“A new arrival!” said the young man.

“Get you gone!” said Isabel. “She is not for you. She is Catherine Howard, Her Grace’s own granddaughter.”

The young man was handsomely dressed. He bowed low to Catherine, and would have taken her hand to kiss it, had not Isabel snatched her up and put her from him. Nan pouted on the bed, and the young man said: “How is my fair Nan this day?” But Nan turned her face to the wall and would not speak to him; then the young man sat on the bed and put his arms round Nan, so that his left hand was on her right breast, and his right hand on her left breast; and he kissed her neck hard, so that there was a red mark there. Then she arose and slapped him lightly on the face, laughing the while, and she leaped across the bed, he after her and so gave chase, till Isabel shooed him from the room.

Catherine witnessed this scene with much astonishment, thinking Isabel to be very angry indeed, expecting her to castigate the laughing Nan; but she did nothing but smile, when, after the young man had left, Nan threw herself onto the bed laughing.

Nan sat up suddenly and, now that the youth was no longer there to claim her interest, once more bestowed it on Catherine Howard.

“You had a lover at Hollingbourne, Catherine Howard! Did you not see how her cheeks were on fire, Isabel, and still are, I’ll warrant! I believe you to be a sly wench, Catherine Howard.”

Isabel put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders.

“Tell us about him, Catherine.”

Catherine said: “It was my cousin, Thomas Culpepper.”

“He who is son of Sir John?”

Catherine nodded. “We shall marry when that is possible.”

“Tell us of Thomas Culpepper, Catherine. Is he tall? Is he handsome?”

“He is both tall and handsome.”

“Tell me, did he kiss you well and heartily?”

“But once,” said Catherine. “And that in the paddock when he talked of marriage.”

“And he kissed you,” said Nan. “What else?”

“Hush!” said Isabel. “What if she should tell Her Grace of the way you have talked!”

“Her Grace is too lazy to care what her ladies may say or do.”

“You will be dismissed the house one day,” said Isabel. “Caution!”

“So your cousin kissed you, Catherine, and promised he would marry you. Dost not know that when a man talks of marriage it is the time to be wary?”

Catherine did not understand; she was aware of a certain fear, and yet a vivid interest in this unusual conversation.

“Enough of this,” said Isabel, and Nan went to her bed and lay down, reaching for the sweetmeats.

“Your bed,” said Isabel, “shall be this one. Are you a good sleeper?”

“Yes,” said Catherine; for indeed the only occasions when she could not sleep were those when she was afraid of ghosts, and if she were to sleep in a room so full of beds, each of which would contain a young lady, she need have no fear of gruesome company, and she could say with truth that she would sleep well.

Isabel looked at her clothes, asked many questions about Lambeth and Hollingbourne; and while Catherine was answering her, several ladies came in, and some gave her sweetmeats, some kissed her. Catherine thought them all pretty young ladies; their clothes were bright, and they wore gay ribands in their hair; and many times during that afternoon and evening a young man would put his head round the door and be waved away with the words “The Duchess’s granddaughter, Catherine Howard, is come to share our apartment.” The young men bowed and were as kind to Catherine as the ladies were; and often one of the ladies would go outside and speak with them, and Catherine would hear muffled laughter. It was very gay and pleasant, and even Isabel, who at first had appeared to be a little stern, seemed to change and laugh with the rest.

Catherine had food and drink with the ladies and their kindness persisted through the evening. At length she went to bed, Isabel escorting her and drawing the curtains around her bed. She was very soon asleep for the excitement of the day had tired her.

She awoke startled and wondered where she was. She remembered and was immediately aware of whispering voices. She lay listening for some time, thinking the ladies must just be retiring, but the voices went on and Catherine, in astonishment, recognized some of them as belonging to men. She stood up and peeped through the curtains. There was no light in the room but sufficient moonlight to show her the most unexpected sight.

The room seemed to be full of young men and women; some sitting on the beds, some reclining on them, but all of them in affectionate poses. They were eating and drinking, and stroking and kissing each other. They smacked their lips over the dainties, and now and then one of the girls would make an exclamation of surprise and feigned indignation, or another would laugh softly; they spoke in whispers. The clouds, hurrying across the face of the moon which looked in at the windows, made the scene alternately light and darker; and the wind which was driving the clouds whined now and then, mingling its voice with those of the girls and young men.

Catherine watched, wide-eyed and sleepless for some time. She saw the youth who had aroused Nan’s displeasure now kissing her bare shoulders, taking down the straps of her dress and burying his face in her bosom. Catherine watched and wondered until her eyes grew weary and her lids pressed down on them. She lay down and slept.

She awakened to find it was daylight and Isabel was drawing her bed curtains. The room was now occupied by girls only, who ran about naked and chattering, looking for their clothes which seemed to be scattered about the floor.

Isabel was looking down at Catherine slyly.

“I trust you slept well?” she asked.

Catherine said she had.

“But not through the entire night?”

Catherine could not meet Isabel’s piercing eyes, for she was afraid that the girl should know she had looked on that scene, since something told her it was not meant that she should.

Isabel sat down heavily on the bed, and caught Catherine’s shoulder.

“You were awake part of last night,” she said. “Dost think I did not see thee, spying through the curtains, listening, taking all in?”

“I did not mean to spy,” said Catherine. “I was awakened, and the moon showed me things.”

“What things, Catherine Howard?”

“Young gentlemen, sitting about the room with the ladies.”

“What else?”

Isabel looked wicked now. Catherine began to shiver, thinking perhaps it would have been better had she spent the night in a lonely chamber. For it was daylight now, and it was only at night that Catherine had great fear of ghosts.

“What else?” repeated Isabel. “What else, Catherine Howard?”

“I saw that they did eat...”

The grip on Catherine’s shoulder increased.

“What else?”

“Well...I know, not what else, but that they did kiss and seem affectionate.”

“What shall you do, Catherine Howard?”

“What shall I do? But I know not what you mean, Mistress Isabel. What would you desire me to do?”

“Shall you then tell aught of what you have seen...to Her Grace, your grandmother?”

Catherine’s teeth chattered, for what they did must surely be wrong since it was done at her grandmother’s displeasure.

Isabel released Catherine’s shoulder and called to the others. There was silence while she spoke.

“Catherine Howard,” she said spitefully, “while feigning sleep last night, was wide awake, watching what was done in this chamber. She will go to Her Grace the Duchess and tell her of our little entertainment.”

There was a crowd of girls round the bed, who looked down on Catherine, while fear and anger were displayed in every face.

“There was naught I did that was wrong,” said one girl, almost in tears.

“Be silent!” commanded Isabel. “Should what happens here of nights get to Her Grace’s ears, you will all be sent home in dire disgrace.”

Nan knelt down by the bed, her pretty face pleading. “Thou dost not look like a teller of tales.”

“Indeed I am not!” cried Catherine. “I but awakened, and being awake what could I do but see...”

“She will, I am sure, hold her counsel. Wilt thou not, little Catherine?” whispered Nan.

“If she does not,” said Isabel, “it will be the worse for her. What if we should tell Her Grace of what you did, Catherine Howard, in the paddock with your cousin, Thomas Culpepper!”

“What...I...did!” gasped Catherine. “But I did nothing wrong. Thomas would not. He is noble...he would do no wrong.”

“He kissed her and he promised her marriage,” said Isabel.

All the ladies put their mouths into round O’s, and looked terribly shocked.

“She calls that naught! The little wanton!”

Catherine thought: Did we sin then? Was that why Thomas was ashamed and never kissed me again?

Isabel jerked off the clothes, so that she lay naked before them; she stooped and slapped Catherine’s thigh.

“Thou darest not talk!” said Nan, laughing. “Why ’twould go harder with thee than with us. A Howard! Her Grace’s own granddaughter! Doubtless he would be hanged, drawn and quartered for what he did to you!”

“Oh, no!” cried Catherine, sitting up. “We did no wrong.”

The girls were all laughing and chattering like magpies.

Isabel put her face close to Catherine’s: “You have heard! Say nothing of what you have seen or may see in this chamber, and your lover will be safe.”

Nan said: “’Tis simple, darling. Say naught of our sins, and we say naught of thine!”

Catherine was weeping with relief.

“I swear I shall say nothing.”

“Then that is well,” said Isabel.

Nan brought a sweetmeat to her, and popped it into her mouth.

“There! Is not that good? They were given to me last night by a very charming gentleman. Mayhap one day some fine gentleman will bring sweetmeats to you, Catherine Howard!”

Nan put her arms about the little girl, and gave her two hearty kisses, and Catherine, munching, wondered why she had been so frightened. There was nothing to fear; all that was necessary was to say nothing.

The days passed as speedily as they had at Hollingbourne, and a good deal more excitingly. There were no lessons at Horsham. There was nothing to do during the long, lazy days but enjoy them. Catherine would carry notes from ladies to gentlemen; she was popular with them all, but especially with the young gentlemen. Once one said to her: “I have awaited this, and ’tis double sweet to me when brought by pretty Catherine!” They gave her sweetmeats too and other dainties. She played a little, played the flute and the virginals; she sang; they liked well to hear her sing, for her voice was indeed pretty. Occasionally the old Duchess would send for her to have a talk with her, and would murmur: “What a little tomboy you are, Catherine Howard! I declare you are an untidy chit; I would you had the grace of your cousin, Anne Boleyn....Though much good her grace did her!”

Catherine loved to hear of her cousin, for she remembered seeing her now and then at Lambeth before she went to Hollingbourne. When she heard her name she thought of beauty and color, and sparkling jewels and sweet smiles; she hoped that one day she would meet her cousin again. The Duchess often talked of her, and Catherine knew by the softening of her voice that she liked her well, even though, when she spoke of her disgrace and banishment from court, her eyes would glint slyly as though she enjoyed contemplating her granddaughter’s downfall.

“A Boleyn not good enough for a Percy, eh! Marry, and there’s something in that! But Anne is part Howard, and a Howard is a match for a Percy at any hour of the day or night! And I would be the first to tell Northumberland so, were I to come face to face with him. As for the young man, a plague on him! They tell me his Lady Mary hates him and he hates her; so much good that marriage did to either of them! Aye! I’ll warrant he does not find it so easy to forget my granddaughter. Ah, Catherine Howard, there was a girl. I vow I never saw such beauty...such grace. And what did it do for her? There she goes...To France! And what has become of the Ormond marriage? She will be growing on into her teens now...I hope she will come back soon. Catherine Howard, Catherine Howard, your hair is in need of attention. And your dress, my child! I tell you, you will never have the grace of Anne Boleyn.”

It was not possible to tell the Duchess that one could not hope to have the grace of one’s cousin who had been educated most carefully and had learned the ways of life at the French court; who had been plenteously supplied with the clothes she might need in order that Sir Thomas Boleyn’s daughter might do her father credit in whatever circles she moved. One could not explain that the brilliant Anne had a natural gift for choosing the most becoming clothes, and knew how to wear them. The Duchess should have known these things.