In the Shadow of the Crown - Plaidy Jean - Страница 64

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“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.

“You are ill, Lady Latimer,” I said.

She nodded. Then she said, “The King has asked me to be his wife.”

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that I was her friend; but I was never very good at showing my feelings. So I just looked at her with sympathy and understanding in my eyes.

“I am not young,” she went on piteously. “I am not beautiful. Why should he choose me?”

“I guess that he likes your company.”

“But I never thought …” Her eyes were appealing. I read in them that which she dared not utter. She was remembering that I was his daughter; how could she tell me she was afraid that to marry the King would be to put her life in danger?

I said, “You have agreed to become his wife?”

She replied, “I told him that I would prefer to be his mistress rather than his wife.” I stared at her. “That was bold of you.” “He thought so. It angered him. It shocked him. He said he did not understand my meaning. Then he smiled and said, ‘You are overcome by the honor, Kate. No need to be. I choose you and that is enough.' I could see how angry he would be if I refused. He went on, ‘Then the matter is settled. You shall be my Queen. I have had my eyes on you for many a day, and I know that there is happiness ahead for us two.'”

“And so,” I said, “the matter is settled.”

“When the King commands, one obeys.” She looked at me piteously.

“I have had two old husbands. I have been a nurse rather than a wife.”

I thought of his leg. I had never seen beneath the bandages but I believed it was not a pretty sight. Those in attendance on him must bathe it, apply the prescribed ointments and endure his fury when the pain was great.

It seemed that her fate was to act as nurse to old men. And there was Thomas Seymour, good-looking and romantic, cast by nature in the role of lover, waiting for her.

“If you are ill …” I said. “My father cannot bear illness. He never has.”

“But I am not ill. I am just… afraid.”

“Perhaps you could tell him you are already betrothed.”

She looked over her shoulder. I understood. We were speaking too frankly.

We had come to the conclusion that there was no way out for her.

“You will be our stepmother,” I said gently. “If I could have chosen, there would be none I would rather have.”

Then she embraced me, clinging to me for comfort.

I tried to give it to her. I wished I was able to convey more firmly my understanding and my sympathy; but it was not easy for me to give way to my emotions, and I am afraid I could not help her much. In any case, what help could I give her?

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