In the days that followed, I settled into my role. I lived now far more luxuriously than I ever had before. My duties were light, and it was very rarely that I was in the presence of the Queen.
The Duchesses of Richmond and Suffolk and the Countesses of Rutland and Hertford, with Lady Margaret Douglas, were those close to her. I should have loved to be nearer the Queen and to know what she was really thinking. I realized that the King neglected her and made little effort to hide his disappointment in his marriage; I was sure she was not of a nature to show her feelings and, if she were embittered and humiliated, she hid this very successfully.
It was at Greenwich that I met Lady Rochford. She was a distant connection, through her marriage to my cousin, George Boleyn, who was, of course, brother to Anne; he had died at the same time as his sister, charged with incest with her. Lady Rochford had given evidence at the time against her husband.
I remembered my grandmother’s saying of her that she was a vindictive woman and had been jealous of her husband’s devotion to his sister. Anne and George were two of a kind—brilliant, witty, clever and handsome. Poor Jane Rochford was different. It was natural that George and Anne were fond of each other’s company and the love between them was that of a gifted brother and a clever sister.
Jane Rochford was the neglected wife. Well, how could George be expected to spend his time in her company? So Jane had her revenge. All those wicked lies … it was just what poor George did not need at that time.
I remembered this now, but I did feel a little lonely, and Jane was friendly.
“My little cousin!” she cried. “So, you have come to Court. His Grace of Norfolk has arranged this, I’ll warrant. I believe your uncle has great influence in high places.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I believe it was my uncle who persuaded them to accept me.”
“Nothing pleases him more than to see Howards filling high places at Court.”
She was very talkative and so determined to be friendly that I found her company welcome. The ladies of the royal household were inclined to look down on me—a newcomer, very young, an unimportant member of the company.
I discovered that Lady Rochford was not only a great talker, but a reckless one and, as our acquaintance grew, she became more and more outspoken in a manner which might have caused trouble if it had been reported in certain quarters.
For instance, she was very frank about the relationship between the King and the Queen. She told me how the Queen had arrived in England and how disappointed the King had been on that first occasion when he saw her. He had been waiting for that moment for so long, ever since the death of Queen Jane, for the King was a man who must have a wife. There were some men like that. Many would be content to take a mistress, for it seemed unlikely that any marriage the King made would bring him a son. But he was a man with a conscience. Had I ever heard mention of the King’s conscience? I would sooner or later. All his marriages had brought forth his conscience. Conscience made him rid himself of his first wife. Was she in truth a virgin when he married her? Had her marriage with his brother been consummated? Didn’t it say something in the Bible—Leviticus, was it not?—that a man might not marry his brother’s wife? Then, of course, he was infatuated by our ill-fated cousin, Anne, and the old conscience was up in arms again. He’d find some work for it to do over the present Queen, she’d warrant.
That was the manner in which she talked. It amused me and, innocent as I was, I could not see the danger. Perhaps I did have a notion that I should not be listening, but I did learn a great deal of what was going on.
“Oh, he was shocked, I can tell you, at that first meeting,” she went on. “He could not hide it. He cut short the visit and could not bring himself to give her the furs—beautiful sable, they were—which he had brought as a gift. Anthony Browne had to present them to her instead. And ever since, he has been trying to find a way to be rid of her. It was not only her face which he did not like. There was her Dutch accent. He found it grating. She had so little English and he no Dutch. Doubtless he welcomed it as a reason for not spending much time with her. Then he tried to think of reasons why he could not marry her. It was like that time when he tried to be rid of Queen Catherine so that he could marry our cousin. I will tell you something.” She came close to me, looked over her shoulder and then began to whisper. “Now that he is married to her and she is truly Queen, he does not spend his nights with her. He says, ‘Farewell, sweetheart,’ and leaves her. And when she was asked if she were hurt by his neglect, her answer was that she was quite happy and she received as much of his attention as she wished. That will tell you how matters are between the King and the Queen.”
“Dost think the King will send her back to her own country?” “You may trust him to find a way of being rid of her.” “But her brother is the Duke of Cleves. It is not as though she were a subject like …”
“Like our poor cousin? No. But you may be sure that the King is looking for a way to be rid of her, and he is not one to give up what he has set his heart on. I would not like to be in Her Majesty’s shoes, but then, who would, I wonder?”
She laughed, and I could not help thinking of the kindly, gentle face of the Queen.
Then I met Thomas.
I was in the music-room playing the virginals, for I loved music. I could sing quite well and I liked to accompany myself on the lute, which was a favorite instrument of mine. As I played, the door opened and, to my intense joy, there stood Thomas.
“Katherine!” he cried, and ran toward me. He put his arms round me and we clung together.
“I heard you had become the Queen’s new lady-in-waiting, the prettiest lady-in-waiting at Court—that is what they are saying.”
“You lie,” I said, laughing, well pleased.
“’Tis God’s truth, I swear, and I’ll challenge any who denies it.”
“This is what is called Court manners, I’ll swear.”
“I tell you, I only say what is clear to us all. Let me look at you. Ah, sweet Katherine, how glad I am that you are here at last.”
“How fares it with you, Thomas?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Good … at times. At others … well, the royal temper is not as clement these days, for His Majesty is not a happy man.”
“Is it because of the Queen or his leg?”
“Neither gives him cause to rejoice. Most of those around him receive some abuse, and there is the occasional blow.”
“Oh, Thomas, that must be very distressing.”
“It is part of our duty to accept what comes our way. I do not suffer as much as some. At times, curses are thrown at us and we are told we should all be in the Tower.”
“Thomas!”
“Do not pity me. I am safe enough. He knows that none can dress his leg as I do. Is that not amazing, Katherine? The deftness of my hands and my ability to deal with an ulcer have elevated me to favor. But enough of me. Are they kind to you?”
“Oh yes. I have friends already.”
“It is wonderful to know that I shall be able to see you.”
“Shall we meet often?”
“It depends. I must be at hand when I am needed, and I am never sure when that will be. As for you, I suppose you have your duties. But depend upon it, I shall contrive to see you at every possible moment.”
“I cannot cease to marvel at the good fortune which has brought me here.”
“Oh, my Lord Norfolk would make sure that there is a place for his niece at Court.”
He suddenly kissed me with passion, and then said, as though to excuse himself: “We are to be betrothed.”
“I do not forget.”
“We shall marry and then mayhap go away from the Court. How would you like to go to Hollingbourne?”