Kathryn the Clever Read online

  Prologue

  June 1540

  “And you swear that you will join us in two days time?”

  It took a considerable effort on my part to keep my features masked in a gentle look.

  “There is a plague in the city,” I repeated to my loathsome wife, tiring of this explanation. “The entire court is being sent away. It happens often in England. You will grow used to it.”

  I did not add the caveat that Anne of Cleaves may not remain in England long enough to grow used to our seasons. My councilors assured me that within the week she would no longer be my queen, and that this marriage could still be annulled. She could return home to the hellish land and harsh brother that had forced her upon me.

  Together we turned to leave her chambers; I offered my arm to her out of habit more than any amount of liking on my part. Anne hesitated for only a moment before linking her elbow with mine.

  We started down the corridor, the rushes at our feet rustling with each step, emitting the foul odor they had developed from lack of changing. I would need to move the court soon; we had dwelt here too long, and the palace had begun to stink.

  “Your Majesty — Thomas Cromwell — or, I mean, the Earl of Essex —" Anne began, her halting English making her sound dimwitted, though I had been assured that this was not the case.

  “Yes?” I asked, doing my best to mask my disdain for my former advisor. Anne would interpret it only as a criticism toward her, and I wished her to leave the castle as quickly as possible.

  “The Earl, he has gone to your Tower?”

  Behind us, the courtiers became deathly silent. No one had dared to question my move, or had ever referred to the Tower of London as mine.

  “Thomas Cromwell, the Earl of Essex, has indeed been arrested and taken to the Tower of London,” I bit out. Glancing toward Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, I frowned, showing my displeasure at being the one to relay this news to the queen. Anger rose in my chest but I pushed it down. Just this final task.

  But Anne did not hear, or did not care about the warning in my voice.

  “He is a bad man?” Anne stuttered out, looking first at me and then at Brandon. My anger at Cromwell and at this foreign princess was now at a breaking point, but fortunately my lifelong friend took a few quick strides to walk directly behind us.

  “I believe the Queen wishes to know Essex’s crimes,” he said smoothly. “I would be happy to relay them for your majesty.”

  Anne nodded, understanding more than she could speak. As we walked I let Brandon’s polite phrasing and courtier’s explanations wash over me. Speaking about Essex’s evil plans, his mighty attitude, about the plague he had let into our city.

  But even the lowliest of courtiers knew the truth. That there was no plague. Essex’s crime, first and foremost, had been his plan to bring this woman to my bed. That Anne of Cleaves, with her harsh manners, her odd style of dress, her inability to say anything but exactly what she was thinking, was an ill-suited match for the greatest king England had ever known. Though she had taken pains to learn English, she had been able to do little more than point and grunt in her harsh Germanic tongue, and had not known how to style herself or dress herself in the manner required of an English queen. There had been few others granted that title who had been so ill-suited for their role.

  Brandon’s pretty phrases led us all the way to the stables. I stood back as Anne settled into her carriage, only a few ladies riding with her. Though the women frowned at their accommodations, Anne did not seem to realize that she was about to head out over bumpy roads in my oldest carriage with horses that would likely be put out to pasture on their arrival at Richmond. The old beasts would barely be good for this journey.

  “I will miss Your Majesty,” Anne said, her voice small as she choked over the obviously practiced words.

  I nodded, but even I could see that she was loath to leave. With a small wave of her hand, Anne sat back in the carriage, nodding to one of her ladies. I was not close enough to need to step back; it had been a dry summer and there was no worry that mud could splash up onto my doublet or hose.

  Out of some small amount of respect, I waited until her carriage pulled out of the gate and was on the road to Richmond palace before I turned and strode back toward my chambers with the few members of the court who had come to see Anne as she was driven from my life forever.

  Chapter One

  July 1540

  It had taken less than a month. Never before in my realm had anything happened as quickly and smoothly as I had wished. At the beginning of July the clergy had begun to look into the validity of my marriage to Anne. Within a week she had agreed to be called my wife no more and to take on the mantle of my good sister, a role that would suit her much better.

  At the end of the month, I was married to my sweetheart Kathryn.

  She had been brought to court by her uncle, Thomas Howard, the good Duke of Norfolk. The gruff old man had not always served me well — it was another niece of his that had almost led to the downfall of both my kingdom and my sanity — but now he was being showered with praise. Kathryn Howard had been one of the maids in Anne’s chambers, younger than her mistress, and more pleasing to the eye. And willing, yes very willing, to accept my advances.

  I felt no trepidation until the morning after our nuptials, when I awoke in my large bed, the ropes creaking underneath the soft feather mattress. After reaching the age of forty, I had sometimes awoken at a loss to where I was. On the battlefields of France, where I had gone when I had first been given the crown at the age of eighteen? In the small chamber my father had kept me in after my brother died and I became his sole heir? Or in my favorite palace, Greenwich?

  But that morning the confusion lasted longer than a heartbeat, as I turned to my side and saw the dark hair and sharp profile. My breath caught in my throat. How had Anne Boleyn returned to my bed?

  Scrambling up, I managed to make it to the window and my wits without awakening Kathryn. But seeing her here had brought a name to my mind that I had struggled for four years to forget. It had been easy to disregard that Anne Boleyn was Kathryn’s cousin; where Anne had been haughty and intelligent, this little girl had been an innocent seductress, eyes wide as I had taken her the night before. It was not until the still of morning that she had shaken my confidence.

  There were too many ghosts of the past to haunt me.

  And now that the thought had taken root, it was hard to banish the feeling that we had been cursed. That another Anne had led this cousin to my bed and my crown.

  Leaning against the cool windowsill, I forced myself to take steadying breaths. It had been a long time since I had looked to my father’s words for guidance, but I could hear them washing over me now.

  “One traitor does not make a family of traitors, Harry,” his cold and high voice reminded me. “For if we executed everyone related to a traitor, there would be no noble families left in the realm.”

  My father was right. The Duke of Norfolk had been as blinded by his niece as I had. And my wife, her cousin, had never even met her. Of course they were not plotting together. Of course we were not cursed.

  But I kept my back to the bed anyway.

  ***

  “I shall have my own secretary, shall I not?”

  I was tempted to correct Kathryn’s speech; she had a habit of throwing in too many words when speaking in front of the court. She had been announced as my new wife and the queen only a week before. Ambassadors shared this news with my fellow monarchs even as Kathryn had dined under the cloth of state as a queen. It had been a day of triumph.

  I looked over at her, my little wife, sitting so daintily on the throne that dwarfed her. Her hair was pulled under a French hood, showing her dark ha
irline to its best advantage. She tilted her head down and cocked it to the side to hide the fact she had the Howard nose, her dark eyes flashing up through heavy eyelashes. The look she had given me every afternoon for the past ten days of our marriage, suggesting she was more than ready to go to bed with me.

  “Of course my darling,” I said, reaching out to pat her small hand. I ended up touching more jewels than flesh; my bride seemed to wear every piece of jewelry I had given her thus far. Desiring more of her touch, I left my hand resting on top of hers, which sat on her firm thigh, something I had never previously dared before the rest of the court. But I had never had such a tempting mistress.

  Kathryn smiled up at me, her eyes flashing once again as she wiggled just enough to let my hand creep off of hers and up her thigh just a bit more. I was about to lean forward to kiss her when she spoke again.

  “My grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, has recommended a young man to me. A man who was in her company when I was. Francis Durham.”

  I pulled back at her words, squinting at her in an attempt to read her facial expressions. There was the typical wide-eyed innocence she used when asking for something she wanted — I had seen that look far enough. But there was something else there as well, a flash of nervousness that caused my heart to skip a beat. True, she wanted this Francis Durham to serve her, but why? It would be easy to lean forward, to kiss her pouting lips and give her what she wanted. Instead, I sat back against my throne, frowning down at her.

  It was common knowledge how the Dowager Duchess’s house was run. Or rather, the lack of running. More than one maid had left there with a swollen belly, the young boys who surrounded her miniature court rushing off to become soldiers, or worse, pirates, to pay for their sudden wives. It was likely that this Francis Durham was a flirtation, a handsome young man who had once courted a girl who was, if poor, at least of good blood. The fact that her step-grandmother would recommend such a man to the queen showed foolishness on the old lady’s part.

  “I had hoped to recommend another young man for the post,” I said, lying easily. Surely my advisor had some decrepit young boy that would serve. I forced a smile as her face became crestfallen. “I will have Bishop Gardiner bring him by when it suits us. As for this young man the Dowager Duchess recommends, I have a post in Ireland he may be interested in.”

  The pout only grew as Kathryn’s eyes slid to the side.

  “He has been to Ireland already. I do not believe that he wishes to return to that land.”

  Ah, a pirate then.

  “Well then might I suggest that your step-grandmother find her own post for such a worthy gentleman.”

  Kathryn slid just slightly out of my reach, of course thinking to punish me for this. But the silly games that had worked on boys would not work on me. Leaning over, I placed my hand firmly on her thigh, looking at the girl until she finally gave in and glanced back. Her eyes danced at me from under her long eyelashes and I smiled.

  “Now,” I said, deepening my voice. “I believe I have a present for you.”

  ***

  It was nearly impossible to focus on matters of state during the sweltering month of August. There seemed to be little point in anything more than feasting and hunting, nothing more important than pleasing Kathryn. Her dark eyes had cut at me often, asking for more silk, another dress, pearls by the strand. And though my councilors approached and demurely showed me our empty coffers, the blinding smile that would reward me when a footman would appear with the bolt of cloth, or when a lady-in-waiting pulled out a new dress, was worth it.

  And Kathryn would then do her duty to me in bed, with more passion and interest than any of my previous bed partners, save Mary Carey — sister of Anne Boleyn. However, thoughts of Kathryn’s other cousin, her blond hair falling about her face as she would tempt me into bed directly after dinner, was an image I always hoped to push from my mind.

  For unlike that romp, over ten years ago, I now played a more inactive role. Confined to my back, my girth and the wound on my thigh keeping me from any other position. Kathryn on top of me, taking care of me as I now thought only she could. What other girl at my court had such tireless energy, such a desire for life? Indeed, most of the women I had been with would have found this position too wonton to take; only a few had done more than lie under me while I performed the miracle.

  I still dazzled at court though, wearing the largest jewels, and having forced the broad capes and doublets into style, so that my increasing bulk came across as strength rather than gluttony. And my height and vibrant red hair was still commented on by ambassadors, bragged about in courts across Europe. I did not yet need a cap to cover the small patch of baldness on the top of my scalp. Few were tall enough to see it.

  The cold thoughts that had overtaken me the night after our wedding seemed to be banished along with the rain. For as long as we had the golden sun, the warmth of a good English summer, and Kathryn was in my bed and by my side, there seemed little that could harm us. I made sure that we were surrounded by youth, by the men and women who would entertain Kathryn and keep such dark thoughts and visions of curses far from my head.

  ***

  There was only so long I could wait before inviting my children to court. Edward, my youngest child and only son, would remain at his own palace for now. Bringing him to court, rife with disease and danger, was never wise. He would join us for Christmas, but not a moment sooner. We could visit the boy at his estate for his third birthday in October.

  My two daughters, Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, could easily join the court, however. Elizabeth, at the age of seven, would rarely be seen and only presented to us briefly. The child’s red hair and fiery temper showed that she was clearly a Tudor and my child, but it was not easy, seeing this product of Anne Boleyn’s bewitching.

  The Lady Mary would become a fixture of the court. At twenty-four years of age, she would be the ideal person to lead Kathryn through the challenges that awaited her as queen. For while the court was still pleased with my little bride, the strange mass of noble blood and clergymen that made up my court could be fickle. And the walls of the queen’s chambers always had ears.

  On the afternoon of my daughter’s approach, I called Kathryn into my presence chamber, desiring that she should already be seated at her throne when the girls came in. They should understand Kathryn’s place by my side and not believe it was their right to question it. And no other citizens of my kingdom would dare to consider questioning me besides my two daughters.

  However, as the afternoon sun began to sink low in the sky, Kathryn did not come. As I did what little work I could in my outer presence chamber, I felt the first stirrings of ire rise up within me. Kathryn had never before failed to appear when I called.

  A young gentleman of my chamber came trotting back into the large stone room, walls adorned with a series of woven tapestries that depicted the works of King Arthur. The few narrow windows let in little light; this unfortunate room was lit with mostly candles and fireplaces. A worthless room, really; one of the reasons I rarely used it.

  The young man bowed in front of me, sweeping off his red cap as he did so. His dark hair fell out from behind his ears as he bowed, and I could hear him panting for breath. I glanced over to the Duke of Suffolk, hoping he or one of the other courtiers could remind me of the boy’s name.

  After an uncomfortable silence, I merely called out for him to rise.

  “Her Majesty the Queen wishes to convey her best to His Majesty and to inform him that she will hurry to his side with all the haste she can manage.”

  For the first time in my short marriage I could feel the snake of anger rise in my throat. It had been two hours since I had sent for her.

  “Master Culpepper,” the Duke of Norfolk snapped. “Do you mean to tell us that her Majesty is not on her way?”

  The old man’s lips pursed in the way that only an uncle’s can. In the past two months, since my wooing of Kathryn began, Norfolk had done his best to s
how his paternal side where my bride was concerned. Now it seemed his tough demeanor was winning out again.

  “She wishes to present the best picture possible to her two daughters,” Culpepper responded smoothly. “I believe she is trying on more than one dress.”

  The court grew so silent that I could actually hear the crackling of the fire. It had been impertinent of the boy, to allude to the queen’s dressing.

  However, he seemed to care little for the tittering of the court, nor for the old Duke of Norfolk who was now gaping at him, clearly at a loss for words. Seeing the absolute destruction this boy’s words had brought upon the court, I felt an unexpected response burst out of me.

  I laughed.

  Culpepper smiled back, but clearly did not think it wise to join in the merriment with me.

  “Well,” I said, sitting back against my throne, breathing heavy from my rare loss of control. “We shall allow the queen to do what is best in this matter. Young Culpepper, if you will be so kind as to notify us once the queen manages to leave her chambers?”

  The young man nodded smartly, then backed out of the room with ease.

  Looking to the Duke of Norfolk, I leaned over toward him, calling him to step forward with a crook of my finger.

  “Forgive him, Your Majesty,” Norfolk said without prompting. “The ladies call him ‘the gypsy’ and I believe it to be an accurate title.”

  I shook my head to show it had not alarmed me.

  “Culpepper, his full name?” I asked, the smile still on my face.

  “Thomas,” Norfolk said with a slight incline of his head. “Thomas Culpepper.”

  ***

  My daughters were announced before Kathryn appeared, but I tried to keep the irritation from my face. Mary had gotten along well with both Jane and Anne of Cleves. I hoped that pattern would now continue.

  As the herald stepped aside, the two girls entered the small drafty room, clasping each other's hands. This caused some amount of tittering among my courtiers, as the girls’ mothers had always been at odds, even when Anne was a maid in Catherine’s household. But it seemed that Mary’s maternal instincts had taken a hold with young Elizabeth, and their unity pleased me.