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That there is gossip about me at court I can well imagine. Even I, seeing myself going about the court now, would be asking questions about my big belly. And yes, I have seen people looking covertly at me, murmuring together and – increasingly of late – avoiding me.
Does the Queen herself suspect? Is that the cause of her displeasure? Surely not, or she would have taken me to task before now. I doubt she could have contained her wrath. No, I do not think she is aware of my condition, although she ca
Yet Harry’s latest letter comes as a terrible shock, especially after the loving ones he has sent me, and all the thoughtful gifts. I tremble with mortification as I read it. Someone – God knows who – has obviously talked, and he is furious with me, aye, and indignant too, for leading him to believe I was chaste. He says I abused his trust to cover my whoredom and adultery, not to mention Ned’s knavery. He demands I return his letters and his presents, and storms:
Do not think I will risk loss of honour to lead the rest of my life with a whore that almost every man talks of. Through the enticement of your whoredom, you sought to entrap me with some poisoned bait under the colour of sugared friendship. I thank God I am not touched by the loss of a few tokens and gifts that were got out of my hands by cu
If I ever knew desperation, it is now. I am in terror lest Harry report my offences, and crushed and shamed by his cruel condemnation. God knows, I am no whore; I have never given myself to a man not my husband, so it is wicked and unjust to slander me so. As for loss of honour, he should look to himself, for no true gentleman would treat me so despicably!
I have to act soon. The Queen must not hear of my condition from Harry or his father. And clearly, others know of it now.
On the night before the progress begins, Sir William Cecil hosts a farewell di
There are ladies in the court whom one could only describe as bitches. They are the ones who taunt me with gossip, or laugh snidely behind my back, encouraged by the Queen’s evident disfavour. And now, when I go abroad bravely displaying my new bracelets, they seem to have some new cause for laughter, and take great pleasure in telling me that I am not the only recipient of love tokens from Lord Hertford.
‘It seems he purchased a dozen of them!’ they trill. And it is true, there are others sporting similar trinkets.
He has abandoned me, I know it at heart, and soon I will be shamed as a fool before the whole world.
At the palace of Beaulieu, I find a letter pushed under my chamber door, just as I am retiring to bed exhausted after another lavish feast. It is a second angry missive from Harry, who is clearly out to have his revenge on me. He was my friend, he writes, but he is now sorry for that. He demands I return the letters and gifts he has sent me, without delay. Or else, he threatens, to be plain with you, I will make you and your whoredom known to the whole world.
I do not summon Mrs Ellen or anyone else. As I unlace my stays, weeping, and with difficulty, and see the mound of my poor constrained belly exposed, I know I have no choice any more. I must go to the Queen.
Kate
Summer 1485. Raglan Castle.
Weeks afterwards, news reached the castle that Queen A
Kate thought she might go mad if her doubts were not resolved, once and for all. They ate at her. She would go to her grave obsessing about them, she thought. She waited in trepidation for news of the King’s marriage to Elizabeth of York; if that went ahead, she would have to believe that the rumours had been well founded. None came. Instead, her brother John – in one of his brief, rare letters – wrote from Sheriff Hutton that Elizabeth of York had joined the household there with her sisters. Clearly the marriage was not to take place – or not immediately.
William told her that the King had granted them yet another a
But for whom? Kate was terrified for her father because there was no question that the rumours about the Princes’ disappearance had undermined his following. William himself, when he was fleetingly at home, expressed doubts about the loyalty of the great nobles, for some lords had already defected to Henry Tudor.
‘The King relies heavily on Norfolk, Northumberland and Stanley,’ he said, ‘but I would not trust Stanley. His wife is the traitor’s mother.’
‘Norfolk is loyal, I am sure,’ Kate said. ‘But what of Northumberland?’
‘Who can say? Let us hope they will all support the King when the time comes.’
‘Will there be a battle?’ she asked fearfully.
‘Assuredly, unless Henry Tudor is killed or taken by stealth first. I have the coast guarded; he ca
‘I pray to God that some loyal subject puts an end to his evil designs,’ Kate cried. ‘I ca
William rode away again, making it his business to keep watch over the territory under his command, ensuring that, as far as possible, all was safe and secure, and that the men he had cozened, arrayed and instructed were prepared, and his captains vigilant. Kate rarely saw him. She and the Countess were busily provisioning the castle for a siege, just in case Henry Tudor came this way. It might all be a waste of effort, she thought, as she went through another long list of foodstuffs with the steward, but they were taking no chances.
It was a hot August. The grass turned brown in the sun’s rays, and streams dried up. It would not be easy for men wearing armour to fight in this weather, she realised uneasily, and prayed it would not come to that.
Another letter arrived from her brother John. He sounded excited, and with good cause, for he was bound for Calais, England’s last outpost in France. Their father the King had appointed him Captain of Calais, and although he was too young at eleven to carry out his duties by himself, he was going to be taught them by those who were fulfilling them for him. Imagine, dear sister, he wrote, your brother, Captain of Calais!