfather—so that he would not be marrying a traitor’s daughter?

She was young and pretty. And His Grace had known her longer than he had known Lucy or Bess. Perhaps he felt more comfortable with her. No doubt that made her more attractive to him.

“But I do not want to be queen,” she whispered into her pillow.

KING HENRY HELD another banquet a week after Catherine Howard’s execution. Once again, he flirted openly with Nan and set tongues wagging. Nan put on a brave face and flirted back, but inside she was quaking. Only the fact that this gathering, on the twenty-first of February, was right before Lent kept her from yielding to panic and fleeing the court.

Nan had come to the conclusion that she must find a way to deflect the king’s amorous interest. It was not only that she’d developed an ever-increasing distaste for his person. Her life might well depend upon it.

Parliament had passed the law Anne Herbert had spoken of in time for the king to use it to condemn Catherine Howard to death. Under that law, Nan’s situation was the same as the late queen’s. If anyone investigated Nan’s past—questioned Kate Stradling, talked to Mother Gristwood—Nan’s life could be forfeit for deceiving the king about her virginity.

Another week passed. Nan slept poorly at night. Lord Lisle had not yet been released. In weak moments she selfishly hoped he would not be.

On the first of March, as Nan’s newly acquired maidservant laced her into her garments, Nan realized she had lost weight. After she dismissed the girl, she studied her face in her looking glass. A stranger looked back at her—hollow eyed, pale, haunted.

It was her beauty that had attracted His Grace. Lose that and she would lose his interest. Nan only wished she could! But if he stopped wanting to please her, there could be even more wide-reaching consequences. Until her mother and stepfather were free, she must go on as she had been.

She combed her hair and donned a French hood, steeling herself to face the day. But before she could leave her lodgings, Anthony Denny appeared at her door.

For a moment, she thought he’d come to escort her to the king’s bed, although early morning seemed an odd time for a tryst. Then she saw the grave expression on his face.

“He’s gone, Nan,” Denny said. “Lord Lisle died in the Tower early this morning.”

A bone-deep chill swept over her, leaching warmth from her limbs and her face and leaving her dizzy. “Executed?” she whispered.

Denny’s eyes widened in surprise. “Never think it! Lisle received word of his pardon last night. The shock of learning he was to be released must have been too much for him.”

Guilt washed through her. “I should have gone to visit him when the king first promised to set him free. I could have prepared him for this news.” She had not wanted to raise false hopes, or so she’d told herself. The real truth was that, just like everyone else at court, she’d shied away from associating with an accused traitor.

“He was an old man,” Denny said kindly. “He lived a long, full life.”

Tears blurred her vision as she struggled to come to terms with what had happened. “But he was pardoned? There is no longer any taint on his name?”

“A full pardon. By now Lady Lisle has been freed. I expect she will leave Calais and return to England within the next few days.”

“And the lands and property confiscated by the Crown?”

Denny avoided her eyes. “I … uh … there was no provision made to return them.”

Nan swallowed the lump in her throat. She did not look forward to facing her mother. Lord Lisle dead. Property lost. Nan’s failures would far outweigh her success.

TWO WEEKS AFTER Lord Lisle’s death, Nan was still far from ready to deal with her mother. Lady Lisle had sent word that she would not come to court. This struck Nan as a bad sign. It meant that Honor Lisle felt no gratitude toward the king for her release. Doubtless, she blamed King Henry for her husband’s death. Nan could only hope she would not say or do something that would land her back in prison facing new charges of treason.

It was a woman Nan had never seen before who fetched her from the Lady Mary’s presence chamber at Greenwich Palace. She introduced herself as Lady Hungerford. “So,” she said, radiating disapproval from every pore, “you are the one my stepson thinks to marry.”

Taken aback, Nan was at a loss for words. She remembered that Lady Hungerford had accused Wat’s father of imprisoning and mistreating her. Nan did not recall Wat having ever said anything else about his stepmother. It seemed unlikely that Lady Hungerford held Wat’s wardship. She’d not have had the wherewithal to buy it from the Crown after her husband’s attainder. That meant she had no say in arranging his marriage. A good thing, Nan thought.

“You know the boy I mean,” Lady Hungerford continued. “He is too young for you, mistress, even if either of you had a feather to fly with.”

Even though her words echoed what Nan had told Wat, she resented the unsolicited opinion and was tempted to tell this odious woman that she fully intended to marry her precious stepson. Nan’s better judgment prevailed before she blurted out something she’d regret.

“I am certain that young man has forgotten all about me,” she said instead. “I have not seen or heard from him since a chance encounter at Hatfield Chase on the last royal progress.”

“I do much doubt it. He is the most stubborn fellow in all creation. I hope you will have the good sense to keep refusing him.” Without giving Nan a chance to reply, Lady Hungerford abruptly changed the subject. “I am on my way to Lady Garney’s house, in the village of Greenwich. Your mother is staying there and asked that I bring you with me.”

A short time later, they were on their way. “Is Lady Garney a friend of your mother’s?” Lady Hungerford asked.

Nan nodded. “Before Sir Christopher Garney’s death, he and his wife lived in Calais for many years. But you, madam—what is your concern in this? I have never heard my mother mention your name.”

“I was Elizabeth Hussey before I wed. My sister, Mary, is your mother’s waiting gentlewoman. Tell me, where will your mother go now that she is free?”

“To Tehidy in Cornwall, or so I suppose. That is where my sisters are living.”

“And will Lady Lisle have a place there for my sister?”

In that instant, Nan realized that Lady Hungerford’s situation was no better than Lady Lisle’s. In truth, it might be worse. Lord Hungerford had not just been accused of terrible crimes, he had been executed for them. At least Nan’s stepfather had died a natural death. Worse, Lady Hungerford and Mary Hussey were also the daughters of an executed traitor.

“That will be my mother’s decision to make,” Nan said, “but if they spent months imprisoned together, they have either become fast friends or your sister is ready to chew off her own arm to escape spending another moment in my mother’s company.”

Mary Hussey was waiting for them at the door to Lady Garney’s house. She rushed into her sister’s arms. “I have missed you so!” Mary cried. “Please say you have come to take me away with you.”

Lady Hungerford went stiff as a poker. “I am about to remarry. I—”

“Then you will want some of your own kin with you.” Mary beamed at her. “I will help you set up your new household.”

Lady Hungerford’s glance shot daggers at a grinning Nan, but then she unbent sufficiently to speak kindly to her sister. “Are you certain Lady Lisle can spare you? You have an obligation to remain in her service if she still has need of you.”

“Mistress Hussey,” Nan interrupted, “do you wish to be free of my mother?”

“More than you can know!” Mary clapped both hands over her mouth, but it was too late to call back the tactless words.

Nan patted Mary’s arm to reassure her. “Go with your sister with my blessing. Indeed, you may leave as soon as you are packed. There is no need to tell my mother. I will let her know that you have gone.” If Lady Lisle lost her temper over Mary Hussey’s departure, it might dilute some of her anger toward Nan.

Nan found her mother waiting for her in Lady Garney’s solar, a sunlit upper room used for needlework and reading. Lady Lisle was clad entirely in black and seemed smaller than Nan remembered. Her face was pinched and her eyes had a bruised look, but the fervor that burned in them had a manic quality.

“Well,” she said in a soft, dangerous voice, “here you are at last, my failure of a daughter.”

“What would you have had me do, Mother? Offend the king and be banished from court? I’d be no help to anyone then.”

“You are high in His Grace’s favor these days, or so I hear. Lady Garney may not frequent the royal court, but by living in Greenwich, hard by one of the king’s favorite palaces, she is in a position to hear rumors.”

“I am one of several ladies whose company the king enjoys.”

“Just how much does he enjoy it?” Honor demanded.

Nan felt herself flush.

“So, that is the way of it, is it? Then I wonder even more that you could not persuade King Henry to do right by your kin.”

Nan had to bite her lower lip to keep silent. Protestations of any kind would only make matters worse.

Silence hung over the room like a funeral pall, ominous and oppressive. Nan fought not to fidget as the seconds crawled past. She studied her mother’s face, seeing there the unmistakable signs of an overwrought mind. Honor’s mouth worked. Her eyes blinked rapidly, although she shed no tears. Then she turned a look of sheer maddened hatred on Nan.

Involuntarily, Nan took a step back. Her mother had always had a volatile temper, always been quick to cast blame and slow to forgive. But Nan had never seen her like this. Had Lady Lisle’s imprisonment and the death of her much-loved husband caused her to run mad?

Nan’s mother blinked. The contortions in her face smoothed out. “Well,” she said, “what’s done is done. Best make what you can of it. If the king wants you for his mistress, so be it, but marry him if you can. I waited upon Anne Boleyn in the days before she wed His Grace. Once she let him into her bed and got herself with child, he’d have done anything for her.”

Nan stared at her mother in alarm and dismay.

Honor leaned forward in her chair and caught one of Nan’s hands in a clawlike grip. “Whatever woman the king marries has influence over him. Play your cards right, my girl, and you can convince him to return England to the true faith.”

Horrified at the thought of meddling in matters of religion, Nan sputtered out a protest. “His Grace does not tolerate opinions that differ from his own.” Moreover, the king grew more irascible, intolerant, and despotic with every passing day.

“If you wish to leave the court,” Honor said in a disgruntled voice, “I will take you back to Cornwall with me.”

Anything would be better than that! “I will remain where I am, Mother. I will do what I can for the good of the family, but do not expect more of me than I can accomplish.”

Honor wagged a gnarled finger at her. “Mark my words. If you are the king’s mistress and do not go on to become his wife, you’ll be sent packing as soon as he tires of you.”

And if she married the king, Nan thought, she’d likely end up with her head on the block!

Nan returned to court in a troubled frame of mind. If even her mother had heard the rumor that the king wanted to marry her, she had to take it seriously. And she had to take action at once to prevent His Grace from proposing to her. There was only one practical solution. To save herself, she had to divert King Henry’s attention to some other woman.

THE KING PAID regular visits to his daughter’s lodgings at court. Although he spent some of his time with the Lady Mary, he spent more flirting with her ladies. When his game leg permitted the exercise, he danced with a great number of them, but Nan was his most frequent partner. He kept her with him when he played at cards or dice. And it was to Nan he complained when his ulcer caused him pain. It was Nan he took aside, into any convenient alcove, to fondle and kiss.

Nan seized upon every opportunity to praise the charms of Lucy Somerset and of Bess Brooke, but His Grace did not take the hint. Since neither was at court, it was a simple matter for him to forget that he’d once admired them both.

Nothing had been resolved by early June, when the king went off to inspect havens along the coast. The Lady Mary returned to her own house at Hunsdon, taking Nan with her. It was there that Anne Herbert’s sister, Lady Latimer, joined the Lady Mary’s household.

They were back at Greenwich on the nineteenth, in time to meet the king on his return from Harwich. The court soon swelled with visitors. Among them was Wat Hungerford. He made a point of dancing with Nan.

“You are as lovely as ever, Mistress Bassett.”

“And you have been polishing your flattery, Master Hungerford.” He had continued to fill out since she’d last seen him. She could not fault his looks. Indeed, if she had not known better, she’d have taken him for a man of her own years.

They danced apart and then together again. “I have been restored in blood by an act of Parliament,” he said.

“I am pleased for you.”

Apart. Together.

“It is likely that, in time, my title will be restored as well.”

Apart. Together.

Nan’s heart rate speeded up. She was about to receive a proposal of marriage, and from someone who might yet be a nobleman. How ironic. Even if there were no other arguments against the match, she did not dare accept him now. Not while the king appeared to be courting her. Wat Hungerford would have no future at all if King Henry saw him as a rival.

She spoke before he could. “It is dangerous to us both to consider more than friendship, Master Hungerford.”

Apart. Together.

“I will take any crumb you let fall, Mistress Bassett. I accept your offer of friendship.”

He set out to be good company and entertained her for the rest of the evening with a seemingly endless supply of amusing stories. He also managed to coax Nan into sharing some of her fondest memories of childhood. She could not help but be flattered by his attention and decided that it was just as well that he could not marry without permission until he turned twenty-one. Otherwise, she might be tempted.

The next day she returned with renewed determination to the task of finding a wife for the king. Mistress Brooke seemed the best prospect. She had a pleasing personality and a love of music and dance and rich clothing. She had been carefully brought up, shielded from temptation, and so was undoubtedly a virgin. Surely the king would see what an excellent bride she would make him.

He might have, had she been at court, but Lord Cobham had heard the rumors, too. He kept his daughter safe at Cooling Castle, in Kent.

Fortunately, the king did not seem in any rush to remarry. Although his advisors urged him to wed again and produce more heirs, one son being considered insufficient to make the realm secure, His Grace said nothing to Nan. She went from day to day by rote, performing her duties for the Lady Mary, flirting with the king, hating the sameness but at the same time dreading that her situation might change.

It was war with Scotland that finally broke the routine. In August, an army was sent north to fight England’s traditional enemy. Lord Latimer was one of the commanders and Kathryn prayed daily for his safe return. She was devastated when, just after the Battle of Solway Moss, she received word that he had fallen ill.

“At least he was not wounded,” Nan said.

But Kathryn could not be consoled. When Latimer returned to London, she took a leave of absence from the Lady Mary’s household to nurse him.

In late November, the Earl of Sussex died at Chelsea. Nan felt sorrow for Cousin Mary’s loss. In spite of their age difference, Mary had been fond of her husband. Then it occurred to Nan that the widowed Countess of Sussex might make an excellent wife for the king of England.

The countess did not cooperate. Like Bess Brooke, she stayed away from court. So did Lucy Somerset. Lord Latimer’s declining health might mean his son would soon inherit the title. Nan was certain her friend would prefer a young and virile husband to the aging, ailing king, but she did not let that stop her from mentioning Lucy to His Grace at every opportunity, and Mary and Bess, too.

They moved to Hampton Court in December. The Lady Mary’s lodgings there had been newly refurbished since her last visit, no doubt because the king meant to spend more time in those apartments than in his own. Nan continued to be the focus of his attention. He hinted that he had a special New Year’s gift in mind for her.

Nan grew increasingly nervous as the Yuletide celebrations commenced. Everyone around her seemed cheerful and full of optimism. She avoided most of them, but she found herself drawn to Kathryn Latimer, who had returned to her duties but showed as little enthusiasm for the festive season as Nan.

“What is wrong, Kathryn?” Nan asked. “Is your husband still ailing?”

“Lord Latimer is dying,” Kathryn said bluntly. Her fingers clenched so hard on the book of prayers she held that she left little pockmarks in the purple velvet cover.

“You should be with him.”

Kathryn burst into tears. “He will not allow it. He insisted I return to court.”

Nan comforted her, surprised all over again, as she rocked Kathryn in her arms, at how tiny the other woman was. She had a delicate build and attractive features, something people rarely noticed because she did not thrust herself forward. With a bevy of vivacious ladies surrounding the princess, she went virtually unnoticed.

Kathryn Latimer did have her enthusiasms, Nan remembered—dancing, jewelry, hunting with a crossbow. And she was by nature gentle, generous, and kind.

Nan stepped back to better study her friend. Kathryn had experience in nursing an ailing spouse. She was experienced in the bedchamber, as well, but no one could fault her for that because she’d gained it through two lawful marriages. She was thirty years old, but still young enough to have children.

The red-rimmed eyes were temporary. Once Lord Latimer was dead, Kathryn would mourn, but she’d recover. She’d undoubtedly remarry. Widows did.

Nan smiled to herself as she offered Kathryn Parr a handkerchief. Unless she was very much mistaken, she had just found the perfect candidate to become King Henry’s sixth wife.