Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (50 page)

Norfolk had a stern and forbidding manner that went well with his hawk nose and tightly pursed lips. At present, his face wore a pained expression. That did not surprise Nan. Queen Anne Boleyn had been his niece. All her family had lost the king’s favor when she was arrested, charged with adultery, and executed. It must be a bitter honor to stand godfather to a prince born to Queen Anne’s successor, especially when the duke had thought to see his own kin poised to inherit the throne.

Having examined the three most important personages in the crowd, Nan shifted her attention to lesser noblemen. The Marquess of Exeter came next in precedence and entered the queen’s apartments right after the two dukes. England’s only other marquess, Dorset, was not in attendance. He, his mother, and his wife had been ordered to stay away because there was plague in the vicinity of the dowager Lady Dorset’s manor house at Croydon. The king refused to take any risks with the health of his son and heir.

Earls came next. Nan already knew Sussex and Rutland on sight. Robert Radcliffe, Earl of Sussex, was a homely man past his prime, with deep-set eyes, a prominent nose, and a gray beard trimmed to a point. His oldest son and heir, Lord Fitzwalter, was a widower, but he was twice Nan’s age and looked a good deal like his father. She hoped to do better.

The Earl of Rutland, Thomas Manners by name, was younger than Sussex, but not by much. His beard, square cut, was going gray. Lady
Rutland had been married to him for nearly fifteen years and had presented him with numerous children. The two oldest had recently been married off, despite their young ages, to other young people of noble birth.

Seeking better prospects, Nan shifted her focus to three other earls—Arundel, Oxford, and Wiltshire—but none of them were prospective husbands either. They already had wives and the latter had another count against him. He was Anne Boleyn’s father.

Also married were the next two noblemen to be announced, Lord William Howard, a younger son of the Duke of Norfolk, and Edward, Lord Beauchamp, Queen Jane’s oldest brother. The queen’s younger brother, Thomas Seymour, was a different kettle of fish. Not only was he still single, but he was a fine-looking man. Nan’s gaze lingered on his muscular physique. A pity that, so far, he was not even a knight. She moved on to the next group of courtiers.

Nan skipped over Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury—no marriage prospect there! In England, clergymen were not allowed to marry, although some secretly had wives. Next to Cranmer was Thomas, Lord Cromwell, the king’s Lord Privy Seal and most trusted advisor. Cromwell’s son had recently married Queen Jane’s widowed sister. Cromwell was himself a widower, Nan recalled, but she did not for one moment consider him as a prospective husband. Like the Earl of Sussex, he had seen more than fifty summers. Besides, he was at odds with her stepfather.

Nan looked quickly away when Cromwell noticed her staring at him. Even with her eyes modestly downcast, she knew she was being watched. But when she peeked at Cromwell again, he had lost interest in her. Through lowered lashes, she searched the crowd. With a sense of pleasure, she identified several courtiers of lesser rank, both knights and plain gentlemen, who were looking her way. Nan wished they could see her in her French wardrobe, instead of the dull styles Queen Jane had mandated. Then she reminded herself that a mere gentleman or knight would not do. She wanted a man with a title.

Nan’s gaze fell next on Lord Montagu, grandson of that infamous Duke of Clarence who had been the brother of Edward IV and Richard III and had been—so it was said—drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine while a prisoner in the Tower of London. She stifled a smile at the thought.

Nan glanced at Lord Cromwell again, but this time the Lord Privy Seal was too absorbed in his conversation with the archbishop to notice her interest. Someone else did, though. A boy in Cromwell’s livery stood next to him, watching Nan intently. She stared back. She had no idea who he was, although it seemed likely that he was some gentleman’s son sent to finish his education in Cromwell’s service. He looked to be twelve or thirteen, a gangly lad with little to recommend him beyond a head of thick and wavy dark brown hair.

When Peter Mewtas was announced, Nan lost interest in the boy. She studied Mewtas with considerable interest. What was it about him, she wondered, that had prompted Jane to give up her post as a maid of honor and marry him? He was nothing remarkable to look at. Tall, yes, and athletic. So were most courtiers. Mewtas had yellow hair and a long, yellow beard. He was a gentleman of the privy chamber, but as yet he had not been knighted and he had no particular prospects. His grandfather, so Nan had been told, had been a native of Picardy and had been employed as French secretary by King Henry’s father.

Nan was still contemplating Peter Mewtas when a slight movement at her elbow distracted her. Anne Parr leaned forward, her gaze fixed upon a man wearing the livery of the King’s Spears, Henry VIII’s elite bodyguard. A rather ordinary-looking fellow of thirty or so, he was tall and lanky and had a shock of red hair.

Nan was about to ask Anne who he was—she had not been paying attention when he was announced—when she caught a glimpse of the man next in line to enter the chamber. The sight drove every other thought out of her head. It was Ned Corbett.

In honor of the occasion, Ned wore his finest doublet and hose. A brilliant jewel sparkled on the hat he swept from his tousled hair
to make his bow to the king and queen. He offered felicitations to the royal couple on behalf of Lord and Lady Lisle. Then, to Nan’s horror, he asked to speak with her, saying he had messages for her from her family in Calais. Nan felt her cheeks flame as Ned looked her way and winked.

The queen graciously granted permission. She had been in a mellow mood ever since she’d fulfilled her duty and produced an heir. She’d also been indulging herself by eating her favorite foods, including an enormous quantity of sweets.

As deftly as any accomplished courtier, Ned whisked Nan away from the other maids of honor, threading his way through the crowd until he reached a secluded corner where they would have a modicum of privacy. Keeping one hand on her elbow, as if he were afraid she might bolt, he grinned down at her.

Nan glowered back. “Did you just lie to the king and queen of England?”

“I did,” he said. And if Ned felt any guilt in the matter, it did not show. The mischievous glint in his eyes was impossible to resist. “I confess. I wanted an excuse to speak with you, Mistress Nan Bassett.”

“Why?”

His gaze slid downward. “To praise your new attire? Master Husee outdid himself in procuring so many garments in so little time. I cannot repeat the language he used when word came that you must have yet another new gown.”

In spite of her irritation with him, Nan smiled back. “Then he will be wroth indeed when he learns that I must have two more, one of them in time for the queen’s churching and the other by Christmas.”

“Oh, that
will
delight him! And does Queen Jane have particular requirements as to color and fabric?”

She made a face at him. “Does that not go without saying? We are all to wear satin at the churching, and gowns of lion tawny velvet for Yuletide.”

“You will look well in lion tawny. The color will bring out the gold in your hair.”

“That scarcely matters when no one can see it. The queen requires us to wear these cumbersome, all-concealing headdresses.”

That one restriction still irked her more than all the others combined. Nan knew how well she looked in a French hood, especially with her unbound hair flowing freely down her back. It reached nearly to her hips and was of an excellent texture.

“I return to Calais tomorrow,” Ned said. “Have you any message for Lady Lisle?”

“Tell Mother to send more quails if she would keep Her Majesty sweet.”

Chuckling, Ned left her and bowed his way out of the chamber. He walked backward, as protocol demanded. The sight amused Nan until the door opened and she caught sight of her sister waiting in the chamber beyond. Ned turned, smiled at Cat, then went straight to her side. Cat greeted him with obvious pleasure and considerable familiarity. As the guards eased the portal closed again, Nan was left to wonder just how often the two of them had met during the weeks she had been sequestered.

C
AT SMILED SHYLY
at Ned Corbett. Truly he was a lovely man. He was under no obligation to spend time with her when he delivered messages to personages at court from her mother and stepfather, and yet he did. They’d gone for long walks in the royal gardens and now he was escorting her to witness Prince Edward’s christening.

“We’d best hurry,” he said, taking her arm. “There will be hundreds of people all trying to crowd into the Chapel Royal at once. If we want to be able to see everything, we need to get there early and claim the best spot.”

“Lady Rutland says they’ll progress two by two, just like the animals going to Noah’s ark.” She’d also warned Cat that the pageantry and ceremony combined would last five or six hours.

Ned chuckled as he swept her along. She had to trot to keep pace with him as they passed through corridors illuminated as bright as day by men-at-arms holding torches.

“Did you speak with Nan? Is she well?” Lady Rutland had said she was, but Cat worried about her younger sister. Nan was not accustomed to being shut in. Cat knew that physicians said the air, especially the night air, carried all manner of contagions, but she also knew from firsthand experience that she felt better when she could indulge in a daily constitutional out of doors. Cat had been very grateful these last few weeks that she was not the one Queen Jane had chosen as a maid of honor.

“She seems in excellent health and spirits,” Ned said.

Cat heard the admiration in his voice and had to stifle a sigh. She should be accustomed to this by now. Gentlemen always preferred Nan. They were drawn to her vivaciousness as well as her beauty.

Ned found a place for them near the entrance to the chapel. They had scarcely settled themselves when the first gentlemen of the household appeared carrying torches—two by two, just as Lady Rutland had predicted. The members of the chapel choir followed, then the dean, abbots, chaplains, and bishops.

Members of the privy council came next, followed by assorted noblemen, the lord treasurer and the controller of the household, a group of foreign ambassadors, the lord chamberlain, the Lord Privy Seal, and the lord chancellor. Ned whispered names as they passed, identifying them for Cat, but she paid little attention. Their identities were unimportant to her. The spectacle was all.

The baby’s godfathers and the archbishop of Canterbury, who was to officiate at the christening, were followed by two earls carrying silver basins and two more bearing a wax taper and a gold saltcellar. The Lady Elizabeth, only four years old, came next, carrying the heavily embroidered and bejeweled chrisom-cloth. No one seeing her could ever doubt that she was King Henry’s child. She had the Tudor red hair and something of the king’s petulance, as well. Clearly she wanted to fulfill her role in the ceremony unaided, but the chrisom-cloth was too bulky for her to manage alone. When she faltered, the queen’s brother, Lord Beauchamp, picked her up. He carried both child and chrisom-cloth into the chapel.

At last the baby Prince Edward appeared in the arms of the Marchioness of Exeter. She walked under a canopy supported by three other noblewomen. The baby prince was dressed in a long, white gown with a train so long that it had to be carried by two noblemen. The Lady Mary followed with her ladies. Bringing up the rear were the baby’s wet nurse and the midwife. They walked under a canopy, too, this one held by six gentlemen.

Tears began to flow down Cat’s cheeks. Ned produced a square of linen and gently patted them dry. “Why are you sad?” he asked.

“I am not,” she said, sniffling. “I am crying because it is all so beautiful. Truly, the royal court is full of wonders!”

My Lady of Rutland has commanded me to tarry and to come back again to Hampton Court, and so to wait upon Mistress Katherine and to bring her to her house, because she hath but a few servants there. My lady herself and all the ladies must ride to Windsor to the burial, and so from thence for to come to London. She would have taken Mistress Katherine with her, but that she had no mourning gown.

—Edward Corbett to Lady Lisle, 10 November 1537

3

Had Anne Parr not elbowed Nan in the ribs, the queen would have caught her woolgathering. Nan barely managed not to cry out. She had no idea how much time had passed. Ned and all the rest had long since departed for the Chapel Royal. Only the king, the queen, the maids of honor, and a few yeomen of the guard had remained behind.

By tradition, a baby’s parents did not attend their child’s christening. Their Graces awaited the return of all and sundry at the end of the ceremony, when refreshments would be served—hippocras and wafers to the nobility and bread and sweet wine to the gentry. It would be close to midnight by then.

The king and queen had been engaged in quiet conversation when Nan’s mind wandered. Now the king rose and stretched.

“My dear,” he said to Queen Jane, “I fear I grow stiff with all this sitting. I must move about a bit.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. With your leave, I will remain as I am. My strength has not yet fully returned.” She reached for another comfit from the silver dish beside her.

After kissing his wife’s hand, His Majesty turned to the maids of honor. “Scatter, my pretties. There is no need for you to stand at attention. My guards do enough of that for everyone.”

Obediently, they all laughed at his quip. Five of the six maids were equally quick to comply with the royal command. Even the most limber person soon tired of staying in one position for too long. Only Mary Zouche elected to remain with the queen.

Anne Parr caught Nan’s arm and tugged her toward a window embrasure. Her wide-spaced gray eyes were alight with pleasure. “Well? Is he not wonderful?”

“The king? Why, that goes without saying.”