In the Shadow of the Crown (36 page)

He appeared to know how to treat me, and the very presence of Dr. Butts in the household had an effect on me.

My health was improving.

The King came to see me and said I must come to Court as soon as possible, where I could be sure of a welcome.

I always seemed to recover quickly after my illnesses, and I took a week or so to get completely well—taking walks, playing the virginals, chatting with my ladies and laughing at Jane the Fool.

Then I was ready to return to Court.

My father had been right when he said I should be welcomed. As I rode into the city with my household, the people came into the streets to cheer me. They had always been my friends. I did wonder whether the attention I was receiving now was partly to placate them. But as, recently, he had often acted in a manner to make himself unpopular, perhaps it was not that. It might be that he really did feel the need to have his family about him and wanted to have a happy relationship with his daughter.

The cheers of the people were always music in my ears.

It was Christmas, which was being celebrated at Hampton Court.

My father himself took me to the apartments which had been specially prepared for me and my ladies. They were splendid.

There was a happy smile on his face as he watched me examine them; he looked almost young, so delighted was he in my pleasure.

“You shall take the place of a queen,” he said. “I need a queen to be beside me.”

Ominous words, but they passed over my head at that time. I thought it was just his way of welcoming me.

I was courted now and treated with the utmost respect by those who had previously thought me unworthy of notice. It amused me; but it pleased me also.

I felt better than I had for a long time. I wanted to be at Court; I wanted to see at first hand what was happening. There was something extremely exciting in it, and I began to think that Dr. Butts might well be right that my illness grew out of melancholy and boredom.

My father never did anything half heartedly. His affection for me, which hitherto had not seemed to exist, now overflowed. There were jewels for me; fine clothes were sent for me to choose from. He expressed his delight to see me looking better. He treated me more like a mistress than a daughter. I think perhaps he did not know how to be a father.

In any case, I was delighted.

Chapuys was rubbing his hands with glee. Then I understood. We were once more in conflict with the French, and my father was seeking the friendship of the Emperor.

Nothing would please my cousin more than to see me brought back into favor. He would be well aware of my father's state of health and the frailty of Edward. The outcome seemed obvious. My dream did not now seem impossible, and it might well be that I was destined to bring England back to Rome. I must not betray for one moment that this was in my mind. It would be treason in the extreme; but one cannot help one's thoughts; and the need for friendship with the Emperor did explain to some extent my sudden rise to favor.

My father had cast off his gloom. He seemed better. He was at the center of the revels. He could not dance as he once did, but no one called attention to this; everyone behaved as though he were the handsome King he had once been—standing head and shoulders above all other men; it had never been difficult to deceive him in matters like that.

He was happy. He was keeping his enemies and friends on the Continent guessing which way he would turn—secretly jeering at François who had haggled over 50,000 crowns. Perhaps he wished he had not been so parsimonious
now! The King of England would not have wanted to go to war with the family into which his daughter had married; and now war seemed imminent and the King of England stood with the Emperor.

I was still the tool of their political schemes; but on the other hand my father did seem fond of me.

He talked to me now and then, and there was real affection between us. My father had acted in a manner which had seemed very shocking to me; his actions had been responsible for my mother's sufferings; yet such was his nature that I could forget that while I was with him, and be happy because he seemed fond of me. He had great charm when he cared to exert it; I had seen the effect he had on people, and I think it was not entirely due to his power and that aura of royalty. It was something in his personality. My sister Elizabeth had inherited it, and I sometimes saw it in her.

He said, “I am happy now, daughter, that all is well between us. We have been the victims of evil influences… both of us. They have contrived to keep us apart. But now, praise God, right has prevailed.”

It was yet another facet of his personality that I almost believed him when I listened to him. I suppose I
wanted
to shut my eyes to the truth which should have been clear enough and to accept the verdict which was his alone. It was no use reasoning with such a man. He saw only one viewpoint—that which was made to fit his ideal of himself in order to keep that conscience of his in the chains he had forged for it to keep it in restraint.

He said to me one day, “Methinks I owe it to my people to marry again.”

I was alarmed. So he was contemplating taking another wife.

He nodded regretfully. “It is a duty, you know, daughter. A king should have many sons. I have Edward … and I have my good daughter…” He patted my knee affectionately, “… but I should give my people more sons.”

I could see that the cosy period was over. There would be another woman led to the sacrificial altar. I could tremble for her. Who would be brave enough to be the next?

“I am no longer young, Mary,” he went on. “This leg… this devil of a leg…you have no idea what I suffer.”

“I have, Your Majesty,” I replied. “And I am deeply sorry for the pain it causes you.”

He pressed my knee again. “I know, I know. It is a trial. I need a good woman…”

I was silent, fearing to speak lest I chose the wrong words.

“I need someone who will not plague me … someone not too young …” Thinking no doubt of that fresh, sensuous face of the girl who had been no coy virgin and had doubtless pleased him because of that for which she had been taken away from him—though I never believed that it
was his will that she had been. Left to himself, he would have found some means to reinstate her, but her enemies had been astute enough to get the story circulated abroad. He could not have endured to think of François laughing at the poor old cuckolded King of England. “Yes,” he went on, “a mature woman … of good looks … experienced of life. No doll … a woman of some intellect… tender and loving…to be a comfort to me.”

“Where could such a woman be found, Your Majesty?”

“Ah, there you speak wisely. And mayhap I shall never find her.”

I guessed then that it would not be long before we had a new Queen.

THE NEWS CIRCULATED round the Court. The King was looking for a wife. This time, it was whispered, he would not have some foreign bride who was sent to him to strengthen a treaty, someone he had never seen before. He would choose her himself and by so doing make sure that he was not plagued further in his mature years.

I went to visit Anne. She was deeply disturbed.

“My brother is hoping that the King will take me back,” she said.

I stared at her. Could that be possible? In spite of the King's original revulsion for her, she was quite a good-looking woman. She no longer wore the hideous Dutch fashions which she had arrived in, and in our softer clothes she was almost handsome. Moreover the peaceful life she had been living agreed with her.

The King visited her now and then. He had made her his dear sister, and since she had ceased to be his wife he had grown quite fond of her.

Yes, I thought, she has reason to be afraid.

“I could not bear it,” she said to me. “I like so much my life here. I have my home…my income…my friends. I see Edward, and he is glad to see me… and my dear Elizabeth. To be with her makes me happy. I am not denied their company. I see you, my dear Mary. You are my friend. I have this family I have inherited. I do not want to go back to Cleves. I want to go on living here in my nice house with my nice servants… and my dear family close. I want no change.”

“Do you really think he might want to take you back as his wife?”

She looked alarmed and then, as though she were trying to convince herself, she said, “No … he did not like me when I came…Surely he cannot have changed. But I do know he likes to talk to me. He respects my views. He is fond of his dear sister. There is just a fear …” She put her hand to her heart. “A little fear in here. But I could not bear it, Mary. Sooner or later…”

She put her hand to her throat.

“I understand,” I said. “Oh, my dear Anne, I hope it never comes to that.”

“Sometimes I wake in the night. I think they have come for me. I am not sure what I dreamed. Have they come to take me to the Palace or to the Tower? I think of that young girl… who followed me. I remember how enamored he was of her… and yet that did not save her.”

I said, “I cannot believe he will want to take you back. Not after all that has gone before.”

“But my brother wishes it.”

“Anne, try not to think of it. I am certain it will not come to that.”

“No,” she said slowly. “He did not like me when I came. He did not like me at all. He could not want me like that…now.”

“I am sure that is so,” I reassured her.

But I could well understand her terror; and it would be so with any woman he chose to be his wife.

IT SEEMED TO ME that my father expected his ideal woman to emerge from all the banquets and balls which were now taking place at Court.

I noticed him watching and assessing them. It was interesting to see that any woman who caught his eye on her would seek to efface herself. One thing was certain: no woman at Court—or in any foreign Court—was eager to become the King's sixth wife.

I marvelled that he was not aware of this. It did not seem to occur to him that the fact that he had beheaded two wives would be held against him. Those two wives, he would have told himself, had been traitors, and death was the penalty for that crime. Anne of Cleves had been honorably treated. As he was not pleased with her as a wife, he had made her his sister. My mother…well, that was a matter between him and his Maker. It was no fault of his that he had made a marriage which was no marriage and he had had to set her aside—reluctantly, he would assure himself.

I congratulated myself that I was outside the range of his choice, but I could well understand the apprehension of those within it.

I had made the acquaintance of Lady Latimer; she had had two elderly husbands and was now a widow. She was good-looking in a rather unspectacular way, wealthy, kindly and of an intellectual turn of mind. Her conversation was rather erudite, and it was a pleasure to join in discussions with her.

She was the daughter of Sir Thomas Parr who had at one time been Comptroller of my father's household. I never knew him. He had died a year after I was born, leaving a son and two daughters, one of whom was Katharine.

Katharine had married Lord Borough of Gainsborough when she was little more than a child. I do not know what difference there was in their
ages, but I did know that Lord Borough's son's wife was fourteen years older than Katharine, so I should imagine she was quite a little girl.

On the death of Lord Borough, she was given to another old man. This was John Neville, Lord Latimer, who had taken part in the Pilgrimage of Grace. After his original foray into danger, from which he was lucky enough to emerge with his head still on his shoulders, Katharine, who was always wise and far-seeing, had persuaded him to have nothing to do with rebellion and to keep himself clear of trouble.

He had recently died, and there was Katharine, about thirty years of age, good-looking, clever and wealthy. She was her own mistress now. She had been the wife of two old husbands; if she wished to marry again, the choice should be hers.

I thought I knew on whom her choice would fall. I had noticed the looks which passed between her and Thomas Seymour. He was a dashing figure at Court—a great favorite of the King. He was just the type to appeal: flamboyant, adventurous, good-looking—and of course he was the King's brother-in-law and uncle of young Edward who adored him. He was the little boy's favorite uncle. He was about four years older than Katharine—a man in his prime—overambitious, I should say, like his brother Edward. It was these two brothers who had determined that their sister Jane should be Queen of England. Jane would never have done it on her own. Naturally the Seymours had received great favors since the marriage of their sister. The Duke of Norfolk had tried to ally himself with them through marriage, but Norfolk's son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey, had been so opposed to an alliance between the two families that the matter had been dropped.

Now it seemed that Seymour had his eyes on Lady Latimer, and she was more than willing to encourage him.

Then, to my horror—and certainly to hers, I noticed that the King's eyes rested on her often.

I heard him say one day, “Come and sit beside me, Lady Latimer. I overheard your discussions on Erasmus. I should like to hear your views on the Dutch scholar. You must tell me what you think of
In Praise of Folly
.”

At first she was not alarmed. She talked brightly and amusingly, and from time to time the King smiled.

The next day he looked for her, and when he did not see her he asked where she was and said that when she was found she must come to him.

“I enjoy her discourse,” he said. “She is a lady of firm views.”

That was a beginning.

He watched her as she danced, which she did gracefully enough, but she was not outstanding. She was perhaps not as beautiful as some of the
younger ladies; but beautiful young women would remind him of Catharine Howard. He was looking for a sixth wife, and he wanted no mistakes this time.

I MISSED LADY LATIMER at Court, and when I enquired after her I was told she was unwell and had taken to her bed for a few days.

I visited her, and I found her melancholy.