Katharine Parr, the Sixth Wife, page 10
Lord Latimer pointed to some little colored tiles set into the plasterwork over an arched doorway. “These are very old. A gardener found them while he was digging outside. There’s a whole floor of them down there, but it’s much broken. We salvaged these and had them put here. There were some old pots and a statue down there too. Our chaplain thinks they might date back to the time of the Romans. For all I know, he may be right.” He led them up a twisting staircase. “There has probably been a habitation on this site for centuries. We Nevilles got Snape through marriage.”
They ascended to the top of the tower. Katharine was looking around her, thinking that the whole place needed a woman’s touch. She exchanged glances with Kat at the sight of a layer of dust on a cupboard. But it was a beautiful house and could be brought to life without too much effort. When Lord Latimer led her to the window of the tower room, she looked out on a well-wooded hunting park and magnificent scenery stretching far beyond. This was a glorious place. She was itching to restore it to what it should be.
When they returned to the great parlor and the servants brought in a hearty meat pie and a great joint of beef, Lord Latimer insisted that Katharine sit at the opposite end of the table to him, as the future mistress of the house.
“I’m glad to see you here, lass,” he said. “And mind you call me John from now on.”
* * *
—
Katharine and John were married the next day in the castle chapel. It was a simple ceremony, with the two children, a few of the local gentry, and the household in attendance. The bride’s gown looked iridescent in the sunshine streaming through the high windows. After much pleading, Margaret had been allowed to act as bridesmaid, although Jack remained mute and unsmiling.
When the priest had pronounced the final blessing, John kissed Katharine and again there was that frisson between them. Holding her hand high, he led her downstairs to the hall as everyone clapped and the servants hastened away to fetch the wedding fare. The feasting lasted all afternoon and then the guests went home. John had made it very clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony. When they were at last alone in the great bedchamber, he served them both wine and sat with Katharine by the hearth, reminiscing on the day.
“And a rare sight you looked in your fine gown,” he complimented her. “Well, wife, finish your drink. It’s time for bed.” He stood up and held out his hand.
It was so different with him. There was no hesitancy, no frantic efforts to maintain a hardness, no tentativeness. He was lusty and he wasted no time. Later in the night, they enjoyed a more leisurely coupling, and Katharine fell asleep thinking that she must surely be with child after this. In the morning, John claimed her again. There was an easiness between them now, and a mutual pleasure at being one. This, she thought, was how marriage should be, and she spared a thought for poor Edward, who had not really been fitted for it.
It gave her great satisfaction to hear herself addressed as “my lady” or “my Lady Latimer.” It was gratifying to have a title and be living in a castle, with a husband of standing who gave her a free hand in its running. There was much to be done. Her first task was to dismiss the steward for his slackness. In his place, she appointed John’s comptroller, Walter Rawlinson, a burly, loyal giant of a man. Briskly, with his help and that of his wife Bess, she rallied the servants, who she feared had grown rather lazy, lacking a mistress. There was a flurry of dusting, polishing, brushing, sweeping, scrubbing, washing, and beating of rugs. Katharine herself donned an apron and joined in, as did Kat and young Margaret, who were eager to help. Soon, every surface and ornament gleamed, the castle was fragrant with the smell of beeswax, dried petals, and fresh garden flowers, and the kitchens were spotless. The standard of meals improved, and the service of them.
John was impressed. “Never seen the old place looking so good. You’re a marvel, Kate. And you too, Lady Strickland. I thank you for your help.”
“I’ve learned a lot about managing a household from Kat.” Katharine smiled. “You’ve seen Sizergh and how well it is run. I’ve taken example from that.”
She was sad when, a month after the wedding, Kat left. They had become like sisters. “We must write to each other,” they promised, and Katharine shed a tear as she watched the litter trundle away.
She had feared that she would be isolated at Snape and that life would be too quiet, so she was surprised to find herself at the center of a busy social scene. She had kinsfolk within easy riding distance, and they came to visit, and invited her back. John was on friendly terms with most of the gentry thereabouts, who also called or played host. There was feasting and hunting aplenty, and the broad beauty of the Yorkshire Dales afforded plenty of opportunities to indulge her passion for riding. The city of Ripon was just ten miles away, and Katharine rode there regularly to shop and to say prayers in the ancient cathedral. Sometimes, John took her to York, which was a day’s ride distant, and they stayed in his house there. She loved the old city with its fine minster, its bustle, and its proud civic buildings, and was gratified to be treated with such respect by the leading citizens.
She would have liked to meet John’s numerous siblings, but they were all married and living in far-off parts of the kingdom. She had the impression that they were not a close-knit family and that there had been quarrels and tensions, but did not like to pry. However, John spoke often of his brother Marmaduke, who resided in Essex, and it was clear that there was affection between them.
With John’s blessing, Katharine took responsibility for Margaret’s education, wishing to instill a love of learning in her stepdaughter and look to her religious instruction. While an unwilling Jack struggled with the lessons set him by his tutor, a severe-faced man who was never averse to beating knowledge into him, Margaret flowered, and it was a joy to see her excel at her studies. She was a happy, willing child, her sunny nature embracing all that was good in life. Biddable and eager to please, she took pleasure in everything. It was soon clear that she adored Katharine, for she was never far from her side.
Jack was another matter entirely. He was sullen, touchy, dishonest, and given to outbursts of violent rage. Katharine had never had to deal with such a difficult child—although, in truth, at fourteen, this one looked to be on the verge of manhood. You never knew where you stood with him. He resisted all her attempts to rule him or woo him. She put it down to the loss of his mother when he was young. She understood that he regarded her as an interloper. She also suspected he knew that Margaret was her favorite. Yet Margaret was so easy to love. She would love Jack too, if he would let her. She would not give up on him.
* * *
—
She and John had been married for five months when he asked her to accompany him to London. “I ought to show my face in Parliament,” he said. “It would be politic.”
News had reached Snape that the King had broken with the Pope and been proclaimed Supreme Head of the Church of England under Christ. John didn’t approve and he had been most unhappy when he heard it bruited that everyone, when required, was to swear an oath acknowledging the King’s new title and the little Princess Elizabeth, who had not been the hoped-for male heir, as his successor.
“It’s not right,” he had growled, riding out with Katharine to inspect the estate farms. “Only the Pope can be head of the Church, as our Lord ordained.”
“But you will swear the oath, if asked?” Katharine urged. “It would be the wisest course.”
John reached across and patted her hand. “I’m not a fool,” he said. “I will swear.”
“God will know what is in your heart,” she said.
She knew he would keep his word. He had good cause to retain the King’s favor, as she discovered one day when she found in the castle library a printed book called The Castle of Pleasure, written by one William Neville. Happy to get her hands on any book, she read it. In verse, it told the strange tale of a man called Desire, who was led by Morpheus, the god of dreams, to a wondrous castle where, in the garden of perfection, he met a lady called Beauty and expressed his love for her. Awaking from this idyllic realm, he lamented the inconstancy of human affairs.
That evening, she asked John if he had read the book.
“That one!” he said. “No, I’ve never read it. I’ve no time for such flights of fancy. My fool brother William wrote it, and much good it did him. He has a mind full of fantasies.” He hesitated. “Kate, there is something I should have told you. The year before last, William was accused of treason.”
Katharine gasped. “Why?”
“He was said to have consulted three magicians who predicted the King’s death—and mine.” He shrugged at the absurdity of it. “God knows what madness visited him. I can understand that he wants my inheritance, although it grieves me to think he might murder me for it. Plotting fratricide is bad enough, but compassing the King’s death is lunacy.” He shook his head. “But maybe he was mad, because it turned out that he wanted to be earl of Warwick, for some reason I cannot fathom. Then, as if this was not enough to hang him, he dabbled in magic. He even tried to make himself a cloak of invisibility. His own chaplain attested to it. I myself was questioned by the Privy Council, although I knew nothing of his doings. They examined our brothers George and Christopher too. Not that my heart was bleeding for them—would you believe they took me to court after our father died? They said I had appropriated property that was rightfully theirs. It wasn’t, but that was not the point. So much for brotherly love.”
He rose and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Anyway, by God’s providence, I did not come under suspicion and William was released, since they could not prove anything against him and suspected malice on the part of his accusers. But I wonder. He’s stupid enough to have done such things. It ruined him, of course. He impoverished himself paying lawyers’ bills—and him with a family to support.” He sighed, exasperated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gave her a wry look. “Because I thought it might put you off. I’m sorry, I should have been honest.” He regarded her for a moment. “Would it have made a difference?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.” It touched her to see him looking so grateful.
* * *
—
It was a long journey down to London and Katharine was utterly relieved when they finally reached John’s town house in Charterhouse Square. She was weary of inns and monastic guesthouses, and being jolted on the road all day, with a cold wind blowing through the leather curtains of the litter. At least the children had not been subjected to such rigors; they had been sent to stay with Kat at Sizergh. And Katharine and John had been able to visit Rye House on the way and see Aunt Mary, who had made them very welcome. The house seemed small after Sizergh and Snape, but it was good to be back, despite the poignant memories of the happy years there that could never be recreated.
John’s residence stood not far from St. Giles’ Church in Cripplegate and the old London wall and barbican. He had leased it two years before from the Abbot of Pershore. It was a handsome residence that formed part of a quadrangle of buildings overlooking a large, well-kept expanse of lawn. Just across the square stood a monastery of Carthusian monks, the London Charterhouse.
“That lawn covers a plague pit from the time of the Black Death,” John told her.
“I’d rather not have known that.” Katharine made a face.
“Don’t look so worried—the bodies are buried deep and there is no possible risk of contagion.”
Some servants had been sent ahead with strict instructions from Katharine to have the house made ready to the high standard that now prevailed at Snape. As she walked around her new domain, she was pleased to see that her orders had been obeyed. She admired the linenfold-paneled reception rooms, the pleasant dining room overlooking the square, and the large kitchen, which boasted a fireplace about eighteen feet wide. Lifting her skirts, she descended to a vaulted brick basement where barrels of wine were stored.
“Houses around here are in demand,” John said, as they sat down to a dinner of partridge and pork. “Many officers of the court live nearby. Master Leland, the King’s Antiquary, lives next door. It’s under an hour’s walk to Whitehall Palace.”
“It’s a lovely house,” Katharine enthused, “and it’s not far from Will’s place at Blackfriars. We must visit him as soon as he can get time off from his duties at court, and I’d like to invite him and Uncle William to dine.”
“You invite whoever you want, lass,” John said.
It was good to be back amid the lively bustle of London, which she remembered from childhood. Even the noise and the smells could not dent her pleasure in being in the city. When John was at the Parliament House or at court, she liked to wander around the streets and markets, or browse in the goldsmiths’ shops along Cheapside, or walk around the vast expanse of St. Paul’s Cathedral, admiring the monuments and looking for bargains in the stalls along the nave. She was happy at home too, taking pleasure in the fine furnishings and liking to pour an afternoon cup of wine in the cozy chamber she had chosen as her parlor, and sip it, lost in a good book.
John was not so happy. Listening to him complain about the King’s ministers and their policies, the impossibility of securing an audience with his Majesty, and the general cut-and-thrust of court life, Katharine gained the impression that he enjoyed little influence and had few friends at Whitehall. The only noble who seemed to be friendly was a fellow Yorkshireman, Sir William FitzWilliam, who was related to the Nevilles. If John were to gain the King’s favor, and perhaps win some preferment, Sir William was a good ally to have, for he was close to the King, and to Sir Thomas Cromwell, who was all-powerful, having long since replaced Cardinal Wolsey as chief minister.
As time went by and these hopes were not fulfilled, Katharine began to see her husband in a new light. She realized that he was indecisive and that his judgment was too unreliable for high office. He would avoid confrontations if he could and make compromises that pleased nobody, least of all himself.
When Uncle William came to supper, and they had enjoyed a happy reunion, she confided her concerns to him while John was showing Will his cellar. It was wonderful to see them both again after so many years apart. Uncle William looked the same as ever, and Will, at twenty-one, was now a tall, broad-shouldered man with a red beard, whose courtly finery sat on him elegantly. She imagined that he was popular with the ladies and noticed that he never referred to his wife, from which she inferred that they were still not living together. It was all rather strange, she mused. Yet she was more concerned about John.
“I was not unaware of the problem,” her uncle said, mopping up gravy with his manchet bread. “I’ve seen him and spoken with him from time to time, and asked how he’s been getting on, but I don’t really think he knows himself what he wants.”
“He wants to be in favor with the King, after what happened with his brother.” She knew how he fretted that he had incurred his Grace’s displeasure.
“Yes, but for that you need to be zealous for the Royal Supremacy and demonstrate unquestioning loyalty and obedience to his Majesty. If it’s a court or public office John’s after, he needs to show strong leadership. He has many good qualities, but I fear he doesn’t have that in him. Tell me, is he here in London because he wants to be, or because he thinks he ought to be? Because I’m getting the strong impression that he’d rather be up north managing his estates, far away from the court. And I think his constant complaints reflect his awareness that this is not his natural habitat. My advice would be to see this Parliament through to its prorogation, then go home and enjoy life. I dare say the King has long forgotten about William Neville.”
It was sensible advice, but when Uncle William tried tactfully to put it to John, John shook his head.
“I need to know where I stand with the King,” he said.
Katharine laid a hand on his arm. “You should not worry about that, husband.”
Her words made no difference. When John wasn’t sitting in Parliament, he was haunting the court, waiting with the crowds of other petitioners who were craning to catch the royal eye as the King came forth in procession to mass each morning. And, in the end, he got the reassurance he had been waiting for.
“The King smiled upon me!” he called, crashing through the front door. “He turned his head and looked directly at me, and he smiled.”
Katharine expected him to continue, to say that he had been granted an audience and some great favor, but that was it. All he had got was a smile, which had cost the King nothing. And yet it was enough. John was happy. He could go home and get on with his life, knowing that his sovereign had smiled benevolently on him and held no rancor on account of the dangerous idiocy of his brother. He was safe now.
Having been brought up in a family driven by ambition, Katharine was surprised at her husband’s lack of it. Yet he was a good man, a king in his own kingdom, and he was kind to her. She could have done a lot worse. And she understood why a smile was enough, in a way that Uncle William and Will never could.
Shortly before they left London, she received a letter from Father Cuthbert. I had hoped to see you in London, but I fear I have offended the King by questioning the Royal Supremacy, and he has commanded me to remain in the north. Do not worry. I have tried to redeem myself by showing a willingness to explain to the Princess Dowager the grounds on which her marriage to the King was annulled, and I will take the Oath of Supremacy when I am asked. So far, there is no word of my being stripped of my bishopric and my offices. But do not be concerned for me, my child. I have had my say, for the discharge of my conscience, and I hope the King realizes that I am loyal to him at heart.
