The Story of Katharine Howard. Ford Madox Ford
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‘For that, the worshipful your father had him to master,’ he said ironically.
‘No, for that he was a ruined man, and taught for his victuals. We welly starved at home, my sisters and I.’
He said slowly:
‘The better need that you should grow beloved here.’
Standing there, before the bushes where no ears could overhear, he put to her more questions. She had some Greek, more than a little French, she could judge a good song, she could turn a verse in Latin or the vulgar tongue. She professed to be able to ride well, to be conversant with the terms of venery, to shoot with the bow, and to have studied the Fathers of the Church.
‘These things are well liked in high places,’ he said. ‘His Highness’ self speaks five tongues, loveth a nimble answer, and is a noble huntsman.’ He surveyed her as if she were a horse he were pricing. ‘But I doubt not you have appraised yourself passing well,’ he uttered.
‘I have had some to make me pleasant speeches,’ she answered, ‘but too many cannot be had.’
‘See you,’ he said slowly, ‘these tuckets that they blow from the gate signify that the new Queen cometh with a great state.’ He bit his under lip and looked at her meaningly. ‘But a great state ensueth a great heaviness to the head of the State. Principis hymen, principium gravitatis. . . . ’Tis a small matter to me; you may make it a great one to your ladyship’s light fortunes.’
She knew that he awaited her saying:
‘I do not take your lordship,’ and she pulled the hood further over her face because it was cold, and uttered the words with her eyes on the ground.
‘Why,’ he said readily, ‘you are a lady having gifts that are much in favour in these days. Be careful to use those gifts and no others. Meddle in nothing that does not concern you. So you may make a great marriage with some lord in favour. But meddle in naught else!’
She would find many to set her an evil example. The other ladies amongst whom she was going were a mutinous knot. Let her be careful! If by her good behaviour she earned it, he would put the King in mind to advance her. If by good speeches and good example — since she had great store of learning — she could turn the hearts of these wicked ladies; if she could report to him evil designs or plots, he would speak to the King in such wise that His Highness should give her a great dower and any lord would marry her. Or he would advance her cousin so that he should become marriageable.
She said submissively:
‘Your lordship would have me become a spy upon the ladies who shall be my fellows?’
He waved his hand with a large and calming gesture.
‘I would have you work for the good of the State as you find it,’ he said gravely. ‘That, too, is a doctrine of the Ancients.’ He cited the case of Seneca, who supported the government of Nero, and she noted that he twisted to suit his purpose Tacitus’ account of the soldiers of that same Prince.
Nevertheless, she made no comment. For she knew that it is the nature of men calmly to ask hateful sacrifices of women. But her throat ached with rage. And when she followed him along the corridors of the palace she seemed to feel that each man, each woman that they passed hated that lord with a hatred born of fear.
He walked in front of her arrogantly, as if she were a straw to be drawn along in the wind of his progress. Doors flew open at a flick of his finger.
Suddenly they were in a tall room, long, and dim because it faced the north. It seemed an empty cavern, but there were in it many books upon a long table and at the far end, so that they looked quite small, two figures stood before a reading-pulpit. The voice of the serving man who had thrown open the door made the words ‘The Lord Privy Seal of England’ echo mournfully along the gilded and dim rafters of the ceiling.
Cromwell hastened over the smooth, cold floor. The woman’s figure in black, the long tail of her hood falling almost to her feet like a widow’s veil, turned from the pulpit; a man remained bent down at his reading.
‘Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum,’ Cromwell’s voice uttered. The lady stood, rigid and straight, her hands clasped before her. Her face, pale so that not even a touch of red showed above the cheekbones and hardly any in the tightly-pursed lips, was as if framed in her black hood that fastened beneath the chin. The high, narrow forehead had the hair tightly drawn back so that none was visible, and the coif that showed beneath the hood was white, like a nun’s; the temples were hollowed so that she looked careworn inexpressibly, and her lips had hard lines around them. Above her head all sounds in that dim room seemed to whisper for a long time among the rafters as if here dwelt something mysterious, sepulchral, a great grief or a great passion.
‘I announce to you a master-joy,’ Cromwell was saying. ‘I bring your La’ship a damsel of great erudition and knowledge of good letters.’
His voice was playful and full; his back was bent supply. His face lit up with a debonnaire and pleasant smile. The lady’s eyes turned upon the girl, forbidding and suspicious; she remained motionless, even her lips did not move. Cromwell said that this was a Katharine of the Howards, and one fit to aid her Ladyship and Magister Udal with their erudite commentary of Plautus his works.
The man at the reading desk looked round and then back at his book. His pen scratched upon the margin of a great volume. Katharine Howard was upon her knees grasping at the lady’s hand to kiss it. But it was snatched roughly away.
‘This is a folly,’ the voice came harshly from the pursed lips. ‘Get up, wench.’ Katharine remained kneeling. For this was the Lady Mary of England — a martyr for whom she had prayed nightly since she could pray.
‘Get up, fool,’ the voice said above her head. ‘It is proclaimed treason to kneel to me. This is to risk your neck to act thus before Privy Seal.’
The hard words were aimed straight at the face of Cromwell.
‘Your ladyship knows well I would fain have it otherwise,’ he answered softly.
‘I do not ask it,’ she answered.
He maintained a gentle smile of deprecation, beckoning a little with his head and with his eyes, begging her for private conversation. She lifted Katharine roughly to her feet and followed him to a distant window. She seemed as if she were an automaton without will or independent motions of her own, so small were her steps and her feet so hidden beneath her stiff black skirts. He began talking to her in a voice of which only the persuasive higher notes came into the room.
At that time she was still proclaimed bastard, and her name was erased from the list of those it was lawful to pray for in the churches. At times she endured great hardships, even to going short of food, for she suffered from a wasting complaint that made her a great eater. But starvation could not make her submit to the King, her father, or to the Lord Cromwell who was ruler in the land. Sometimes they gave her a great train, strove to make her dress herself richly, and dragged her to such festivals as this of the marriage with Anne of Cleves. This was done when the Lord Privy Seal dangled her before the eyes of the Emperor of France as a match; then it was necessary to increase the appearance of her worth in England. But sometimes the King, out of a warm and generous feeling of satisfaction with his young son, was moved to behave bountifully to his daughter, and, seeking to dazzle her with his munificence, gave her golden crosses and learned books annotated with