me.’ And she shakes my hand with a warm grasp, and I believe her, and we both smile.
Jane Boleyn, Calais, December 1539
She will never please him, poor child, not in a lifetime, not in a thousand years. I am amazed that his ambassadors did not warn him, they have been thinking entirely of making a league against France and Spain, of a Protestant league against the Catholic kings, and thinking nothing of the tastes of King Henry.
There is nothing she can do to become the sort of woman that pleases him. His preference runs to quick-witted, dainty, smiling women with an air that promises everything. Even Jane Seymour, though she was quiet and obedient, radiated a docile warmth that hinted at sensual pleasure. But this one is like a child, awkward like a child, with a child’s honest gaze and an open, friendly smile. She looks thrilled when someone bows low to her, and when she first saw the ships in the harbour she seemed about to applaud. When she is tired or overwhelmed she goes pale like a sulky child and looks ready to weep. Her nose goes red when she is anxious, like a peasant in the cold. If it were not so tragic this would be the highest of comedies, this gawky girl stepping into the diamond-heeled shoes of Anne Boleyn. What can they have been thinking of when they imagined she could ever rise to it?
But her very awkwardness gives me a key to her. I can be her friend, her great friend and ally. She will need a friend, poor lost girl, she will need a friend who knows the way around a court such as ours. I can introduce her to all the things she will need to know, teach her the skills she must learn. And who should know better than I, who have been at the heart of the greatest court that England ever had, and seen it burn itself up? Who better than me to keep a queen safe, who watched one destroy herself and destroy her family with her? I have promised to be this new queen’s friend and I can honour that promise. She is young, only twenty-four years old, but she will grow. She is ignorant but she can be taught. She is inexperienced but life will correct that. I can do much for this quaint young woman, and it will be a real pleasure and an opportunity to be her guide and mentor.
Katherine, Norfolk House, Lambeth, December 1539
My uncle is coming to see my grandmother and I must be ready in case he sends for me. We all know what is about to happen but I am as excited as if I were waiting for a great surprise. I have practised my walk towards him and my curtsey. I have practised my look of astonishment and my delighted smile at the wonderful news. I like to be prepared, I like to be rehearsed, and I have had Agnes and Joan play the part of my uncle until I am step-perfect in my approach, my curtsey and my genteel cry of joy.
The maids’ room is sick of me, sick as if they had eaten a glut of green apples, but I tell them it is only to be expected, I am a Howard, of course I will be called to court, of course I will serve the queen and, sadly, of course they will be left behind; what a pity.
They say I will have to learn German, and there will be no dancing. I know this is a lie. She will live like a queen and if she is dull, I shall only shine more brightly in contrast. They say it is well-known that she will live in seclusion, and the Dutch eat no meat but only cheese and butter all day. I know this is a lie – why else would the queen’s apartments at Hampton Court have been repainted but for her to have a court and guests? They say that all her ladies have already been appointed and half of them have already left to meet her in Calais. My uncle is coming to tell me that I have missed my chance.
This, finally, frightens me. I know that the king’s nieces, Lady Margaret Douglas and the Marchioness of Dorset, have agreed to be the chiefest of her ladies and I fear it is too late for me. ‘No,’ I say to Mary Lascelles, ‘he cannot be coming to tell me I must stay here. He cannot be coming to tell me that I am too late, that there will be no place left for me.’
‘And if he does then let it be a lesson to you,’ she says firmly. ‘Let it be a lesson to you to mend your ways. You don’t deserve to go to the queen’s court as light as you have been with Francis Dereham. No true lady should have you in her chambers when you have played the slut with such a man.’
This is so unkind that I give a little gasp and feel the tears coming.
‘Now don’t cry,’ she says wearily. ‘Don’t cry, Katherine. You will only make your eyes red.’
Instantly, I hold my nose to stop the tears coming. ‘But if he tells me I am to stay here and do nothing I shall die!’ I say thickly. ‘I will be fifteen next year, and then I will be eighteen, and then I will be nineteen and then I will be twenty and too old for marriage and I will die here, serving my grandmother, never having been anywhere, and never seen anything, and never danced at court.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ she exclaims crossly. ‘Can you never think of anything but your vanity, Katherine? Besides, some would think you have done quite enough already for a maid of fourteen.’
‘Duthing,’ I say, with my nose still pinched. I let it go and press my cool fingers against my cheeks. ‘I have done nothing.’
‘Of course, you will serve the queen,’ she says scornfully. ‘Your uncle is not likely to miss such a place for one of his family, however badly you have behaved.’
‘The girls said …’
‘The girls are jealous of you because you are going, you ninny. If you were staying they would be all over you with pretend sympathy.’
This is so true that even I can see it. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘So wash your face again and come to my lady’s chamber. Your uncle will be here at any moment.’
I go as fast as I can, pausing only to tell Agnes and Joan and Margaret that I know full well I am going to court and that I never believed their spite for a moment, and then I hear them shouting: ‘Katherine! Katherine! He is here!’ and I dash down to my lady’s own parlour and there he is, my uncle, standing before the fire and warming his backside.
It would take more than a fire to warm this man through. My grandmother says that he is the king’s hammer; whenever there is hard and dirty work to do it is my uncle who leads the English army to batter the enemy into submission. When the North rose up to defend the old religion just two years ago when I was a little girl, it was my uncle who brought the rebels to their senses. He promised them a pardon and then cozened them to the gallows. He saved the king’s throne and he saved the king the trouble of fighting his own battles and putting down a great rebellion. My grandmother says that he knows no other argument but the noose. She says he strung up thousands even though inwardly, he agreed with their cause. His own faith did not stop him. Nothing will stop him. I can see by his face that he is a hard man, a man not easily softened; but he has come to see me and I will show him what sort of niece he has.
I dip down into a deep curtsey, as we have practised over and over again in the maids’ chamber, leaning a little forwards so that my lord can see the tempting curve of my breasts pressed at the top of my gown. Slowly I look up at his face before I rise, so that he sees me almost on my knees before him, giving him a moment to think about the pleasure of what I could be doing down there, my little nose almost against his breeches. ‘My lord uncle,’ I breathe as I rise, as if I were whispering it in his ear in bed. ‘Give you a very good day, sir.’
‘Good God,’ he says bluntly, and my grandmother gives a little ‘Huh’ of amusement.
‘She is a … a credit to you, ma’am,’ he says
