Jean Plaidy - Murder Most Royal: The Story of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard
“That,” he said, “is settled. Let us ride.”
Catherine had been so long at Hollingbourne that she came to regard it as her home. Thomas came home occasionally, and there was nothing he liked better than to talk of the wild adventures he had had; and never had he known a better audience than his young cousin. She was so credulous, so ready to admire. They both looked forward to these reunions, and although they spoke not of their marriage which they had long ago in the paddock decided should one day take place, they neither of them forgot nor wished to repudiate the promises. Thomas was not the type of boy to think over-much of girls except when they could be fitted into an adventure where, by their very helplessness and physical inferiority, they could help to glorify the resourcefulness and strength of the male. Thomas was a normal, healthy boy whose thoughts had turned but fleetingly to sex; Catherine, though younger, was conscious of sex, and had been since she was a baby; she enjoyed Thomas’s company most when he held her hand or lifted her over a brook or rescued her from some imaginary evil fate. When the game was a pretense of stealing jewels, and she must pretend to be a man, the adventure lost its complete joy for her. She remembered still the quick, shamefaced kisses he had given her in the paddock, and she would have loved to have made plans for their marriage, to kiss now and then. She dared not tell Thomas this, and little did he guess that she was all but a woman while he was yet a child.
So passed the pleasant days until that sad afternoon when a serving-maid came to her, as she sat in the wide window seat of the main nursery, to tell her that her uncle and aunt would have speech with her, and she was to go at once to her uncle’s chamber.
As soon as Catherine reached that room she knew that something was amiss, for both her uncle and her aunt looked very grave.
“My dear niece,” said Sir John, who frequently spoke for both, “come hither to me. I have news for you.”
Catherine went to him and stood before him, her knees trembling, while she prayed: “Please, God, let Thomas be safe and well.”
“Now that your grandfather, Lord Thomas the Duke, is no more,” said Sir John in the solemn voice he used when speaking of the dead, “your grandmother feels that she would like much to have you with her. You know your father has married again....” His face stiffened. He was a righteous man; there was nothing soft in his nature; it seemed to him perfectly reasonable that, his sister’s husband having married a new wife, his own responsibility for his sister’s child should automatically cease.
“Go...from here...?” stammered Catherine.
“To your grandmother in Norfolk.”
“Oh...but I...do not wish...Here, I have been...so happy....”
Her aunt put an arm about her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“You must understand, Catherine, your staying here is not in our hands. Your father has married again...he wishes that you should go to your grandmother.”
Catherine looked from one to the other, her eyes bright with tears which overflowed, for she could never control her emotion.
Her aunt and uncle waited for her to dry her eyes and listen to them.
Then Sir John said: “You must prepare yourself for a long journey, so that you will be ready when your grandmother sends for you. Now you may go.”
Catherine stumbled from the room, thinking, When he comes next time, I shall not be here! And how shall I ever see him...he in Kent and I in Norfolk?
In the nursery the news was received with great interest.
“Well may you cry!” she was told. “Why, when you are at your grandmother’s house you will feel very haughty towards us poor folk. I have heard from one who served the Duchess that she keeps great state both at Horsham and Lambeth. The next we shall hear of you is that you are going to court!”
“I do not care to go to court!” cried Catherine.
“Ah!” she was told. “All you care for is your cousin Thomas!”
Then Catherine thought, is it so far from here to Norfolk? Not so far but that he could come to me. He will come; and then in a few years we shall be married. The time will pass quickly....
She remembered her grandmother—plumpish, inclined to poke her with a stick, lazy Grandmother who sat about and laughed to herself and made remarks which set her wheezing and chuckling, such as “You have pretty eyes, Catherine Howard. Keep them; they will serve you well!” Grandmother, with sly eyes and chins that wobbled, and an inside that gurgled since she took such delight in the table.
Catherine waited for the arrival of those who would take her to her grandmother, and with the passage of the days her fears diminished; she lived in a pleasant dream in which Thomas came to Horsham and spent his holidays there instead of at Hollingbourne; and Catherine, being the granddaughter of such a fine lady as the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, wore beautiful clothes and jewels in her hair. Thomas said: “You are more beautiful in Norfolk than you were in Kent!” And he kissed her, and Catherine kissed him; there was much kissing and embracing at Horsham. “Let us elope,” said Thomas. Thus pleasantly passed the last days at Hollingbourne, and when the time came for her departure to Norfolk, she did not greatly mind, for she had planned such a happy future for herself and Thomas.
The house at Horsham was indeed grand. It was built round the great hall; it had its ballroom, its many bedrooms, numerous small chambers and unpredictable corridors; from its mullioned windows there were views of gracious parklands; there was comfort in its padded window seats; there was luxury in its elegant furniture. One could lose oneself with ease in this house, and so many servants and attendants waited on her grandmother that in the first weeks she spent there, Catherine was constantly meeting strangers.
On her arrival she was taken to her grandmother, whom she found in her bed, not yet having risen though the afternoon was advancing.
“Ah!” said the Dowager Duchess. “So here you are, little Catherine Howard! Let me look at you. Have you fulfilled the promise of your babyhood that you would be a very pretty girl?”
Catherine must climb onto the bed and kiss one of the plump hands, and be inspected.
“Marry!” said the Duchess. “You are a big girl for your years! Well, well, there is time yet before we must find a husband for you.” Catherine would have told her of her contract with Thomas Culpepper, but the Duchess was not listening. “How neat you look! That is my Lady Culpepper, I’ll swear. Catherine Howard and such neatness appear to me as though they do not belong one to the other. Give me a kiss, child, and you must go away. Jenny!” she called, and a maid appeared suddenly from a closet. “Call Mistress Isabel to me. I would talk with her of my granddaughter.” She turned to Catherine. “Now, Granddaughter, tell me, what did you learn at Hollingbourne?”
“I learned to play the virginals and to sing.”
“Ah! That is well. We must look to your education. I will not have you forget that, though your father is a poor man, you are a Howard. Ah! Here is Mistress Isabel.”
A tall, pale young woman came into the room. She had small eyes and a thin mouth; her eyes darted at once to Catherine Howard, sitting on the bed.
“This is my little granddaughter, Isabel. You knew of her coming.”
“Your Grace mentioned it to me.”
“Well, the child has arrived. Take her, Isabel...and see that she lacks nothing.”
Isabel curtseyed, and the Duchess gave Catherine a little push to indicate that she was to get off the bed and follow Isabel. Together they left the Duchess’s apartment.
Isabel led the way upstairs and along corridors, occasionally turning, as though to make sure that Catherine followed. Catherine began to feel afraid, for this old house was full of shadows, and in unexpected places were doors and sudden passages; all her old fear of ghosts came back to her, and her longing for Thomas brought tears to her eyes. What if they should put her in a bedroom by herself, remote from other rooms! If Hollingbourne might have contained a ghost, this house assuredly would! Isabel, looking over her shoulder at her, alone stopped her from bursting into tears, for there was something about Isabel which frightened Catherine more than she cared to admit to herself.
Isabel had thrown open a door, and they were in a large room which contained many beds; this dormitory was richly furnished, as was every room in this house, but it was an untidy room; across its chairs and beds were flung various garments; shoes and hose littered the floor. There was perfume in the air.
“This room,” said Isabel, “is where Her Grace’s ladies sleep; she has told me that temporarily you are to share it with us.”
Relief flooded Catherine’s heart; there was now nothing to fear; her pale face became animated, flushed with pleasure.
“That pleases you?” asked Isabel.
Catherine said it did, adding: “I like not solitude.”
Another girl had come into the room, big bosomed, wide hipped and saucy of eye.
“Isabel...”
Isabel held up a warning hand.
“Her Grace’s granddaughter has arrived.”
“Oh...the little girl?”
The girl came forward, saw Catherine, and bowed.
“Her Grace has said,” began Isabel, “that she is to share our room.”
The girl sat down upon a bed, drew her skirts up to her knees, and lifted her eyes to the ornate ceiling.
“It delights her, does it not...Catherine?”
“Yes,” said Catherine.
The girl, whose name it seemed was Nan, threw a troubled glance at Isabel, which Catherine intercepted but did not understand.
Nan said: “You are very pretty, Catherine.”
Catherine smiled.
“But very young,” said Isabel.
“Marry!” said Nan, crossing shapely legs and looking down at them in an excess of admiration. “We must all be young at some time, must we not?”
Catherine smiled again, liking Nan’s friendly ways better than the quiet ones of Isabel.
“And you will soon grow up,” said Nan.
“I hope to,” said Catherine.
“Indeed you do!” Nan giggled, and rose from the bed. From a cabinet she took a box of sweetmeats, ate one herself and gave one to Isabel and one to Catherine.
Isabel examined Catherine’s clothes, lifting her skirts and feeling the material between thumb and finger.
“She has lately come from her uncle, Sir John Culpepper of Hollingbourne in Kent.”
“Did they keep grand style in Kent?” asked Nan, munching.
“Not such as in this house.”
“Then you are right glad to be here where you will find life amusing?”
“Life was very good at Hollingbourne.”
“Isabel,” laughed Nan, “the child looks full of knowledge....I believe you had a lover there, Catherine Howard!”
Catherine blushed scarlet.
“She did! She did! I swear she did!”
Isabel dropped Catherine’s skirt, and exchanged a glance with Nan. Questions trembled on their lips, but these questions went unasked, for at that moment the door opened and a young man put his head round the door.
“Nan!” he said.
Nan waved her hand to dismiss him, but he ignored the signal, and came into the room.
Catherine considered this a peculiar state of affairs, for at Hollingbourne gentlemen did not enter the private apartments of ladies thus unceremoniously.
“A new arrival!” said the young man.
“Get you gone!” said Isabel. “She is not for you. She is Catherine Howard, Her Grace’s own granddaughter.”
The young man was handsomely dressed. He bowed low to Catherine, and would have taken her hand to kiss it, had not Isabel snatched her up and put her from him. Nan pouted on the bed, and the young man said: “How is my fair Nan this day?” But Nan turned her face to the wall and would not speak to him; then the young man sat on the bed and put his arms round Nan, so that his left hand was on her right breast, and his right hand on her left breast; and he kissed her neck hard, so that there was a red mark there. Then she arose and slapped him lightly on the face, laughing the while, and she leaped across the bed, he after her and so gave chase, till Isabel shooed him from the room.
Catherine witnessed this scene with much astonishment, thinking Isabel to be very angry indeed, expecting her to castigate the laughing Nan; but she did nothing but smile, when, after the young man had left, Nan threw herself onto the bed laughing.
Nan sat up suddenly and, now that the youth was no longer there to claim her interest, once more bestowed it on Catherine Howard.
“You had a lover at Hollingbourne, Catherine Howard! Did you not see how her cheeks were on fire, Isabel, and still are, I’ll warrant! I believe you to be a sly wench, Catherine Howard.”
Isabel put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders.
“Tell us about him, Catherine.”
Catherine said: “It was my cousin, Thomas Culpepper.”
“He who is son of Sir John?”
Catherine nodded. “We shall marry when that is possible.”
“Tell us of Thomas Culpepper, Catherine. Is he tall? Is he handsome?”
“He is both tall and handsome.”
“Tell me, did he kiss you well and heartily?”
“But once,” said Catherine. “And that in the paddock when he talked of marriage.”
“And he kissed you,” said Nan. “What else?”
“Hush!” said Isabel. “What if she should tell Her Grace of the way you have talked!”
“Her Grace is too lazy to care what her ladies may say or do.”
“You will be dismissed the house one day,” said Isabel. “Caution!”
“So your cousin kissed you, Catherine, and promised he would marry you. Dost not know that when a man talks of marriage it is the time to be wary?”
Catherine did not understand; she was aware of a certain fear, and yet a vivid interest in this unusual conversation.
“Enough of this,” said Isabel, and Nan went to her bed and lay down, reaching for the sweetmeats.
“Your bed,” said Isabel, “shall be this one. Are you a good sleeper?”
“Yes,” said Catherine; for indeed the only occasions when she could not sleep were those when she was afraid of ghosts, and if she were to sleep in a room so full of beds, each of which would contain a young lady, she need have no fear of gruesome company, and she could say with truth that she would sleep well.
Isabel looked at her clothes, asked many questions about Lambeth and Hollingbourne; and while Catherine was answering her, several ladies came in, and some gave her sweetmeats, some kissed her. Catherine thought them all pretty young ladies; their clothes were bright, and they wore gay ribands in their hair; and many times during that afternoon and evening a young man would put his head round the door and be waved away with the words “The Duchess’s granddaughter, Catherine Howard, is come to share our apartment.” The young men bowed and were as kind to Catherine as the ladies were; and often one of the ladies would go outside and speak with them, and Catherine would hear muffled laughter. It was very gay and pleasant, and even Isabel, who at first had appeared to be a little stern, seemed to change and laugh with the rest.
