The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr

FIVE

Summer, Autumn, and Winter: Year of Our Lord 1543

Hampton Court Palace

Ashridge House

Greenwich Palace

Even before her wedding Her Grace had begun to assemble her household and its goods, and the ladies and the men who would serve her now that she was queen. She surrounded herself with those she could trust and some she could not. Her uncle served as her lord chamberlain, her cousin as her cupbearer. Among her new ladies was the stunningly lovely Elisabeth Brooke, niece of the poet Thomas Wyatt, who had died the year before. The queen’s brother, William, was married to the highborn heir to the Earl of Essex, but she’d abandoned William Parr two years earlier to elope with another man, though her current marriage had not yet ended by divorce or annulment. She thus lived in bigamy, and had brazenly borne a child by her new husband, a prior, no less. William, thus abandoned, was especially taken with Elisabeth Brooke.

Kate took me aside. “Should you mind if I place you into a room with Elisabeth Brooke? She is lively and kind and I believe the two of you would find the arrangement congenial. Because of her … affection for my brother, I should prefer someone I know to be discreet to share her chamber. And”—Kate’s eyes twinkled—“because her father is Baron Cobham, her chamber will be distant from kitchen and stable smells.”

“Thank you, madam, that would be delightful,” I said. I was pleased that, in spite of my earlier intemperate remark, she viewed me as discreet enough to be trusted with a difficult situation within her family and household, one she had no control over but that could harm all involved if it was not handled with care. I determined I would uphold that confidence at all cost.

Lady Fitzgerald Browne came welcome to Kate’s household too. Irish, beautiful, and remaining staunchly Roman Catholic, she was three years younger than I but already married to Sir Anthony Browne and stepmother to his eight children. The Duchess of Suffolk was more inclined to share my lady’s persuasions and she was young and witty, but oversharp of the tongue.

One morning shortly after Kate’s marriage, we were in the midst of ordering several dozen new pairs of shoes for Kate when one of the king’s men appeared on the ground floor of the queen’s apartments at Hampton Court.

“Pardon, Your Grace, but the king would like to know if you have need of some babies.”

A titter went across the room and the king’s man went red. A saucy response was on my tongue but I endeavored to hold it back, promising myself that I would share it with Dorothy later. She had avoided any such pleasant discourse with me since Kate had changed our rooming situation.

“Thank His Majesty for me,” the queen answered. “My seamstress has provided everything required.” After the door was closed behind him we burst out laughing as Kate explained that some of the king’s men called his dressing manikins “babies.” I marveled, for a moment, of a man who cared so about clothing that he had dolls. Then I remembered ’twas His Majesty we spoke of and marveled not at all.

Later we returned to the queen’s presence chamber, up a long spiral staircase, which lay next to the Queen’s Closet and her bedchamber. The rooms faced the park and welcomed the glorious sunlight. Over the next week she ordered gowns and kirtles, sleeves, and then fine linens. Next Kate required pouches of sweet herbs for her bath—and for her bed. I found myself contemplating if His Majesty’s wound required an excessive amount of herbs to camouflage the odor and then promised myself that I should better marry soft Matthias than an old man with evil smells about him.

But ’twas not Matthias I dreamt of marrying; others might have directed my actions but they couldn’t command my dreams. At night I lay abed, in my empty chamber, and when I closed my eyes I could see Jamie’s smile, his blue eyes, his laugh. I could feel his lips upon mine and when I did I held the thought still in time, till mayhap they could revisit me again. I had thought poetry of love, which I had been required to study, perhaps a fancy of the imagination. Now I knew that it was a reflection of truth.

Seeing Kate busy writing her books and devotions had prompted me to write more often, too—to my mother. I had written to ask permission to remain in the queen’s service and shared with her news of the court, of my friends, and of my book. I had hoped for a somewhat merry response with news of all that was happening in Marlborough. She replied that I might, of course, wait upon the queen as long as the queen would have me, till I was betrothed. She did not specify when that might be, nor did she add anything of a personal nature, though we’d been parted for a year.

Hugh wrote back to me and conveyed her letter with his. “My studies go well, but I miss you, and would you please find a place for me at court?” I think he misunderstood how little influence I had, but I promised myself that I would endeavor to mention it to the queen till she found a place for him. I kept his letter tucked in my trunk and read it often just to hear his voice.

One day the queen’s sister came to her with news that one of Kate’s ladies, Lady Wriothesley, staunchly for the old religion, had lost her young son shortly after his birth. “You’ll recall Secretary Wriothesley wrote a kind note about you to the Duke of Suffolk after your wedding,” Lady Herbert said. “He also wrote kindly of you to William, our brother. Should you send a note of regret to his wife?”

Kate nodded, and whilst I folded her silks she dictated a letter to her secretary indicating that she grieved for Lady Wriothesley’s loss. Perfectly proper. Then she added, “It hath pleased God of late to disinherit your son of this world.”

Kate stopped and spoke to Lady Herbert. “I have heard that she sorrows overmuch, which is not becoming.”

“But, Kate, ’tis the loss of a child.” All knew Lady Herbert treaded lightly because the queen had been deprived of bearing a child of her own.

“I well know it’s the loss of a child,” Kate responded sharply. “Because I have not borne a child of my own does not mean that I cannot sympathize nor understand the grief of those who have.”

The room grew quiet. ’Twas rare that Kate lost her temper or dressed anyone down. But when she did none dared meddle, not even her sister, who knew better, having served in the household of each of Henry’s six wives. The queen gathered herself and turned back toward her secretary, indicating that he should continue.

“For what is excessive sorrow but plain evidence against you that your inward mind doth repine against God’s sayings, and a declaration that you are not contented that God hath put your son by nature, by his adoption, in possession of the heavenly kingdom?”

She nodded for him to finish off, she signed it Kateryn, the Queene, KP, and sealed it. No one spoke out again about the unseemly attitude she’d taken toward a young mother in grief. But I knew enough about the court, and women, and grudges long nursed, to fear that this would come back and harm her someday.

The eve afore we left on progress there was a dinner at court and then a reciting of sonnets, which the king both composed and enjoyed. Lady Fitzgerald Browne and I amused ourselves by composing witty sonnets to one another in a corner whilst waiting for the more exalted ones to be read. After some of the poems had been recited, the guests walked about talking with one another, especially as those who would not accompany the king would likely return to their own properties and not return to court till Christmas. I was nibbling on a sugared plum when John Temple approached me.

“Mistress Juliana.” He tipped his head, which, strictly speaking, he did not need to do. But ’twas polite, and I bowed mine in return. “How go the affairs of little Marlborough?” His smile was sarcastic, though he kept his tone even.

“I am shocked that you would care to know anything about our town.”

“I am most interested in what is new … and fresh … at court, mistress.” His voice had the snap of a just-bitten apple. He continued. “I’ve found that things are different in the country. More backward in some ways. More forward in others. I find you lovely.” He placed his hand on my back; he then slid his hand around the front of my gown toward my waist, but I quickly stepped away afore his fingers could further splay upward.

“Good eve, Sir John.” I retreated to the side of the room, next to Dorothy, who looked at me questioningly but said nothing so as not to be impolite. I took a glass of watered wine in my shaking hand. Had he meant me no harm and I misjudged his intent? Just then, Sir Tristram arrived. Dorothy smiled with real pleasure, the affection softening her already pretty face. But ’twas me Sir Tristram wanted to speak with, and as he pulled me to the side I saw her smile slide.

“Mistress Juliana,” he said, “I feel I must warn you. Do not do anything to encourage Sir John.”

I stepped back in shock. Had he witnessed John Temple’s attempt and interpreted it as welcome? “I never would, Sir Tristram!”

He softened and called me by my given name. “Juliana. You are pure, but in want of understanding of the ways of court. Have a care. And please call me Tristram. I shall look upon your return to court with great anticipation.”

“I do believe my friend Mistress Dorothy will be in attendance upon the queen whilst I am away,” I said. “She’s got a strong mind for holy writ and is a wonderful dance partner. I think you would find time in her company to be most enjoyable.” He nodded briefly, and then spoke of inconsequential matters for another moment or two. As he took his leave, he neglected to stop and greet Dorothy. She continued to look upon him with pleasure, but when she turned to me, she scowled and then looked away. I blinked away my hurt. I had tried to turn him her way.

Why was she upset with me?

Because the greater ladies in Kate’s household were themselves preparing to leave on the morrow, and because I had so little to pack and prepare, I was allowed to help Kate ready herself for a visit from His Majesty that evening.

I rubbed a bit of almond oil on my hands and then through her hair afore I brushed it out. Whilst I did, she leaned forward and, looking into a small glass, plucked her eyebrows into a neat, up-tipped V, using a silver pincers.

“I should like to try that sometime,” I said. “I feel that my brows are unruly, and, well, simple.”

She laughed. “Set the brush down.” She bid me draw near and then one by one plucked the hair from one of my brows till she showed me its perfect shape in the mirror.

“It feels like bee stings!” I rubbed my left brow with a bit of her oil of clove afore she began on the right.

“’Tis not easy to be a woman,” she said. “Surely your mother has told you that.”

I cast my eyes down. “My mother does not discuss such things with me, Your Grace.”

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Well. Now your brows shall appear perfectly obedient when the young men seek to partner you at dance.”

“My lady?” I inquired.

“I’ve watched many seek you out this eve,” she said. “And I suspect there will be many more.”

I smiled. Courtiers, knights, were interested in me. What would Matthias think?

She looked at the gold and diamond watch hanging from her girdle, one of her many watches, of which she was fond. “His Majesty will arrive presently.” I nodded and stood up.

“Thank you for taking the time to assist me, tonight, Your Grace, when it should have been me assisting you.”

She drew me near to her in an embrace. “’Twas a pleasure, Juliana. You are a pleasure, one perhaps your mother does not recognize.” Then she let go. “I shall see you upon the morrow.”

Late that night Elisabeth and I stayed up packing and sharing excitement over the forthcoming progress. Because she was oft with the queen’s brother, and he so highly placed, she flew well above the official station as a maid of honor and was rarely in our chamber. We did not, therefore, discourse much. But when we did, I found her a marvelous friend.

We left the next day, riding ahead of the plague. The king had a particular fear of that illness, though none could blame him as it was a fearsome contagion. He left behind death of his own making, however. Four good men were convicted of acting in conscience against the King’s Act of Six Articles, which spelt out acceptable faith and practice thereof, and were sentenced to death. They were burned, reported to have walked to their deaths filled with glee, almost as those far gone in drink. One arranged a coronet of straw on his head so he would present himself to our Lord with a martyr’s crown of fire. Kate had told us that she meant to change this, somehow, and set her mind upon it.

Among the silks and perfumes and dozens of shoes that were her delightful perquisites, Kate had begun her dangerous work.

I knew that the king’s daughters, the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth, were to join us on progress. I had become well accustomed to the Lady Mary, as the queen often kept her in her company and they were great friends. The Lady Elizabeth had been at the wedding itself but had not attended the festivities afterward, being only ten years old. So I was eager to make her acquaintance. Because she had not long been restored to the king’s affections there was not even yet one portrait of her by which her features may have been made known.

It was a shock to me of the gravest nature, then, when I did meet her. Kate called me over, along with Dorothy and Lady Margaret Neville.

“I would like to present the king’s daughter, the Lady Elizabeth,” she said.

Dorothy and Margaret dropped into an immediate curtsey. I stared, near about to faint. Her fiery red hair, her fair face, her dark black eyes.

Here, now, in front of me, stood the girl in my vision, the very one who would have her gown chopped from her person. There was no doubt at all. The king’s daughter!

Dorothy tugged my elbow and I remembered, quickly enough, to drop to a curtsey.

“Lady Margaret Neville, Mistress Dorothy Skipwith, and Mistress Juliana St. John,” Kate said.

“It is a pleasure,” the Lady Elizabeth responded politely. She was yet a girl, but already unbelievably dignified in presence. I had never known her mother nor seen her mother’s portrait—His Majesty had them removed upon the execution of Queen Anne Boleyn—but I certainly knew King Henry. And the Lady Elizabeth was his not only in countenance but in bearing.

Within a minute, the dignified young royal dissolved and a girl of ten replaced her when Robert Dudley, the son of one of Kate’s highest-placed ladies, Lady Dudley, tugged on some of that magnificent mane and Elizabeth spun around to repay him. Kate grinned and let them go. “’Tis good to allow her some time to play as a child might. She’s led a difficult life.”

Dorothy and Margaret agreed but I was still too shocked about the prophecy to speak much. I stumbled about my duties and muttered something about feeling unwell. Although she appeared to be some years older in my dream, it was clearly the same person. Sir Thomas’s hands would touch her with unseemly overtures, and the Lady Elizabeth would without a doubt be under duress and fear, far removed from the sunny, majestic child in my presence.

Presently, we reached Surrey, the first stop of our journey. I tried in vain to push the thoughts aside then. I had not had a vision for over a year. Perhaps something had waylaid their intent and the time of danger had passed. I fervently hoped so, and, in any case, no longer had to feign feeling unwell, as I truly did. My sense of shock and certainty reminded me that my gift may have been at rest these months past but it had not been removed. What do I do with this now, Lord Jesus? Please tell me, somehow, if this is to come or if this horror has blessedly been set aside.

In any case, I saw little of the Lady Elizabeth during the next few weeks, and due to her age, she shortly thereafter departed for her home at Ashridge.

After Surrey we visited Oatlands, Woking, Guildford, Sunning-hill. August found us at Hanworth near Twickenham, Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire. We stayed but a few days, or mayhap a week, at each place, long enough to indulge in the delicacies of each household, bankrupt our host, and force the replacement of the sweet grass rushes covering the floors. In September, the Lady Mary became ill and returned to London. Kate gave her gold bracelets set with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies as a consolation and promised that Christmas at court would be a family affair and merry indeed.

One morning toward October Kate drew Margaret and me aside. “After the king and I visit, I should like you to remain with the Lady Elizabeth at Ashridge for a short while. It is good for the Lady Elizabeth to become more comfortable with the members of my household, as I intend to invite her to court often. Mainly, I’d like you to make polite conversation about what she’s studying with her tutors, as I would like to know if her studies have taken a … reformed religious direction. Lady Fitzgerald Browne will remain with you, as her brothers and cousin are in residence with Prince Edward’s household at Ashridge right now, and she’s been in the Lady Elizabeth’s household for some time as well.”

I was to be a companion and a spy! I couldn’t wait, as it promised both novelty and adventure.

We approached through a thick forest of slim trees standing straight and tall, a company of soldiers with heads like old men’s, losing their color and thinning as winter approached. Once we’d traveled through the forest, Ashridge House itself came into view, magnificent and lovely, the shade of weak sunlight. Turrets and arches and carefully carved stone graced each view and approach.

Lady Troy, who was in charge of the household, met us and had someone show us to our chambers. All dined later, in the gallery. The king and queen sat near His Majesty’s children Edward and Elizabeth.

I could not hear their conversation in whole, but I did see the queen place her hand on the prince’s hair and pet it soothingly; he closed his eyes and near swooned with pleasure. She bent down, before the evening was gone, and softly kissed the Lady Elizabeth on both cheeks before squeezing her shoulder lightly.

“You must both look upon me as your mother,” she said as she and the king took their leave to mingle with the other adults. The look of delight on the children’s faces was marvelous to behold. Neither child had truly ever had a mother’s love, and I understood that; I felt thusly when showered by Kate’s affections, too, and yearned for it when ’twas not present, though I was now nineteen years of age, old enough to be a mother myself. Henry beamed with pride and drew Kate near to him in a way that showed all how he desired her company day and night.

After the king and queen left Ashridge, we often dined with the Lady Elizabeth’s household and sometimes with the young Prince Edward. As discreetly as I could, I watched the two of them play and talk side by side with no rancor nor ill will. And yet Elizabeth’s mother had been beheaded to make way for Edward’s mother. Of course, the mother of the Lady Mary had been set aside to make way for the mother of Elizabeth. I’d noticed on progress that while Mary was congenial toward her half sister, she had not been truly warm to any save Kate, the king, and her own ladies. I also recalled that she had called the Lady Elizabeth’s mother a concubine upon first meeting me.

“Should you like to play a game of rook?” Elizabeth asked one afternoon after her studies were complete.

“I should, my lady. But I must warn you my skills are sadly unpracticed, not having cause to play of late.”

“Then I must warn you,” she said with a grin, “that I do not ever forfeit a game nor countenance those who do. A win must be a win. But we shall enjoy the parry.”

We sat down at an ivory carved chessboard near a fireplace in the great hall and played whilst Edward did his lessons upstairs. They shared tutors, that much I had learned, and the tutors were bent toward reformist learning but cautiously so.

I held my own for the first half of the game, and then the Lady Elizabeth, spurred by the challenge and desire to win, began to plan her moves most carefully. Of a sudden, she went for the kill.

“Check,” she said confidently.

“I am trapped. The game is yours.”

“’Tis mine,” she agreed, and met my gaze with a calm smile.

I liked her without reserve. I knew then that my prophecy had been given to protect her—not Thomas, not the highborn woman who held her fast, and not myself, but the Lady Elizabeth, for what greater good, I knew not, and, truth be told, may never know.