Almost immediately, I chided myself for thinking so of Francis, but the fact remained that he was not considered to be one of us although he claimed to have some remote connection with the family.
My grandmother was saying: “Eh, eh? Do you hear me? How would you like to go to Court?”
“It would be very interesting.”
“Very interesting! Is that all you have to say? Listen to me. I tell you this, Mistress Howard, it would be something for which you would bless your family. Marry, and so it would. There could be a great marriage for you.”
“I am married to …”
“Don’t dare let me hear such nonsense, or I shall beat you till you scream for mercy.” She reached for her stick and shook it at me. “Are you mad? Never let me hear you talk such nonsense. You would bring down the wrath of your uncle the Duke … and that would mean more than a slap or two from me, I can tell you. Much, much more. You may have been taken advantage of by a stupid young man as careless as yourself, but I was at hand to protect you and put an end to your folly before it was too late. Did you hear that? Before it was too late.”
“Yes … yes, Your Grace,” I murmured.
“Well, rub a little harder. Oh … that’s a relief. You have good hands, child. Well, of a surety the King will marry again … soon.” She laughed. “He is a man who cannot do without a wife. There are some like that.”
I thought, he must be getting old now. I had thought he was old when I saw him beside my cousin. She had looked so dazzlingly beautiful. But I did not say this, as any mention of Anne always depressed the Duchess.
“I hear he is making inquiries on the Continent,” went on the Duchess. “And he is deeply desirous of making Marie of Lorraine his wife. She is said to be of unsurpassed beauty, but she is betrothed to the King of Scotland. But His Majesty would thrust that aside. What is the King of Scots compared with the King of England? Yet, I do not think the lady is so eager to take our King. Some are saying that it is unlucky to be the wife of the King of England. One wife put from him after years of marriage, the next …”—her voice broke—“… sent to the block … the third dying in childbirth. It might indeed seem that Heaven is set against a happy marriage for him. That is what they say.”
“And it is indeed the truth,” I put in.
“Do not dare say such things!” reproved the Duchess, seemingly unaware that she was the one who had just said it.
“The French King mocks him,” she went on. “Those French. Would you trust them? They have their graces and prancing manners, I grant you … and beneath all that, they are wily. No friends of ours, they cover their wicked actions with graceful words. Do you know, the French King sent word to His Majesty condoling with him on his unfortunate explorations into matrimony and to wish him success with his fourth choice. And when His Majesty said that he would be delighted to take a lady from the French Court, King Francis replied that any lady of any degree should be at his disposal. French manners, of course, are not to be taken seriously, and when the King sent a message to King Francis to the effect that he would come without delay to inspect the ladies, the French King pretended to be shocked that his gracious politeness had been misunderstood and he replied that the King of England would understand that noble ladies could not be taken to market like horses at a fair.”
I began to laugh.
“It is not for laughing, child,” she reproved me. “Whom His Majesty marries is important to us … to the family. Remember the Seymours. What airs they give themselves. They think they are above us all because they are uncles to the young Edward. It is not a laughing matter. We must trust that the King’s new wife will favor the Howard family. That is why your uncle would like to have a hand in the choice.”
“Doubtless the King will choose his own Queen.”
The Duchess nodded gloomily. “Of a surety he will.” She was thoughtful for a while, then she said: “Enough of this, child. Put away the unguents.” She brightened a little. “There will be a new Queen … and soon, I trow. You are growing up and you have the Howard good looks. Who knows, with the coming of a new Queen, there may be an opening for you at Court.”
I was becoming more interested in what was going on around me than I had ever been before. Perhaps it was because I was getting older, but more likely because the Duchess’s household was no longer a forcing ground for latent sensuality. Restrictions set by the Duchess had to be adhered to, and there was stern punishment for any who diverged from the new laws now laid down. There was a subdued atmosphere throughout the house and certainly not the same familiarity between the sexes there had been previously. Everyone was careful not to attract suspicion.
I suppose some of the bolder spirits continued their associations, but, as Francis was gone, I was not tempted. I read a little and even wrote the occasional letter when necessary. I found that there were other interests than kissing and thinking of a lover all the time.
So I learned something of what was going on. I now knew a little about the powerful people at Court—men like Thomas Cromwell, who had taken Wolsey’s place. Poor Wolsey! It was said that he had died of a broken heart which saved him from the axe. He had done all he could to prevent the King’s marriage to my cousin Anne but, brilliant as he was, he was no match for the King in the heat of his desire, and he had died because he had lost the King’s favor.
There was Thomas More, who had refused to sign the Act of Supremacy. The King was, at that time, seeking to rid himself of my cousin and blamed her for that good man’s death.
How lightly all heads seemed to rest on shoulders! I began to realize more fully how alarmed my grandmother had been when she discovered what had happened between Francis Derham and me. Not that I was of any importance, except in a very minor way as a Howard.
I thought once more of my poor cousin. They had said she had lovers, and that was treason toward the King. Yet he had broken his marriage vows to her. There was Jane Seymour to bear witness to that. But that did not seem important. And Anne had died for her transgression.
It was all very difficult to understand, but that in itself made it more dangerous. I began to wish there had not been that passion between Francis and myself almost as much as I had wished I had never known Henry Manox.
I felt I wanted to go on living this restricted life, becoming interested in what was going on around me, being the young, innocent girl I could have been if I had never known those nights in the Long Room.
How different it was now. We all slept behind locked doors and talked together sometimes of what was going on in the country. Would the King marry? And whom? It all seemed of the greatest interest.
Some of the leading spirits of the Long Room had disappeared. Joan was one of them. She was going to be married, I believe. I was rather relieved when she went, because she often reminded me of that occasion when the Duchess surprised us in the Maids’ Chamber and had seen Derham and me rolling on the floor.
Throughout the country, for some time, there had been a conflict between Catholics and Protestants. The Howards were firm Catholics and Stephen Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester, stood with my uncle; the Seymours, with Thomas Cromwell, were in the opposite camp. I had never before realized how important such men were, and how they worked in a devious manner to attain their ends and influence the King’s actions without appearing to do so.