Katharine Parr, the Sixth Wife, page 8
They rode north to Kirton on a fine day in October, the baggage carts loaded with household stuff trundling in their wake. The road was winding and rutted where the sun had baked the mud, and it would probably be impassable in winter, but if that kept Lord Borough away, so much the better. They did not mind the demands of the ride. Their hearts were high, they were heady with expectation—and they were not disappointed. When they crested the gentle hill overlooking the Wolds at Kirton, and Katharine first set eyes on the manor house, she was openmouthed with delight. The pale stone crenellated hall with its pitched brick roof had gabled wings at either end and tall pointed windows. Green lawns and mature trees surrounded it. Hurriedly dismounting and beckoning to a waiting groom to look to their horses, they raced inside and ran about the house like two excited children, exclaiming at its spaciousness and admiring the freshly whitewashed walls, the polished wood floors, and the wide fireplaces. In the bedchamber, they hugged each other.
“This is a new beginning for us, Katharine!” Edward said, kissing her. “I promise to be a better husband from now on.”
And he was. Away from his overbearing father and the tensions at Gainsborough, he was able to relax and, once more, they achieved physical union. Katharine dared to hope that the cradle she had optimistically brought from the hall would soon be occupied by Edward’s heir. How pleased Lord Borough would be. No, she admonished herself, she must stop thinking always in terms of pleasing her father-in-law!
* * *
—
She had missed two courses and was beginning to wonder if God had answered her prayers at last. Heaven knew, she had pleaded with Him often enough. There was no chapel at Kirton, only a prayer desk, so she often betook herself to the parish church, where she had become a familiar sight, kneeling on the tiles before the altar. The villagers praised her to her face for her devotion and her charity. She had been among them for just over a year, and they had taken her and Edward to their hearts.
She knelt down in the empty nave, fixing her eyes on the statue of the Virgin and Child that stood on the altar, next to the crucifix.
“Holy Mother,” she murmured, “please intercede for me, that I might bear a child.”
It suddenly struck her that praying direct to God might be more effective. Did one really need the intervention of His Mother or one of the saints? Communion with God should be a simple thing—but it wasn’t. Laypeople had to rely on their priests and a whole hierarchy of clergy to interpret the Scriptures for them. And the Scriptures were in Latin, making them unintelligible to most. It seemed that the Church had put up barriers between individuals and God—and who was she, a simple young woman, to question that? Yet she was one of His children, with a soul to safeguard, and the certainties of her youth were crumbling to the extent that she was no longer sure that she was on the right path to salvation.
Troubled, she returned to her prayers, daring to beseech her Maker Himself for the thing she desired most, and hoping that He would not be angered with her.
* * *
—
Relations with Lord Borough were much better now that they were conducted at a distance. The manor house was a domestic haven. If Edward seemed not quite at home in their marriage, Katharine was not complaining. They liked each other and were good friends. It was infinitely better than the kind of union Lady Burgh endured. But a baby would crown everyone’s happiness.
If she worried about anything, it was her mother, who had chosen to remain in the service of the Queen with Anne, even after her Grace had been banished from court last summer. Now Queen Katherine was living in Cardinal Wolsey’s former house, the More, in Hertfordshire, royally served, but those who attended her were regarded by the King with suspicion and lived under a cloud. Katharine could only applaud her mother’s loyalty, yet she would have preferred it if she had distanced herself. Surely Uncle William could secure her a place at court with the Lady Anne? He had helped Edward Seymour to obtain one for Will after he graduated, and both he and Will were now in high favor with the King. Thank goodness Mother’s stubborn loyalty to the Queen had not prejudiced that. But you never knew. The King had a mercurial temper these days, she had heard, and his favor might be withdrawn on a whim. Oh, why didn’t Mother and Anne just go home to Rye House? But maybe, Katharine reproved herself, she ought to trust her mother to do what was morally right.
Early in December, as she was making her pleasant preparations for their second Christmas at Kirton, a letter arrived, addressed in Anne’s elegant handwriting.
Dear Sister, it began, I have heavy news. Katharine read on, disbelieving. Mother was dead. What had begun as a cold had affected her lungs, and no one, not even the Queen’s own physician, had been able to save her.
She was gone, irrevocably gone. Her life in this world was a closed book. She had been thirty-nine, far too young to die. Katharine could not take it in; the reality of it kept hitting her painfully. She knew that Mother was now with God and that she should rejoice for her, but how was she going to live without her; how would she fill that vast empty space where she had been?
She sank to her knees amid the jumble of festive gifts. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death,” she intoned. “O Lord, grant unto her eternal rest. Merciful Father, hear our prayers and console us.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Mother!” she cried aloud. And that was how Edward found her when he came running.
* * *
—
When she was calmer again, she reread Anne’s letter. Her sister had written that Queen Katherine was being very kind to her and had said that she could remain with her for as long as she wanted. Anne was clearly appreciative of her goodness, yet she confessed to having a yearning to be away from the More. It was too sad a household, doubly so now that Mother wasn’t there. She would have liked to go to court to serve the Lady Anne, but felt she was being disloyal to the Queen, and to Mother’s memory, in wanting this. Poor Anne. At sixteen, it was natural for her to seek some gaiety in her life. She saw precious little of it in the banished Queen’s service.
Will and Uncle William attended the funeral. Mother was buried beside Father in the chapel of St. Anne at Blackfriars. Katharine spent the day in church, praying for her mother’s soul. Soon afterward, Uncle William sent her a package. Inside, she found the Queen’s baptismal cloth and seventeen pieces of jewelry, which Mother had left her in her will. As they tumbled out of a velvet pouch, she recognized with a pang the ring with a pointed diamond set with black enamel that had been Mother’s favorite piece. There were pendants, a pair of bracelets set with garnets, and miniature pictures of the King and Queen, beautiful things that anyone would be glad to own, but Katharine would have given anything to have her mother back instead.
Uncle William had written that Mother had left money for the founding of schools and for dowries for the poorer maidens among her many kinsfolk. That was typical of her goodness. She had also bequeathed a few jewels to her daughter-in-law, Ann Bourchier, but they were only to be delivered to her when her marriage to Will had been consummated. Katharine raised her eyebrows at that. Ann must be fourteen now, surely of an age to bed with her husband? But, apparently, they had not begun living together. Will never mentioned her in his letters, and Katharine had the strong impression that he was happy to be distanced from her. He seemed so far away, as did the household at Rye House. How she wished she could be with her brother and her uncle at this sad time. It would be such a comfort. But the roads were atrocious at this time of year and a journey would be hazardous.
She longed to see her sister too. Anne had written to say that the King had made her a royal ward and was now her legal guardian. It would be to her advantage, and his, for she could look to him to arrange a good marriage for her, but she would rather have had Uncle William, who was far less frightening than the King. Anne’s news brought home to Katharine yet again how young women were at the mercy of powerful men.
Edward was a marvel. He did not reproach her for crying too much, unlike the priest at the church. He was always there when she needed to talk and distracted her with endless games of cards and dice. The tragedy had brought them closer, and Katharine thanked God daily for sending her such a husband.
But all that grieving took its toll. The tiny hope that had been burgeoning in her body was overwhelmed by her suffering and passed from her in an ordeal of blood and pain. Edward had not even known that she was with child—she had been just about to tell him—and he was shocked.
“There will be another babe, you’ll see,” he soothed, cradling her in his arms. “We’ll make another.” And he tried, in his usual diligent way, and did his duty well, but nothing happened. God evidently did not intend for Katharine to have that kind of consolation. Was He angry at her boldness in approaching Him direct? Or was it that He knew what was best for her? She must not question His will.
Chapter 6
1533
Edward had been really pleased when he was appointed a Justice of the Peace. It was thanks to his father’s influence, of course, yet he meant to deserve the office on his own merits. He was twenty-five now and gaining in stature in the county.
He had attended the quarter sessions in Lincoln at Epiphany, and did so again at Easter, wearing a new black gown of fine wool and a cap with a brooch on the brim. He looked grave in manner and handsome, for his face and body had filled out in recent years. Katharine waved him off, hoping he would not be gone long. She would miss him, for he had become very dear to her.
He was back within a week, lying pale and feverish in a litter loaned by a fellow judge. Katharine helped him into the house and up to bed. She sat beside him as he lay there listlessly, mopping his hot brow with a damp cloth.
“Don’t die! Please don’t die!” she prayed. “Merciful God, spare him to me!”
She had wasted no time in summoning a physician from Scunthorpe. While waiting for him to arrive, she prepared an infusion of betony and sage and made Edward drink it. Soon afterward, when his breathing became shallow and fitful, and he barely knew her, she knew she must send for Lord and Lady Borough and dispatched a messenger on the fastest horse in the stables. Then she summoned the priest and returned to keep vigil beside Edward, holding his hand and willing him to live. Surely God would not be so cruel as to take him from her too? She had lost her mother and her unborn child, and still grieved deeply for them.
The physician arrived, examined Edward, and shook his head. “It will take a miracle,” he said, resting a kindly hand on Katharine’s shoulder. “You must prepare yourself, Mistress.”
She felt nothing but fear and bewilderment. This could not be happening.
The priest performed the last rites as Edward lay unheeding, his breathing labored, his face gray and his lips blue. Katharine knelt beside the bed, praying harder than she had ever prayed before. When she looked up, he gave a croaking gasp and fell silent.
She rose, numb with bewilderment. There was no emotion, just a strong sense of disbelief.
Lord Borough took charge when he and his wife arrived later that day. Lady Burgh’s grief was pitiful to see. He was made of sterner stuff, although Katharine could see that he was struggling to control his emotions. He had lost his firstborn son. It was a hard blow for any man to take.
His chaplain did his best to comfort them all, exhorting them not to question God’s will, but to give thanks for Edward’s life and pray for the passage of his soul through Purgatory. As he spoke, Katharine realized she did not really believe that there was such a place as Purgatory—and was shocked at herself.
Standing with the Burgh family by the open family vault in Holy Trinity Church at Gainsborough, she could only think that, not two weeks ago, Edward had been looking forward to his trip to Lincoln, and they had been lovers the night before he left. Her courses had arrived as usual, so there wasn’t even any hope of a baby. Edward’s brother Thomas was the heir now.
She still had not wept. She had done as the chaplain had enjoined and tried not to grieve, for it was sinful to question God’s wisdom. Edward had attained eternal life and they would be reunited in Christ one day.
As she returned to Gainsborough in a litter with Lady Burgh and Elizabeth Owen, Thomas’s wife, and joined the family and their guests for the funeral meats, she felt some comfort in being, at not quite twenty-one, a widow of means. It meant that she was independent and her own mistress. She was hoping that Lord Borough would inform her of the financial arrangements that had been made for her. She did not have long to wait. When the mourners had departed, he sat down with her at high table.
“I have ordered that your dower be transferred to you,” he said. “You will receive the manors of Oxted and Allington in Kent, and Westcliff in Essex. Beyond that, I have also assigned you the income of two of my manors in Surrey and one in Kent. My solicitor will send you the documents and the keys to the manor houses.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, glad to be free of her obligation to this man. “You have been more than generous.”
“I am going to court soon,” he said. “You will have heard that the Lady Anne has been proclaimed queen?”
Katharine stared at him, amazed. She had been so busy and preoccupied that news from the world beyond Kirton had passed her by. “Has the Pope granted a divorce?”
“I’m assuming so. The King married her in secret. There is a lot of speculation as to when, for she is clearly with child. The important thing is, we have a reforming queen, and I, for one, am glad to be serving her. I have been appointed her chamberlain.”
That was such a high honor. Doubtless the King, or the Lady Anne, had heard of Lord Borough’s zeal for reform. Even so, Katharine spared a thought for the poor old queen, exiled from court and put away against her will. How sad Mother would have been. It was a blessing that she had not lived to see this.
“I am pleased for you, my lord,” she said.
He inclined his head. “This marriage may be the answer to all our prayers. Let us hope that England will soon have the prince she needs.” His eyes narrowed. “Where will you go?” he asked.
With a jolt, she realized that he was expecting her to leave Kirton. She had intended to stay there and had made no alternative plans. Suddenly, it was plain to her that she was no longer wanted by the Burghs. Without children to anchor her to the family, she was redundant.
“I have not thought yet,” she faltered. “When do you want me to leave?”
“There is no hurry,” he said, “but we would like the house to be made available to Thomas and his wife as soon as is convenient.”
“Then I will make other arrangements as soon as I can,” she told him.
“And I will make sure my solicitor gets the deeds to you quickly,” he said.
Chapter 7
1533–1534
Back at Kirton, and finding the place so empty, Katharine thought about what she should do. Uncle William had written to say that she was most welcome to return to Rye House. Aunt Mary was there and their youngest daughter, Margery, was still unwed and at home. But Rye House would not be the same as it had been in the days when it teemed with young Parrs and dear Mother was alive. She thought about moving to one of her dower manors, where she could live independently, yet she knew no one in Kent or Essex or Surrey and did not relish living in isolation. But she did have relations in the north.
Father Cuthbert had been appointed bishop of Durham three years ago and was also serving as president of the Council of the North. They had corresponded from time to time; his letters were full of news, although she noticed that he never referred to the King’s Great Matter. Knowing him well, she suspected that he was keeping his head down, and his distance, so as not to get involved or incur the King’s displeasure. Now, when she wrote to him of her plight, he suggested that she go to stay with a distant cousin of both hers and Edward’s.
Lady Strickland has been thrice widowed, he informed Katharine. She was first married to Sir Walter Strickland, your kinsman, who died five years ago. Then she was married to the old Lord Borough’s younger son, Henry, but he died within a year of their marriage, and her third husband, who I think was called Darcy, passed away last year. I saw her recently when I had occasion to travel to Kendal. She lives nearby at Sizergh Castle in Westmorland and, during our conversation, she confided that she is lonely. You would be perfect company for each other. Would you like me to write to her, suggesting that you go to stay with her for a time? Sizergh is a beautiful house with pleasant gardens, and Lady Strickland is a most delightful person. I am sure that this would be a healing experience for you.
The more Katharine thought about it, the more the idea of going to Sizergh appealed to her. Lady Strickland sounded ideal company, and there would be no painful memories there. She wrote to Father Cuthbert to accept his kind offer and was pleased when a warm letter arrived from Lady Strickland herself, saying how happy she would be to have Katharine come to stay with her. She would make her most welcome.
With a lighter heart, Katharine ordered the packing of her belongings. Her only sadness was that she would be leaving Elinor behind; Lord Borough had commandeered her for Elizabeth Owen. On the day the litter drew up to take her away from Kirton for the last time, she walked around the house, remembering Edward in every chamber, and finally shedding tears for him. It was hard having to consign him to the past and let him go, but she had to look to the future.
