Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (122 page)

“I could be content as plain Lady Parr as long as I had Will by my side, free and whole,” I confided in Aunt Elizabeth as I helped her inventory the plate in the Carter Lane house. With matters so unsettled, Sir Edward intended to sell some of it for ready money.

“But you will not
be
Lady Parr. That title, and Countess of Essex, and Marchioness of Northampton, too, will soon be restored to Anne Bourchier. I heard this morning that Queen Mary has sent for her. Her Grace means to make Lady Anne a lady-in-waiting.”

Stunned, I struggled to take in this development. “Will warned me that Queen Mary would undo our marriage, but it never occurred to me that the queen would bring a proven adulteress to court.”

“Perhaps Queen Mary does not know why Will divorced her.”

“Then someone should tell her.” Anger filled me and I snapped out the words. “Have you any connection at court able to whisper in the right ear?”

“If I had, I would not ask them to blacken her name. Think, Bess. Anne Bourchier’s presence could help Will. If he is executed for treason, the Crown will claim all he owned, including the Essex inheritance. She will have none of it. And no title. It is to her advantage that he be spared. If I were you, I would pray that she intends to plead most eloquently with the queen for the restoration of his estates, even if it is only because she hopes to claim them for herself.”

I took a deep breath. My aunt was right. Anne Bourchier could save Will’s life. She could go where I could not.

Dibs and dabs of news continued to filter down to the house in Carter Lane, but all of London knew of it when Will was attainted and sentenced to die. The Duke of Northumberland was condemned at the
same time. So was Jack Dudley. And on Tuesday the twenty-second day of August, the duke was executed.

“The Duke of Somerset’s sons—the Earl of Hertford and his brother—were present to witness Northumberland’s death,” Edward Warner told us afterward. They had been two among a crowd of thousands who turned out to see the condemned traitor die. “Northumberland apologized to them for killing their father. An irony, that. Now both men lie buried together, lying between the bodies of Queen Anne Boleyn and Queen Catherine Howard. Or so they say.” He chuckled, but his expression was grim when he added, “Northumberland died in the faith of his childhood.”

“As a Catholic? When he fought so hard and so long to keep the Church of England alive?”

“His eldest son converted, too. And so did Will Parr.” His disapproval of what Will had done was a palpable force in the room.

“I do not see what difference it makes,” I said with some asperity. “All our prayers go to the same God. I can kneel at a Catholic Mass with idols in the niches as easily as I can worship in a whitewashed chapel with an English prayer book in my hand.”

“We will not have any choice in the matter now.” Sir Edward’s tone was bitter.

“We did not have any choice before. And if converting to Catholicism saves their lives, then I am heartily glad Will and Jack had the good sense to recant.”

Sir Edward glared at me, but he dropped the subject.

Northumberland’s widow became plain Lady Dudley again after the duke’s attainder and execution. Throughout those troubled days, I kept in touch with her. Neither she nor I were charged with any offense, but while I was left homeless and destitute, she was granted control of her jointure lands and allowed to live at Chelsea Manor. Although devastated by the loss of her husband, Jane continued to petition the queen for her sons’ release. She wrote to everyone she knew at court to solicit their
help. As a result of her efforts, Ambrose, Robert, and Henry Dudley were allowed visits from their wives.

“To whom should I apply for permission to visit Will?” I asked Sir Edward Warner.

He snorted. “The new lord lieutenant might let Will’s wife in but, Bess,
you
are not his wife.” He drained his tankard. He’d consumed a great quantity of ale since he’d lost his post at the Tower. “As soon as Parliament convenes, the law confirming your marriage will be struck down.”

The reminder stung. In my heart I could not accept that ruling. Defiantly, I continued to wear my wedding ring. And, in imitation of Jane Dudley, I wrote to friends and family to solicit their help on Will’s behalf. Some, like the Earl of Pembroke, ignored my pleas entirely. Others, like my father, were in no position to take up Will’s cause because their own hold on the new queen’s favor was so tenuous. He sent a welcome gift of money but could not do more. Geraldine Clinton promised to speak to her husband on Will’s behalf, but Lord Clinton, like my father, lacked influence with the new queen.

From my window in the house in Carter Lane I could see the highest battlements of the White Tower. Half of London lay between my chamber and the walls behind which Will was held prisoner. Carter Lane was nearer London Stone than London Bridge. But each night I stood looking out at the distant lights, imagining Will pacing the confines of his cell, wondering if he was thinking of me.

And then, on the twenty-fourth day of October, I was separated from my husband in yet another way. The act of 1552 that had pronounced Anne Bourchier as good as dead, the act intended to make my marriage to Will finally and irrevocably legal, was rescinded at the order of the queen. By royal decree, I was plain Bess Brooke again.

43

N
ovember was a bleak and dismal month. It suited my mood. I was not cheered in the least to hear that the Duke of Suffolk—title and estates intact—was back in London. This news, however, seemed to improve Sir Edward Warner’s spirits. On the twenty-sixth, he accepted an invitation to dine at Suffolk House and came home again buoyant and smiling.

I paid little attention to his goings and comings, save to note that he was no longer drinking himself into a stupor every night. That pleased me. My aunt deserved better than to be married to a drunkard. Neither did I think anything of it when Aunt Elizabeth’s son, my cousin Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger, who had his own lodgings in London, paid a visit. Aunt Elizabeth had been reconciled with Tom for some time, even though she still disagreed with his decision to be so generous with his late father’s mistress. Tom supped with us, and then he and Sir Edward went out together. They were well acquainted, having both been friends of the late Earl of Surrey. They aped the same fashions, too, both
sporting long, pointed beards and short-cropped hair. Sir Edward was only some ten years older than his stepson.

I rarely paid any attention to the comings and goings of my host. All my thoughts centered on ways to free Will from the Tower and on memories, sweet but painful. I missed my husband not only as my lover, but as my dearest friend and companion.

As November turned into December, I steeled myself to ask for help from the last person in the world I wanted to be beholden to—Anne Bourchier. The court had been at Whitehall since Queen Mary’s coronation in early October. Among the queen’s ladies was Mistress Nan Bassett. We had been maids of honor together, and while never fast friends, we had not been rivals, either. I used the money Father had sent me to purchase an enameled brooch and sent it to Nan as a token of my esteem, along with a letter begging her to meet with me. She sent word to come to the fountain in the palace gardens via the public right-of-way that passed through the grounds and suggested a specific day and time.

I waited nearly a quarter of an hour, fretting all the while that she’d changed her mind about talking to me. Then I caught sight of her hurrying toward me along one of the many paths that intersected the gardens. She was older by some six years since the last time I’d seen her, but she did not seem much changed. She greeted me warmly, with a sisterly embrace, and together we made our way to the riverfront, where we could be private.

Low tide permitted us to walk along the shore. Courtiers’ houses two and three stories high lined the land side of our route, and behind them rose what remained of the old palace of Westminster, largely destroyed by fire well before I’d first come to court.

“How can I help you, Bess?” Nan asked when we were certain we were far from listening ears.

I studied her face for a long moment before I spoke. There was compassion in her intensely blue eyes, but also a certain wariness. “You know that my marriage has been nullified and that my husband . . . that Will Parr remains in the Tower under sentence of death.”

She nodded, but held up one hand, palm out, to stay my next words. “If you wish an audience with the queen, that will not be possible. Her Grace will not undo what she has done. Will Parr did much offend her over the matter of her celebrating Mass during the late king’s reign. I was with Her Grace in those days, and I heard the harsh words he used to her. Her Grace is convinced that his evil persuasions were what made her impressionable young brother behave so cruelly toward her.”

“I know nothing of that.” Will had never told me of the incident, but I had always known he favored religious reform . . . until his life depended upon returning to the old ways. “I would ask Her Grace’s forgiveness for him, now that he has recanted.”

“He claims he has accepted the true church,” Nan said, “but it remains to be seen if he is sincere.”

We continued on past Canon Row. I saw the young Earl of Hertford come out of his house. He exited by the water gate but had to cross yards of half-frozen ground on foot before he could hail a wherry. He, too, had embraced the old ways. We all had. I attended Mass every Sunday now with Aunt Elizabeth and Sir Edward.

“We have no choice but to accept the will of the queen,” I said, “but I don’t want Will to die!” My anguish broke through despite my best efforts to remain calm.

“I will do what I can,” Nan promised, “but I do not have much influence. No one does save the Spanish ambassador and a few members of the Privy Council. Her Grace disregards all other advice.”

“I want to meet with Will’s other wife.” I swallowed bile. “Since Queen Mary has brought Anne Bourchier to court, Her Grace must have some fondness for her.”

“She may not wish to meet with you, Bess.”

“Will you ask her? I beg you, Nan. Intercede for me. She can help Will. Perhaps if I . . . if I assure her that I will not . . . oh, Nan, just find a way for us to meet!” I dashed unwanted tears away, embarrassed and humiliated by them but willing to humble myself further if it won Will’s freedom.

Nan sighed and turned back toward the palace. We walked in silence until we reached the water gate. “Come by boat tomorrow afternoon,” she said, “and ask for the sergeant porter. His name is Keyes and his private rooms are situated on the upper floors of the gatehouse. If she is willing to meet you, she will be there.”

T
HE NEXT DAY
, I met Will’s other wife face-to-face for the first time. He had once described her as a bone-thin, whey-faced girl. I’d pictured her as a slovenly whore. She was neither. Anne Bourchier was a tiny, delicate woman with a long narrow face, a slightly pointed chin, and chestnut-colored hair. She was older than I by nearly a decade, but if age, poverty, or disgrace had marked her, it did not show. Her features were as smooth as a child’s. She was also in full court dress, resplendent in dark, wine-colored velvet sparkling with jewels. I recognized some of them as baubles I’d left behind in Winchester House.

“So, Mistress Brooke, we meet at last.” She had a soft, tinkling voice, like fairy bells. I could not imagine what fault Will had found with her.

“Lady Parr.” I choked out the name and pasted a neutral expression on my face.

“I am styled Viscountess Bourchier.” She circled me as if I were a horse offered for sale at a fair. “I have been curious about you.”

I was well aware of the contrast we made. In plain, unadorned garments, I looked drab and unimportant, but I’d had no finery to wear. That, too, had been left behind when we fled.

When I’d borne her scrutiny as long as I could stand, I blurted out what was on my mind. “I will never trouble you again if you will but promise to plead for my . . . for
your
husband’s freedom with the queen.”

“Why should I care what happens to Will Parr? He treated me most cruelly.”

“
You
betrayed
him
.” The words were out before I could stop them. I began again, more diplomatically this time. “I do beg your pardon, my lady. But it does seem to me that there was fault on both sides.”

“We are quite alone here.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “You may feel free to speak your mind.”

“I have no wish to insult you, my lady.”

She laughed softly. It was a surprisingly deep sound, considering the timbre of her speaking voice. “Let us begin again, then. What is it you think I can do?”

“Convince the queen to pardon Will.”

“So that he can return to you?”

My chest tightened. The next words were physically painful to force out, but I was determined to save the man I loved. “Whatever Will has done, he does not deserve to die for it. It is in your power to help him, my lady. It is also to your advantage to do so.”

“Why? I do not want him back.”

“If he is executed for treason, all you claim as your inheritance will be lost, along with everything else Will owned.” When I’d conceived of the idea of asking her for help, it had seemed logical to me that she would want the security of such a large and prosperous estate.

“The queen can grant those properties to me in any case,” Viscountess Bourchier said.

“But will she?”

She walked to the window to look out over the Thames. She had a clear view of Norfolk House from where she stood. Tears blurred my vision, thinking how happy Will and I had been when we lived there.

Without turning, she said, “I am told you have no children.”

“We were not blessed.” I heard the tremor in my voice but could not control it.

“Be glad of it. They would be a curse upon you now. My children were disinherited, thanks to Will Parr. That ruling has not been reversed.”

I bit back a reminder that her children were not her husband’s, but rather bastards borne to a lover. Her bitterness alarmed me. If she wanted revenge more than she wanted her inheritance, she would never help Will. I said nothing, too afraid that the words I chose would be the wrong ones.