The Queen's Mistake (28 page)

She was frustrated that nothing in her life was under her control. At this moment, she was everyone’s pawn, including Henry, the duke, the dowager, Mary Lassells—perhaps even Thomas. Well, she would show them. She would throw everything in jeopardy.

Her emotions converged wildly as Gregory pressed her back against the doorframe and opened his mouth over hers. They stumbled into the room, crashing into furniture as they tore at each other’s clothing. Catherine closed the door to Thomas’s room with a defiant thud.

They did not reach the bed. He pressed her against the cool plaster wall, pulling her skirts above her waist. He could not take her swiftly enough. It was fast and full of base need, as their arms and legs splayed out against the wall. When it was over, Gregory collapsed against her as they both struggled to catch their breath.

They did not speak at first. Catherine smoothed her dress back down in the silence, and Gregory straightened his netherhose, raking a hand through his hair before he looked at her again.

“You are really quite beautiful, you know. You could entice anyone.”

“So they tell me,” Catherine said distractedly as she tidied her hair.

He opened the door and held on to the handle, lingering in the doorway, then glanced back at her. He gave a small, almost sincere smile. “For what it’s worth, Mistress Howard, I really do wish I could be here to see what happens to you in these next months. I think I might have helped you.”

“I believe I have had enough of your help,” Catherine said, suddenly wanting to leave.

“There is no such thing as too much help when one is dealing with the king. Or with the Duke of Norfolk, for that matter.”

“Thank you, Gregory,” she replied, forcing a smile.

“I would wish you luck, but I suspect a charming girl like you will make your own. Oh, and I’ll not be mentioning our little encounter to Culpeper. If the gossip I hear around here is any indication, that poor sot is about to face quite a lot more disappointment as it is. And there’s no sense kicking a lad when he’s down.”

She had meant to feel as vindictively as she had behaved—if Thomas wanted to play the game of hurting each other, she could play it better. But as Gregory closed the door behind him, she had only one overwhelming sensation: remorse, for what she had just done to them both.

When she returned to the queen’s apartments this time, it was to a great deal of commotion and whispering in the outer rooms, as if something important had just happened. No one even noticed as Catherine walked through the archway into the privy chamber, knowing she was late, and just praying that no one would notice. It was only another instant before she saw why.

Standing near the leaded glass windows, through which the Greenwich morning sunlight streamed, were the Earl of Waldeck, the Duke of Suffolk, Mother Lowe, Jane and the queen.

“And where does the king wish me to go if I am to leave his court?” Anne asked in her heavily clotted English.

“The palace at Richmond is being prepared for Your Grace. It is a lovely dwelling in beautiful countryside,” Suffolk explained.

“Is this about the divorce he seeks?” asked Mother Lowe.

“I believe so, madam, although nothing has been finalized yet.”

Anne and Waldeck conversed rapidly in German as Catherine approached and made an unseen curtsy. Jane looked up first, followed by Mother Lowe and the earl.

“Perhaps Mistress Howard should not be here just now,” Mother Lowe said in an accusatory tone, arching her brow. A deep silence descended upon those surrounding the queen, and all eyes in the room fell upon Catherine. Anne did not smile as she usually did when she saw the beautiful young girl who had tried to help her learn to play the lute, and in whom she had once attempted to confide.

“No, Mistress Howard is one of my own ladies,” said Anne of Cleves. “She shall remain.”

The glares of disapproval were like a weight upon her. She felt even Jane regard her suspiciously from the corner of her eye. Catherine knew what everyone was saying about her, and she knew she deserved it.

“His Majesty has made it clear to me that he has no desire to bring any humiliation upon Your Grace. It is simply his belief that a separation of space, for a time, would be beneficial to you both,” said Suffolk.

There was another flurry of German between Anne and Waldeck, and an awkward silence among the others, before Waldeck could translate the queen’s words.

“The queen desires a private word with Mistress Howard,” Waldeck finally announced. The queen’s ladies immediately departed to an adjoining chamber, leaving only the queen, Catherine, Mother Lowe and the earl.

Anne walked toward Catherine with a swish of her heavy skirts
and spoke to her directly in English. Her words were low and carefully chosen.

“What would you do in my place, Mistress Howard?” Catherine felt a lump of guilt growing in her throat, hard as a stone that she could not swallow.

“With respect, Your Grace,” she managed to say, slowly and deliberately, “. . . perhaps I am not the best one to ask.”

“I agree with
that
well enough,” Mother Lowe quipped curtly beneath her breath, just loudly enough to be heard.

“Your own cousin came before me. You shall likely come after. I believe that more than qualifies you to speak.” Her expression remained absolutely calm. “Would you go without a fight, Mistress Howard? Or would you risk losing your head by staying? What do you think?”

What did she think, indeed? Catherine simply could not believe that the kind, funny and gentle king she was beginning to know would sanction his own wife’s execution without reason. She was only coming now to understand that there must have been many reasons for the fall of Anne Boleyn. Yet that did not mean the current queen had no reason to fear the king’s wrath. She chose her words carefully and spoke them slowly.

“I do not believe he would ever harm you, but I was raised hearing that the king is of firm mind and strong stance. If His Majesty has made up his mind, I fear there is little else for you to do but go.”

Anne considered Catherine’s words. “That is what I told Waldeck, but he said, for the sake of Cleves’s reputation, I should fight for my place, as the first queen did.” Anne looked at Catherine with an unwavering gaze, as if she were prepared to follow the earl’s advice.

The hit was direct. Catherine had not guessed that the quiet, soft-spoken queen was possessed of a talent for battle. Catherine felt a shiver, along with a heightened sense of respect. The queen suddenly linked her arm with Catherine’s and walked her away from Mother Lowe and the earl.

“You are better suited to him; I can see that,” Anne continued in her careful English. “The way he looks at you when you enter a room, he becomes like a little boy. When men behave that way, all hope is lost.”

“Oh, Your Grace, I really do not think—”

Anne raised her hand in a gesture of surprising authority, another thing Catherine had not expected from the queen. “Let us not, shall we? I prefer easy honesty at this point. I am fond of you, Catherine.”

“And I am fond of Your Grace,” Catherine quickly replied.

“I cannot return to Cleves after this. I would feel so disgraced. And I do like it here in England.”

She looked directly at Catherine again, the pockmarks on her face in stark contrast to Catherine’s own smooth, young skin in the harsh glare of morning’s light. Catherine could only imagine the pressure Anne must be under from Henry, Cleves and from her own sense of public failure. Yet she remained dignified.

“When the time is right, will you speak to him for me?” Anne asked.

“I will. If it comes to that,” Catherine promised.

“It will come to that.” Anne smiled sadly. “Many thanks.” She released Catherine’s arm and Catherine made a small curtsy. But before she could leave, Anne caught her hand again.

“Thank you for not lying to me. Lies are so much worse than the truth.” She smiled sadly once again.

“I shall always try to remember that,” Catherine replied with
a heavy heart for the great truth she, and the rest of the court, was keeping from the queen who did not yet know she was gazing at her own successor.

The Duke of Norfolk stared squarely at mousy Mary Lassells just long enough to ensure that she was sufficiently uncomfortable in his presence. He had not offered her a seat in the vast library of his apartments, which smelled heavily of leather-bound volumes by Cicero and Aristotle. The old warhorse was in no rush. He was accustomed to playing cat and mouse, and he was good at it.

“So, then, shall we speak plainly, or will you leave the task to me alone?” he finally asked.

“What would my lord of Norfolk like to know?”

“Oh, no, my dear, the question is, What would
I
like
you
to know.” The duke steepled his wrinkled fingers, bejeweled with a single chunk of ruby set in silver. He regarded her so intensely that she was forced to flinch. While she looked away for only an instant, he caught the hesitation.
Splendid
, he thought. Even momentary weakness made the job so much easier.

“You are here because you have successfully blackmailed my niece. Not a very pretty reality for my family, yet there is a certain honor among thieves, so I can respect that about you. However, one must always know one’s limitations.”

He scratched his lightly stubbled chin, pausing for effect, then bore down on her with another lethal stare, reducing her to what she truly was: a little village urchin masquerading before him as a lady of power.

“You may have succeeded in frightening the dowager duchess into giving you a position at court. But make no mistake: Dealing with me shall be an entirely different experience. If you make so
much as a move against my niece, if you do the slightest bit of harm to her, you shall not return to that thatched little hovel from whence you came, or any other godforsaken place, for that matter. They shall find you in unidentifiable pieces, long after they surrender me to my own holy grave. Now, have I made myself clear to you, my dear?”

“Crystal, Your Grace.” Mary Lassells was completely self-possessed as she matched the duke’s stare with her equally level one. She was not undone by him, as he had expected, which surprised him. And there were few things in life any longer that could surprise the man who meant to be the power behind the next Queen of England.

“So long as we understand each other,” he said, settling for the last word.

Later that day, as she sat alone in a room smaller than a dressing closet, Mary Lassells dipped her pen into a small pot of ink and placed it to the paper. Her scrawled handwriting was nearly illegible, but the words and meaning were there.

Mary felt triumphant as she wrote to her brother, John. It could not have gone any better, she thought. Unassuming little Mary Lassells from the house on the edge of the Horsham estate had made it all the way to the English court, and she had bested the powerful Duke of Norfolk. For the moment, anyway.