Katharine Parr, the Sixth Wife, page 18
“Please keep your voice down!” Katharine spoke sharply. “You must not say such things openly, especially in my house.”
“Oh, but I do, Lady Latimer! I have openly debated the matter in churches and marketplaces in Lincolnshire. The church authorities do not like it, and they have moved me on, but they have not molested me.”
“Then you have been very lucky indeed. Tell me, what is a young woman like you doing this for? You are, what, seventeen, eighteen?”
“Yes, but I was called to spread the truth.” She spoke with such certainty and zeal, and the dogmatism of the young, that Katharine realized there would be no moving her.
“So why are you here?”
“My husband threw me out. He is a Catholic, and he supported the late rebellion.”
Katharine’s sympathies tended toward Thomas Kyme. She too did not want to harbor in her house one who might be accused of heresy.
“He never loved me,” Anne elaborated. “He used to beat me if I argued with him. He said I was a bad influence on our children.”
“You have children?”
“Yes, two.” Anne’s voice grew wistful. “I miss them, but I could not go on living a lie. I was already thinking of divorcing him. I wanted the freedom to preach the Gospel.”
Katharine’s head was reeling. Divorce? It was virtually unheard of, and then strictly for the rich, for it could only be granted by Parliament. As for preaching the Gospel, that was for priests. The Church would give short shrift to a layperson, especially a woman, who tried to subvert its teachings. Yet she instinctively knew that it would be futile to argue with Anne or try to dissuade her from rushing headlong to destruction.
“So how did you get to London?” she asked, deciding not to quiz the girl on her sweeping statements.
“Others of like mind gave me money and helped me,” Anne told her. “I wanted to come here. There are many Protestants in London and I can make more difference as a gospeler. I have connections with the court, you know. My brother is the King’s cupbearer and I have a half-brother in the privy chamber. My plan is to spread the Word at court.”
Katharine was seriously beginning to think that the young woman before her was mad. That was what she would say if anyone asked her about Anne, for both their sakes. “So how do you think I can help you?” she asked reluctantly.
“Could I stay here?” Anne asked. As brazen as that.
Katharine recoiled—not too visibly, she hoped. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We have guests here just now, and we will be leaving for Northamptonshire soon, for the harvest.” Only the latter was true.
“Oh.” Anne looked crestfallen. She seemed unaware of the enormity of her request and the things she had just told Katharine.
Katharine would not let herself feel guilty. Anne had imposed herself on her; she was not her problem. Yet she could not leave the girl to spend the night out in the open, a prey to London’s pimps and thieves. “Look, Anne, I will give you some money. Use it to get yourself home to your father. The streets of London are not paved with gold—or full of Protestants. If you start preaching here, you really will be in danger.”
“I don’t want money, my lady. And I intend to stay here in London.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” said Katharine, rising. “I bid you good day.”
* * *
—
When Anne had gone, Katharine sank into her chair, relieved to be rid of her. What was it with these people—Lord Borough, Robert Aske, Anne Askew—that they were utterly convinced they were right and could see no other point of view? People should always be open to other views and new ideas. There was much sense in what the Protestants believed, but Anne was the last person to be their advocate. She was guaranteed to put people’s backs up with her tunnel vision and complete unawareness of the effect she was having.
Katharine stood up and went through to the still room to make some quince jelly, one of John’s favorite preserves. She could not shake off the fear Anne’s visit had engendered in her. That nightmare still haunted her. Had their conversation been overheard? Had she said anything she shouldn’t have said? She even thought of summoning her servants and telling them that she had just got rid of an unwanted visitor who was a little crazed, and that anything odd they had heard should be put down to the ravings of a madwoman. No. Least said, soonest mended: wise words her mother had often repeated. She wouldn’t even tell John.
* * *
—
Her sister Anne was flourishing. William Herbert was proving an excellent husband. When Anne bore her first baby in the autumn, called Henry after the King, Katharine and John went to visit her at Whitehall Palace, in Herbert’s cramped, but coveted, courtier lodging overlooking the River Thames. They admired the child, a lusty little bruiser who much resembled his father, and gave it a silver rattle that Katharine had ordered from a goldsmith in Cheapside.
When Henry finally stopped bawling and fell asleep in his cradle, and the men had retired to the outer chamber for a celebratory toast, Anne sat up in bed and turned to Katharine. “You know the King is to marry again?”
“No!” This was a surprise. It was two years since Queen Jane had died and Katharine, like most people, had assumed that his Grace, now having a son, would not venture on the perilous seas of wedlock again.
“It was announced this week. He’s marrying a German princess called Anne of Cleves. And I am to be a lady-in-waiting!”
“That’s marvelous news.” Katharine smiled. “But what about young Henry?”
Anne’s face clouded over. “We can’t keep a child here, obviously. Before I learned of the appointment, I was going to live with him at Ewyas, but now I will have to send him there with a wet nurse. My Lady Suffolk has recommended a good, clean woman. It’s not what I want, but it’s best for Henry.”
Katharine thought that being nursed by his mother was best for Henry and wondered what she would do if she were in Anne’s position. But, she thought sadly, she was never likely to be, and shouldn’t judge others.
“You will miss him,” she said.
“I know—desperately. But, with this new preferment, I can give him a better life.” Her voice was brisk.
Seeing her sister looking distressed, Katharine told her about Anne Askew’s visit.
“I’ve heard of her,” Anne revealed. “She preaches quite openly and has been reprimanded for it, but she carries on undaunted.”
“I fear she is heading for a fall,” Katharine said. “Don’t have anything to do with her—she’s dangerous.”
“I’m not that stupid.” Anne made a face. “I don’t want to get roasted!” She leaned over the cradle to gaze at her son. “Changing the subject, I’ve noticed that Will isn’t happy.”
“I know.” Ever since he and Ann had begun living together, he had lost his customary bonhomie.
“She’s a strange girl,” Anne said. “He brought her here to see the baby and she hardly said a word. She’s been appointed a gentlewoman of the privy chamber to the new Queen, but she hates the court. The King is hosting a banquet later this month, and all the Queen’s ladies are invited, but Ann said she doesn’t want to go. She has no idea of the honor being done to her!”
“She must go,” Katharine said, incredulous. “Will must make her. But I’m concerned about him.”
Anne took a sip of cordial. “She doesn’t seem to have any feelings for him, and there’s no spark between them.”
“Poor Will. He deserves so much better.”
It galled Katharine to see him so needlessly unhappy. When he brought Ann to supper at Charterhouse Square soon afterward, she braced herself for a tense evening, but Will had good news.
“I have brought some fine wine because we are celebrating tonight,” he announced, placing a silver flagon on the hall table. “I am to be elevated to the nobility, as Baron Parr! It’s in recognition of my services to the King in the late rebellion.”
Even as she was flinging her arms around him and John was clapping him on the back, Katharine was aware of Ann, standing there impassively, failing to share their joy. What was wrong with the girl?
Anger welled up in her. Disengaging from Will, she turned to her sister-in-law. “Isn’t this wonderful news?” she asked her.
“Of course,” Ann said. “It’s a step up. But, when my father dies, he will be an earl.”
It went against all the rules of courtesy to be rude to a guest under your roof. Yet that rule applied in reverse too, and Ann, in belittling Will’s achievement, had been insulting and unkind. Katharine could not stop herself. She would not have his exultation deflated. “It’s far more meritorious to have earned one’s preferment than to inherit it!” she declared. “It’s what you do in this life, rather than who you are, that matters.”
Ann’s pale face flushed, but she said nothing. Katharine turned back to Will and squeezed his arm. “I, for one, am delighted for you, brother. You deserve this mark of honor. Now, shall we go to the parlor? Supper is about to be served.”
After that, it was a fraught meal. Ann barely said a word. Even John, who hadn’t much time for female moods, noticed how distanced from them she was.
“Did you enjoy the King’s banquet, Ann?” he asked. He knew that she had not wanted to attend.
“It was well enough,” she replied, toying with her roast beef, which she had hardly touched. “But I do not like the court. I much prefer country life.”
“Well, we shall go down to the country for Christmas,” Will said resignedly. Katharine guessed that he would rather have stayed for the lavish festivities at court.
“You could spend Christmas here with us,” she said, smiling at him.
“Yes, you would be very welcome,” John told them.
“Thank you, but we will be going to the country,” Ann said coldly.
“Is that what you want, Will?” Katharine asked.
He nodded. “If it makes Ann happy.”
There was nothing more she could do. People chose to go to Hell in their own ways.
Chapter 12
1540
After the King’s wedding in January, Katharine found herself visiting the court more and more frequently. Anne and Will were always inviting her there. She was either going downstream to Greenwich or upstream to Whitehall, and sometimes, as spring approached, farther afield to Hampton Court.
Had she ever thought she lived in luxury? It was nothing compared to the splendor of the royal residences, with their vast chambers, brilliant, gilded décor, sumptuous tapestries, and rich furnishings—and the pleasure gardens filled with fragrant flowers and glorious walks. She adored flowers and she and Anne spent many happy hours outdoors, identifying various blooms and sneaking the odd clipping for Katharine’s small garden at Charterhouse Square. Everywhere around them, the courtiers were taking their recreation. There were tennis plays, bowling alleys, archery butts, tiltyards, and fishponds, all dedicated to their pleasure. She spent many an afternoon competing with Will at the butts. At Hampton Court, they went hawking in the great park, or took a boat along the Thames as far as the abandoned Syon Abbey and back.
She had thought herself well dressed, but could not compete with the courtiers’ rich velvets and damasks, their costly furs and gorgeous jewels. She found herself looking at her wardrobe afresh and planning improvements. It was a necessity, if she was not to look out of place in the royal palaces.
She got to know several of William’s friends, young men who were as eager for advancement as he was, and Anne introduced her to some of the ladies who served the Queen. Even the young and very pretty Duchess of Suffolk condescended to be friendly toward her. She was an elegant woman with wide-set eyes and a retroussé nose. Her half-Spanish blood showed in her dark good looks; her mother had been Katharine of Aragon’s favorite lady-in-waiting.
Anne admired her very much and had told Katharine a lot about her. She was much younger than her husband, the Duke. She had been betrothed to his son, but when Suffolk’s first wife, the King’s sister Mary, had died, he had himself married Catherine Willoughby, as she then was. She had been fourteen. Now she was a spirited twenty-one-year-old, exuding vivacity and wit. Beneath it all, Katharine knew, she was learned and devout, but never a bigot or a sobersides. No one spent even ten minutes in her company without being impressed by her zest for life.
Only to Anne did Katharine confide her leanings toward reform.
“We’ll make a gospeler of you yet!” Anne said. They were alone in her lodging, but Katharine flinched.
“Shh!”
Anne shrugged. “No one can hear us. These walls are very thick. You know that my lady of Suffolk shares our zeal for reform?”
“I wondered about that.”
Now Anne did whisper. “I think she favors the new religion.”
“Then she had best be careful,” Katharine said, unsurprised.
* * *
—
While they were walking in the gardens one day, Katharine met the King. He was approaching along the path, leaning heavily on his cane, surrounded by laughing courtiers who seemed to be hanging on his every word. She had seen portraits of him, and knew him to be a big, hearty man with a broad chest and a commanding presence, but she was unprepared for the reality. He was very fat—two men could easily have got inside his doublet—and he looked old. There was gray in his red hair and he walked with a bad limp. She could make out the bulge of bandages beneath his white hose. Fortunately, she saw him before he saw her, and was able to collect herself and put on an expression of awe as she and Anne sank into deep curtseys.
“Mrs. Herbert!” the King exclaimed. “What a pleasant sight to grace this lovely garden. And who is this lady with you?”
When he gestured to her to rise, Katharine was filled with trepidation.
“Your Majesty, may I present my sister, Lady Latimer?”
Now he would remember who her husband was. She began to tremble.
His shrewd blue eyes appraised her. “Latimer, eh? Your husband has done us good service in the north, madam, and I gather that you too dealt effectively with our rebels! You are most welcome here.” He made her a slight courtly bow.
“Your Majesty is very kind,” she replied, overwhelmed with thankfulness to hear his praise of John.
“I will leave you ladies to make the most of this unseasonably good weather,” he said, and walked on, as she and Anne curtseyed again.
“You must be relieved,” Anne said, when he was out of earshot.
“I am!” Katharine replied. “I can’t wait to tell John what the King said. It will be the greatest comfort to him.”
They sat down on a shaded bench by the river. There was no one nearby, but still she lowered her voice. “His Grace is not a well man,” she muttered. “I feel sorry for him—and I liked him.”
“People do like him,” Anne said. “It’s that charming, friendly way he has—the common touch. It makes them forget what he’s capable of. And yet sometimes I think that, if life had been kinder to him, if he’d been vouchsafed an heir much earlier on, if the Pope hadn’t denied him an annulment, if Anne Boleyn had been faithful, and if people hadn’t opposed him…well, I think he would have been a different man today.”
The breeze blew a strand of hair across Katharine’s face. She tucked it back under her hood. “I admire him for reforming the Church. It was a brave thing to break with Rome.”
“But it was the right thing to do. The Papacy is corrupt and encourages superstition.”
“That’s true. I am all for reform, but sometimes I find myself thinking that it’s only a short step from being a reformist to being a Protestant. A step that makes all the difference legally.”
Anne’s eyes met hers. “I have taken that step.”
Katharine turned to her sister, openmouthed.
Anne smiled at her. “Yes, I have. Herbert too.” It was her wont to call her husband by his family name. “And Will. But, dear sister, do not breathe a word of this to anyone.”
Katharine already knew that Will was an ardent reformist, like Uncle William, and she had long wondered if he had thought about following Luther.
“My lips are sealed,” she said.
“I think you want to take that step too,” Anne said, regarding her searchingly.
Katharine lowered her voice. “In my heart, I think I have taken it. I know it is a dangerous step, and John would be appalled, but I have felt called to make it for a long time.”
Anne squeezed her hand. “I am so happy for you, sister. These are sad times, when people cannot follow their own consciences, but God knows the secrets of our hearts. It is through our faith alone that we will be justified. One day, I pray, we will have the freedom to worship openly.”
* * *
—
A broad smile lit up John’s face when Katharine told him what the King had said. It was like the sun coming out.
“All those petitions, all that waiting around in palace galleries, desperate for reassurance, and you bump into him by chance and get it immediately,” he said. “Kate, you’re a wonder!”
“I’m pleased to have been of service,” she told him, as he caught her in his arms and kissed her. “Mmm, that’s nice. Now you can relax and enjoy life. We have much for which to be thankful.”
“We do indeed!” he said. “And the thing I thank God most for is you!”
* * *
—
It was hard practicing her new faith in secret. She had to make an outward show of following religious custom, for she was too fearful of reprisals if she betrayed her true beliefs. At Mass, when she took the bread and the wine, she thought of them as symbols commemorating Christ’s sacrifice, not His Real Presence. She spent many hours at her private devotions or reading books on divinity, believing that the way to achieve salvation was to forge a prayerful relationship with God. She liked the idea of coming close to Him herself without having to rely on the intervention of a priest. She was eternally thankful that the King had ordered that a copy of the English translation of the Bible be placed in every church, so that all could read the Scriptures. She bought herself one from a bookseller at Paul’s churchyard, and cherished it. It was a marvel to have her own copy of the Word of God. John also had purchased a New Testament, for even he believed that everyone should be able to read the Word of God.
