Who could say? But the fact remained that Margaret was dead and here was another in her place.
He was smiling at her, pressing her hand. She was ready to be loved, he could see that. Very young but ready, very ready.
He was fortunate. He must remember that. For all that latent passion, which he as a connoisseur of women could detect, there was an innocence about her, a romanticism, which perhaps most girls of her age would have before they came into contact with the world.
In time she would discover. Janet Kennedy would see to that and he doubted he would be ready to give up Janet for a pretty young girl, delightful though she might be.
But that was for the future. Perhaps the new Queen of Scotland could be made to accept the inevitable.
All James must concern himself with now was to conduct his bride to Holyrood where in the church of that palace the ceremony of their marriage would take place.
Katharine’s position had changed. As the future Queen of England she could no longer live in obscurity. She would come to Court and as it was no exaggeration to say that the clothes she had brought with her from Spain were decidedly shabby, the King was obliged, though reluctantly, to make her an allowance.
Katharine’s first need was to pay her servants and when that was done—for their wages were very much in arrears—there was not a great deal left for clothes. But still it was an improvement and the fcuture seemed a little more secure. In two or three years she should be truly married to the Prince of Wales and then the King must give her an adequate allowance.
She had written to her mother and what joy it had been to receive a reply in that dear and familiar handwriting. The words were warm and loving. Katharine must never doubt that her mother watched over her and was determined to do everything in her power to promote her well-being. She would see that the best thing that could happen to her since Prince Arthur was dead, was marriage with the new Prince of Wales. And Katharine being her own good and docile daughter would realize that such a marriage would be to Spain’s advantage. Isabella was sorry that Katharine had such difficulty in meeting the needs of her household. “We cannot send you money, dear daughter. We need all we have for the war. It is swallowing up far more than we anticipated. Moreover it is the duty of your future father-in-law to make you an adequate allowance. He is reputed to be extremely rich. He doubtless would like us to support you, but this is a matter of state, dear daughter, and I am sure your father would agree with me that it would be foolish of us—even if we had the means—to take over the commitments of the King of England. Be patient, dear daughter, and know that your mother loves you and will always watch over you.”
Katharine wept when she read that letter. She must not complain. She was the most fortunate of daughters to possess such a mother.
The idea came to her that if she pawned her jewelery it should fetch a great deal. It was part of her dowry and the King had said that she should wear her jewelery and de Puebla had hinted that the King was in due course going to reject it as part of the dowry.
Doña Elvira was horrified at the idea of pawning the jewelery.
“I must pay my servants,” cried Katharine. “And I cannot appear at Court in threadbare gowns.”
“But this is the dowry you will bring to your husband.”
“My late husband’s revenues have not come to me. The King has taken them. I have nothing but the King’s small allowance. I must do something. When I am married to the Prince I shall be able to redeem the jewels.”
Doña Elvira shrugged her shoulders.
It was all very bewildering and it was true that Katharine must find money somewhere.
It will pass, thought Katharine. In two . . . perhaps three years I shall be married. Then all will be well. As my mother says I must be patient.
I will, she thought. I can be because I know that she is there . . . always loving and kind and watching over me.
De Puebla called at Durham House. Looking very somber he asked for an immediate audience with the Princess.
As soon as he came into her presence Katharine was filled with a terrible fear.
“What is wrong?” she cried.
“News from Spain,” he said.
“My mother . . .”
He nodded and was silent.
“News? What news? Tell me quickly.”
“My dear lady, you must prepare yourself for a great shock.”
“Is it my mother . . . my father . . . ?”
Again that nod and silence. It was more than Katharine could endure.
“It is my mother,” she said blankly. “She is ill. . . .”
He looked at her beseechingly. It was odd to see the sly de Puebla so moved.
Then he said clearly and with the greatest compassion in his voice: “Queen Isabella is dead, my lady.”
“Dead!”
She was trying to grasp what this meant and at the same time trying not to, for she could not bear to contemplate a world without her mother.
De Puebla was saying: “She had been ill for some time. The tertian fever it was said . . . and dropsy. Her last thoughts were for you . . . and your sisters.”
“Dear mother,” murmured Katharine. “It cannot be . . . it must not be. . . .”
“One of the last things she did was to have the Bull of Dispensation brought to her. She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to assure herself that your betrothal to the Prince of Wales would go forward and none could dispute it.”
Katharine covered her face with her hands.
“I will send for your ladies,” said de Puebla. “My lady, it grieves me to have to bring you such news.”
“I know,” said Katharine. “Leave me . . . please. I would be alone.”
Alone! she thought. That is what I am now. She is gone. Alone . . . yes, alone in a hostile world.
Katharine was not the only one to be deeply affected by the death of Isabella. The King immediately realized what a difference this could make to his own position.
Without delay he sent for Empson and Dudley, those two who because of their wizardry with figures were more in his confidence than any others.
“I had thought, naturally,” he said to them when the three of them were alone, “that Ferdinand’s power would have been increased by the death of his wife.”
“Isabella was a shrewd woman. She loved Ferdinand as a husband—strange that such a woman could have such a feeling for her family—but as a ruler she was fully aware of his deficiencies.”
Henry nodded. “And now Ferdinand has lost a great deal of that power, which was his when his wife was alive.”
“For all her devotion to her family, she was always the one who held the power. She never forgot her position and was determined that it should not be passed on to Ferdinand.”
“Well, let us look at the facts,” said Henry. “She is dead and she has appointed her daughter Juana Queen Proprietor, and Castile is settled on her and Philip her husband.”
“One can be sure that the Archduke will take every advantage of the position.”
“She does say until the majority of her grandson Charles.”
“That is some time yet. He cannot be more than four years old.”
“The Lady Katharine is not such a good match as we had first thought,” mused the King.
“No, her position has changed considerably. It is a pity that she is betrothed to the Prince.”
Henry was thoughtful. “Oh,” he said, “there are loopholes. I saw to that. I have a feeling that that marriage may not take place. I agreed to the ceremony, yes . . . because the Sovereigns were getting restive and there was the dowry to be considered, but it must necessarily be some time before a marriage could take place and a great deal can happen in that time. See how the position has changed now with the death of Isabella.”
“My lord, what is to be done?”
“I have no doubt,” said the King, “that we shall put our heads together and discover how best to settle that matter. In the meantime I have decided that the Prince of Wales shall not go to Ludlow.”