“He’s bound for the headsman’s ax,” one man said.

Public executions were a popular form of entertainment, but this fellow did not sound happy about the prospect.

It terrified me. In a panic, I broke free of the press of people and fought my way back through Cheapside. Surrey had been arrested before, but this time was different. This time the charge was treason and he was bound for the Tower, not the Fleet. I could not help but think of what had happened to two other prisoners in that terrible place—Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. They had died there, condemned by the same king who had once loved them both. Was Surrey truly about to join his kinswomen in facing the headsman?

I was nearly home, just turning from West Cheap into Friday Street, when Edith and Bridget rejoined me.

“Did you hear?” Bridget’s eyes were bright with excitement. “The Duke of Norfolk arrived in London from Kenninghall this morning and now he is also under arrest. He’s being taken to the Tower by water even as his son is marched there.”

I felt as if a cold hand clenched around my heart. Thinking about Surrey’s fate had been bad enough, but this was infinitely worse. “And the rest of the Howards? What of them?” The Duchess of Richmond had been at Kenninghall with her father.

“Mayhap they’ll be made prisoners, too. The king has sent troops to seize all of the duke’s possessions. They belong to His Grace now, for traitors forfeit all they own.”

“The Countess of Surrey is at Kenninghall.” There was a tremor in Edith’s voice, reminding me that her mother would be there, too, in attendance on the countess’s children. “Lady Frances is expecting another child in February.”

I reached for Edith’s hand and squeezed it.

As is ever the case, no one knew exactly what the Privy Council heard from the many witnesses they deposed, but that did not stop the good citizens of London from speculating. Within hours of her arrival in Lambeth, word that the Duchess of Richmond had been summoned to testify against her brother had reached the marketplace. Rumors flew. She meant to have her revenge on Surrey for thwarting her marriage to Sir Thomas Seymour. She was bound for the Tower herself. She had tried to throw herself on the king’s mercy—he was her father-in-law, after all—and he had sent her away without an audience.

Edith received a more reliable report from her mother, who wrote from Norfolk to tell her that the Countess of Surrey had been allowed to leave Kenninghall for one of the duke’s smaller houses, although that one too now belonged to the king. Most cruelly, Lady Surrey’s children had been taken away from her. Surrey’s heir had been given into the keeping of Sir John Williams while the three girls and the younger boy had been placed with a loyal East Anglian landowner. Edith’s mother had been obliged to choose between her much-beloved Lady Frances and the young Howards. In the end, she’d remained with her youthful charges.

Throughout all this turmoil, I waited desperately for some word from Jack. He had to have known what was afoot. Why else had he been so tense during the journey to Windsor and back?

But no message came.

Then a new rumor began to circulate. The king was said to be ill, so sick that he might not have long to live. This was good news for the earl and the duke. If the king died, he could not sign their death warrants. But it was a report that distressed me greatly and made my own need more urgent.

When I heard that the king had returned to Whitehall, I lost no time hailing a wherry and going thither. If he was dying, I had little time left.

Once at the king’s palace in Westminster, I asked for Sir Anthony Denny. He had been knighted at the time of the invasion of France and more recently had been promoted to the post of groom of the stool, placing him in intimate contact with the king on a daily basis. It had occurred to me that if he did not know the truth of my parentage, he must surely suspect it.

I was made to wait in an antechamber, but after only a short delay, Sir Anthony came to me there, adding strength to my supposition.

“I must speak with the king, Sir Anthony.”

“If you have evidence to lay against the Earl of Surrey, you must take your information to the Lord Chancellor.”

“Why should you think such a thing?” I was thunderstruck by his assumption. “It is a private matter I wish to discuss—a question I must ask His Grace. I . . . I beg you, Sir Anthony. Help me if you can.”

He responded to my plea with a cold look. The temperature in the small chamber, already chilly, seemed to plummet. “Your association with the Howard faction is well-known.”

“I have naught to do with factions.”

Thawing a trifle, he said, not unkindly, “That is wise of you. You would be wiser still to avoid anyone who might carry the taint of the earl’s treason.”

Something in his manner alarmed me. “You must speak plainly, Sir Anthony, for I do not understand you.”

“You are a known associate of the Duchess of Richmond.”

“She has been kind to me in the past. We share a love of poetry.”

“And Lady Heveningham?”

Although I knew defiance was unwise, I could not stop myself from blurting out, “She is my friend.”

“Sir Richard Southwell is a dangerous man to thwart.” Sir Anthony sounded more exasperated than condemning. I thought I detected a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

“I will not be forced into marriage out of fear.” I spoke quietly, but with as much firmness as I could muster.

“Not even fear for those you care for? Southwell has already suggested that Lady Heveningham be questioned. It would be a simple matter to add your name to that list. Or even someone who has long since entered the service of the Seymours.”

Jack. Sir Anthony knew it had been through Jack Harington that I’d been introduced to the Earl of Surrey’s literary circle.

“There must first be evidence of wrongdoing, must there not? If a man—or a woman—is innocent, how can they have anything to fear?”

When Sir Anthony gave a derisive snort, my heart sank. I knew better, too. If the king wished to rid himself of someone, be it wife or courtier, innocence or guilt mattered little. His Grace had always been kind to me. He had saved my life. He had given me Pocket. He had sent Jack to me.

And he had ordered me to marry Sir Richard Southwell’s son. I had heard stories of King Henry’s cruelty. Of his temper. I knew them to be true, even if I had never witnessed either for myself.

I wondered, for just a moment, if I did want to know who had fathered me. But once the king died, I would have no choice but to spend the rest of my life uncertain of my heritage. I had to find a way to ask him before I lost my chance.

“Is His Grace truly ill? Is the king dying?”

Sir Anthony shushed me, his eyes darting from side to side to make sure no one had overheard. “Above all others, that is the question you must not ask.”

“Then let me ask another. Who am I, Sir Anthony? Who is my father? If you do not know, then I must speak to the king in private.”

“That is an extraordinary request from a young woman who has no official standing at court.” He tried to sound officious and failed.

My determination did not falter. I waited, holding his gaze, letting him see that I would not be swayed.

He cleared his throat. “His Grace will see no one at present but a few favored courtiers and his doctors. He will admit no petitioners. He has even banned his wife and his daughters from his presence.”

“But Yuletide is fast approaching. Surely—”

“Not this year. The queen and the rest of the court have been ordered to spend the season at Greenwich. His Grace means to go to Hampton Court, taking with him only a few trusted gentlemen. Go home, Audrey. There is no place for you here.”












37



The king did not return to Whitehall until the tenth of January. Although His Grace did not attend it, the Earl of Surrey’s trial was held at the Guildhall on the thirteenth. The proceedings lasted eight hours. When he was sentenced to death, the earl was beside himself. He jumped up and shouted, “The king wants to get rid of the noble blood around him and employ none but low people!”

No one had any doubt that he meant the Seymours, but his words did not help his case. Only a royal pardon would save him, and King Henry continued to keep to himself, still refusing to see anyone but a few select courtiers and his physicians. Even the Privy Council no longer met at court. Instead they convened at the Earl of Hertford’s London house.

As no females were allowed into the king’s lodgings, not even the queen, I had little hope of seeing His Grace, but that did not stop me from trying. I could scarce haunt the court, although petitioners did flock there every day. A young woman, even one with a maidservant for company, would attract too much attention. I managed an occasional foray, but feared that if Father discovered where I’d been, he would lock me in my chamber. He would be within his rights to beat me for disobedience, although he never would.

Distressing Father was something I wished to avoid. Although he worked every day in his shop with his apprentices, he tired easily. The racking cough that had plagued him a few months earlier had never entirely gone away. And more than once I’d seen him stagger and grasp a table or a chair for support, clinging to it until he felt steady again. I could not tell if he was dizzy or nauseous or both. He would not admit to either.

There were times when I caught Father watching me, as if he had something he wished to say, but he never put his thought into words. I could only guess what stopped him, but my supposition made sense to me. If he had sworn an oath to the king never to reveal my true father’s name, then he would not break that vow, no matter how much he might want to.

That January was one of the coldest anyone could remember. The Thames did not freeze solid at London, as it had once when I was eight or nine, but the roads were covered in ice. Winds howled straight up the river from the sea.

Very early on one of those frigid mornings, the Earl of Surrey was taken out of his cell and out of the Tower and up Tower Hill to where the scaffold is. I saw it once, though not in use, since women rarely attend executions. It rose some four feet above the ground, a wooden platform reached by nine steps. I am told it was draped in black on the day Surrey died.

With the Howards in disgrace, I knew that the Seymours must be in the ascendant. If the king died with Prince Edward still so young, someone would have to act as regent. The queen was the most likely candidate, since she had governed in the king’s stead when he invaded France. But Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, had positioned himself to play an important role in any new government. He was, after all, young Edward’s uncle. Sir Richard Southwell, having betrayed the Howards, now stood firmly in Hertford’s camp.

I considered appealing to Sir Thomas Seymour for help in reaching the king. Even though I’d still heard nothing from Jack, I was certain he would help me again by speaking to his master on my behalf. But I hesitated to entangle him any further in my affairs, especially if Sir Anthony Denny was not the only courtier to suspect that I had feelings for him. Sir Richard Southwell had betrayed Surrey and tried to convince the authorities to question Mary Heveningham. He’d throw Jack to the lions in an instant if he thought it would help clear the way for his son to marry me.

Instead, I concentrated on wooing Sir Anthony. I wrote to him. I sent him small tokens—a songbook, an artificial flower, and finally a pair of sleeves I had embroidered myself. I’d intended them as a gift for Jack, but winning Sir Anthony’s favor took precedence.

I was discouraged when I learned that the Earl of Surrey had also appealed to the king’s groom of the stool, dedicating to Sir Anthony one of the translations of the Psalms he had made during his imprisonment in the Tower. It had been accompanied by a groveling prefatory lyric but neither had done him any good.

In contrast to the earl’s plea, my persistence was rewarded. Sir Anthony Denny came to Watling Street, just as he had so many years before. He spoke first to Father and then to me. But this time when I set out for Westminster I left Father behind and Edith, too. Sir Anthony proposed to spirit me into the royal bedchamber and he did not want any witnesses.

“The king appears to be having one of his good days,” Sir Anthony told me as we slipped through passages I’d never known existed. We were in the “secret lodgings” behind the king’s official bedchamber, the rooms where His Grace could be truly private. “King Henry arose this morning and allowed himself to be dressed, but he is far from well. One of the symptoms of his illness is the rapid shifting of his moods. You will have to be careful what you say. Do not, at all costs, annoy him.”