Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

25

Once the king and queen were reconciled, I began to hope that there might soon be an opportunity to ask the king to sanction my marriage to Will. My love for him burned as brightly as ever, but he always seemed to have some good reason to delay.

In the summer the court went on progress again, this time to visit the king’s smaller houses. It was September before we settled in for a long stay at Windsor Castle. There His Grace fell ill and kept to his bedchamber for the best part of two weeks to recover from a catarrh.

In mid-November, the court moved to Oatlands. His Grace’s health was still uncertain, as was his temper. For no apparent reason, he abruptly left all but a few of his favorite courtiers behind and went to London, spending several days there before he returned.

In the first week of December we were back at Nonsuch. The king seemed cheerful, but the reason for his good mood discouraged Will and I from broaching the subject of our clandestine marriage. The king had ordered the arrests of the Duke of Norfolk and his son, the Earl of Surrey, charging both with treason. They were quickly condemned to death and their estates seized by the Crown. I never did understand what either had done to provoke King Henry’s wrath, but the imminent execution of the earl, someone Will had known and considered a friend since their days together in the Duke of Richmond’s household, convinced him that this was no time to ask favors of the king.

I agreed with him, until King Henry granted him Norfolk House, in Lambeth. Surely that was a sign that Will had the king’s affection. It was the queen herself who stopped me when I would have approached His Grace.

“Have a care, Bess,” she warned. “The king takes away as easily as he gives. Remember just how he acquired Norfolk House in order to pass it on to Will.”

“But His Grace remains devoted to you, Your Grace,” I said. Ever since the king had thwarted Gardiner’s scheme, he had showered his wife with expensive gifts.

“Does he?” Queen Kathryn’s eyes tracked a man chatting with friends on the far side of the presence chamber. I recognized him as Sir Thomas Seymour, Lord Hertford’s younger brother, and suddenly remembered all the old stories about Seymour and the queen.

He was a handsome man with a reddish-brown beard and sleepy hazel eyes that instantly put images of darkened bedchambers into a woman’s mind. He had been largely absent from court since I’d been a part of it, but he had returned in August, just in time for the celebrations surrounding the signing of a peace treaty with France. He knew who I was. He and Will often played tennis together. That did not stop him from scattering improper suggestions in among a flurry of compliments. Only Will’s timely arrival prevented me from telling “Tom,” as he insisted I call him, what I thought of his crude innuendos.

“He’s a good fellow,” Will said as we took our leave of Tom Seymour, “and a master of inventive cursing.”

“That can hardly endear him to the king.” King Henry’s only oath was a mild “By St. George!”

“The king appreciates Tom’s skill as a diplomat,” Will said.

I supposed he was more subtle in his dealings with other gentlemen than he was with the ladies. Then again, many women seemed to find his swaggering self-confidence appealing. Nothing about Tom Seymour was attractive to me. Compared to Will, he was a crude, self-centered brute.

Without warning, King Henry left Nonsuch for Whitehall. He took with him four gentlemen of the privy chamber and the members of his Privy Council, including Will. Everyone else, even Queen Kathryn, was forbidden to follow them. Queen and court were to go to Greenwich for Yuletide, but His Grace did not intend to join us there.

“What do you think it means that the king is at Whitehall and Her Grace is here?” I asked Mary as we watched the masque performed on Christmas Eve.

“No one knows,” Mary said, “but I can tell you that Lady Hertford, Lady Lisle, and Lady Denny are concerned because they have not heard a word from their husbands since they left Nonsuch.”

A few days later, Lady Hertford approached me as I sat sewing in a quiet corner of the presence chamber. “Walk with me, Bess.” It was an order, not an invitation.

We made our way to the queen’s gallery, where we could stroll without going out into the cold. The frigid weather had arrived early this year, making roads even more treacherous than usual.

The only sounds were our footfalls on the rush matting. Pale sunlight filtered through the window glass, full of dust motes. When we reached the end, Anne Hertford laid a surprisingly firm hand on my arm, preventing me from starting back the other way. “Queen Kathryn wishes to know if you have been in communication with her brother.”

I shook my head. “Not a word, my lady. Not since Will left here with the king.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Is . . . does the queen think . . . I mean . . .” I stammered to a halt, reluctant to put my worst fears into words.

The Countess of Hertford had to look up to meet my eyes, but my greater height did not give me any advantage. She might be small of stature, but she had a forceful personality. “I know what you would ask: Does His Grace mean to cast off yet another wife?” She released me and turned to stare out at the orchard and the great garden beyond. “Shall I tell you what I think? I believe the king is dying and that he knows it. He has left Her Grace behind because he does not want to risk having her meddle in his plans for the succession.”

Shocked, I could only stare at her.

Ever since the day I’d found the warrant for the queen’s arrest and warned Her Grace of her danger, she and the ladies who knew of it had been friendlier toward me. I was not in their confidence, but they seemed to trust me. Now Anne, Countess of Hertford, notorious for treating underlings with disdain, had taken it upon herself to speak to me of the most forbidden topic in the realm—the king’s death. I was honored. I was also very afraid.

“Things are changing at great speed, Bess. Those of us who are forward thinking must look ahead.”

“I do not understand what you mean.” But I was beginning to have an inkling.

“My husband is Prince Edward’s uncle on his mother’s side,” Lady Hertford said. “Although the queen believes she will be named regent during his minority, it is clear that King Henry has his doubts about her ability to rule for the boy. The lords on the Privy Council have been meeting at my husband’s London house rather than at court. I take that as a sign of what is to come.”

So, I thought, Lady Hertford had been in contact with her husband the earl. I wondered if the other ladies in the queen’s inner circle knew.

“I sympathize with your . . . situation with the queen’s brother, Bess. There is no question in my mind that his first marriage is invalid and, since it never existed, there is no barrier to a wedding between the two of you.”

When I said nothing, Lady Hertford’s expression turned grim.

“My husband is prepared to help you, for a price. Everything you desire can be yours, Bess. All you need do is set pen to paper as I dictate.”

What she proposed was simple. As Lord Parr and Earl of Essex, Will would throw his support to Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, urging the dying king to name Hertford as regent during Edward’s minority. Once King Henry was dead and Hertford had control of the government, he would reward Will by elevating him in the peerage, granting him land and houses, and giving him permission to marry me.

“The queen would do the same,” I said.

“The king left her behind,” Anne Hertford reminded me. “Kathryn Parr will not be made regent.”

“And can a mere regent issue a royal decree?” This seemed to me to be a flaw in the plan. Besides, King Henry was the only one who had the right to decide how England should be governed after his death. I found Lady Hertford’s scheming distasteful.

“A regent acts in the place of a king.” The countess sounded impatient. If she’d been tall enough, she’d have been looking down her nose at me. “Must I sweeten the pot, Bess? Very well. Think on this: when the king dies, the queen will become queen dowager only and must leave the court. You will lose your post and be sent home to your family. If you wish to stay close to your lover, you must join the household of someone certain to remain, such as the regent’s wife. If you do as I say now, I will appoint you as one of my waiting gentlewomen until such time as you marry.”

I had a sudden vision of Lady Hertford taking over the queen’s apartments, even sitting in the chair of estate under its canopy to receive foreign dignitaries. What arrogance! But if the Earl of Hertford’s regency came to pass, far better for me to be on his wife’s good side than to make an enemy of her.

“Will may not pay any attention to my wishes,” I warned her. But I went with her to find pen and paper and wrote the letter she dictated.