Page 89 of Love, Remember Me

Afterward they told him that the queen had pushed past her startled guards when food was brought and raced to his private apartments, past his own personal servants, in her effort to seek him out. They had not wanted to lay hands on her, but finally had no choice. He was glad he had not seen her. One look at her pretty face and he would have forgiven her. She did not deserve his forgiveness. Cranmer had but hinted at her crime, but in his heart of hearts Henry Tudor knew that his wife was probably very guilty. Little incidences kept coming back to him. Why had she really insisted upon giving a place in her household to that Dereham fellow? The man looked like a pirate. He had wretched manners. The king had once been witness to his arrogance, and nasty temper, although Dereham had not been aware of Henry's quiet presence.

The Duke of Norfolk felt very responsible for the disaster that had befallen the king in his fifth marriage. When he saw Henry Tudor's unhappiness regarding Anne of Cleves, he had deliberately sought among the women in his own extended family for a substitute the king might favor. Thomas Howard had been so eager to place Catherine Howard on England's throne that he had not investigated her youth thoroughly. If he had, he would have quickly found that the girl was unfit to be queen. Instead he had been as taken in by her plump prettiness as had the king. Now this girl had placed him in worse danger than Anne Boleyn had ever done. Still, Cat was his responsibility. He would do his duty.

The queen was visited by the council, and the charges against her were laid forth. Thomas Howard stood by his niece's side. Catherine's reaction was to have immediate hysterics. All she could think about was her cousin Anne. Like Anne, she was surely going to end upon the block. Still, they had not mentioned Tom Culpeper. It was just possible that they did not know. The charges, after all, did relate to her unchaste lifebeforeshe became queen. And Duke Thomas was at her side. The Howards were not abandoning her. She struggled to calm herself, but it was not easy. She was very afraid.

By the following day, when the archbishop came to visit her, Catherine's hysteria was again high. He could not reason with her, nor even make sense of the words she was babbling in her fear.

"She will neither eat nor take drink," Lady Rochford said.

"I will return tomorrow," Thomas Cranmer said. "If she calms, tell her that I mean her no harm. I am here to help her."

The archbishop returned the following day to find the queen still frenzied. This time, however, he would not retreat. He sat quietly with her, speaking gently, endeavoring to reach through her blind terror. Finally, when she had grown a little less agitated, he said to her, "Madame, you must not disquiet yourself so. There is hope, I swear to you. See?" He drew a parchment from his sleeve. "I bring you a letter from the king, your husband, offering to treat you mercifully if you will but admit to your faults." He held it out to her.

She took it from him as if it were afire, then breaking the royal seal, read it, the tears pouring down her plump cheeks. "Alas, my lord, that I have caused such troubles to the husband who has been so kind and good to me," she told the archbishop.

"Madame, the king's heart may be broken by the grievous nature of these charges against you, but he would offer you mercy from the love he bears you. You have but to admit to your wickedness."

"I will answer all your questions, my lord, to the best of my ability and recollection," she promised him. "Will the king, my dearest lord, truly grant me his benign mercy? Do I even deserve it?" She could not cease weeping, and her eyes were red, but for the time being her hysterics were eased, and gone. She was struggling very hard to keep her composure.

"Our sovereign lord will deal gently with you, dear madame. All he would have of you is the truth in this matter," Thomas Cranmer assured the terrified woman. "You may confide in me, Catherine. I will do my best by you, I promise."

Her cerulean-blue eyes were swollen with her weeping, her lashes matted into spiky points. Her auburn hair, usually so neatly coiffed, was unkempt and undone. She wore no jewelry, he noted, but the wedding band upon her finger. It was a departure for a woman who loved all of the royal jewels and was apt to deck herself in as many as possible each day. Catherine Howard was Thomas Cranmer's picture of a fallen woman. She had guilt written all over her. Her very fear betrayed her.

The queen held up her hands. "Thank God for the king's goodness to me, although I am not worthy of it."

"Will you trust me then, Catherine?" the archbishop said.

She nodded, but then fell to weeping again for a long moment. He waited for her sorrow to subside, and then she said to him, "Alas, my lord, that I am alive! The fear of death did not grieve me so much before as doth now the remembrance of the king's goodness, for when I remember how gracious and loving a prince I had, I cannot but sorrow. But this sudden mercy, more than I could have looked for, maketh mine offenses to appear before mine eyes much more heinous than they did before. And the more I consider the greatness of his mercy, the more I do sorrow in my heart that I should so misorder myself against his majesty." She wept again, great gulping sobs of grief.

He could see that she had taken all she could for the moment, and so the archbishop left her, promising to return in the early evening.

When he had gone, Lady Rochford crept from the corner where she had been sitting. "Say naught to him, you little fool," she warned the queen. "He seeks to convict you, and surely you will end on the block like your cousin Anne. Admit nothing! Where is their proof but in the idle tongues of jealous servants?"

"The king will grant me mercy if I will admit my faults," Catherine said softly. "I am afraid, Rochford. I do not want to die. If I admit to my liaisons with Dereham before my marriage, then I will be forgiven. I will not die!"

"Admit to anything, Catherine Howard, and you will no longer be Queen of England. Is it not better to die a queen than to live in ignominity and disgrace? If you admit to Dereham, the king will cast you off. Knowing that old satyr, he is probably already casting about for a new rose without a thorn to warm his bed and to be his queen."

"Henry would not do such a thing!" the queen protested.

Lady Jane Rochford laughed bitterly. "Jane Seymour was primly waiting in the wings as they readied the accusations against your cousin Anne. Did the king not let his eye wander between you and Lady Wyndham even when he was still wed to the Princess of Cleves? Perhaps it is your dear friend Nyssa who will replace you in the king's affections."

Catherine Howard slapped Jane Rochford. "Do not dare to slander my cousin's wife," she said in a hard voice. "Nyssa de Winter is probably the only person in the entire world that I can truly trust. I pray God that my actions have not endangered her, my cousin Varian, or their children. I will do what I must to protect the family. It is all I can do now." She glared at her companion. "You had best pray, Jane, that the king does not discover my relationship with Tom Culpeper, or your part in fostering that relationship. If I go to the block, you will go with me. And if my real crimes escape the king's notice, I will spend the rest of my life being a good wife to him, if they will let me. If they will not, I will accept whatever portion I am allotted, and be grateful to be alive."

"How noble you have suddenly become in the face of danger," Lady Rochford said, rubbing her cheek. "Are you certain that letter came from the king? When has Henry Tudor ever been known to be merciful when betrayed by a woman? Perhaps the archbishop forged the letter, and used the king's seal in an effort to trick you, madame."

Catherine Howard blanched. "Surely the archbishop would not do a thing like that," she said. "He is a man of God!"

"Men of God who are servants of Henry Tudor are more apt to do the king's bidding than follow their conscience. The king is a certainty they must live with every day. God is but a nebulous eventuality."

The queen began to weep again. Was it possible the archbishop was going to betray her? She struggled to maintain her composure while behind her back Jane Rochford smiled to herself.

The many members of the Howard family, always in evidence at court, were suddenly not so evident. No one really knew what was going on, but everyone knew that the queen, adored yesterday, was today suddenly out of favor. How serious was it? There was no one to tell the court. All entertainments had been canceled. The king spent all his time in those first days of November hunting with just a few chosen companions, or closeted with his Privy Council. The queen was allowed no visitors. Those bringing food to her could only say that her grace was pale and not eating.

In the Duke of Norfolk's apartments, Nyssa sat quietly by the fire in the dayroom embroidering her husband's initials upon one of his shirts. She looked serene, but she was not. Thomas Howard, watching her, silently admired his grandson's wife. He had known absolutely nothing about her other than the fact that she was standing in his family's way when they had first met. Now that they were more or less trapped within these close quarters, he was discovering that she was a very intelligent, clever, loyal young woman. He also saw how very much Varian was in love with her. Well, at least something good had come of all his machinations, he considered bitterly.

Suddenly Nyssa looked up and her eyes locked onto his. "What news, my lord?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing yet, madame," he answered her. "The archbishop continues to press Catherine. It is as if he seeks something other than he has. If he does not learn anything more, my niece will retain her pretty, vacuous head. If he does find something, she will die as she deserves to, I fear. There is still hope, I think."

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