“A friend. Sent by highborn friends.”
She nodded. “I know of whom you speak. Yes, thank them.”
“How do you fare?”
“Well,” she said, not allowing herself the luxury of letting down her guard. “Pray for me.”
I handed the bag to her; there was to be no letter or other indication of who her benefactors were. “We will, my lady. Heartily.” I recalled to mind the words Father Gregory had given to me. “That you will be able to resist in the evil days that come. And to stand.”
At that she smiled, a warm smile that smoothed the zealous edges from her face. I realized that we were but a year or two apart in age and could well have been friends under other circumstances. I said nothing more, not wanting to give her any cause for softening. She would need her calluses.
Later, I reported all to Her Grace in the privacy of her bedchamber, thrilled to have been included in this most important, sacred almost, task. The kind of sensitive task a mother might entrust to a daughter.
“Well done,” she said, reassuring me.
“My lady … upon what charges do they detain Mistress Askew?” I asked.
“She is not in agreement with the king’s Six Articles,” Kate replied. “Which is the law in determining acceptable—and heretical—applications of faith.”
“Which of the Six Articles?” I pressed. I could not help it; having been drawn into the intrigue I wanted to understand the particulars.
“Chiefly,” the queen spoke softly, “Mistress Askew does not believe that the bread and wine, the Lord’s Supper, become the actual body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ during the celebration. She believes them to be representative, symbolic. The king marks that, especially, as heresy, punishable by death.”
I dared to ask a question; I needed to know the answer if I were to help her. “Do you mark that as heresy, my lady?”
After a moment, Kate responded. “No, Juliana, I do not. I find I now sympathize with Anne Askew on these matters.”
After my own readings I too was beginning to agree. After all, our Lord was neither literal vine nor door, either, though Scripture called Him both.
“And the king?” I asked with dread. “Does he know you believe thusly?”
She shook her head. “He does not. Prince Edward’s tutors and, er, uncles, share my sympathies. The Lady Mary is strongly in agreement with her father and devoted to her mother’s faith. I believe the Lady Elizabeth lightly inclines toward me, though she is young, and not zealous.”
“Excuse me, my lady. But a house divided against itself cannot stand.”
“Which is why I seek in all ways to persuade the king in this matter. As does Archbishop Cranmer.”
But not Bishop Gardiner, I thought, nor Lord Wriothesley nor many powerful others. They both seek to do you harm wherever they may. I had little confidence in my lady’s ability to offer guidance and instruction to the king on religion; I thought it rather more likely he would declare her a heretic upon discovering the magnitude of her beliefs.
A few months later, Thomas Berthelet, the royal printer, delivered to my lady a shipment of her book Prayers Stirring the Mind unto Heavenly Meditations, which I had seen her quietly working on for months. He had already delivered a copy to His Majesty, who soon made his way to Kate’s chambers to proclaim his pride in his wife’s learning and piety, under his own strong guidance and tutelage, of course.
Later that week His Majesty held a small feast as a celebration of the event. My Lady Suffolk, whose husband had taken ill, made a special effort to attend and celebrate without him to show support for the queen. All were delighted with her success, and I was particularly proud as I had seen her at work on it late at night. Lady Seymour was there with her husband, Edward, Earl of Hertford. As she viewed her family as nobler, and herself as superior in person, she did not seem to enjoy the well-deserved accolades given Kate as one among the few women to publish in the English language. Lady Seymour, Anne Stanhope, styled herself a writer, too, so ’twas more like sun in her eyes. I wondered, perhaps uncharitably, if Stanhope would do Kate ill if given the chance.
In August, the Duke of Suffolk, who had been the king’s lifelong friend and closest confidant, a brother, really, passed away. A certain lightness went out of the king and I do not think that, as he turned that corner, he ever returned. From that time forward his illnesses accelerated. The duke had requested a simple burial; the king insisted that his friend be buried with highest honors at Saint George’s Chapel, Windsor. His Majesty informed those gathered that the duke had never brought harm to a competitor nor to an adversary, nor had he spoken a word with the intent of injuring another. “Is there any of you, my lords,” the king added, “who can say as much?” I thought it was unlikely there were two such men at his court, ever.
In spite of his dour mood, His Majesty needed to keep up royal pretenses and thus bought fine new clothes for both of his daughters in advance of the Christmas celebrations. The Lady Elizabeth, being young, would not be in attendance all month so he held a series of celebrations in mid-November too. The one I looked forward to the most was a musical evening. The king was a fine composer and several of his songs would be performed by lute and harp; the virginals, of which I was particularly fond because my mother had ensured that I was well trained on them, would be played too.
The great hall overflowed with people who mingled and talked and ate of small fancies whilst the musicians played. I had loaned Dorothy one of my fine rings after she’d come to keep me company in my oft-lonely chamber. Elisabeth had left early to assist Lord William, as he’d held a small reception in advance of the evening in his chambers; she was there more often than not, night and day. She’d invited me to the reception but I did not feel particularly comfortable with that set. Dorothy took special care to find Tristram as soon as we arrived and I prayed that he would be delighted with her company.
To my own utter delight, Jamie was in attendance. I caught his eye across the room and he smiled broadly, then nodded warmly in my direction as if to say he would speak with me soon. I was glad that I had, again, chosen my peach gown with its womanly tucks sewn in becoming places.
“You look in want of company.” John Temple came up beside me.
I smiled graciously, as was required at court. “’Tis very kind of you to think so,” I said. “But I was just on my way to speak with someone else.” He followed my gaze to Jamie, who was deep in conversation with another woman.
“Sir Thomas does welcome the rakehells into his household, does he not?” Sir John said smoothly. “I’m not surprised.” With that he took his leave.
In spite of his nod, Jamie did not come and find me immediately thereafter. I saw him speak with another woman, and I joined Dorothy and Tristram and a group of others from Her Grace’s household in conversation. When I looked to Jamie again, he was speaking with another group. I tried to catch his eye but could not and he did not seem to be looking for me, either. Dorothy led Tristram away and kept him occupied, although he cast a longing glance in my direction once or twice, which I returned in a friendly but not necessarily inviting manner.
Rather than stand by myself and look a fool if Jamie should glance my way again, I reluctantly sought out Sir John to make happy, if forced, conversation and cheerful, even ebullient, company at dance.
’Twas a singular mistake that I’d wish undone.
“Ah, Mistress Juliana, your Irishman seems preoccupied,” Sir John said.
“He’s not my Irishman, Sir John.”
He nodded approvingly. “At least Marlborough, burg that it is, is on English soil.”