The Boleyn Inheritance Part 31

My room faces east, the sun rises in the morning at seven, and I am always awake to see it rise. The Tower throws a long shadow across the bright gra.s.s of the green where she died, as if it is pointing a dark finger to my window. If I think of Anne, in her beauty and her allure, in her cleverness and her wit, then I think I shall go mad. She was in these rooms, and she went down those stairs, and she went out to that piece of gra.s.s (which I could see if I went to the window, but I never go to the window) and put her head down on the block and died a brave death, knowing that she was betrayed by everyone who had benefited from her rise. Knowing that her brother and his friends, the little circle who loved her so well, had died the day before, knowing that I gave the fatal evidence, her uncle gave the death sentence, and the king celebrated it. I cannot think of this. I must take good care of myself and not think of this.

Dear G.o.d, she knew that I betrayed her. Dear G.o.d, he went to a traitor's death on the scaffold knowing that I betrayed him. He perhaps did not realize that it was from love. That's the worst thing. He will never have known that it was from love. It was such a murderous thing to do; it was such a gesture from hatred that he will never have known that I loved him and I couldn't bear that he should look at another woman. Let alone Anne. Let alone what he was to her.

I sit and face the wall. I cannot bear to look out of the window; I cannot bear to trace the writings on the walls of the cell for fear of finding his initials. I sit and fold my hands in my lap. To anyone watching me I am composed. I am an innocent woman. I am as innocent and composed as *say *Lady Margaret Pole, who was also beheaded outside my window. I never said one word for her either. Dear G.o.d, how can I even breathe the air of this place?

I can hear the shuffle of many feet on the stairs. How many do they think they need? The key grates in the lock; the door swings open. I am irritated by the slowness. Do they think they can frighten me with this theater of threat? Then they come in. Two men and the guards. I recognize Sir Thomas Wriothsley, but not the clerk. They fuss about, setting up the table, putting out a chair for me. I stand and try to look unmoved, my hands clasped. Then I realize I am wringing my hands, and I make myself be still.

"We wish to ask you about the queen's behavior at Lambeth when she was a girl, " he says. He nods at the clerk to indicate that he should write.

"I know nothing about it, " I say. "As you will see from your own records I was in the country, at Blickling Hall, and then in service with Queen Anne, to whom I gave good and honorable service. I did not know Katherine Howard until she came to serve Queen Anne. "

The clerk makes one mark, only one. I see it. It is a tick. This means that they knew what I would say, that it is not worth writing down. They have prepared for this interview; I should not trust a word they say. They know what they want to say and what they want me to reply. I have to be ready. I have to be armed against them. I wish I could think clearly; I wish my thoughts were not such a whirl. I must be calm. I must be clever.

"When the queen took on Francis Dereham as her secretary, did you know that he was her old friend and previous lover? "

"No, I knew nothing of her life before, " I say.

The clerk puts down a tick. This, too, is expected.

"When the queen asked you to fetch Thomas Culpepper to her room, did you know what were her intentions? "

I am stunned. How do we go from Francis Dereham to Thomas Culpepper in one leap? How do they know of Thomas Culpepper? What do they know of Thomas Culpepper? What has he told them? Is he on the rack vomiting in pain and sicking up the truth?

"She never asked me, " I say.

The clerk puts down a dash.

"We know that she asked you to fetch him, and we know that he came. Now, to save your life, will you tell us what took place between Thomas Culpepper and Katherine Howard? "

The clerk's pen is poised; I can feel the words in my dry mouth. It is over. She is ruined, he is a dead man, I am on the brink of betrayal: again.

Anne, Richmond Palace, December 1541 The Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Norfolk has been questioned on her sickbed as to the behavior of her granddaughter. She will be tried for letting the girl go to the king without warning him that she was no virgin. This is now called treason. She will be accused of treason because her granddaughter took a lover. If she is found guilty, that will be another old lady's head on Henry's block.

Dereham is accused with Culpepper of presumptive treason. The cause is that they both had intercourse with the queen. Dereham is accused even though there is no evidence against him and most believe that he laid with her long before she was queen, before even I was queen. Nonetheless, this is to be called treason. The king has named Katherine Howard as a "common harlot " *oh, Kitty, that anyone should speak like that of you! Both young men plead guilty to presumptive treason in the hopes of forgiveness. Both deny having lain with the queen. Their judge *unbelievable though it is to anyone but a subject of King Henry's *is the Duke of Norfolk, who knows more of this than any man can say. His Grace the duke has returned from the country to hear the evidence of his niece Katherine promising to marry Dereham, admitting him to her bedroom and to her bed. He has heard the evidence of Dereham coming into her household when she was queen, and that is apparently enough to prove the young couple guilty. For why, the inquisitors indignantly demand, would Dereham come to work for the queen if not to seduce her? The idea that he would hope to profit from her success as all the rest of them have done, her uncle among them, is not mentioned.

Culpepper started by denying everything, but once the queen's ladies had given their statements, Lady Rochford among them, he could see that he was finished and he is now pleading guilty. Both young men are to be half hanged and then their bellies slit open, their guts pulled out, and then butchered as they bleed to death, for the crime of loving the pretty girl who married the king.

This foreshadows Katherine's fate. I know it, and I am on my knees for her every day. If the men accused of loving her are to be killed in the cruelest way that England can devise, then the chances of her being forgiven and released are slight indeed. I am afraid she will spend the rest of her life in the Tower. Dear G.o.d, she is only sixteen now. Do they not think that two years ago she was too young to judge? Did her own uncle not think that a girl of fourteen is not likely to resist temptation when she is constantly encouraged to indulge her whims in everything? I don't even consider what Henry thought; Henry is a madman. He thought of nothing but his own pleasure in her, and his own belief that she adored him. That is what she will pay for: for disappointing the vain dreams of a madman. As I did.

When I turned away from him in disgust at Rochester, he hated me for it, and he punished me for it as soon as he could, calling me ugly and fat with slack b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly, no virgin, full of noisome airs, stinking, in fact. When Kitty chooses a young handsome man over his bloated, rotting body, he calls her a scandal and a wh.o.r.e. He punishes me with shame and exile from the court, and then takes pleasure in showing his generosity. I don't think she will get off so lightly.

I am on my knees in my privy chamber at my prie-dieu when I hear the door behind me open quietly. I am so afraid of my shadow in these dangerous days that I spin around. It is Lotte, my lady secretary, and her face is white.

"What is it? " I am on my feet at once. Stumbling as my heel catches the hem of my gown, I nearly fall and have to catch onto the little altar to save myself. The cross wobbles and crashes down to the floor.

"They have arrested your maid Frances, and they have taken your squire Richard Taverner, too. "

I gasp in terror, and then I wait until I can breathe out again. She mistakes my blank face for incomprehension, and she repeats the awful thing she has just said in German: "They have arrested your lady-in-waiting Frances, and they have taken Richard Taverner, too. "

"On what charges? " I whisper.

"They don't say. The inquisitors are in the house now. We are all to be questioned. "

"They must have said something. "

"Just that we are all to be questioned. Even you. "

I am icy with fear. "Quick, " I say. "Go to the stables at once and get a boy to take a boat downriver to Dr. Harst in London. Tell him that I am in grave danger. Go at once. Go by the garden stairs, and make sure no one sees you. "

She nods and g"s to the little private door to the garden as the other door to my presence chamber is thrown open and five men walk in.

"Stop right there, " one of them orders, seeing the open door. Lotte stops; she d"s not even look toward me.

"I was just going to the garden, " she says in English. "I need to take the air. I am unwell. "

"You are under arrest, " he replies.

I step forward. "On what grounds? What is alleged against her? "

The senior man, one I don't know, steps toward me and bows slightly. "Lady Anne, " he says. "There are reports circulating in London that there has been grave wrongdoing in your household. The king has commanded that we investigate. Anyone attempting to hide anything or failing to a.s.sist our investigation will be regarded as an enemy to the king, and guilty of treason. "

"We are all good subjects of our lord the king, " I say quickly. I can hear the fear in my own voice. He will hear it, too. "But there is no wrongdoing in my household; I am innocent of any wrongdoing. "

He nods. Presumably Kitty Howard said the same; as did Culpepper and Dereham.

"These are trying times, and we have to root out sin, " he says simply. "If you please, you will stay in this room, with this lady as companion if you wish, while we question your household. Then we will come to speak with you. "

"My amba.s.sador should be informed, " I say. "I am not to be treated as an ordinary woman. My amba.s.sador will need to know of your inquiry. "

The man gives me a smile. "He is being questioned at his house right now, " he says. "Or rather, I should say, at the inn where he stays. If I had not known that he was an amba.s.sador for a great duke, I should have thought him an unsuccessful merchant. He d"s not keep a great estate, d"s he? "

I flush with embarra.s.sment. This again is my brother's doing. Dr. Harst has never had a proper fee; he has never had a proper establishment. Now I am being taunted for my brother's meanness.

"You may question whom you like, " I say as bravely as I can. "I have nothing to hide. I live as the king bid me when we made our agreement. I live on my own; I entertain no more than is right and proper; my rents are collected and my bills are paid. As far as I can tell my servants are under good and sober discipline, and we attend church and pray according to the king's rule. "

"Then you have nothing to fear, " he says. He looks at my white face and smiles. "Please, do not be fearful. Only the guilty should show fear. "

I crack my lips into a smile, and I go to my chair and sit down. His eye turns to the fallen crucifix and the cloth pulled down from the prie-dieu, and he raises an eyebrow, shocked.

"You have thrown down the cross of Our Lord? " he whispers in horror.

"I had an accident. " Even to myself it sounds feeble. "Pick it up, Lotte. "

He exchanges a glance with one of the other men as if this is evidence to be noted, then he g"s from the room.

Katherine, Syon Abbey, Christmas 1541 Let me see, what do I have now?

I have my six gowns still, and my six hoods. I have two rooms with a view over the garden, which runs down to the river where I can now walk if I wish; but I don't wish as it is freezing cold and rains all the time. I have a handsome fireplace of stone, and a good store of wood is kept in for me as the walls are cold and when the wind blows from the east it is damp. I pity the nuns who had to live here for all their lives, and I pray G.o.d that I shall be released soon. I have a copy of the Bible and the prayer book. I have a crucifix (very plain, no jewels) and a kneeler. I have the reluctant attendance of a pair of maids to help me dress and Lady Baynton and two others to sit with me in the afternoon. None of them are very merry.

I think that is all I have now.

What makes it worse is that it is Christmastime, and I so love Christmas. Last year I was dancing with Queen Anne at court, and the king was smiling at me. I had my pendant with the twenty-six table diamonds and my rope of pearls and Queen Anne had brought me my horse with violet velvet trappings. I danced with Thomas every evening, and Henry said we were the prettiest couple in all of the world. Thomas held my hand at midnight on Christmas Eve, and when he gave me a kiss on the cheek, he whispered in my ear: "You are beautiful. "

I can still hear it, I can still hear his whisper: "You are beautiful. " Now he is dead; they cut his sweet head from his body. I may be still beautiful, but I have not even a looking gla.s.s to comfort me with that.

It may be a stupid thing to say, but more than anything else I am so surprised how much things have changed in such a short time. The Christmas feast when I was newly married and the most beautiful queen in the world was only last year, just this time last year, and now here am I in the worst state that I have ever known, and perhaps the worst state that anyone could be in. I think now that I am learning great wisdom that comes from suffering. I have been a very foolish girl, but now I am grown to a woman. Indeed, I think I would be a good woman if I had a chance to be queen again. I really think I would be a good queen this time. And since my love, Thomas, is dead, I expect I would be faithful to the king.

When I think of Thomas dying for my sake, I can hardly bear it. When I think he is no longer here, he is just gone, I cannot understand it. I never thought of death before; I never realized that it is so very, very final. I cannot believe that I will never see him again in this world. It quite makes me believe in heaven, and I hope I will meet him there, and we will be in love again; only this time I won't be married.

I am sure that when they release me everyone will see that I am a better person now. I have not been tried as poor Thomas was tried, or tortured as they tortured him. But I have still suffered, in my own foolish way. I have suffered thinking about him, and about the love we had, which has cost him his life. I have suffered thinking of his trying to keep our secret and fearing for me. And I miss him. I am still in love with him even though he is not in the world and cannot be in love with me. I am still in love with him even if he is dead, and I miss him like any young woman would miss her lover in the first few months of their love affair. I keep hoping to see him and then remembering that I will never see him again. This is more painful than I had thought possible.

Anyway, the only good thing to come out of this is that now there is no one to give evidence against me since Thomas and Francis are both dead. They were the only ones who knew what took place, and they cannot bear witness against me. This must mean that the king intends to release me. Perhaps in the New Year he will release me, and I shall have to go and live somewhere terribly dreary. Or perhaps the king will forgive me now that Thomas is dead, and he will let me be his sister like Queen Anne, and then at least I could come to court for the summer and for the Christmas feast. Maybe next Christmas I shall be happy again. Maybe I shall have wonderful presents next year, and I shall look back on this sorrowful Christmas and laugh at myself for being so silly as to think my life was over.

The days are terribly long, even though it gets light so late and dark so early. I am glad that I am being enn.o.bled by suffering because otherwise it would seem such a waste of time. I am throwing away my youth in this dull place. I will be seventeen next birthday, practically an old woman. It is shocking that I should have to wait for week after week in this place, as my youth drags away. I have kept a little counter of the days on the wall by the window and when I look at the scratched marks they seem to march onward forever. Some days I miss a day and don't put it on, so that the time d"s not seem so long. But that makes the count wrong, which is a nuisance. It is so stupid not to be able even to keep count of the days. But I'm not sure that I really want to know. What if he keeps me here for years? No, that can't happen. I expect the king will spend Christmas at Whitehall, and after Twelfth Night he will order them to release me. But I won't even know when that is, because I have muddled up my own counting. Sometimes I think my grandmother was right and I am a fool, and that is very dispiriting.

I am afraid the king will still be very displeased with me, though I am sure he will not blame me for everything as Archbishop Cranmer seems to do. But when I see him, I am sure he will forgive me. He is like the d.u.c.h.ess's old steward, who would tell us all that we should be punished for some naughtiness like jumping in the hay or breaking the boughs of the apple trees, and he would beat one or two of the boys. But when it came to me, and I would look up at him with tears in my eyes, he would pat my cheek and tell me that I must not cry, that it was all the fault of the older children. I expect the king will be like that when I actually get to see him. Surely, since he knows everything, he knows that I was always a silly girl and always very easily led astray? And surely, in his wisdom, he will understand that I fell in love and couldn't help myself? Someone as old as he is must understand that a girl can fall in love and quite forget right and wrong? A girl can fall in love and think of nothing but when she can next see the boy she loves. And now that poor Thomas has been taken from me and I will never see him again, surely I have been punished enough?

Jane Boleyn, the Tower of London, January 1542 And so we wait.

The king must be minded to forgive the wh.o.r.e his queen, since he waits for so long. And if he forgives her, he forgives me, and I escape the axe again.

Ha-ha! What a joke my life has become that I should end up here in the Tower where my husband was kept, awaiting the fate that met him, when I could have walked away from court and the court life, when I could have been safe and snug in Norfolk. I had escaped once, escaped with my t.i.tle and a pension. Why ever did I rush to come back?

I did truly think I would set him free. I did think that if I confessed everything on his behalf, then they would see that she was a witch, as they called her, and an adulteress, as they called her, and they would see he was ensnared and enslaved and they would release him to be with me, and I should have taken him home to our house, Rochford Hall, and made him well again, and we could have had our children and we could have been happy.

That was my plan; that was what should have happened. I did think that she would go to the block and he would be spared. I did think I would see her lovely neck hacked in two but that I would have my husband safe in my own bed at last. I thought I would comfort him for the loss of her and that he would come to see that she was no great loss.

Not really.

No, not really.

I suppose sometimes I thought that she would be killed and it would be her deserts for the scheming wh.o.r.e she was, and that he would die, too, and it would be her fault, and he would realize on the gallows that he should have left her and loved me. That I had always been his true wife and she was always a bad sister. I suppose I thought that if it took him to get to the very steps of the gallows to see what a false friend she was, then it was worth doing. I never really believed that they would die and I would never see them again. I never really believed that they could disappear from my life, from this life, and I would never see them again. How could one think that? That there could be a day when they would never stroll through the door, arm in arm, laughing at some private joke, her hood as high as his dark curly head, her hand on his arm, equally a.s.sured, equally beautiful, equally regal. The cleverest, wittiest, most glamorous couple at court. What woman, married to him, and looking at her, would not wish them both dead rather than walking forever, arm in arm, in their beauty and their pride?

Oh, G.o.d, I hope that spring comes early this year; the dark afternoons are like a nightmare that g"s on forever in this little room. It is dark till eight in the morning and then dusk by three. Sometimes they forget to replace the candles, and I have to sit by the fire for light. I am cold all the time. If spring comes early and I can see the morning light coming up golden over the stone windowsill, then I will have lived through these dark days, and I can be sure that I will live to see others. By my reckoning *and who knows the king better than I? *if he d"s not have her beheaded by Easter, then he will not have it done at all.

If he d"s not have her beheaded by Easter, then I will escape, because why would he spare her and kill me, who is accused with her? If she keeps her wits about her and denies everything, then she could live. I hope that someone has told her that if she denies Culpepper but says that she was married in the sight of G.o.d to Dereham, then she can live. If she declares herself Dereham's wife, then she has not then cuckolded the king but only Dereham; and since his head is on London Bridge, he is in no position to complain. I could laugh, it is such an obvious escape for her; but if no one tells her of it, then she might die for the lack of wit.

Dear G.o.d, why would I, who was sister to Anne Boleyn, ever plot with such a half-wit as that s.l.u.t Katherine?

I was wrong to put my faith in the Duke of Norfolk. I thought that we were working together; I thought that he would find me a husband and that I would have a great match. I know now that he is not to be trusted. I should have known that before. He used me to keep Katherine in check, and then he used me again to put her in the way of Culpepper. And now he has gone to the country and his own stepmother, her son, and his wife are here in the Tower somewhere, and they will all die for their parts in entrapping the king. He will not lift a finger to save his stepmother; he will not lift a finger to save his little niece. G.o.d knows, he will not lift a finger to save me.

If I survive this, if I am spared this, I shall find some way to report him for treason, and I shall see him confined to one room, living in daily terror, waiting for the sound of their building the scaffold below the window, waiting for the Keeper of the Tower to come and say that tomorrow is the day, and tomorrow he will die. If I survive this, I shall make him pay for what he said to me, for what he called me, for what he did to them. He will suffer in this little room as I am suffering now.

When I think of this happening to me, I could go mad with terror. My only comfort, my only safety, is that if I go mad with terror, they will not be able to execute me. A madman cannot be beheaded. I could laugh if I were not afraid of the sound of my laughter echoing off the walls. A madman cannot be executed, so at the very end of this, if it g"s as badly as it might, I shall escape the block where Katherine dies. I shall pretend to be mad, and they will send me back to Blickling with a keeper, and slowly I shall recover my wits.

Some days I rave a little so that they can see I have the tendency. Some days I cry out that it is raining, and I let them find me sobbing because the slates outside my window are shining with the wet. Some nights I cry out that the moon is whispering happy dreams to me. I frighten myself, to tell the truth. For some days, when I am not acting mad, I think that I must be mad, I must have been mad, quite mad, perhaps since my childhood. Mad to marry George, who never loved me, mad to love and hate him with such a pa.s.sion, mad to find such intense pleasure in thinking of him with a lover, mad to bear witness against him, maddest of all to love him with such jealousy that I could send him to the gallows Stop, I must stop. I can't think about this now. I cannot have this before me now. I am to act mad. I am not to drive myself mad. I am to pretend to madness, not feel it. I shall remember that everything I could do to save George, I did do. Anything anyone says against that is a lie. I was a good and faithful wife, and I tried to save my husband and my sister-in-law. And I tried to save Katherine, too. I cannot be blamed if the three of them were all as bad as one another. Indeed, I should be pitied for having such ill luck in my life.

Anne, Richmond Palace, February 1542 I am seated in a chair in my room, my hands clasped in my lap, three lords from the Privy Council before me, their faces grave. They have sent for Dr. Harst at last, so this must be the moment of judgment after weeks of questioning my household, seeing my household accounts, and even talking to my stable boys about where I ride out and who g"s with me.

Clearly, they have been inquiring as to whether I have secret meetings, but whether they suspect me of plotting with the emperor, with Spain, with France, or the Pope, I cannot know. They may suspect me of taking a lover; they may accuse me of joining a coven of witches. They have asked everyone where I have been and who regularly visits me. It is the company I keep that is the focus of their inquiry, but I cannot know what is their suspicion.

Since I am innocent of plotting, l.u.s.t, or witchcraft, I should be able to hold my head up and declare my conscience clear, but there is a girl far younger than me on trial for her life, and there are men and women of absolute purity burned to death in this country merely for disagreeing with the king about the raising of the Host. Innocence is not enough anymore.

I hold up my head anyway, for I know that when a power far greater comes against me, whether it be my brother in his wanton cruelty, or the King of England in his vain madness, it is always better to keep my head up and my courage high and wait for the worst that can come. Dr. Harst, by contrast, is sweating; there are beads on his forehead, and every now and then he mops his face with a grubby handkerchief.

"There has been an allegation, " says Wriothsley pompously.

I look at him coolly. I have never liked him nor he me, but by G.o.d, he serves Henry. Whatever Henry wants this man will deliver to him with a veneer of legality. We shall see what Henry wants now.

"The king has heard that you have given birth to a child, " he says. "We were told that a boy was born to you this summer and has been hidden away by your confederates. "

Dr. Harst's jaw drops almost to his chest. "What is this? " he asks.

I keep my own face completely serene. "It is a lie, " I say. "I have known no man since I parted from His Grace the king. And as you yourself proved then: I did not know him. The king himself swore I was a virgin then; I am a virgin still. You may ask my maids that I have not borne a child. "

"We have asked your maids, " he replies; he is enjoying this. "We have questioned every one of them, and we have received very different answers. You have some enemies in your household. "

"I am sorry to hear it, " I say. "And I am at fault for not keeping them in better order. Sometimes maids lie. But that is my only fault. "

"They tell us worse than this, " he says.

Dr. Harst has flushed scarlet; he is gulping for air. He is wondering, as I am, what could be worse than a secret birth? If this is the preparation for a show trial and an accusation of treason, then the case is being carefully built against me. I doubt that I can defend myself against sworn witnesses and someone's newborn baby.

"What could be worse? " I ask.

"They say that there was no child, but that you pretended to give birth to a son, a boy, and that you have a.s.sured your confederates that this is the king's child and heir to the throne of England. You plan with treasonous Papists to put him on the throne of England and usurp the Tudors. What do you say to this, Madam? "

My throat is very dry; I can feel myself searching for words, hunting for a persuasive reply, but nothing comes. If they want to, they can arrest me now, on this allegation alone. If they have a witness to say that I pretended to give birth, that I claimed it was the king's child, then they have a witness to prove that I am guilty of treason and I shall join Katherine at Syon and we will die together, two disgraced queens on one scaffold.

"I say it is untrue, " I reply simply. "Wh"ver has told you this is a liar and a false witness. I know of no plot against the king, and I would be party to nothing against him. I am his sister and his faithful subject as he bid me to be. "

"You deny that you have horses waiting to take you to France? " he says in a sudden rush.

"I deny it. " As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize this is a mistake, for they will know that we have horses waiting.

Sir Thomas smiles at me; he knows he has caught me. "You deny it? " he asks again.

"They are waiting for me, " Dr. Harst says, his voice trembling. "I have debts, as you know; I am ashamed to say that I have many debts. I thought if my debtors became too pressing that I should go quickly to Cleves and speak to my master for more money. I have had the horses waiting in case my debtors came for me. "

I look at him in absolute incredulity. I am amazed at the quickness of his lie, but they cannot know that. He bows. "I beg your pardon, Lady Anne. I should have told you. But I was ashamed. "

Sir Thomas glances at the two other councillors; they nod to him. It is an explanation, if not the one they would have preferred.

"So, " he says briskly. "Your two servants who made up this story against you have been arrested for slander and will be taken to the Tower. The king is determined that your reputation shall be unsullied. "

The shift is almost too much for me. It sounds as if I am to be released from suspicion, and at once I think it is a trick. "I am grateful to His Majesty for his fraternal care, " I say carefully. "I count myself his most loyal subject. "

He nods. "Good. We will go now. The council will want to know that your name has been cleared. "