Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (60 page)

Nan hurried past the elaborate buildings, barely aware of them. She could see her destination ahead, near where the west end of Cheapside led into Newgate Street—the shop of Barnabas Carver, silversmith.

“There is no need for this,” Constance muttered as she trotted along behind her mistress. “He’s well cared for. Well loved. The midwife said so.”

Nan turned aside, entering the Liberty of St. Martins le Grand. She
had not changed her mind. She had one stop to make before she entered the silversmith’s shop.

The area was one in which many foreign craftsmen had settled. Nan could hear snippets of conversation in Flemish and Italian and French. She was fluent in the latter and a few judicious questions led her to a tiny shop that sold jewelry.

The Liberty of St. Martins le Grand was exempt from the jurisdiction of the lord mayor of London. The ancient rights of sanctuary applied there, although Nan was not sure why. That scarcely mattered. What was important was that these craftsmen were not bound by the regulations of the Goldsmith’s Company. As she’d hoped, the merchant she found sold counterfeit jewelry, both silver and the long strands of fake gold links popularly known as St. Martin’s chains.

“This is not pure silver,” she said, selecting a pretty bracelet from an array of such trinkets. Lying next to it was a carcanet, a jeweled collar studded with fake jewels. Colored foil had been set behind glass to make it resemble precious stones.

The shopkeeper assured Nan that she was mistaken.

“I do hope not, since it is silver-gilt jewelry I seek.”

The Frenchman shrugged. Speaking in his native language, as she had, he sang the praises of imitations that looked like the real thing. When he quoted a reasonable price for the bracelet, Nan paid it. Then she asked for the loan of a knife with which to scrape off enough of the thin silver coating to reveal the dull metal beneath.

A few minutes later, Nan was back in Cheapside and entering Master Carver’s shop. Her heart raced in anticipation. She warned herself that she had to be careful. She must not appear too eager, or even mention the child the Carvers had adopted. To display overt interest would arouse suspicion.

“May I help you, mistress?” asked the man Nan assumed was Barnabas Carver. He had a slight build and wore little silver spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His hands were small, too, but he had
long, graceful fingers. Nan supposed he needed a delicate touch to create the jewelry and other beautiful silver objects he had on display. There were cups and spoons, ewers and saltcellars, candlesticks and elaborate standing cups. From the back of the premises, she could hear the steady sound of hammering as apprentices shaped new pieces for sale.

Nan produced the bracelet she had just purchased. “A gentleman who seeks to marry me gave me this.” The fabrication came easily to her lips. “He claimed it was pure silver but, as you can see, I have reason to suspect he lied.”

Shaking his head and making a
tsk
ing sound, Carver took the bracelet. He ran one finger over the scratch Nan had made with the knife. “Alas, mistress, this is only silver gilt. The piece is not nearly as valuable as your suitor would have you suppose.”

“Oh!” Nan cried in a distraught voice. “Oh, it is too cruel.”

She wished she could coax forth tears at will, but had to settle for hiding her eyes behind a handkerchief and choking out sobs. Constance fussed over her, wringing her hands and beseeching the shopkeeper to find a place for her mistress to lie down.

“I know her well, sir.” Constance’s whisper contained just the right amount of urgency. “She will work herself into a terrible state if she’s given half a chance. There’s nothing for it but to take her somewhere private, and quickly. And perhaps a sip of wine to restore her?”

Peeking through her fingers, Nan watched Carver panic. Her plan was working. Within moments, she had been transferred from the ground-floor shop to the first-floor living quarters. She was led to Mistress Carver’s very fine bed—in truth, it was better than Nan’s own—and urged to lie down. She did so, but only until she heard the unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“You have a child!” Abruptly, she sat up. Genuine tears threatened to undo her.

Regarding her warily, Mistress Carver nodded. “My son, Jamie.”

“May I see him?” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes. “I love children. It would calm me if I could spend a few moments with your little one.”

Mistress Carver looked as if she’d like to refuse, but since Nan was clearly a gentlewoman, not to mention a potential customer, she reluctantly agreed to fetch him and scurried out of the room.

Nan told herself she approved of the other woman’s caution. She wanted her son’s mother to feel protective toward him. Hastily, she got to her feet, smoothed her skirts, and righted her French hood. Her nervousness returned tenfold. She had little experience with babies.

Mistress Carver returned carrying a tightly swaddled child. Jamie was bigger than Nan expected and the tiny cap he wore completely covered his hair. She would not have known him for her own if she had not found him here.

Without giving Mistress Carver the chance to object, Nan tugged the baby out of the other woman’s arms and hugged him tight. Jamie blinked up at her with Ned Corbett’s eyes. Then he began to wail. Nan hastily handed him back to the silversmith’s wife.

The baby calmed as Mistress Carver crooned to him. “He is a good baby.”

“A healthy child with lusty lungs,” Nan agreed. “He is more precious than gold or silver. Guard him well.”

Her son would never lack for material things. More important, the little boy would have love and attention in abundance. Reassured, Nan knew she should make a clean break. Instead she heard herself asking Mistress Carver if she might call on her again and bring a small gift for Jamie.

The King’s Grace removed from Westminster Tuesday the nineteenth day of November, and thanked be to God was never merrier. And the Wednesday before he made a banquet to certain lords and ladies, which was first the Duke of Suffolk and my lady his wife, my lord my master and my lady, the Earl of Hertford and his wife, and my Lady Lisle, with others, maids, which were the Queen’s women. And there they lay all night in the Court, and their chambers gorgeously dressed, and everyone had banquets in their chambers and the King’s servants to wait upon them: and the next day they tarried their dinner, and after the King showed them all the pleasures of his house, which dured till it was four of the clock. And then they departed and were on their way.

—a servant of the Earl of Sussex to Sussex’s eldest son, 21 November 1538

7

I
am back at court!

Jubilant, Nan wanted to whirl in a circle and sing, but she restrained her impulse. Her mother would surely not approve.

In retrospect, it seemed to Nan that her actions had been preordained. She had been meant to escape discovery. She’d had only to wait for a new opportunity to catch the king’s eye. How ironic that it should be her mother’s return visit to England, two months after the last one, that brought about that much-desired result. Honor Lisle had crossed again from Calais just a week earlier and taken a house in the Lothbury section of London.

It was a clear, cold November day when their party entered
Whitehall Palace through the court gate, just to the north of the northern gatehouse on the east side of King Street. “His Grace has made improvements,” Honor Lisle remarked when they reached a courtyard. On one side was the great hall. Beyond that were the royal apartments, outer rooms leading into privy lodgings said to be more lavish than in any other royal residence.

“The changes are even more extensive on the western side of King Street,” the Earl of Sussex said. “There are four tennis plays, two bowling alleys, a cockpit, a pheasant yard, and a gallery for viewing tournaments in the tiltyard.”

King Street, which ran through Westminster to Charing Cross, neatly divided Whitehall, officially “the king’s palace at Westminster,” into two halves. They were linked by the northern gatehouse that stretched over the street. Nan craned her neck, trying to see everything at once. She had spent her brief stint as a maid of honor at Hampton Court, with a brief visit only to Windsor Castle. This was her first glimpse of Whitehall.

Together with her mother and the Earl and Countess of Sussex, Nan had been summoned to sup with the king. They would spend the night at the palace. Other noble couples made up the company, together with a few more former maids of honor.

Nan’s sense of anticipation grew as they neared the king’s presence chamber. She had not seen King Henry since she’d watched him ride away from Hampton Court following the queen’s death.

She heard his big, booming laugh first. Then she saw him. He was as gloriously attired as ever, although he did seem a little larger than she remembered. One of his gentlemen—the one standing next to him wearing green silk trimmed with black fur—had clearly just said something that amused him.

“Who is that fellow?” Nan asked her cousin Mary.

“Anthony Denny. He is a groom of the chamber and keeper of the king’s privy purse.”

“Close to the king, then.”

“And distantly related to us though his wife,” Nan’s mother whispered. “He may be of some help in the matter of Painswick.”

Nan grimaced at the reminder that Lady Lisle had her own agenda. She wished her mother luck holding on to Painswick Manor in Gloucestershire. According to Master Husee, Lord Cromwell had made Lord Lisle an offer for the property, a very low offer. To put pressure on Nan’s stepfather to sell, he was delaying payment of the annuity King Henry had promised Lisle when they’d met in Dover.

When it came time for Nan to approach the king and dip into her curtsy, she was pleased to see a look of delight on his florid face. “Mistress Bassett,” King Henry said. “It is a great pleasure to see you again and looking so hale and hearty, too. Rumor had it that you were ill.” He gestured for her to stand and face him.

Nan kept her smile firmly in place. “I suffered from nothing of any import, Your Grace, but I did not wish to bring any hint of sickness into your presence.”

“Very considerate of you, my dear. You are wise as well as beautiful.” Dismissing her with those pretty words, the king turned his attention to the next guest in line.

Among the glittering company already assembled were the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and the Earl and Countess of Hertford. Each of those noblemen had at one time been the king’s brother-in-law. Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, had been married to King Henry’s late sister, Mary, while Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, was one of Queen Jane’s brothers. Nan realized with a sense of pleasure that, as such things went at court, this could very nearly be called an intimate family gathering. After all, Nan’s stepfather was King Henry’s uncle.

After supper, Nan returned to the luxuriously furnished double lodging assigned to her and her mother. The king’s own servants waited upon them to serve a sumptuous banquet. The next day, they shared dinner with the king and afterward His Grace insisted upon showing off the wonders of Whitehall.

In the course of the tour, King Henry led them to a bank of windows
that looked out across the Thames toward Lambeth. He deftly singled Nan out and maneuvered her into a deep embrasure. For a few moments, their privacy was absolute.

“I would have you back at court, Mistress Bassett,” the king said. “It is a dull and dreary place without the maids of honor.”

“Pray God we will soon have a new queen,” Nan answered. “I look forward to entering her service.”

“And what of
my
service, Nan?”

His voice was so low that for a moment Nan wondered if she’d imagined the invitation. Uncertain as to what she’d see there, she was afraid to meet the king’s eyes. She wondered, suddenly, what had become of Margaret Skipwith.

Before she could decide how to respond, a rustle of fabric heralded Lady Lisle’s intrusion. “Your Grace,” Honor Lisle gushed as she dropped into a perfunctory curtsy and bobbed back up again. “Is my daughter not the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen? Why, I vow, being here at court has put roses in her cheeks.”

Only by a slight stiffening of his shoulders did the king show his displeasure. Nan held her breath, fearing a display of the infamous Tudor temper, but he said only, courteously, “Mistress Nan takes after her mother.”

“Your Grace flatters me.” She sent a flirtatious smile his way. “I am emboldened to ask, on my husband’s behalf, about one or two small matters that Lord Lisle discussed with you in Dover.”

The king’s expression darkened and he cut her off before she could elaborate. “You must settle such details with Cromwell.” With a curt nod at Nan, His Grace abruptly left them.

Nan’s mother, rigid with fury, looked nearly as formidable as the king. “For all his graciousness,” she muttered, “for all his pretty compliments, we are no better off than before.”

“Perhaps Lord Cromwell can be persuaded—”

“Hah! We have sent that upstart enough French wine to last a year and still he thwarts us.”

“He
is
preoccupied with matters of state.”

This reminder had its effect. Nan’s mother subsided into brooding silence broken only when she informed Nan that she was to spend the night in Lothbury rather than return to Sussex House with Cousin Mary.

Lothbury was a largely residential section of the city and boasted spacious houses with fine gardens. But it was hard by the foundries that made chafing dishes, candles, spice mortars, and the like. During the day, the noise was appalling.

After a light supper, Nan was not surprised to find herself alone with her mother in a small private parlor. She curled her legs beneath her on the window seat, braced her back against the closed shutters, and waited. There was something on Lady Lisle’s mind. Until she’d unburdened herself, Nan would be a captive audience.

“Last week,” Lady Lisle began, “Lord Montagu, the Marquis of Exeter, and Sir Edward Neville were arrested. Do you know why they were taken to the Tower?”