A Dangerous Inheritance (20 page)

My tutor’s words come back to me now. Why, if the pretenders were only pretenders, had Henry not rested easy? Was it because he did not know for certain that the princes were dead? Did he fear that they “lived yet”?

When Harry, with Sanders in tow, comes to tell me that the earl is back and commanding us to supper, I try to delay the evil moment I feel sure is coming. Gabbling a little, I ask Harry what he makes of all this, but he is skeptical. “I imagine the King did not rest easy because he was worried that people would accept the pretenders as the true heirs to the throne.”

“Then why did he not just execute them?”

“He had to catch them first.”

As I tie up the notes and put them back in my casket, my hands shaking, the reference to the Tower leaps out at me. “Have you heard of someone called Tyrell, Harry?” I ask. The name sounds familiar.

“I think a man called Tyrell was beheaded by Henry VII, but I can’t remember why. Now come, sweetheart. My lord and lady do not like to be kept waiting.”

At supper Pembroke announces that Queen Mary is to be proclaimed in London on the morrow. “There will be much rejoicing when the news breaks.” But I am not rejoicing. The glorious days are done, all too soon. My sister is no longer Queen, and the dread shadow of treason lies over us all.

In the morning, the earl is for the Guildhall with the Privy Council, to wait upon the Lord Mayor and aldermen of the City and witness the proclamation.

“You must all stay indoors,” he says. “It would not do for the usurper’s sister to be seen in public, especially with my son.” I open my mouth to protest, but he has gone.

“Try not to worry,” Harry says, hugging me, although his voice betrays his own anxiety. I am too frightened to speak. Pleading a headache, I go to my chamber and lie down, falling into troubled dreams in which the girl in the blue gown is running from some nameless horror, and I have to stand by, unable to help her.

After dinner, Pembroke is back, bringing the mayor and all his brethren with him. There is a lot of commotion in the house, with people coming and going and doors opening and closing. Through my window I recognize some of the visitors as lords of the council. Then silence falls, and I assume they have all left.

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. Beyond the open windows, I can hear the usual traffic and shouts from the river. It is a hot day, but a gentle breeze is stirring the damask curtains. I wish I could sleep again, and escape this misery and uncertainty. I should be with Harry, making the most of what might be my last hours with him, for I fear now that my marriage is doomed. At the thought of losing my love, I fall to weeping. I would with all my heart that I could give myself to him just once.

Inspiration comes out of the blue. If we tell the earl that we are husband and wife in very truth, he cannot part us! It would be a lie, but we would be safe. For on what other grounds could he have our marriage annulled?

My heart is pounding. I flop back on the bed, thinking it through, and decide that this ruse could work. I must tell Harry. But when I go to find him, Sanders tells me that he has ridden to Cheapside to hear the new Queen proclaimed. He has defied his father’s orders yet again! How glad I am to know that he is in such a bullish frame of mind, for no doubt he will be ready to defy my lord further.

I return to my chamber and sit at my table beneath the window. I refresh my face with some lavender water, pick up my comb, and tidy my tangled hair. Setting the French hood atop it, and easing the band under my chin, I peer into the mirror and see myself, all white skin and great blue eyes shadowed by anxiety. I look ill. I pinch my cheeks to redden them and bite my lips. I must look fetching for Harry when he returns.

The clock strikes five. There is a great shout from the street, followed by yelling and cheering, and the sound of running footsteps. “God save Queen Mary!” someone calls, and there are hurrahs and whistles. Then the bells begin their joyful pealing, as each parish church takes its lead from the next, and suddenly it seems that the whole world is rejoicing and ringing out the good news. Except me.

I race through the house to the landward side and look out of a window. Moments later the countess joins me. We watch, in silence, people running hither and thither with excitement, crying out the news and throwing their bonnets in the air, neighbor clasping the hand of neighbor, folk lighting bonfires and dragging tables into the street, setting them with food and liberal quantities of ale and wine.

“I cannot remember ever seeing such celebrations,” my lady says at length, as the sound of singing rises to us. “Look at them—they are even throwing coins out of windows. I’ll wager they’ll be carousing all night.”

I open the window and lean out. “Look!”

There in the street below me are normally dignified aldermen and merchants, worthy, respected men of substance, casting off their gowns and leaping and jigging with the common folk. And here returns the Earl of Pembroke, to much cheering. I see him smiling expansively, as if he personally has conferred this great blessing on the people who now crowd around him. We watch as he takes off his cap, fills it with gold angels, and tosses it to the crowd.

“Make you merry!” he cries. “God bless Queen Mary, our rightful queen!” The citizens roar their approval and scramble for the earl’s bounty. Then he holds his hand up to gain their attention, and declares in ringing tones: “Good people, I would have you know that my son’s marriage to the Lady Katherine Grey, made against my will by Northumberland, is to be annulled forthwith. The Herberts do not ally with traitors!” This is greeted with more cheers, but I hardly hear them, for I am faint and the countess has to help me to a chair.

“No! No!” I wail. “It cannot be!”

“Hush!” she admonishes, as the servants come running to see what is amiss. “You do yourself no good by such displays, child. Look, here is Harry. He knows it is best to obey his father’s will in this matter.”

Harry’s face is grim. He kneels beside the chair and clasps me to him.

“No one shall separate us!” he declares.

I grasp his hand tightly. I never want to let it go.

“We have to tell them!” I urge.

“Tell them what?” It is the earl.

“Tell your father, Harry, why he cannot have our marriage annulled,” I cry to Harry, who looks nonplussed.

Pembroke frowns. “Indeed I can!” he declares.

“On what grounds?” Harry asks, defiant now.

“That it has not been consummated. You know that, boy.”

“Then you cannot proceed—because it has,” I declare, feeling myself grow hot with embarrassment, but determined to be staunch in my resolve to save my marriage. Harry regards me with admiration: he has caught my drift.

Pembroke laughs humorlessly. “Hah! That horse won’t run.”

Harry defies him. “I assure you, sir, that Katherine is my wife in every sense. We have lain together in secret. To annul our marriage now would be to flout God’s law.”

“It is true,” I say. “I swear it.”

“Spare me your oaths,” Pembroke snarls. “How can it be true? Sanders has kept watch on you throughout, on my orders.”

“Then ask him,” Harry says. “Ask him if he accompanied us to the tower room where first we looked at the old records.”

“Pah!” the earl snorts. “I will not believe it. You think to turn me with vain lies.”

“I do not lie!” insists Harry.

“Or I, sir,” I echo, crossing my fingers in the folds of my skirt. “It is the truth.” I am determined to stand my ground.

“This is all nonsense,” declares the earl, “and I will not listen to any more of it. You will leave my house tonight, Katherine. You will take with you only those things that you brought with you. And if you attempt to repeat your lies in order to subvert the annulment, it will go worse for your sister.”

“No!” I scream, and cling to Harry as to a life raft, begging an unheeding God not to let us be parted. Harry, unmanned, starts weeping too, holding me tightly and swearing great oaths at his father, but the earl is unrelenting.

“I have spoken. That is an end to the matter.” And he stalks out of the room, leaving me half fainting with misery in Harry’s arms.

“Go now, my Katherine,” he enjoins me, harshly, as if he is tearing the words out of himself. “I will fight for you, I vow it.” He releases me, his eyes intense, insistent. Their promise gives me the courage to do his bidding and let go of him.

“Farewell for now,” he says, holding my gaze, and lifting a gentle finger to brush away my tears. “Remember how much I love you, sweet wife.”

“And I you, my dear lord,” I whisper. Then, feeling as if my heart is utterly broken and can never be made whole again, I turn away and walk out of the room. I do not trust myself to look back.

The earl has wasted no time in summoning his barge for me, with instructions to the boatmaster to deliver me to the house of my parents at Sheen, like an unwanted parcel. He has provided no attendant or escort, just the crew of the boat. I am not even permitted to take the maid he appointed.

His chamberlain briskly ushers me out of the house and down the stairs to the jetty, servants following behind with my hastily packed belongings. I am distraught, with tears streaming down my face, but no one appears to notice. My tragedy is not their concern.

I know that Harry meant what he said, that he will move heaven and earth to get me back. Yet Harry is his father’s son, and the earl, as has been proved to me tonight, is a formidable opponent. I have to accept the worst now: I am henceforth no more than the sister of the usurper. No one will want to know me or associate with me, let alone marry me. At almost thirteen, this is a terrible thought. My life is over before it has barely begun.

The priory is in darkness, the grounds drenched in shadows that loom in the moonlight. The barge master does his bidding and no more, and after he has deposited me and my gear on the jetty, he jumps back into the barge and gives the order to depart. The dim lights of the boat recede downstream and disappear into the night, and I am alone, with only the cold moon to light my way up to the dark bulk of the shuttered house.

“It’s me, Lady Katherine!” I cry, banging hard on the gatehouse door, but the only response is the eerie hooting of an owl. I rattle the big iron handles, but the portal is securely locked. The blackness of the night, the rustling of the tall trees silhouetted against a starless sky, and the black mass of the gatehouse looming up above me are terrifying. Crying noisily now, I sink to my knees. Soon, I am screaming, “Help me! Help me! For the love of God, help me!” Nothing in my short, sheltered life has prepared me for this.

“Who’s there?”

God be praised, is that my mother’s voice? And can that be footsteps approaching the door? “Who’s making that racket?” calls the voice. It
is
my mother! Oh, thank God, thank God! Now I know that prayers are answered.

A light appears at the window above me.

“Get down here, you fool!” I can hear my lady saying testily to the porter, who has somewhat belatedly risen to do his duty. “Someone’s screaming fit to wake the dead!”

The great key turns in the lock, and there she is, my lady, staring down at me with a horrified expression on her face. She looks tired and drawn, and her brocade gown is mud-spattered at the hem.

“What are you doing here, child?” she asks, astonished.

“The earl turned me out of his house,” I tell her.

“He did what?” But I am beyond speech. I break down again, and am amazed to find her arms about me, she who has never been a demonstrative parent.

“You shall tell me everything later,” she says as she raises me to my feet and supports me as she walks me to the house. I am staggered to hear a tremor in the voice of my strong, formidable mother.

My lord is nowhere to be seen.

“Your father and I have not long arrived,” my lady says as we enter the hall, where their baggage is piled in a heap on the floor. “I will send the steward to rouse the staff. There is no food in the house and the beds are unaired. But of course, they did not expect us.”

She sits down with me on the settle.

“Tell me what happened,” she commands, and in a halting voice I obey. It is only when I reach the part where I am forced to say farewell to Harry that I break down again. For once, my mother does not reprove such weakness. She is plainly furious, but not with me.

“Pembroke ordered his barge master to abandon you here like that?” she cries. “That is outrageous!”

“There is more,” I venture, knowing that my next words might earn me a beating or worse, but I must pursue my only hope. “Harry and I—we … we told his father we did lie together. The earl had forbidden it, and had a man watch us, but we said we had given him the slip.”

My lady does not erupt in rage, but stares at me intently. “You spoke truth?”

“No. I don’t think the earl believed us anyway. He called us liars, and nothing we said could move him.”

“It would not have, even if your marriage had been consummated,” my mother says stonily. “He has to break from us to win the favor of Queen Mary. You do know, I suppose, what has happened this day?”

“Yes, madam, I saw the celebrations in London for the new Queen. But what of poor Jane? Is she not here with you?”

“You may well ask!” she replies. “We had to leave Jane in the Tower, and for all I know she is now a prisoner.”

“You
had
to leave her?” I have never presumed to question my mother, but the circumstances are like no other.

“Good God, girl!” she snaps. “Don’t you understand? In accepting the crown that was rightfully Mary’s, Jane has committed treason, and far be it from me, or your father, to attempt to remove her from the Tower. It is for Queen Mary to decide her fate.”

“But Jane did not want the crown!” I protest, stunned by the injustice of it all.

“We must pray that the Queen takes that into consideration,” my lady mutters.

“She must!” I cry. “They are saying she is a merciful princess.”

“She is indeed merciful. I know her of old. I am placing all my hopes in her.” The stern façade is crumbling: my mother suddenly looks as if she might collapse. It seems like the end of the world.