The Queen's Mistake Read online

  But before the dinner was over, the king nodded to Catherine as she sat between Jane and his niece Margaret. A moment later, a page came to her and whispered in her ear, “The king desires that you join him in a dance, Mistress Howard.”

  “But the queen—”

  “Her Grace does not fancy dancing, since she cannot keep up with the king,” the page replied simply.

  Catherine was afraid to look at poor Anne, knowing that the page’s words were untrue. The queen had only ever been good to her, but she could not reject the sovereign’s invitation.

  Catherine rose from her seat as the king left the queen’s side. He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. All eyes were upon them.

  “Your Majesty dances very well,” Catherine remarked with an easy smile, knowing well that this was how her uncle and her grandmother expected her to behave with the king, as they moved through a tourdion.

  “I used to be magnificent.”

  “Oh, but you still are, sire,” she replied quickly, lying poorly. She saw instantly that he knew it.

  She was afraid that he would be angry, but the king tipped back his head and let loose a great barrel of a laugh. “Would that it were still true!”

  “In my own experience, youth is as overrated as flattery, Your Majesty.”

  “Beauty and a sense of wit? I had not expected that,” the king volleyed.

  “I am happy to surprise you, so long as the combination is a pleasing one.”

  “How could it not be?” He bowed to her, and she curtsied deeply in return just as the tune came to an end.

  As he returned to the queen and Catherine walked back to her place beside Jane, she saw him. Thomas was standing beneath a massive tapestry, and he most certainly was not smiling. Splendid, she thought, acknowledging him with a happy little nod, much as the king had done to her. She still intended to get what she desired.

  And what she still desired was Thomas Culpeper.

  Just after midnight, a rap sounded on her chamber door. Catherine knew who it would be. As she pulled the door open, Thomas slipped in, quickly closed it, and wrapped her in a desperate embrace. Catherine knew he was familiar enough with the halls and passageways of the palace to have reached her room unobserved. He tilted her face up and kissed her feverishly, holding her so tightly against him that she could not breathe. But she did not care about breathing at the moment.

  Thomas drew her forcefully toward her small bed, unlacing her cambric nightdress and his own nether hose. He did not speak. There would be neither words nor gentleness this time. Only intoxicating passion.

  He forced her down onto the bed and rose above her like a powerful warrior above the vanquished, but she did not struggle. She was wild with happiness at his show of passion, his desire to possess her. She had never felt more alive, and she knew that Thomas could not avoid his true feelings for her during moments like this.

  Afterward, as she lay sated in his arms, happier than she had ever imagined she could be, Thomas gave her an amused smile and kissed her forehead tenderly. “You certainly are a clever one, aren’t you? Is there anything you cannot make a man do?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Catherine replied, smiling innocently at him. “I shall certainly let you know if I think of something.”

  As they lay together, Catherine waited again for him to say that he loved her, but her hopes were met with silence. She tried to be content with the fact that he was there with her, and they had all the time in the world. But she could not help but feel disappointed.

  Cromwell fell silent in the glow of the firelight that evening as Norfolk sank into a chair near the massive carved hearth. On the table beside Cromwell was an open volume of Cicero, bound in exquisite red Spanish leather, and a nearly empty cup of spiced Gascony wine.

  “You poor fool bastard.” Norfolk sighed as he shook his head. “I do loathe you. But the bishop has convinced me to extend a bit of courtesy to you. Is that not correct, Stephen?”

  Stephen Gardiner stood like a sentry near the closed door, his hands behind his back, his outfit an ominous black. He nodded in agreement, but the expression in his deep brown eyes was blank.

  “The court moves to Greenwich in the morning,” Norfolk said, as Gardiner walked toward two carved, painted traveling chests that lay open and half packed on a table. He touched a neatly folded silk bedcover.

  “You need not have brought out your luggage,” the bishop said to Cromwell with a smirk on his face. “You are to remain in London.”

  Norfolk bit back a triumphant smile, pleased that the king had entrusted him and the bishop to bear the news to Cromwell. He felt like the lead hound on a hunt, privileged to make the first cut on a cornered stag.

  Cromwell was taken aback. “Of course I will attend the king in Greenwich.”

  “No,” Norfolk coldly corrected him. “It seems you have a problem that requires your presence here. The king demands a divorce from Anne of Cleves based on proof of nullity, which we recently presented to His Majesty. As you are the one who pressed him into this sour union, His Majesty commands you to extricate him while he is away.”

  The bishop picked up where Norfolk left off, barely acknowledging the stunned expression on Cromwell’s fat face. “We know what you must be thinking. It shall be a difficult situation to navigate while you struggle to maintain his trust. But you cannot possibly deny the king now that the duke has found a legal basis for divorce, which you rashly overlooked in your zeal to choose a wife.”

  Gardiner walked around the room with an air of authority as he spoke. It was as if he were giving a prepared speech, which he was, unbeknownst to Cromwell. Each word had been planned for maximum effect before they had arrived at Cromwell’s door.

  Norfolk’s expression was one of amusement as Cromwell’s fell in devastation.

  “So we understand you are wondering how you could engineer a divorce with the least number of harmful repercussions to yourself,” Gardiner continued. “Let us consider your options. If you do comply with the king’s wishes, you would have to admit that your counsel to His Majesty was faulty and useless from the start, and you would certainly lose your title and reputation, if not more. If you do not, you would be acting in defiance of the king, and you would most certainly lose your life.”

  “Indeed a dilemma.” Norfolk nodded. “So you see, joining the court’s progress tomorrow and enjoying the hunt, the banquets and the women would be most unwise, particularly when your head is on the chopping block, so to speak,” he added with obvious cruel pleasure.

  “To the devil with both of you!” Cromwell shouted furiously, his full cheeks flushing with anger.

  “The devil might be the only one who takes you after all the damage you’ve done,” Gardiner observed, shaking his head and making a little tsk sound. “Think on it. First there was your support of Wolsey as he rid England of Catherine of Aragon, the only true queen. . . .”

  “Thereby ridding England of the true Catholic faith . . .” Norfolk added in a tone of delight.

  “And seeing our great king excommunicated by the Holy Father in Rome . . .” Gardiner pitched in.

  “Ah, yes, Gardiner, that might well be the worst part,” Norfolk replied in mock contemplation.

  “The mounting offenses really are almost too numerous to mention,” Gardiner added.

  Cromwell was overcome with anger, but a hint of fear had crept into his eyes. “I am Earl of Essex, as well as Lord Great Chamberlain—two of the most powerful titles in all of England. You know not of what you speak!”

  “Those were powerful titles, my lord. But circumstances change,” Norfolk said, no longer hiding the smile on his face. He stood and looked around the large room at the trappings of a lifetime of work, scheming and success. Cromwell’s apartments were not dissimilar from his own grand rooms down the vast corridor, but Cromwell’s had a better view.

  That alone was enough to make Norfolk despise him.

  “You sought to trap me from the very beginnin
g,” Cromwell said accusingly.

  “Of course,” the duke coldly replied.

  “But we all knew that you encouraged the alliance with Cleves, just as I did! Surely the king remembers that!”

  “Ah, but that is where you are wrong. I told you what you wished to hear as you schemed. I wisely told the king nothing of the sort.”

  Cromwell was desperate now, and full of panic. His expression reminded Norfolk even more of a hunted stag. “And you, Gardiner, a man of God—did you forsake me as well?”

  “I followed my conscience and God, as I do in all things, my lord chamberlain,” the bishop piously replied.

  “I am Henry’s most trusted minister! You shall not get away with this!” Cromwell bellowed.

  “Ah, but I believe we already have,” Norfolk replied in satisfaction. “I only hope you live long enough to see what I have in mind for my encore.”

  A letter, propped neatly on a polished trestle table near her bed, was waiting for Agnes Howard when she returned from the banquet.

  “That will be all for now,” she dismissed the young girl who waited to help her out of her heavy, tight dress.

  The dowager did not recognize the handwriting, which she took as an ominous sign. It was late, and her bones ached from far too much wine and dancing. For a moment, she considered not opening it at all, but the pull of the unknown was seductive for one of an age when life contained few surprises.

  She sank onto the edge of her bed and placed the missive in her lap. There were many things it could be, only one of which she feared. With trepidation, Agnes broke the heavy wax seal with her thumb and opened the letter.

  If I could wish unto you all the honor, wealth and good fortune you could desire, you would lack neither health, wealth, long life, nor prosperity. Nevertheless, seeing as I cannot . . .

  Words and phrases leaped out at the dowager.

  There will be a lawful divorce between them; and as it is widely believed that the king, in his goodness, will bestow the honor on you next . . .

  Agnes scanned the rest of the letter until she saw the final line:

  I trust the queen will not forget her secretary and favor you will show . . .

  It was signed by Mary Lassells.

  The dowager knew that Mary knew about Catherine’s indiscretions with Henry Manox and Francis Dereham at Horsham, and she also realized the Lassells girl could ruin everything for the Howard family if she passed that information on to the king. Someone had placed it here for an unknown reason. It was clear as well that Mary Lassells wanted something, and quite likely it only began with a place at court. The dowager knew she was taking an enormous risk, since if she granted Mary’s request, she was also personally placing her right where she could do the most damage. . . .

  SUMMER

  The Second Season

  “Yours as long as life endures.”

  —CATHERINE HOWARD

  Chapter Nine

  June 1540

  Greenwich Palace, Greenwich

  While Cromwell remained in London to deal with Parliament on the question of the king’s divorce, the court left the city. The huge progress included over two thousand courtiers and ladies on horses, as well as countless carts and wagons. They passed through the vast meadow behind the city, up the hill to the cooler, cleaner air of Greenwich, and ended at the king’s vast brick Greenwich Palace amid turrets, towers, pathways and lush privy gardens.

  From the time of their arrival, Catherine’s presence was constantly requested by the king. Along with Jane, the king’s two nieces, Lady Margaret and Lady Frances, and Anne Basset, Catherine spent her days with Henry and his closest friends, singing, dancing, masquerading and hunting. Always, Henry made an excuse for the queen’s absence. “She is at prayer,” the king would say blithely. “She is writing letters. . . . She is resting with a headache.”

  But the truth behind her absence was known to everyone, particularly Catherine. She had begun to feel guilty for the attention she received from the queen’s husband, despite the fact that she liked the feeling of power that it gave her.

  Catherine was so in demand by the king in those first two days at Greenwich that it was difficult to steal away with Thomas. But Catherine consoled herself by exchanging flirtatious glances and smiles with Thomas when they were in the company of the king.

  One late afternoon, as the sun was setting, the king’s coterie, consistently comprised of the same courtiers and ladies, sat beneath a fluttering blue canopy, playing cards and laughing. Catherine sat between the king and Lady Lisle’s daughter Anne Basset as a singer from France crooned out a soft French tune to the accompaniment of a lute.

  Catherine and Henry were engaged in a heated game of pri mero, which Catherine was quickly losing. “Perhaps, if you allow me, I could help you.” The king winked at Catherine.

  “But then Your Majesty would more easily win.”

  “I always win, Mistress Howard.” He chuckled, as everyone else laughed with him.

  “Very well, I will show you everything,” Catherine relented.

  Henry tipped back his head and laughed more deeply. “Now, that is a promising response.”

  “I meant the cards, sire.” She fought a little shiver of revulsion as she watched his bearded jowls shake with delight as he laughed.

  When his laughter subsided, their eyes met. Catherine touched his shoulder playfully, trying to make light of the connection as she looked away.

  “Of course that was your meaning, Mistress Howard. For now, anyway,” he said as they returned to their game.

  When Catherine glanced up again, she saw Thomas’s eyes hard upon her. Her own smile fell until she remembered her duty. Always duty. She quickly caught herself and forced another smile. It was a game, all of it. She had learned it at Horsham, and now she was a master player at court. In spite of the risk that the king might come to think of her as more than simply entertaining, Catherine had no choice but to succeed. She was not about to let any of it go to waste when she was trying to win Thomas’s declaration of love and her uncle’s approval. After all, with no real money of her own, and an uncle who was a rather frightening enigma with his own agenda, she and her husband would need to remain firmly established in the king’s good graces to succeed. Now that she had tasted the finer things in life, keeping Henry VIII’s favor was the only path she could clearly see before her.

  To win the king’s friendship and his approval of her relationship with Thomas was the ultimate prize, and her experiences at Horsham had hardened her enough, she believed, to accomplish that.

  Wisely, risking everything, even Thomas, she caught the king’s eye again and smiled her sweetest smile.

  “Mistress Lassells desires a place at court,” the dowager said with a sniff later that day, “and there was most definitely an implied threat in her request.”

  Norfolk sat back, stunned by the revelation. “Do I even know a Mistress Lassells? Who is she?”

  “She was one of the girls at Horsham with Catherine. She knows things about your niece that could ruin us,” Agnes explained. Norfolk had been so busy engineering his niece’s and the Howard family’s rise to power that he had not considered any potential threats to his plans, other than Cromwell.

  “How did you reply?” Norfolk queried.

  “I have not replied to her yet.”

  “You must.” He rubbed a hand over his craggy face, uncharacteristically unnerved for such a steel-tempered man. “With the king about to divorce the queen, he is at his most vulnerable, and we shall never again have such a keen advantage. We cannot let a country girl ruin our prospects.”

  The dowager hesitated before her reply. “He came to me. He asked me if she was still a virgin.”

  “Dear God.” Norfolk drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. “What did you tell him?”

  “Well, he did not ask in so many words, so my response was equally vague. But His Majesty interpreted my words to both of our liking.”

  “You told him she was a
n innocent?” Norfolk was stunned. Now that Catherine’s “innocence” had been established with the king, Mary posed a real threat.

  Agnes arched her silvery brows. “Would you have wished me to tell him otherwise?”

  “Of course not. But truth has a way of coming to the fore with the king. Our family barely survived the Anne Boleyn debacle. Neither you nor I would be able to live with ourselves if something like that happened again.”

  “That is impossible,” Agnes scoffed, frustrated at the duke’s lack of will to do what they must. “Henry is irascible, but even he would not behead a second wife.”

  Norfolk was uncertain. “Who knows what a man is capable of when he is determined? Take me, for example.”

  “Nonsense.” She was firm but her tone was more motherly now. Agnes knew how high the stakes were; they could not allow their resolve to weaken. “Thomas, my dear, do not ever show your doubts when it comes to this family, or you will end up out of favor and at risk, just like Cromwell is for his own particular weaknesses in judgment. It is not the way to win. Do you understand me?”

  “Henry can be a vindictive king when he is angry.”

  “Then keep his anger aimed elsewhere,” the dowager replied simply.

  “It is aimed at Cromwell right now,” the duke said, glad for that stroke of good fortune.

  “Splendid,” Agnes said. “We shall use Cromwell as a diversion, which will give us time enough to move Catherine in while Anne of Cleves is moving out. If we keep our wits about us, it shall occur before anyone, even the king, realizes what has happened.”

  But Norfolk remained skeptical. “I am told she grows closer to Thomas Culpeper.”

  The dowager breezed past this information. “Unfortunately for her, Culpeper is not part of the grand plan. Their feelings in this matter are unimportant. Catherine knows what it means to be a Howard. We never entertained any illusions. Our plan to make her queen will not come as a complete surprise when she is informed.”