Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (65 page)

“He prefers golden hair.” What showed of Margaret’s hair at the front of her French hood was fair, but more like ripened wheat than gold. Her eyes were narrow slits, green in color and green with envy, too.

Nan smiled serenely. “I can always achieve that color with the help of yellow powder, but I believe he likes me just the way I am.”

Margaret’s fingers dug into Nan’s forearm with painful force. Nan tried to shake her off, but her grip was too strong. “You were well compensated,
Lady Talboys,
” Nan said through gritted teeth. “It is my turn now.”

“Compensated? I was married off to a boy of sixteen.” Margaret’s disgust was plain in her voice and in her face, only inches from Nan’s.

A boy who then took immediate control of his inheritance, Nan thought, five years earlier than he would otherwise have been able to. She had heard all the details from Anne Herbert and had no sympathy for Margaret. She’d gotten a wealthy, titled husband and the age difference was trifling. Margaret was only a few years older than her spouse. “Most women would be well pleased with such an arrangement,” she said. “I would be myself.”

“Then you are a fool!” Margaret released her and was about to stalk off in high dudgeon when Nan turned the tables and caught her arm. “Is the king such a wonderful lover that you cannot bear to lose him?”

Margaret’s eyes widened at the blunt question. A series of emotions played across her face—anger, disdain, and, finally, what looked like fear. Belatedly, she seemed to realize that confronting Nan in a public place had been unwise. They were standing apart from the others, but a stray breeze could easily carry their words, and no one watching was in any doubt as to the subject of their quarrel.

“He does not need you,” Margaret said in a harsh whisper. “He has me.” And with that, she walked rapidly away.

Nan stared after her, absently rubbing her arm.
Was
Henry Tudor that good in bed? Or was it only her influence with him that Margaret sought to keep? Nan’s hands clenched into fists as another possibility struck her. She stared, unseeing, at the colorful bevy of gentlewomen on the deck of the ship. Could it be that Margaret Talboys had fallen in love with the king? Poor creature. If that were so, now that His Grace had found her a husband, she had no chance at all of keeping him to herself.

“Nan Bassett!” Joan Denny, wife of the chief gentleman of the king’s privy chamber, trotted toward her. “There you are, Nan. Come along. We are to be taken ashore now.”

Nan complied, dismissing Margaret Skipwith from her thoughts. Joan’s conversation ran in domestic channels. She chattered for the most part about her newly acquired house in Westminster. “It is almost like living in the country,” she boasted. “The air is fresh and there is room to take long walks. And yet we are hard by Whitehall, convenient to wait upon the king.”

Nan had no desire to rusticate and little interest in gardens, but she nodded politely at all the right moments. Joan’s husband, Anthony Denny, owned a goodly number of properties now, a direct result of the dissolution of the monasteries.

“Still, I am fond of our London house,” Joan said. “Aldgate is a prosperous part of the city and we have interesting neighbors. One of them is Hans Holbein, the portrait painter. Did you know he has been sent to Cleves? The king will not make the final decision to marry the Lady Anna until he has seen for himself what she looks like. Master Holbein is expected back at the end of the month with her likeness.”

It had been Master Holbein’s portrait of Christina of Milan that had so delighted the king after an earlier mission to paint prospective brides, and Nan had a sample of his work herself, the miniature the king had given her.

“Have you ever had your portrait painted?” Joan asked.

Nan shook her head.

“You should consider it. A likeness in small makes an excellent gift. It keeps the giver always in the recipient’s thoughts.”

E
ARLY THE NEXT
morning, in company with Jane Mewtas, Nan set off on the return journey to London. At Guildford, a letter from Lady Lisle caught up with them.

“She thinks I am at court,” Nan said when she had read the missive. “She wants me to ask the king to pardon some man from the West Country, although she does not say what crime he committed or why he has prevailed upon her to intervene.” She barely managed to keep the irritation out of her voice. She’d never heard of the fellow and had no idea whether or not he deserved a pardon.

“Well, you are not at court, and there’s the end of it,” Jane said. “Write to your mother and tell her that you cannot help.”

“She will be furious with me.”

“She is in Calais and you are here. You will not be able to hear her curses.”

“True enough, but I cannot simply refuse. I must give her some reason or she will hound me about it for weeks.” Lady Lisle was an indefatigable letter writer.

“Tell her you do not expect to see the king again until His Grace comes to Grafton or to Ampthill and that you are in doubt whether you will see him then.”

Nan cocked a brow at the other woman. “
Am
I in doubt? I thought we were going to Grafton.” The king’s summer progress would stop there and, although that meant accommodations in the neighborhood would be hard to come by, Peter Mewtas had friends who lived nearby.

“I may decide not to make the journey, and you cannot go without me. I am tired of all this rushing about. And I think I may be breeding.”

“But—”

“If you are looking for excuses to give to your mother, Nan, then that one will do nicely.”

“You truly mean to stay in London?” Nan was taken aback by the idea. Even when the king was at Whitehall, visiting the court would be difficult without a respectable gentlewoman for company. Nan would be obliged to wait for the king to come to her. In the meantime, as a married noblewoman, Lady Talboys could visit the court and keep her own rooms there, too.

The prospect was intolerable. She had come so far. She would not abandon hope now. Nan set her mind to finding a way around this newest obstacle to her ambition.

Mistress Mewtas and I are now at Guildford, going to London; and I think we shall not see the King again till his Grace come to Grafton and to Ampthill; and that I am in doubt whether I shall see his Grace then or not, for Mistress Mewtas is in a doubt whether she go or not. Your ladyship knows well, being with her, except she go I cannot go; for I have nor horse nor man except the nag that the King’s Grace gave me for myself and a saddle withal.

—Anne Bassett to her mother, 8 August 1539

I am now with my Cousin Denny, at the King’s Grace’s commandment: for whereas Mistress Mewtas doth lie in London there are no walks, but a little garden, wherefore it was the King’s Grace’s pleasure that I should be with my Cousin Denny; for where as she lieth there are fair walks and good open air.

—Anne Bassett to her mother, 5 October 1539

9

It was the first of October before Nan was summoned back to court, and the invitation did not come from the king. Her stepfather, Lord Lisle, was at Whitehall.

Lisle greeted Nan warmly when she and Constance arrived at the lodgings assigned to him. He had arranged for her to have her own small chamber in the suite of rooms.

“You see how well I am regarded.” With a sweep of his hand, Lisle indicated the luxurious surroundings. A series of tapestries graced the walls, depicting scenes of sylvan glades and dancing nymphs. Both the ceiling and the floor had been plastered, the former shaped into geometric patterns and flowers and the latter painted to resemble marble. The
furniture was heavy and elaborately carved. The hangings around the bed and at the windows were of expensive fabrics, embroidered with vines and fruits.

“Very grand,” Nan agreed, crossing a section of rush matting put down to protect the plaster. She gave him a peck on one leathery cheek. “You look well, sir.”

He preened a bit. “Not too bad for an old man, eh?” Although he was just entering his seventy-eighth year, Lisle had kept himself in excellent physical shape. If not for the deep lines around his mouth and eyes, he could have passed for sixty. “I owe it all to your mother,” he said. “Honor keeps me young.”

Honor kept him hopping, Nan thought, although the welcoming smile on her face never wavered. She wondered what had brought her stepfather to England.

“I have had no news from Calais in over a week,” Lisle lamented. “The weather has been so bad that no one has been able to cross the Narrow Seas.”

“Then you will receive all her letters at once.” Nan took a sip of the French wine with which her stepfather was always well supplied and waited for his next conversational gambit. She doubted he’d invited her to stay with him solely for the pleasure of her company.

“The king entertained me most lovingly at Windsor and Hampton Court and now here,” Lisle said. “And he has granted me the commission to suppress the White Friars of Calais.”

Nan was not sure what to say to that. There was considerable profit to be made from such an undertaking, but it must go against the grain for Lord Lisle to shut down a religious house. Nan’s mother would have even more qualms, being the most devout member of the family and the most reluctant to abandon the old ways.

“I was less successful in another endeavor.” Lisle sent her a slightly embarrassed look.

“Indeed?” Had he tried to make a match for her with some elderly knight? Or negotiate her return to the Earl of Sussex’s household? Or
find a place for her in that of some other nobleman? She imagined the king would have put a stop to any of those plans. If His Grace had not forgotten her entirely.

“I wished to become governor of the Lady Elizabeth’s household.”

Caught off guard, Nan had difficulty hiding her astonishment. “Do you mean to say that you would leave your post in Calais to take charge of the king’s bastard daughter?”

He winced at her sharp tone. “She was not always a bastard and I suspect she will not remain one forever. You may not know this, but we tried last year to place your sister Mary in her service. In any case, I would welcome the chance to leave Calais.” He lowered himself into a chair near the bench where Nan sat and reached over to pat her knee. “You have not been back for more than two years. You do not know what it is like there now.”

Nan stared at his hand. There were liver spots on the wrinkled skin and his bones had a brittle look, reminding her again of just how old he was.

“I have been most concerned, since Easter and before,” Lisle continued, “about the growing number of soldiers and townsmen in Calais who maintain erroneous opinions in matters of religion.”

“It is scarcely your fault if there are heretics about.”

“Ever since King Henry broke with Rome, there has been considerable confusion among people in all walks of life about how to celebrate Mass, and whether or not one should pray to Our Lady, and dozens of other matters to do with religion. I have no authority to enforce obedience to the tenets of the Church of England, nor even proper guidelines as to what is and is not acceptable. I fear that if I cannot stamp out heresy, I will be accused of abetting it.”

Nan put her hand over his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “No one would ever think such a thing of you, sir. You are too well known for your devotion to king and country.”

“Lord Cromwell has been most critical of my stewardship.” He sounded more sad than angry.

Nan said nothing. Cromwell had made no secret of his opinion. He thought her stepfather was incompetent.

“I had hoped to speak privily with the king about my concerns, but Cromwell was always at His Grace’s side. And now that he has finally left court for his own house in London, the king is suffering from a cold. He will see no one.” He hesitated. “I have heard that you have the king’s … favor. That he gave you a horse.”

“A nag,” Nan said dismissively. She wondered how much Ned Corbett had told him, then chided herself for her lack of trust.

Ned would never betray her. In the course of the last few months, he had paid several visits to Tower Street. He’d gone out of his way to lift her spirits with amusing stories about his friends in Calais—not the most admirable of men, but diverting. He’d bolstered her self-confidence with his compliments to her beauty, her gracefulness, and her skill on the lute and with a needle. To their mutual surprise, they rubbed along very well together, so long as they did not speak of love, marriage, or coupling.

“Well, do what you can,” Lisle said. “That is all anyone can ask of you.”

Nan considered his request in light of her own situation. She’d had no personal message from His Grace in all the weeks since her return from Portsmouth. It was past time to take some action. But if His Grace was ill, how—?

“Ah!” The solution was so obvious that she laughed aloud. She turned to her stepfather, who was staring at her in bewilderment. “Have you any of Mother’s conserves with you?”

Lisle blinked at the unexpected question, then nodded. “A codiniac.”

“Quince marmalade? Excellent. We will send it to Anthony Denny to give to His Grace. I will compose a note to go with it.”

T
HREE DAYS PASSED
without any response from the king. While her stepfather waited on Lord Cromwell, who handled all the paperwork for commissions to suppress religious houses, Nan threw herself into the activities of the court. There was no point in sulking, and at Whitehall,
even when the king was indisposed, there were any number of enjoyable pursuits available.

On the third night there was dancing. Nan had no shortage of partners. Sir Edmund Knyvett, a dark-haired, blue-eyed man in his prime, was particularly attentive. A pity he was married. There was also Master Walter Hungerford. He had no wife, and was the heir to a barony, but he was nearly four years younger than she was, a tall, thin, gangly lad of fourteen.

In spite of what she’d told Margaret Skipwith, she had a hard time imagining herself marrying a gawky, pimple-faced boy. He was a good dancer, though, and as they executed the movements of a pavane, she tried her hand at coaxing information out of him about his master, Lord Cromwell. She hoped to learn something that would help her stepfather.