The Queen's Mistake Page 25

  Apparently, the Culpeper lad was not the only one to garner private time with the little beauty who had turned the king’s head . . . for now. What would great, bluff King Hal, as the people called him, think of his little conquest if he actually knew about not one, but two competitors? Cranmer bit back a clever smile.

  Ah, but he would make use of those details another time. Not quite yet.

  If only poor Cromwell could be here to see this. They both loved the thrill of the battle almost as much as their righteous cause. Cranmer hated Norfolk with a bitter violence that no clergyman should ever permit himself to feel, but he could not help it when the man he had fought beside for years now faced execution at the hands of that Catholic zealot.

  But even without Cromwell’s help, he would vanquish the Howards. And he would do it more methodically and more diabolically than they had ever managed. The destruction of a powerful dynasty would be Cranmer’s gift to Cromwell’s memory.

  But Cranmer needed to wait for the right moment. Fortunately, the Lord Great Chamberlain had taught the archbishop the art of patience. It was indeed a virtue that the prelate now possessed in spades.

  Chapter Thirteen

  July 26, 1540

  Lambeth House, London

  As the ghostly figure approached her, Catherine could just make out the face of the king. The apparition’s expression was hardened by rage, and his eyes were wild and red, rather than green, like a wolf on the hunt.

  She tried to cry out but no sound came. Distracted by a far-off sound, the apparition turned away. She ran and hid, cowering behind a huge stone urn, and watched the black-clad figure stalk through the dark room, cape flying behind him, a jeweled dagger in his hand. This cannot be Henry, she thought. This man, this specter, was wild and frightening, like some unleashed evil. Suddenly Catherine saw the other girl. Her hair was the same amber shade as her own. She was small and even more startlingly beautiful.

  Run. It is not safe! Catherine tried to warn the girl. Yet no words would come. This cannot be happening, she thought. As Henry stalked toward the girl, she turned and looked directly at Catherine, as if she sensed her hiding there. Their eyes met at the very moment that the king slashed her throat with the jeweled dagger. Blood sprayed out like a crimson fountain as the girl’s eyes widened with shock.

  There could be no mistake. The face. The eyes. It was Anne Boleyn. A moment later, as if she were looking into a mirror, the face became her own.

  Catherine bolted upright in her bed, her white muslin nightdress wet with sweat, her heart pounding like a drum. She’d had wild, violent nightmares before, yet nothing that had felt so like a premonition as this.

  Jane Boleyn and Mary Lassells, who had both been sent to Lambeth to attend her, came running into her bedchamber, and Catherine realized that she must have called out. She was shaking violently, her mind still filled with the images from her dream, and she began to weep. Jane sank onto the edge of the bed with Mary behind her and took tight hold of her shoulders.

  “You are all right. Breathe deeply,” Jane commanded.

  “I cannot.”

  “You can. Just breathe.”

  “But it was so real. It was like a vision of my future. He was killing my cousin . . . but it was also me!”

  “Hush now.” Jane tried to soothe her. “It was only a dream.”

  “Can you be so certain? I saw his eyes. There was murder in them, and not for the first time!”

  “It’s only natural that you would be afraid. The idea of becoming queen must be overwhelming. You are bound to be unsettled.”

  “It is more than that, Jane. He had her executed. He could just as easily do that to me!”

  “There, now.” Jane tried to smile as she pressed the matted, wet hair back from Catherine’s face. “He loves you.”

  “He loved her once, until she made a mistake. What if I err as well? I cannot go through with it, Jane. Please, I beg you, help me find a way out of it. I cannot live my life in fear. You must help me!”

  Panic rose wildly within her, like a living thing. The vision of Henry’s cold, dead eyes, full of brutal hatred, would not leave her thoughts. Jane turned to Mary.

  “Bring Mistress Howard a cup of warm ale; then leave us,” she commanded.

  Mary hesitated for a moment, not wanting to miss the conversation, but then she honored Lady Rochford’s status and did as she was told. After Mary closed the door behind her with a little click, Jane spoke again.

  “Listen to me now,” she said in a firm whisper. “Unlike Anne Boleyn, you have not only history, but me as your guide, and you can be smarter in your choices. Right now, the king is entirely besotted with you, and there is nothing in the world he will not do for you. It was just the same with Anne, but her mistake was in taking his love for granted and letting her ambition rule the day.”

  “But I do not want Henry to rule me. My heart and soul belong to Thomas!”

  Jane shook her head firmly. “You must never, ever let anyone else but me hear you say that again.”

  “But who else would I tell but you, Jane? You alone know my heart in this.”

  “And I am the more in danger for it. You must never slip up or mention aloud your love for Master Culpeper, or all three of our lives will be in grave danger. Everyone must believe that you belong to the king now, for you will be Catherine Howard, Queen of England.”

  “But how can I live without the man I love? I am young and vital. Henry is old and fat. He is a decaying wreck of the man he once was!”

  “A man who has the power to make your nightmare a reality,” Jane declared with a strange, frosty realism that settled into her like a winter chill. She waited a moment as Catherine stared into her eyes, uncertain now where to turn, whom to trust, or even what to do next. As if sensing the question, Jane said, “Look, you are right to trust me, and you can. I am in this far too deeply already to abandon you. Once you are back at court, I will find you a way to meet with Master Culpeper. I have no idea how, so that it will not endanger us all, but I will think of something. Only speak no more of it to him or to anyone else until I do. No one can be trusted in something like this. Everywhere you turn, there are spies who would rather see all three of us dead than another Catholic as queen.”

  Feeling the pull of sleep, led by the weight of desperation, Catherine lay back down on the crisp, white bed linen and let Jane pull the bedspread over her. She wanted to sleep forever.

  “Try to get some rest. The king will come for a visit tomorrow and you must look your best.”

  The image of the ghostly king and the dagger dripping with blood came to her again. She tried to push it aside with thoughts of Thomas, but she realized that she had no physical object to remind her of the man she would always love, or their precious time together. Perhaps it was just as well, though. It would only remind her of all she had forever lost by agreeing to marry the king.

  Mary had let the door click to a close, but after a moment she opened it again. Catherine was, as usual, too self-absorbed to notice. Katherine Tilney and Joan Acworth had accused her at Horsham of being envious. But Mary knew better. What motivated her, and her brother, was not envy but rather commitment to the true path toward God, which, if those Howards rose again to power, England would be stripped of as they were misled again by the Catholics.

  That could not be allowed to happen.

  Mary strained to hear every word. The dream. Thomas Culpeper. Catherine’s fear of making a mistake.

  When Catherine Howard eventually did make that mistake, and she would, Mary Lassells would be there. And when she returned to court, she knew God would lead her to the proper partner to help her use that mistake to the Reformation’s advantage. She might be just one woman, but like everyone else who had found a way to court, she too was driven by ruthless ambition. The rest she would leave to God, she thought, making the sign of the cross as she slipped, unheard, into the darkness of the great corridor.

  “The king comes!”

 
There was a quality of panic in the announcement, which set the entire Lambeth household in motion as dogs yelped at the king’s arrival in the courtyard. Catherine stood stone still as Jane clasped the king’s necklace around her throat. The air was permeated with the aroma of cooked meat from the kitchens below and fresh wood polish on the elegant linen-fold paneled walls. The Duke of Norfolk’s staff had been preparing for days for the king’s private visit.

  “Do I look proper for the king?” Mary Lassells asked, as she glanced at her own image in a free corner of the mirror.

  The question surprised Catherine as she prepared to greet Henry. “You look fine,” she replied quickly, then put the moment out of her head.

  As she descended the staircase, followed by the dowager duchess, Jane and the king’s niece Lady Douglas, she saw the king waiting for her in the entry hall. He was costumed in a wide, dove gray doublet trimmed in silver and slashed to reveal white satin underneath. When he saw her, he smiled broadly and held up his hand to her. Everyone else fell into deep bows and curtsies.

  Catherine took his hand as she reached the last step.

  “Leave us,” Henry commanded.

  She heard her grandmother give a little huff as she left with the others. When they were alone, Henry held her out at arm’s length to admire her.

  “Well worth a summer ride back into the city. Worth anything, actually,” Henry flattered her. Without warning, he pressed a kiss onto her lips with the sensual familiarity of a lover. She was prepared this time, and she successfully steeled herself against his foul breath.

  “These days have seemed an eternity,” he said huskily.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, Hal,” she replied softly, using the king’s nickname without prompting for the first time.

  He touched the jewel at her throat and smiled. “I see you are wearing my gift.”

  “I wear it every day, as it is my most exquisite possession.”

  “So far,” he corrected. “Which reminds me . . .”

  Henry led her into the library to the left of the entry hall. The grand room was made intimate by large upholstered chairs, tables and a tapestry. Once they were inside, he withdrew a ring from his doublet that literally took her breath away as it glittered in his meaty palm. The stone was the size of an almond, surrounded by pearls.

  “It is a pink diamond, the rarest in the world. I could think of nothing more appropriate to mark our formal betrothal.” Without waiting for her response, the king held up her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger, where it sparkled in the late-afternoon sunlight.

  “Does it please you then?”

  “How could it not?” Catherine asked, smiling more sincerely than she had meant to. She felt as if she were betraying Thomas, but she could not afford to feel that way anymore. More than just being awed by his power, or even appreciating his moments of tenderness, Catherine must allow herself to care for the king. It was the only way to survive.

  “Shall you say it then?” he asked, seeking a more solid confirmation of her pleasure.

  “It pleases me greatly . . . Hal.”

  At her words, Henry smiled like a little boy who had gotten his way. “There, now, see how easy that was? You needn’t be timid with me, my little Cat. When we are alone together, I shall always be your Hal to whom you can say anything. Speaking of which . . .” He glanced around. “Where is our little kitten? I’ve not see her since Nonsuch. She must be growing into a sleek and gorgeous little creature by now. I suspect she shall soon outgrow her collar and shall need another. Do have her brought to us,” he happily instructed Catherine as he took her hand.

  She dutifully obliged by ringing a little silver bell the duke kept on the fireplace mantel. Appearing before the king was a privilege, and since Jane outranked Mary, she had the pleasure of responding to the summons. She dropped into a deep and proper curtsy.

  “Please have Putette brought down from the basket in my bedchamber, Lady Rochford. The king would like to see her.”

  “Of course, mistress.” Jane nodded dutifully, but just as she turned to leave, the king spoke to her.

  “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

  July 27, 1540

  Oatlands Palace, Surrey

  At 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.