Katharine Parr, the Sixth Wife, page 4
The Duke would be bringing a large household.
“Thank the Lord it is summer, and we can sleep people in the barn.” Aunt Mary sighed, wiping her forehead. “Now, those sheets for my lord Duke’s bed must be aired. And I must send someone to tell the butcher that his delivery is overdue. Did you find the best napkins, Maud?”
“I did,” Mother said. “And the gold salt cellar, which I’ve polished myself. Now, where did I put that seating plan?”
They were all having new clothes made. Katharine found herself the proud possessor of a crimson damask gown—it was the most glorious color she had ever seen. Anne’s was pink and Will’s gown was a rich black that made him look older than his years.
“You must not outshine the Duke,” Mother said, “but you do want to proclaim to the world that the Parrs are fit company for a prince.” That was what she called Richmond now. In her mind, he was a prince.
On the day the King’s son arrived, riding in a splendid litter with Uncle William on horseback by his side at the head of his train, the whole household assembled outside the porch to greet him, bowing and curtseying low at his approach. When she rose, Katharine saw before her a solemn little boy with pinched features, a large nose and fair skin. But he was not solemn for long. She watched him greet the family and won a smile as she curtseyed to him.
Observing him presiding at the high table at the feast, she became aware that this was a child unlike any other, and not because he had royal blood. There was a waywardness about the little Duke, an impulsive tendency that had his hovering tutor constantly murmuring in his ear. His manners left much to be desired and his voice was loud and immoderate. He even scratched himself at table. Mother would never have let her children get away with such behavior.
But there was Mother, beaming indulgently at the boy, blinded no doubt by the aura of royalty—and looking fondly upon Will, who seemed already to have struck up a rapport with his new master, just as she had hoped. After the feast, their two auburn heads were close together as Will showed Richmond his new lute and Richmond tried to play it. He soon lost interest, so Will fetched his set of wooden soldiers, which found far more favor with their guest.
It had been a successful day. The young Duke had been marvelously entertained and had enjoyed much good cheer. It was with some difficulty that his tutor persuaded him to go to bed.
In the morning, the great retinue reassembled beyond the gatehouse.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Parr,” the Duke said, bowing to Aunt Mary.
“And we thank you, my lord, for gracing our house,” she replied. “Before your Grace departs, I have something for you.” She nodded to a groom, who led over a gray pony trapped in crimson and gold.
“For me?” In an instant, the budding prince was transformed into an eager boy.
“Of course,” Aunt Mary smiled. “She is our gift to you.”
Delight filled Richmond’s eyes. “Thank you! Thank you very much.” He paused for a moment. “I shall call her Bess.” That, Katharine knew, was his mother’s name. Bessie Blount had become notorious after it became known that she had borne the King a bastard.
“I shall ride her now,” Richmond announced. “You may take the litter away.”
“Your Grace, we have some distance to travel,” Uncle William pointed out. “It would be wiser perhaps to use the litter.”
“I want to ride Bess now!” the boy cried. “And you shall not stop me!”
If one of his own children had spoken to him like that, Uncle William would have beaten them, but this was a king’s son, and much depended on his favor. “Very well, my lord,” he said in a tight voice. “It shall be as you wish.”
Richmond mounted his horse. “Come, Sir William,” he said imperiously, and they rode away. Katharine saw Mother dab her eyes as Will, sitting proudly in the saddle, waved them goodbye.
* * *
—
In the year that followed, Uncle William and Will wrote often from Sheriff Hutton, and it became clear that all was not well in Richmond’s household.
“Your uncle complains that Cardinal Wolsey insists on controlling it from London,” Mother explained, shaking her head after reading the latest missive. “There is little opportunity for William to exert any influence or patronage.”
Katharine had heard a lot about the great Cardinal. Some said he had as much power as the King he served, who relied rather too heavily on him and let him virtually rule England.
“What’s patronage?” Anne piped up.
“It is when a person of standing is in a position to obtain favors for people, for a consideration,” Mother explained, sitting down on the schoolroom bench next to her. “Uncle William had expected to be in that position, and should be, because young Richmond likes him, but it’s the Cardinal who wields influence over the Duke’s household, not its officers. That isn’t all that vexes him. He doesn’t approve of the long hours the Duke’s tutors make him spend at his lessons.” She paused to tuck tendrils of hair back into her daughter’s cap. “You know your uncle. He believes that boys should prefer sport to book-learning, and that children should be out in the open air as often as possible. But they want to keep Richmond at his books.” She sighed. “I gather he is a hard child to rule. One tutor has already resigned and the new one cannot control him. Maybe he should have more leisure in which to let off steam.”
Katharine reflected that Richmond would have done very well to be sent to Rye House to be educated under Mother’s gentle guidance and the practical wisdom of Uncle William.
Will, however, was thriving at Sheriff Hutton. He grumbled about having to learn Latin and Greek, especially when lessons were disrupted by the mischievous Duke, but he was not as strictly supervised as his young master and could be outdoors more frequently, hunting and hawking with his noble companions. He was thirteen now and sounded quite the young gentleman.
“Soon he will be of age,” Mother said one evening, as they helped to bring in baskets of apples from the orchard, “and then my task will be done. Before then, I must find him a wife.”
In that, she excelled herself. Learning that Henry Bourchier, the Earl of Essex, had an only daughter, Ann, who would one day inherit his title and his lands, she boldly approached him and spelled out to him the advantages of a marriage between Ann and Will, stressing that Will was in high favor with the Duke of Richmond. No further word was said, Mother recounted later, but two pairs of eyes met in understanding as the Earl took her point. Everyone believed that Richmond would one day be king.
It helped that Mother was friends with the family of the Countess of Essex. It helped—because Essex was deeply in debt—that she promised Ann Bourchier an impressive jointure.
“I dare not think about how much I have had to borrow,” she confessed. Even the King had lent her money, at the Queen’s petition. But, no matter what the cost, she was well content. She had bought her son a noble heiress and, in the fullness of time, a title. Will would be my lord the Earl of Essex and live in splendor at Stanstead Hall when he wasn’t at court. Mother had good reason to be pleased with herself.
The young couple were married in February 1527 in the chapel at Stanstead Hall, a beautiful red-brick mansion near Bishop’s Stortford. The whole Parr family traveled there from Rye House for the occasion, and Uncle William brought Will, having obtained leave from the Duke of Richmond. Katharine had another new dress, a tawny silk one this time, while Mother was resplendent in crimson velvet.
The little bride, a shy girl of nine years, was dressed up in satin and furs, and looked as if she was about to cry when the priest pronounced the blessing. Will, taller than ever and standing proud, played his part to perfection, but Katharine could tell that his heart was not engaged. He wasn’t interested in marriage or little girls. But Mother was looking fit to burst with pride.
Of course, Ann was too young to be bedded, so it had been arranged that she should stay with her mother until she was old enough to be a proper wife. Will said goodbye to her without a pang, or so it seemed. If he showed reluctance about anything, it was returning to Sheriff Hutton.
“I want to go out into the world,” he said, as they rode the eighteen miles back to Hoddesdon.
“You are seeing the world, and from the best perspective possible,” Mother replied, tart.
“But I want to be a soldier, like Uncle William,” Will protested. “And my tutors say I should go to university.”
“If you’re to be a soldier, you’ll need to spend less time writing music and poetry,” Uncle William said.
“But I love doing that. Surely I can do both?”
“My boy,” Uncle said, “you can go to university, then go soldiering when you are older.”
“He is going back to Sheriff Hutton!” Mother said, in a voice that brooked no further argument.
* * *
—
When Anne turned thirteen the following year, she left Rye House, for Mother had secured her a position as maid-of-honor to the Queen. It should have been Katharine’s, but Katharine had fallen victim to a bad attack of measles when the matter was arranged and, if one of her daughters did not go to court when the Queen needed her, the place would be assigned to someone else, so Mother took Anne with her.
Katharine had always loved her little sister, and they had grown closer since Magdalen’s departure. Anne was comely, with wide-set, serious eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, and red-gold hair; and she was clever too. She shared with Katharine a love of learning and a special fondness for old Cicero, and of late she had begun corresponding with renowned scholars, who, to her delight, were answering her humble letters. How Katharine would miss her!
Confined to her bed and contagious, she was grieved that she could not hug her sister farewell. They had to content themselves with blowing kisses across the room. When Anne had gone, she buried her face in the pillow and wept.
Yet she did not begrudge Anne the post of maid-of-honor; these days she was of two minds as to whether she herself wanted to go to court. There lay excitement and, hopefully, preferment, and perhaps a rich husband, but Anne’s letters revealed a rather different picture. There was little joy in the Queen’s household because the King was in ardent pursuit of another of her maids-of-honor, Mistress Anne Boleyn, of whom Mother certainly did not approve. Katharine did not wish to become embroiled in that. Besides, she still loved her life at Rye House. Marriage could wait. She was in no hurry for it.
Chapter 4
1529
Mother was greatly preoccupied. It was well over a year since the King had resolved to have his marriage to the good Queen annulled. It was not entirely on account of his notorious passion for Mistress Anne Boleyn; he needed a male heir and he had convinced himself that his marriage was invalid.
The whole kingdom had rocked with the scandal. Anne Boleyn was hated and lambasted, for public sympathy was with Queen Katherine. Mother felt deeply for her good mistress and offered what emotional support she could when she was at court, but, with the atmosphere so tense there, she said, she would rather be at home.
“I just wish the Pope would rule in her favor,” she said to Katharine as they walked in the gardens on the first warm day of spring.
“I wonder why he doesn’t,” Katharine said, her eyes on the green shoots pushing up through the earth.
“Because he is afraid of the Emperor, who is the Queen’s nephew and very powerful, but fears to offend the King. But his Holiness shouldn’t be swayed by political considerations. He should judge the matter on its merits. To me, it seems that the Queen’s case is sound. Her marriage is valid. All the doctors and clerics around her say so.”
“But the King thinks otherwise.”
Mother shook her head. “Her Grace says that, even if an angel came down from Heaven, he would not be able to shift the King from his opinion. He is mad for this Anne. She queens it over the court. It’s not right. When I think of our good mistress, shut away in her apartments, weeping, I could smack him!”
Katharine had to smile, imagining Mother clouting the King. But it was a sad business.
She was sure that something else was going on. Letters with unfamiliar seals kept arriving at Rye House, and Mother was writing more frequently to Uncle William, who was still with Richmond at Sheriff Hutton.
Before March was out, Mother called Katharine into her bedchamber and bade her sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. She seated herself in the high-backed chair by the fire and regarded her daughter.
“Katharine, you are sixteen and ripe for marriage. You will be pleased to know that I have found you a husband. It is an excellent match that might make you a baroness in time. You are to wed Edward, the heir of Sir Thomas Burgh of Gainsborough.”
Katharine had never heard of Gainsborough or the Burgh family. They had not been mentioned among the noble kinsfolk to whom the Parrs were related. But she knew her duty, even though her thoughts had been plunged into a turmoil and her mind was teeming with questions.
“That is very good news, my lady,” she managed to say. “I am grateful for your care for me. What is he like, this Edward Burgh?”
“By all reports, a promising young man,” her mother said, beaming. “He is four years older than you. His father has hopes of being granted the barony of Borough. The old lord, who died last year, used the title, although he had no right to it, for the barony borne by his forebears became extinct years ago. But I think he was a little mad.”
Katharine barely heard her. “Where is Gainsborough?” she wanted to know.
“It’s in Lincolnshire.”
“How far away is that?” She needed to hear that it was within visiting distance.
Mother hesitated. “It is more than a hundred and thirty miles to the northeast, or so my messenger told me.”
At least four days’ journey distant. Katharine’s heart sank. She felt sick at the thought of leaving her mother and Rye House and going so far away.
“I trust Sir Thomas Burgh is eager for this marriage?” She had not forgotten the odious Lord Scrope.
“He is indeed,” Mother assured her. “He has been active in arranging your betrothal and I am indebted to him for it.” She reached over and picked up her embroidery tambour from the table. “You need have no concerns, child. The Burghs are an old and respected family, and they have given good service to the Crown over the years. You will like Sir Thomas, I am sure. His first wife was a Tyrwhitt, and therefore distantly related to us, but she died seven years ago, God rest her.” Mother crossed herself. “She bore about a dozen children, and I imagine that you will be expected to be a good sister to them.”
It was a daunting thought. A dozen children! It might be a chaotic household.
Mother had probably caught the dismay in her face. “Don’t worry, they won’t be your responsibility, as Sir Thomas has remarried, and I gather that Lady Alice is an excellent stepmother. And he is often at home. He told me he served as one of the King’s bodyguard and was knighted on Flodden Field back in 1513, when we English trounced the Scots, but he has no desire to be a courtier and prefers ruling his own domain. He has had much to do to restore the family fortunes after his father let things deteriorate.” She paused. “I do hope you are happy at the prospect of this marriage, Katharine. I would not force you into it.”
It wasn’t the marriage that had brought the lump to Katharine’s throat, but the thought of leaving her mother, which now seemed a worse thing than leaving Rye House. And yet Mother wanted this, saw it as more important than keeping her at home. And Mother had always wanted the best for her.
“I am happy,” she made herself say. “Thank you, my lady. You have done me proud.”
* * *
—
She was to depart for Gainsborough as soon as all was ready, and found herself plunged into a flurry of preparations. There were gowns to be made, hoods to be fashioned, and shoes to be cobbled. Mother bought her a palfrey, since she had grown too tall for her pony, and crimson caparisons for it. But they were taking the litter too, as she could not be in the saddle for the whole journey, and Mother wanted to travel in comfort.
They set off in April. The spring blossom flowered on the trees as they journeyed north. They spent the first night at an inn at Melbourn in Cambridgeshire, and it was here, over the shilling ordinary that they ate in the landlady’s otherwise deserted parlor, that Mother laid down her knife and cleared her throat.
“Daughter,” she said, “I would be failing in my duty if I did not prepare you for your marriage bed.”
Katharine blushed. “I think I know what to expect,” she said, shrinking at the idea of her devout mother mentioning such matters. “I have seen mares in foal, and I know that the stallion has been brought to them. I understand it is the same with people.” She did not say that Will had regaled all the girls with talk of the naughty things that went on in great households. She had learned a lot from that.
“Yes, but we human beings are higher than the animals,” Mother said briskly. “We have souls and consciences. Marriage is a sacrament and to be approached with reverence. It is a wife’s duty to submit to her husband in all things.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” Katharine gabbled, eager to move on to a less embarrassing subject.
“It may hurt a little at first,” Mother persisted, “but that will not last long. And then I hope you will find the joy in each other that Christ ordained.”
Katharine’s cheeks were flaming. She could not bring herself to wonder if her parents had found such joy. It was impossible to imagine her pious mother enjoying bed sport, as Will called it.
