A Dangerous Inheritance

Paris? France? Lawful business? What is this about? In a fury of agitation, I race around the house looking for Ned, and find him in the courtyard, inspecting a new mare. He looks up startled as I dismiss the grooms, then his face falls as I thrust the safe conduct at him.

‘What is this?’ I cry, like a wounded animal.

‘I had to apply for it. I had no choice. I was going to tell you, Katherine, but I could not face it, what with Jane being so ill and you being so worried about, well, you know …’ He makes to embrace me, but I fend him off. ‘I did not wish to add to your burdens,’ he says desperately. ‘This mission has been thrust upon me. I did not seek it!’

‘What mission?’ My blood is up. I have no cause to be reasonable.

‘I am to go to France on diplomatic business, which is a great honour and a sign of the Queen’s favour, and may lead to further advancement, which can only benefit us, sweetheart. And I am also commanded to go to Paris as companion to Mr Secretary’s son, Thomas Cecil, while he completes his education. In truth, Katherine, I am as dismayed as you at the prospect of our being parted so soon, but I know—’

‘While he completes his education? And how long will that be?’ I rage, tears streaming down my cheeks.

‘Hush, my love, do not weep so. I ca

I subside into his arms, unable to bear any bad feeling against him for long. I am weeping uncontrollably, desperate at the prospect of his being gone from me overseas for an indefinite time, for even the short days and weeks between our meetings are misery to me; and because it has occurred to me that he may secretly wish to be gone, away from the tangled mess that our lives have become. Then I regain control and administer a silent reprimand to myself for having such uncharitable thoughts about the man who is holding me tightly and murmuring his love into my ear. This is his career, and it is important. How could I be so unfair to him?

Jane is dying: we all know it. I watch helplessly as she slips from us, meekly and patiently, too weak even to mouth a farewell. I see Ned sobbing openly as he kisses her dead hand, holding it as if he can never let it go.

The Queen orders a magnificent funeral, and commands her ladies and chief household officers to attend. Clad in heavy black once again, and weeping in the privacy of my hood, I walk behind the stately bier with two hundred other mourners, up the long nave of Westminster Abbey, retracing the path I trod only fifteen months ago when my lady mother was buried here. And it is beside the tomb Stokes commissioned, with its serene sculpted image of her in her coronet and robes of estate, that Jane Seymour is laid to rest. My eye alights on the Latin inscription on my mother’s monument, and soon I ca

Nor grace, nor splendour, nor a royal name

Nor widespread heritage can aught avail;

All, all have vanished here. True worth alone

Survives the funeral pyre and silent tomb.

And I think of these two, my mother and my friend, and those others I have loved and lost, now dust in lonely graves.

Without Jane to look out for us, Ned and I have small hope of seeing each other. The interval allowed for mourning over, I am commanded back to the Privy Chamber, where my black gown draws little comment, as the Queen always insists her ladies wear black or white so as to appear insipid next to her own peacock finery. Meanwhile Ned tidies up Jane’s small affairs and undertakes his duties elsewhere in the court.

Our need for each other is such that we ca

It adds spice to our coupling, this secrecy; we time our trysts for when the Queen’s ladies are about their allotted duties and busy in the privy chamber. Our lovemaking is always hurried, and usually we dare not undress completely for fear we may be interrupted.

Then Mrs Leigh comes to me. ‘If it please you, Lady Katherine, my mother is ill and I crave leave to go down to the country to be with her.’

‘Of course,’ I say, my heart sinking. ‘I pray you find her amended.’

Mrs Leigh thanks me most warmly and departs. I never see her again.

*

Our meetings now are few and far apart. When we do meet, anxiety mars our reunions, for I am still unsure whether I am with child or not, and I am loath to confide my fears to Ned. My courses are regular, but still scanty, and I could swear my stomach is rounder. Whether these signs betoken I am with child I ca

Then comes the awful day when Ned breaks it to me that he is soon to depart for France.

‘Tell me truly, Katherine,’ he urges, ‘are you with child?’

‘In faith, I do not know,’ I sob, devastated at the imminence of our parting. ‘I bleed a little each month and I have put on weight, but I am so hungry and keep eating, so that is not surprising. I fear I am very ignorant of such things. I wish there was some wise woman I could ask, but I dare not.’ And I burst out crying again. I am afraid that if I go on this way, always distressed and weeping, Ned will be glad to leave me. And with the width of the English Cha

‘If you are with child,’ he says distractedly, ‘I will not leave you to face the Queen.’

Mrs Ellen, my old nurse, has come out of retirement to replace Mrs Leigh, and seems very glad to be back in my service. Inevitably I soon find myself confiding in her. Without hesitation, she agrees to pass messages between Ned and me, and after a few days she tells me he wishes to meet me opposite his house, by the old canopied fountain in New Palace Yard, in front of Westminster Hall. I hasten there at once.

There is no one about as I approach the octagonal fountain. I am early, and Ned is nowhere to be seen. I make to sit down on the low stone rim, but without warning I find myself engulfed by the most terrible sensations of anguish and despair, similar to those I experienced on the water-stairs at Baynard’s Castle all those years ago, but far worse. I fear I am drowning, submerged by powerful waves of desperation and horror. I am going to faint …

‘Katherine?’ Ned is suddenly before me, steadying me as I sway.

‘I must get away!’ I gasp. ‘I ca

‘Now,’ Ned says, alarmed, ‘try to calm down, and tell me what all that was about. Are you ill, my love?’

‘Nay, I was affrighted.’ I tell him about the horrors I have just experienced. ‘Truly,’ I say, ‘I did not imagine what I felt. That fountain is cursed; maybe something bad happened there once. Did you not feel anything?’

‘Nothing at all. You musthave imagined it, sweeting; you have been overburdened with troubles lately.’