Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (48 page)

Nan glared at her accuser, but she knew better than to lose her temper. “I should think it most unwise to question His Majesty’s intentions,” she murmured with feigned shock and innocence. “I am certain King Henry can do no wrong, being God’s anointed one on earth as he is.”

Mary Zouche said nothing, apparently unable to think of a reply that would not be taken for criticism of the king. So Nan smiled sweetly and walked away. On the surface, Nan knew she appeared confident and self-assured, but inside she had gone cold with dread.

Yes, she was one of the maids of honor, but all of a sudden she
realized that this could be cause for concern. The maids lived in each other’s pockets, day and night. How would she manage if, as it now seemed, they all disliked her?

Nan’s steps faltered. She felt she had nowhere to go save back to the little group of embroiderers who sat on their cushions. Uncertain of her reception, she braced herself for more barbed comments.

Anne Parr looked up, a twinkle in her gray eyes. “If you have other matters to tend to, Jane,” she said to Mistress Mewtas, who had trailed along after Nan, a look of concern on her face, “I will be happy to acquaint Nan with her duties.”

Her overt friendliness eased Nan’s mind, and her suggestion that they retire to the privacy of the maids’ dormitory was even more welcome. As they entered, Anne plucked a handful of sugar-coated nuts from a bowl. Carrying them with her, she scrambled atop one of the high beds, tucked her legs beneath her, and patted the coverlet at her side.

“Come and be comfortable,” she invited, and tossed one of the nuts to Nan.

Nan caught it and popped it into her mouth, relishing the burst of sweetness. “You were going to tell me about my duties.”

“They are simple enough. We present ourselves in the queen’s privy chamber every morning by eight of the clock and remain close at hand until we are dismissed for the night. We are at the queen’s beck and call.”

Nan climbed up to sit beside her mentor on a quilted, yellow sarcenet counterpane. “I expect to be asked to perform all manner of services for Her Grace.”

Anne made a little snorting sound. “You will be surprised, then. Menial tasks such as lighting fires and bringing in torches and lights are done by underlings. On occasion, you may be permitted to supervise them.”

“What about helping the queen dress and undress?”

“The chamberers do that.”

“Serving meals?”

“We are not important enough to undertake that task. The queen
is waited upon by noblewomen—countesses at the least. You might be allowed to set mats on the table when the queen’s board is laid or bring in water for her to wash with before she eats. But as a mere maid of honor, you will not even be permitted to hand the basin directly to Her Grace.”

Anne polished off the last of the sugared nuts and licked her fingers. “After you take the water away again, you may occasionally have the honor of fetching bread, ale, and wine for the queen’s ladies.”

“That sounds simple enough.”

Anne slanted a look Nan’s way. “For the most part, we have a pleasant life. You must not let what Mary Zouche said trouble you.”

“I did not try to entice the king.” Nan grew weary of denial.

“It would not matter if you did.” Anne sounded matter-of-fact. “By the time the queen gives birth, King Henry will have forgotten all about you.”

Nan did not know whether to be relieved by this prediction, or insulted.

… touching all other particular ceremonies at the christening, Corbett can inform your ladyship, for he stood by and saw all things… . on Sunday last my Lady Sussex sent to me with all speed to make for Mrs. Anne either a new gown of lion tawny velvet, or else one of black velvet turned up with yellow satin, the which with much work I have done; … she wore the same at the Christening. So that this notwithstanding, she must have against the Queen’s churching a new satin gown and against Christmas a new gown of lion tawny velvet.

—John Husee to Lady Lisle, 16 October 1537

2

The bay windows in Queen Jane’s bedchamber were covered by thick damask curtains, making the room dark, airless, and overly warm. Behind the screen that shielded her bed, the queen herself was a study in misery. But she had an advantage over the women trapped with her. Queen Jane was free to express her displeasure. She could take out her frustration on those around her.

“You there,” she called in an imperious tone. “Bassett. You claim to be skilled on the lute. Play a soothing song for me.”

Nan knew she was not the most accomplished musician at court, but the king’s minstrels, all men, were not permitted near the queen during her lying-in. Nan took up her instrument and sang along as she
strummed a tune King Henry himself had composed—“Pastance With Good Company.”

Queen Jane listened without comment to the end, but the expression on her pale, bloated face did not bode well. “Your playing is inferior,” she complained as Nan set the lute aside.

The queen’s cutting criticism stung. Nan bowed her head to hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Begone,” the queen ordered. “Get out of my sight.”

As she backed away from the royal bed, Nan never saw the pillow the queen threw at her. It struck the side of her head and knocked her gable headdress askew, but did no real damage. Muffled laughter from the other maids followed her retreat.

As soon as she was clear of the bedchamber, her steps faltered.
Begone?
How far away did the queen expect her to go? And for how long? Her hands shook as she adjusted her attire and gathered her shattered composure. Surely Her Grace did not mean she was banished from the household. Nan had been a maid of honor for only a bit more than a week.

Anne Parr slipped through the door that separated the bedchamber from the privy chamber. She caught Nan’s hand in passing. “Her Grace has sent for her poppets,” Anne whispered. “Come and help me fetch them.”

“Poppets?” Nan echoed. “You mean toys?” She envisioned straw bodies and wooden heads, similar to the playthings she and her sisters had pretended were babies when they were very young.

“The queen collects them. They are her passion.”

The poppets were kept in a cedar chest in a small room deep within the queen’s lodgings. It was filled to the brim with little figures cleverly made to resemble miniature ladies and gentlemen. Some were carved from wood while others had been constructed of clay.

Enchanted, Nan lifted out one dressed in white cloth-of-silver with an underskirt of green velvet. Beneath was another poppet wearing a white velvet gown. A third was garbed in crimson satin.

“They have finer clothing than we do,” Nan observed.

Anne chuckled. “And more of it. Coffers full. Gather up a half dozen and I will bring their spare garments.”

By the time the two maids of honor returned to the queen’s bedchamber, Her Grace seemed to have forgotten her pique with Nan. Her attention fixed on playing with her poppets, she sent most of her attendants away.

Nan returned to the privy chamber wishing she could leave the queen’s apartments entirely, just for a little while. The great ladies of the household and the ladies of the privy chamber did not have to attend Her Grace every day. Most had separate lodgings at court. Some shared apartments with their husbands, if those gentlemen waited on the king. A few even kept private houses nearby.

She sighed. Maids of honor had no such luxury.

“Mistress Bassett?”

Nan had not heard anyone approach and was surprised to find Eleanor, Countess of Rutland, standing next to her. The countess was a plump, matronly woman in her midforties, the mother of numerous children. The most recent had been born earlier that year. Nan narrowed her eyes. Unless she was much mistaken, the loosened laces on the countess’s kirtle meant she was pregnant yet again.

“I trust the pillow did not do any serious damage.”

“Only to my pride. It is kind of you to ask.” Nan dipped low in acknowledgment of the countess’s superior status.

“Your sister sends her regards,” Lady Rutland said.

“Cat is still with you, then?” When Nan came upright again, she found herself eye to eye with the countess. They were almost exactly the same height.

“I have told her that she is welcome to stay as long as she wishes.”

“As one of your waiting gentlewomen?” Nan knew that the queen’s ladies were allowed two gentlewomen apiece to wait upon them in their quarters, just as the maids of honor could each employ one servant. Nan’s newly acquired tiring maid, whose main duty was to help Nan in
and out of her attire, was a girl named Constance Ware. She had been supplied by Cousin Mary.

“Not officially, but you will have noticed that most noblewomen at court keep more than the two attendants they are permitted. Cat’s company delights me. I will be sad to part with her if your mother arranges a more prestigious place for her.”

Nan listened politely as Lady Rutland sang Cat’s praises. Clearly the countess was fond of Cat, much fonder than Queen Jane was of Nan. Nan began to feel the unmistakable burn of envy. She was glad to escape when the queen summoned her maids of honor back to the royal bedchamber.

Queen Jane had tired of her poppets and looked sulky. She brightened when she caught sight of Nan. “Ah, there you are, Bassett. Come closer.”

She peered at Nan for a long moment. Then she reached out and fingered the embroidered linen of Nan’s chemise. It had been designed to show in a froth of white just above the bodice of her kirtle.

“You must replace your linen,” the queen declared. “The cloth used to make your smocks is far too coarse.”

Biting back a protest—since her mother had paid dearly to have her daughters’ undergarments made of the finest fabric available—Nan bowed her head. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will send for replacements at once.”

“See that you do.” Queen Jane flapped one hand in dismissal and plucked the nearest poppet off the coverlet. A look of satisfaction played across her pale face.

Once again, Nan backed out of the room. This time she went straight to the maids’ dormitory to find Constance. She would have to send the girl to Cousin Mary and ask that the Countess of Sussex dispatch new orders to John Husee. The family’s man of business was already engaged in procuring a second gable headdress for Nan and had ordered new gowns, sleeves, bodices, and kirtles. Now he would have to dredge up replacements for her undergarments, as well.

“Look at the bright side, Mistress Nan,” Constance consoled her when Nan passed on the queen’s latest demand. “At least you have new clothes, even if they are not of your own choosing.”

I
N THE UNFAMILIAR
vastness of Lord Cromwell’s house in Austin Friars, near the north wall of London, young Wat Hungerford found it difficult to settle down for the night. He was twelve years old and had been issued Cromwell livery only a week earlier. Before that he had always lived at Farleigh Castle in rural Wiltshire, his father’s country seat.

Using the excuse of a trip to the privy, Wat left the bed he shared with two other boys and set about exploring his new home. With the help of a full moon and the occasional rush light in a wall sconce, he poked into unused chambers and storage rooms and discovered a half-hidden stairway that took him to the kitchens. At length he made his way into the wing that contained his master’s private chambers.

Thomas Cromwell was Henry VIII’s Lord Privy Seal and the most powerful man in England after the king. He had been the one responsible for obtaining the king’s divorce from Anne Boleyn and had masterminded the dissolution of the monasteries, with the claim that they were breeding grounds for sin and corruption.

Wat’s father, Lord Hungerford of Heytesbury, had told Wat over and over that a place in Lord Cromwell’s household was a grand opportunity for advancement. He’d ordered Wat to make himself indispensable to his new master. Exactly how he was supposed to do that, Wat did not know, but it seemed to him that it would be an advantage to know the lay of the land. At home he’d had a dozen hiding places and knew all the best listening posts.

Wat entered Lord Cromwell’s private study cautiously. It was past midnight. He did not expect to encounter anyone, so long as he stayed indoors where there were no guards. He had been a casualty in an ongoing war between his father and his stepmother—subject to blows from
one and slaps from the other—and had learned at a young age to keep to the shadows.

The faint rustle of rushes was the only warning he had that someone was approaching. Wat ducked behind the nearest arras. The heavy wall hanging concealed him completely, but when two men entered, one carrying a lantern, he found he could see into the room through a worn patch in the weave.

With a start, Wat recognized the man with the light as Lord Cromwell himself. The boy wondered why he was skulking about in his own house. The answer was not long in coming. Cromwell did not want anyone to know about this meeting.

A thrill of excitement made Wat shiver in anticipation. He had heard that his new master employed spies and secret agents to do his bidding. There were even rumors to the effect that if evidence of misconduct was lacking at some of the wealthier religious houses, Lord Cromwell contrived to make sure that something untoward would still be found on the premises. Barely able to contain his curiosity, Wat held himself as silent and still as a little mouse and listened hard.

At first he could not make out what the two men were saying. They kept their voices low until Lord Cromwell raised his in a show of temper.

“You are a thief and a heretic.”

“My lord, you wrong me,” the other man protested.

“You stole silver and gold plate from the church of St. Gregory in Canterbury when you were a canon there. Cups and chalices meant for holy use. I could have you arrested for that crime at any time.”

A sharply indrawn breath was followed by a lengthy silence. Wat risked peering around the edge of the arras for a better look, but there was not enough light to make out the stranger’s features. All he could discern was that the fellow was tall and dressed like a priest.