A Dangerous Inheritance

‘The blow?’ Kate’s needle was poised in mid-air.

‘The Queen and her party were behind it; we all thought that. She wanted her son, the Prince of Wales, to be influential in these parts. She wanted the rich lands of Pembroke for him. So she persuaded the King to dispossess William of his earldom. He wasn’t deprived of it as such, but he was forced to surrender it in exchange for the much poorer earldom of Huntingdon. What could he do? He had no choice but to agree. And you could see the King’s point of view. William hadn’t been very successful at ruling in south Wales. I can still see what was written in the King’s letter: he said the exchange was being made for the public weal, restful government and the administration of justice in these parts. The message could not have been plainer.’

‘How did William take it?’ Kate found she was feeling sorry for her husband. To have been deprived of that great inheritance, that proud earldom borne by his father, must have been so humiliating. She could see why her father had not told her the whole story, for he could not have done so without making some criticism of her future husband.

‘He was bitter, as you may imagine,’ the Countess told her. ‘But he has been more than compensated by King Richard, who has been good to him. He has given you to him, and that alone is a great blessing!’ She smiled and patted Kate’s hand. ‘And William is much more diligent these days, and effective at his duties too. He works hard in the King’s service. Maturity has made a great difference to him.’ She leaned forward, and Kate could smell the faint scent of lavender. ‘You do not love him, do you?’

The question took Kate unawares, but A

‘I try,’ she said. ‘I know it is my duty.’

‘Give it time,’ the Countess said kindly. ‘I think you will do very well together.’

‘I hope so,’ Kate said, and half meant it. Her life here had not been as bad as she had anticipated. It had its good moments, especially in the company of the Countess, Richard Herbert and Mattie of course, and little Elizabeth was a delightful scamp. Even William had been unexpectedly kind after she lost the babe, ordering choice foods for her comfort and gruffly telling her not to worry, there would be another child soon. There were no horrible rumours about her father in Raglan, and she had almost lulled herself into accepting that there had never been any substance to them anyway; only a faint, nagging anxiety remained, and that she refused to dwell upon. Yes, life was tranquil, and even pleasant at times. Yet she spent her days feeling no more than half alive, an exile in a strange land – and knowing that the chief part of her heart lay somewhere in England, wherever John lived and breathed.

Katherine

December 1560–March 1561. Whitehall Palace, Greenwich Palace and Hertford House, Westminster.

There follows a strange time, when I live outwardly as a maid and privately, when it can be managed, as a wife. If it were not for Jane, Ned and I could never be together, but she is indefatigable. When her brother visits her at Whitehall or Greenwich, no one remarks on it, of course; but they do not know of the stolen hours we regularly spend making frantic love in Jane’s little closet off the maidens’ dorter, with her on watch in case anyone should come. And it is nothing unusual for me to accompany Jane on her visits to Ca

And the Queen suspects nothing, I am sure. She is as sharp with me as ever – no mother–daughter affection to be seen! – and yet I am still accorded the deference due to my royal status, and the court still buzzes with speculation that I might soon be elevated further, and the question of the succession thereby settled.

We have taken Mrs Leigh into our confidence, Jane and I: she now knows the truth, and I am touched to find that she is glad for me, and never looked to see me so happily settled in wedlock. I am sure as can be that I can rely on her discretion, for she is a good woman who has given me faithful service.

Six days after our marriage, during one of our trysts at Whitehall, Ned gives me a hundred crowns for my keep, and a deed of land worth a thousand pounds, made over to his ‘dear and well-beloved wife’. How I rejoice to see myself described thus.

He also gives me something very precious to him: a tiny book bound in red velvet that was owned by his father, Protector Somerset. There is a lump in my throat when I open it and find a faded inscription addressed to Ned: The day before my death, from the Tower. Choked, I add my own name, and lay it in the little silver casket in which I keep my personal papers and jewels.

*

I fear the unthinkable has happened. I have had only a light show of blood for the second month now. At first, never having been very regular in my courses, I thought it but the result of all the anxieties and joys I have swung between lately; but now I find my breasts are slightly swollen, and I am uncommonly tired. God help me, I think I may be with child.

Some might regard me as exceptionally naïve, enjoying carnal copulation and not anticipating its natural consequences. But I had thought that all would be resolved with her Majesty before long; that, in a short space, Ned would have found powerful patrons to support us, and the need for secrecy would be over. Now, I am not so sure, for we are too mired in fear to confess what we have done, and Ned has to go very carefully in this matter. One false move, and we may be lost. We certainly will be lost if what I fear comes to pass, and someone does not help us soon.

When we three, Ned, myself and Jane, are next alone together, in his bedchamber at Hertford House, Ned, who seems a little withdrawn tonight, asks if aught ails me.

‘You look weary, sweetheart.’

‘I am worse than that!’ I burst out. ‘I fear I might be with child!’

If ever I saw a man blench with fear it was then.

‘Are you sure?’ An inane question, but one which, I have heard, is often asked by gentlemen at such times.

‘Not yet,’ I tell him. ‘There are certain tokens, but I may be mistaken. I pray that I am.’

Jane is brisk. ‘If you are pregnant, there is no remedy but we must make it known how the matter stands with you.’

‘I agree,’ Ned concurs. ‘We must trust to the Queen’s mercy. We will have no choice.’

We have to face it: Jane is fading away. The illness that has been consuming her for years has finally extinguished even her ebullient spirit, and she has grown weaker by the day. When she finally takes to her bed, I obtain leave from the Queen to go to Hertford House to nurse her. She is deteriorating fast, and it agonises me to see it. Jane and I are kindred spirits in so many ways, united in our love for Ned, so I take up my sickroom duties willingly, tenderly caring for her in her tragic decline, sitting with her while she dozes in the afternoons, or talking away the night hours when sleep deserts her.

Ned is often with me during these vigils. We welcome the chance to be so constantly together, but we both wish it were in happier circumstances. Sometimes we seize the opportunity to bed together, but those stolen hours are short, because we are both aware that time is ru

I seem always to be fighting tears these days; and in my grief at the inevitable parting to come, I almost forget my fears about my condition. The prospect of motherhood, with all its terrible consequences, has become a remote one. And if Ned now seems preoccupied, and not quite so loving, I put it down to his concern for his sister. And then I find out that it is due to something else entirely.

Entering our bedchamber one morning, I happen to glance at the table and see a document lying there. It bears the Queen’s seal. Of course, I have to read further, and am soon wishing that I had not done so, for the paper is a safe conduct, signed by Elizabeth herself, requesting the King of France to let pass without hindrance her faithful servant, Edward Seymour, to Paris and other parts of the kingdom of France, as he goes about his lawful business in her service.