A Dangerous Inheritance (11 page)

Anne was struggling to control her tears. She was unused to being silenced so severely.

“Shore’s wife should be apprehended,” the duchess warned. “The woman is a menace.”

“I will deal with her anon,” Richard muttered. “But there are more serious threats to be neutralized first. I mean the Queen’s brother, Earl Rivers, and her son, Sir Richard Grey, whom I sent as prisoners to Pontefract.”

“Surely they can do no harm to you there?” Duchess Cecily sniffed. “That castle is all but impregnable.”

“So the King’s Council tells me,” the duke muttered. “But those two will ever be a danger! What happens when the King comes of age and frees them? They have already treasonously conspired to kill me.”

“Are you now king, then?” asked his mother. “My son, it is not treason to conspire the death of the Lord Protector, heinous crime though that be.”

“It’s an arguable point,” he responded testily.

“Have they been proven guilty?” the duchess persisted. There was a silence. Kate realized they had all forgotten she was there. She felt that she wanted to curl up and die. It was bad enough that her father was being so grievously threatened by his enemies, so why was her grandmother treating him as if he were somehow in the wrong?

“I asked if they have been tried or attainted by Parliament?” Cecily said reasonably. “My son, if you do what I suspect you are planning to do, then you lay yourself open to charges of tyranny.”

“But if I have those men tried, my enemies will acquit them, and they will be free to do their worst!” protested the duke. “I am in an impossible position. Whatever I do, I cannot win. Madam, do you not see that I cannot afford to let them live?”

“The King will never forgive you if you kill his kinsmen without trial.” Anne spoke out at last. “My lord,” she went on tremulously, laying a gentle hand on his sleeve, “I fear for you, I truly do. I fear for us all.”

Kate could bear to listen no more. Excusing herself, she escaped up the stairs to her bedchamber, and there she too gave way to tears.

The next morning, she learned from the Duchess Anne that her father had gone after Mass to the Tower of London for an important council meeting, about which he had remained tight-lipped. His going there filled Kate with a sense of dread; there was something about the Tower that repelled and unnerved her. She could not for the life of her say why. She only knew she had gone there one day to see the menagerie but was unable to bring herself to set foot in the vast, forbidding fortress.

“I have received a letter from Edward’s tutor,” Anne was saying.
“My little lord is doing well at his lessons, and is in good health.” She sighed. “I miss him. I ache to see him. The distance between us seems so great.” Her blue eyes held a faraway look. “If it were not for my lord, who needs me, I would go home.”

“Oh, so would I!” cried Kate.

“Well, after the coronation, we will think about it,” Anne said. “But we cannot miss that. And the tailor is making you a splendid gown.” He was indeed. Just thinking about it made Kate feel a little better. It was in indigo-blue damask with raised flowers of yellow and gold, and it was to be trimmed with miniver at the bodice and cuffs. The court train was longer than any she had ever worn, so long that she would have to carefully practice walking with it.

But today she had donned a plain dove-gray gown of soft wool because she did not desire to look too conspicuous. She was planning to go again to Cheapside, which had become one of her favorite haunts in the City. A master jeweler there had a beautiful pendant displayed among his wares and, having persuaded him to set it aside for her, she had prevailed on her father to give her the money for it. Richard had ever been generous toward his children, and never stinted on their allowances, but last night he had seemed distracted as he agreed without demur to her request, even though the pendant was expensive. He had not been listening when she told him it would go with her coronation gown.

She took her maid Mattie with her, a plump and comely Londoner with a lively nature and a spirit of adventure that chimed with her own. Despite the difference in their status, they were fast becoming friends. Kate enjoyed having a girl near her own age as a merry companion, and she had been delighted to discover that she and Mattie were kindred souls in many ways.

Mattie was fourteen, a year her senior. Happily, just as the duke had decided his daughter was of an age to need a maid, Mattie’s father, a member of the Vintners’ Guild, which supplied the duke’s household with wine, had inquired if there might be a place for his daughter at Crosby Hall, anticipating that service in the Gloucester household might lead to an opening at court and preferment, and secure Mattie a prosperous husband one day. But Mattie was unconcerned about that: let an apprentice lad whistle at her, and she was smitten. Plain-spoken
like most Londoners, she had an earthy appreciation of the opposite sex, and did not bother to mince words about it. She was also full of the lore of the city that had nurtured her, loved pretty clothes, good food, singing, and dancing, and laughed out loud at merry or bawdy jests. She and Kate were doing very well together, and Kate was firmly of the opinion that her father could not have chosen a better maid for her.

With Mattie at her heels, she sped along Cornhill, weaving through the London crowds who thronged the narrow thoroughfares, and so into Poultry and Cheapside, where Master Hayes had his shop. He greeted her obsequiously, for she had told him whose daughter she was to impress on him that she was not wasting his time. But there was a faint edge to his manner. It seemed that he too was infected with the prevailing hostility toward her father. She stiffened and, putting on a manner so regal it would have done the Duchess Cecily proud, asked for the jewel to be brought.

It lay on a bed of black silk, a diamond-shaped gold pendant set with a brilliant sapphire stone. On its obverse the goldsmith had masterfully engraved a tableau of the Trinity with the crucified Christ at the center, and surrounded it with a border of burnished gold. On the reverse, when she turned it over, Kate found a finely delineated nativity scene.

She counted out her gold coins and handed them over.

“See, it is hinged here,” Master Hayes pointed out. “You can open it and use it as a reliquary. There is space inside for a small relic.”

“My father the duke owns several relics. I will ask him for one. Thank you.”

Master Hayes stiffened. “I will have it wrapped for you, my lady,” he said abruptly.

Kate’s delight in acquiring the pendant was muted by the goldmith’s barely veiled animosity. As she and Mattie walked back along Cheapside, Mattie chattering away and steering her toward a stall selling gingerbread and lavender cakes, she was asking herself why her father should have so many enemies.

He was at the Tower even now, for that important council meeting, and she still had the feeling that something evil was afoot. Suddenly,
she knew what she must do: she must set aside her silly fears of the place, go to the Tower, and wait for her father to emerge from the council chamber. Then she would be the first to hear any important news he had to impart.

She swung left into Gracechurch Street. “Let’s walk down to the Tower,” she said.

“Yes, my lady.” Mattie, who had demolished the gingerbread, bought two apples from a fruit seller to stay them until dinner, and they walked along Eastcheap crunching them. It was a beautiful, mild spring day, and presently they saw before them the mighty walls and white masonry of the Tower, massive and stately against the blue sky.

As they walked down Tower Hill, they passed a raised wooden platform surrounded by a fence.

“What’s that?” Kate asked.

“It’s the public scaffold, my lady. It’s where traitors are beheaded or gutted. The executions here always draw a goodly crowd.”

Kate shuddered. Men had died here, horribly, bloodily. And the unwelcome thought came unbidden that her own beloved father was in danger of meeting such an end. It would take only one twist of fate …

She recovered herself. “Have you ever been to an execution?” she asked.

“No, there haven’t been any here for years,” Mattie replied.

“Then I pray God there will not be for many more.” Kate made herself walk forward to the Tower.

June 1553; Baynard’s Castle, London

My lord of Pembroke cannot do enough for me. It is as if he feels he must make up for depriving me of the private joys of marriage. My days are spent in glorious idleness, in rooms and halls of the brightest splendor, or in gardens sweeping down to the river, gay with flowers and heavy with fruit.

My every whim—but one—is gratified. Do I but express a wish for a bunch of cherries or a cup of cordial, it is there, in my hand, within minutes. My wardrobe is stuffed with gorgeous gowns of every hue, rich furs, embroidered kirtles, and costly velvet hoods—for now that I am a wife, even though I am still a virgin, I must bind up and cover my hair. That crowning glory is now for my husband alone, or it would be were he allowed to be with me when I take my hood off. The Herberts did not have to provide me with such attire, for I brought a fitting trousseau with me when I married, but they dismiss such largesse as the least they can do for a daughter-in-law in whom they are well satisfied.

Daily I feast on the choicest foods served on gold and silver-gilt plate; I drink from glasses of the best Venetian crystal. I attend divine service in a lofty chapel plainly appointed, as befits the house of a good Protestant, but hung with arras and paintings of scenes from the life of Our Lord. Musicians while away my evenings on lutes and virginals, as I beat my lord at chess and tables, or read my book.

It seems strange not to have my days governed by the strict round of lessons that my parents decreed for us. At home, even before we were old enough to put away childish things like the baby dolls dressed in crimson satin and white velvet, we had to get up at six and eat our breakfast before we visited my lord and lady for their daily blessing. Then, when our proper tutoring began, we had lessons in Latin and Greek, which lasted all morning. I struggled, God help me I did, for I was nowhere near as good at mastering those ancient tongues as Jane. She even learned Hebrew, at her own request.

After dinner we would be drilled in French and Italian, and then we had to read from the Bible or the classics. I think I read the Bible three times over. Even then we were not free, for after supper we were expected to practice our music, dancing, and needlework before being banished to our beds at nine o’clock. There was hardly any time for our own favored pursuits. Even on holidays, when the merry maypole was set up and the Morris dancers made sport on our lawn, we were kept to our daily tasks and not allowed to take part. So I find it difficult to live in idleness. I do not know how to fill the long, spacious hours.

“What shall I do?” is my constant question. My lady the countess
kindly takes time to instruct me in the ordering and running of the household, which will be my responsibility one day, but not for ages yet, God willing. She finds me books to read, or tapestry to stitch, although I am not very good at it. I cannot, whatever I do, make the stitches small enough. My mother-in-law is endlessly patient. I believe she feels sorry for me, but does not like to say so for loyalty to her husband.

With Harry, it is difficult. It is hard to be together, knowing we are man and wife, yet not free to love each other. Yes, we kiss and we embrace, but only furtively or self-consciously, for we are never left alone together: there is always at least one servant within sight or earshot. And at night my door is locked. My lord earl will not risk his will being thwarted a second time. It would be easier if I could understand why we are being kept apart, but it still makes no sense to me. If I venture to ask, I am told—not unkindly—that I am too young to understand.

But Harry has of late been taken a little into his father’s confidence. When I suggest, only half jesting, that he attempt to steal the key and come to me at night, he tells me no, it cannot be, for fear of Northumberland.

“Northumberland?” I echo. “What has our marriage got to do with him?”

Harry looks unhappy. There is no one within earshot in the courtyard, only a gardener deadheading the flowers in the stone urns, but still he bids me lower my voice.

“Northumberland urged our marriages, ours and that of your sister to his son,” he mutters. “Maybe he feels being allied to royal blood enhances his power.”

There is something that does not make sense. “In that case,” I say, “it would make better sense to let us consummate our marriage.”

Harry looks at me admiringly. “It would indeed! It would bind our families irrevocably to him. By God, I have it! Maybe Northumberland and our parents don’t want to be committed for good.”

“That makes sense, given what I overheard my father and mother saying,” I say.

Harry shakes his head. “But why would they not want to be bound? Why agree to the marriages in the first place?”

“I cannot think,” I say. “You could ask your father.”

“He would not tell me,” he answers glumly.

Nevertheless, that evening, at the supper table, Harry makes so bold as to bring up the matter.

“Sir,” he ventures, “why do you and my lord of Northumberland not wish our families to be bound for good by our marriage?”

The earl appears disconcerted, but recovers himself at once and lays down his knife on his plate. “Who said that we do not?” he asks.

“We worked it out for ourselves, sir,” Harry says. “We know that Northumberland suggested these marriages, and that, in some way that you will not reveal, they are advantageous to him. But maybe there are disadvantages too.”

There is silence for a moment, and then the earl roars with laughter. “You’re a statesman, Harry, by God! And you have a good grasp of politics. But rest assured, your mother and I would not bind you in a disadvantageous match. The Lady Katherine here is the King’s own cousin, of royal lineage, and herself in the line of succession. Who could be more suitable? Nay, lad, curb your passions and let wiser heads rule you. You will not be stayed from your wife for long. Be patient, I counsel you.” And with that, the earl changes the subject and speaks of hunting. It is an end to the matter. But am I the only one who noticed that, when he laughed, his eyes remained cold?