The Queen's Mistake (39 page)

“My lady Rochford, how are you? It seems a long time since we have exchanged more than a perfunctory word or two.”

Catherine could see that Jane was surprised by the familiar tone in his voice. “I am well, Your Majesty. Yes, it does seem a lifetime.”

“You are looking quite healthy. Is your position with my future bride to your liking?” he affably asked.

“It pleases me greatly, sire.”

“Splendid. Mistress Howard shall need a trusted friend in the coming days, one who knows all of the small details required to be queen. You do remember the details, Jane, do you not?”

“I believe I do, sire.”

Catherine looked at them each in turn. She was touched by Henry’s apparent desire to make a fresh start with the one woman she thought of as a friend. As Jane went upstairs, an awkward silence fell between them. Henry was staring at her, and as they sat down together on a tapestry-covered settee, she realized that he had not let go of her hand.

“I’ve chosen Oatlands Palace,” he announced.

“Your Majesty?”

“For our marriage ceremony. It is in Weybridge, which is in the most picturesque little forest, like a fairy-tale land. Since I cannot bear to let you sleep alone any longer than I must, we shall wed in two days’ time . . . if it pleases you, my dear.”

His deep green eyes were so wide tucked into the full folds of his cheeks, their expression so childlike, that Catherine forgot for an instant that he had the power to see someone executed in a heartbeat, even his own wife.

Before she could reply, Jane returned, and the gloomy thought vanished. But Jane stood in the doorway, her face white as a sheet as she made a feeble curtsy.

“What is the matter, Jane?” Catherine asked.

She paused for a moment, averting her eyes. “It is the kitten, Mistress Howard.”

Catherine bolted to her feet. The little thing had become quite dear to her. “What is wrong with her?”

“She is . . . well, she . . .”

“Out with it!” Henry bellowed, as he struggled to his feet beside Catherine.

“I beg you pardon me, sire, but it looks as if the poor thing has been poisoned,” Jane said, trembling.

Catherine ran to the doorway. “That is impossible! She was fine just before the king arrived.”

Jane blocked her path. “Do not go up, mistress, I bid you. It is not a pleasant sight. I shall have one of the servants—”

“No, I mean to see for myself,” Catherine said firmly.

She was halfway up the staircase, the king lumbering after her, when he bellowed, “Heads will roll if this is true!”

As they entered Catherine’s bedchamber, they found two servants kneeling beside the little basket next to her bed, talking in low tones about how they should dispose of the little body.

Catherine charged forward indignantly, tears in her eyes. “Leave her! I shall bury her myself.”

Henry struggled with great effort to kneel beside the dead kitten as the servants curtsied and backed out of the room. Catherine saw, to her horror, foam seeping from Putette’s little mouth, the priceless bracelet gone. Who could be so cruel as to harm a tiny creature, and who would dare to take such a priceless piece of jewelry from the soon-to-be queen? Her wild thoughts were interrupted by the king, who, to her absolute shock, was weeping like a child as he picked up the still-warm body.

“Dear one . . .” He sobbed as he stroked her head with his thumb.

There was much evil in the world, and Catherine knew her country upbringing had prevented her from knowing the half of it. But she could see that someone in her uncle’s house meant to do her harm. She could not be naive about that.

“We shall give her a proper burial together,” Henry announced, cradling the kitten like a baby.

The sight of his big, meaty arms wrapped around the small thing, the tender display of his heart, and the tears in his eyes overwhelmed Catherine.

“I shall find out who did this and cut out his heart myself!” He sniffed, trying to compose himself.

“Now, you do not mean that,” Catherine gently countered with a hand on his shoulder as she sat back on her heels beside him. “Perhaps it was just an accident.”

“Murder is never an accident.” He sobbed, angry all over again.

She was certain that no one in the world had ever seen this side of England’s sovereign. The thought softened her toward him all the more. Though she had been away from Thomas for only two days, she wanted to take everything this gentle giant offered her: riches, power, tenderness, devotion . . . nothing short of the moon and stars. She wanted it badly enough that she stopped wondering what had happened to the priceless missing bracelet.

She parted her lips then to let Henry kiss her, their eyes brimming with tears.

Behind a velvet curtain with gold tassels in Catherine’s bedchamber, Mary Lassells listened to every word between the king and that vile Howard girl. It had been easy to poison the cat without anyone suspecting her. How easy it would prove to sell priceless jewels was another story. She fondled the little bracelet, safe inside the deep pocket of her skirt, knowing it was worth a small fortune. She knew it would help the cause of the Reformation. Hopefully, her brother, John, would know how to find a buyer for the vulgar and ostentatious bracelet without getting caught.

For now, she had her hands full trying to single-handedly topple a dynasty.

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

 

A
t the close of July, a plague raged through London. Warned of its severity, Henry sought to keep the royal court in the cool Surrey countryside, far from danger. In the meantime, it was announced that His Majesty would marry Mistress Howard, niece of the great Duke of Norfolk, at Oatlands Palace, nestled among the bucolic safety of trees, lawns, streams and clear skies. It was to be a small, private ceremony, the complete antithesis of the king’s most recent marriage ceremony, from which his coffers had still not recovered.

Henry had been told that he would need a papal dispensation to marry Catherine, since she was Catholic and a first cousin to his deceased wife Anne Boleyn. Henry knew that would delay the wedding by months, but he had no intention of waiting that long to marry and bed his sweet, innocent beauty. So, as the ecclesiastical authority of the Church of England, he informed the stunned privy counsel that he would grant a dispensation to himself.

“And I want all three of my children there. When will Edward arrive?”

“He remains at Windsor, Your Majesty,” Archbishop Cranmer
explained as they surveyed the chapel site. “They say His Grace is fatigued by the heat, but he is regaining his strength with the aid of cool baths.”

“Very well. Send word back that he should rest. I have waited this long.” Henry shrugged. “We shall wait one day more for my son.”

Though Henry had convinced himself that he could be flexible in his arrangements, an ominous feeling had been gnawing at him since the day he proposed to Catherine. He felt oddly pressed to marry her, not just because he was eager to consecrate their union, but because he sensed that she needed protection from something. He wanted their marriage to be a safe harbor for Catherine.

There was a time when he would have asked for Cromwell’s advice. Though he had been ambitious and underhanded at times, Cromwell had always been a trustworthy friend to the king. Until the very end, Henry had always been assured of his honesty. Cromwell had been the only check against the raging ambition of the Howards and Seymours, but by tomorrow, he would be gone and the two warring families would have free rein. Thank God for Cranmer. He might not be the most eloquent or socially adept man—in fact, the archbishop was a frightful bore—but he would help Henry maintain order.

Henry’s thoughts returned to his children. “Well, at least Mary and Elizabeth are here.”

“They are, Your Majesty.” Cranmer nodded as he piously steepled his hands.

“And the medal has been struck?” Henry asked, inquiring about Catherine’s secret wedding gift.

“I am told that the first one shall arrive tomorrow,” Cranmer confirmed. “I am certain the queen will be honored by your gift.”

Henry paused at the altar and turned to the prelate. “So,
Cranmer, since you are here to advise me on the matrimonial road ahead—”

“I should hope to serve Your Majesty in any and all ways you find pleasing.”

Henry flicked a wrist at him dismissively as colored light from the stained-glass window fell upon them both. “Yes, yes, then serve me in this way: Tell me if there are any reasons why I should not marry Catherine Howard. This is, after all, my fifth attempt, and I would very much like it to be my last.”

He watched Cranmer’s face carefully as he made his request. He had learned at an early age that the truth always lay in the eyes, even with the best liars. Wolsey had been a prime example of that, God rest his soul.

“I know of nothing against the lady, sire,” Cranmer said firmly. But he had hesitated for a moment too long. Henry caught it and held his breath, waiting for the archbishop’s next words.

Cranmer carefully continued. “Surely there is talk of the lady’s great beauty . . . and there are, doubtless, men of your court who envy you greatly for having won her.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“None that I know of, sire.”

“I could not survive being made a cuckold again. It was unbearable the first time,” Henry said, referring to Anne Boleyn.

“The lady seems a different sort, sire.”

“She does at that.” Henry scratched his beard thoughtfully. “So then you have no gossip against her at all?”

“I do not. But if that were to change, then of course my loyalty would be to Your Majesty.” Cranmer bowed respectfully.

Henry smiled. “Good. See that it is.”

A small reprieve. It was all Catherine thought of as the page stood before her, having made the king’s announcement. For one day more she would not be queen. For one day more she would not belong to Henry. While she had resigned herself to the life that now lay ahead of her, and was even excited by aspects of it, for one day more she might hope for the dream of Thomas. She did not even know if he was here with them or if he had stayed behind with the bulk of the court who had not been invited to be present at her wedding.

Catherine had not seen Francis Dereham for days. He remained in London, which she gratefully saw as her grandmother’s wedding gift to her.

She could finally relax and enjoy herself now, and she looked forward to the evening’s festivities. She knew the guest list for supper included Elizabeth, whom she was excited to see, and Mary, with whom she was less thrilled. But as queen, Catherine knew she must learn to take the bad with the good and handle it all with grace. And she must remember that all three children were motherless. She certainly could sympathize with them, and thus make the most of her relationships with them.