What he has, he holds.
Later that month, in recognition for his service to the king on the high seas, Sir Thomas Seymour was made lord high admiral of His Majesty’s navy. ’Twas a great honor, but a post that would keep Thomas away from the court, at the king’s bidding, for great periods of time, nautical miles away from the queen.
In the three months between the banquet and the New Year’s celebration, Sir Tristram often sought me out to walk in the galleries, to play cards, and to make merry in general. I sometimes agreed to accompany him when in a group, but sought to include Dorothy at all times and made it clear by a certain remove that I was not interested in more than friendship. I do not think he paid mind to my assertions, as by the end of the year he was asking after my father and my brother and plans in Marlborough.
In spite of Sir Thomas’s reassurances, Jamie did not soon return to court.
SEVEN
Year of Our Lord 1545
Westminster
Greenwich Palace
Southsea Castle, Dover
Windsor
The king, still drunk with French victory, was most generous with his New Year’s gifts. He gave the queen a heavy purse of gold, some fine gowns, and a diamond-encrusted clock, as she was overfond of timepieces. He added to her personal jewelry collection, not just that belonging to the crown, and on the second of January I assisted her sister, Lady Herbert, as she sorted through Kate’s stones, collars, and chains, storing them in appropriate silk-lined cabinets.
“Place the emeralds here.” Lady Herbert pointed to a small, lacquered casket and smiled. She had been in charge of Queen Catherine Howard’s jewels, too, before that queen stumbled toward the scaffold. I was inordinately proud because I was the maiden most often chosen to help with my lady’s jewels. Lady Margaret Neville had oft helped her in the past but she was unwell of late and took to her chambers more often than not. I knew Her Grace worried on Margaret’s behalf and yet she had duties from dawn till dusk most days, and His Majesty did not abide sickness well, not even his own, which had seemed to wax lately. Perhaps his winning efforts at war had been purchased at the cost of quickening his ill health.
Kate sat on a comfortable chair and read to us from the Lady Elizabeth’s gift to her for the New Year.
“Exquisitely and thoughtfully done. Brilliant. ’Tis a translation of Miroir de l’âme pécheresse, ‘The Glass of the Sinful Soul,’” Kate mused aloud.
At that, her sister looked up, discomfited.
“What, Anne?” Kate responded a bit sharply. “’Twas written by a princess. I write and transcribe, and the Lady Elizabeth enjoys writing and transcribing and is much skilled already. Surely nothing is amiss with that.” Kate seemed to weary at the unspoken rebuke.
“Miroir is beloved by reformers and written by a manifest reformer. I do not think the king, her father, would look upon this with favor.”
“Ah,” Her Grace said quietly. “But I look upon it with favor, and her mother, Queen Anne Boleyn, would as well. Who knows but that it may be her copy that Elizabeth translated from? Marguerite was an especial favorite of that queen. I rather admire Queen Anne and I know you do, too, as it was in her household that you first came to be a reformer and shared the like with me. I wish the Lady Elizabeth to know of her, especially as the Lady Elizabeth is growing both astute in and warming to matters of faith and practice.”
Lady Herbert busied herself with the jewels, and I did, too, hoping to dissuade my lady from any more talk about Anne Boleyn lest she follow Queen Anne’s narrow path.
Inside, though, I applauded Her Grace for ensuring that Elizabeth knew something of what her mother cared for too.
As spring wore on it became clear that Kate’s stepdaughter, the daughter of her heart, was ill unto death. The king gave the queen leave to attend more frequently to Margaret, whom she had moved next to her own quarters.
“Come now, dearest. I’ve had some custard prepared for you,” the queen said, sitting near Margaret in her receiving chamber. She looked up at one of her lady maids and had the tray with custards, potage, and other soft foods temptingly arrayed delivered to Lady Margaret Neville’s side.
“I shall eat a little,” Margaret declared, though out of will to please Kate and not hunger, I knew. I busied myself in the room, as did Dorothy. One lady placed some of Kate’s books in her cupboards and another ordered some tables arranged for the afternoon’s card game. All affected a semblance of normalcy, but we knew how ill Margaret truly was. She confirmed it for us with her words to Kate.
“I have completed my will,” she said. “I’ve had my father’s steward assist me, and of course, dear lady, I have left everything to you. I shan’t require the money my father had set aside for my dowry or keep.”
“Hush, now, there is many a year to concern ourselves with that,” Her Grace said, trying to reassure her. I saw her face pink and she blinked. I looked away.
“Nay, my lady, ’tis not the truth.”
Lady Seymour disappeared into the Queen’s Closet and aimed a significant look at Dorothy and me. We dared not disobey and followed her in, where she gave us some meaningless duties to leave Kate and Margaret alone.
Within the month, young Lady Margaret Neville had passed away. One night soon after, I took the ivory-handled brush and performed the task that Margaret often had as Kate allowed herself to grieve, wiping her eyes with a nearby linen, tears coursing in disorderly fashion over her cheekbones and down under her golden collar, which had yet to be unclasped.
“I am sorry, Juliana, that you should see me thus.”
“Don’t be sorry, Your Grace. You were her mother.” I smoothed my hand over her head, wishing to soothe her as she so often did for others.
The queen wiped her face again and nodded. “I was. I was her mother, not just her stepmother. She was my only child.”
I set down the brush and pulled her head close to my shoulder, sharing her burden in hope of thereby halving it. “You were a fine mother to her,” I said, imitating the calm tone I’d often heard her use. “All knew it, not the least of all Margaret.” After a moment of silence I continued. “Someday, when I have children of my own, I will know how to mother them because I’ve watched you. You mother the Lady Elizabeth, Prince Edward. And though I am older, me,” I added softly.
Her Grace said nothing, but did allow herself to quietly weep for five minutes afore collecting her senses. I grieved with her. Lady Margaret Neville had been a friend, a kind and true friend. I had helped her maid to pack her things so that Kate would not have to, and sent them along to the poor.
At court one is not allowed to grieve overlong. Soon Lady Seymour brought news of Anne Askew’s arrest, along with a dangerous challenge for the queen.
One of Kate’s ladies was reading in the queen’s chambers whilst the March wind blew rain across the Thames so hard it tried to breach the windowpanes. I don’t recall what she was reading because shortly after she began, Anne Stanhope, Lady Seymour, entered the room and stood at the back. I could tell by the way she held herself that she had something to tell those of us assembled, but the queen intentionally did not give her leave to speak immediately.
Although they shared the same reformed beliefs and were beautiful in their own ways—my lady with her dark russet hair and Lady Seymour with her icy blond—they did not hold inordinate affection for one another. One was the wife of Edward Seymour. One still carried his brother, Sir Thomas, in her heart.