I had not conceived as a result of our one night together and I was glad of it, but I despaired of ever being able to claim my husband, let alone bear his child. Since the duke’s death, His Grace’s health had gone into a decline. His good days were few and far between.

In the new year, the king’s physical ailments became even more debilitating. He was fifty-four years old, but looked a decade older. He could only climb stairs with the help of a winching device and he was obliged to use what he called his “tram,” a chair fitted with wheels, to get about on level ground. That he had to suffer such indignities made King Henry even more short tempered, irritable, and intolerant.

On a cold day in mid-February, Mary Woodhull, Alys Guildford, and I huddled on low stools pulled close to a brazier in the middle of the maids’ dormitory, trying to keep warm while we hemmed shirts for the poor.

“Queen Kathryn has ordered more secure coffers and boxes with new locks and they are to be kept in Her Grace’s garderobe.” Mary spoke in a voice so low that I had to strain to hear her. The only other person in the chamber was one of the tiring maids. She was some distance away, returning laundered shifts to one of the wardrobe trunks, but it was obvious that Mary did not want her to overhear.

“Why?” I asked in an equally soft voice.

“To keep her personal papers and letters safe from prying eyes.”

“Who would dare spy on the queen?” Alys asked.

“Any number of people,” Mary said, “including her husband.”

“Queen Kathryn has enemies,” I said, “Bishop Gardiner chief among them.”

“Her Grace has sent some of her more controversial books away to her uncle in Northamptonshire, for safekeeping,” Mary confided. The queen’s uncle, Lord Parr of Horton, was Mary’s grandfather.

I wished I could ask Will what he thought of his sister’s actions, but he was away from court. By the time he returned and we could steal an hour together, his kisses drove every other thought out of my mind.

We did not couple for fear of creating a child, but Will knew other ways to pleasure me. The first time, I thought he meant only to indulge in a few kisses and touches, but his caresses soon became more intimate and before I knew what was happening, he had driven me to the same height of ecstasy I had experienced in his bed. He held me close as I shuddered and wept in the aftermath of those powerful sensations. Then he showed me how to satisfy him.

In May, with alarming suddenness, the matter of the queen’s books took on new importance. The Privy Council summoned Edward Warner, a minor member of Queen Kathryn’s household, to answer a charge of “disputing indiscreetly of Scripture.” Master Warner knew all too well what reading matter had, until recently, been available in the queen’s privy chamber. Several more volumes abruptly vanished into the locked caskets in the garderobe.

Throughout June there was an increase in the number of quiet, intense conversations between members of the queen’s inner circle. This elite group was comprised of ladies who shared the queen’s evangelical views—Anne Herbert, the queen’s sister; Jane Lisle; Anne Hertford; Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk; Elizabeth Tyrwhitt; and Joan Denny. None of the maids of honor was included. We formed an attractive backdrop for the queen, but she did not confide in us. Mary Woodhull, however, served the bedchamber. Little escaped her notice.

“There is trouble over Mistress Anne Askew,” Mary reported. “She is a gentlewoman from the north who has been arraigned for heresy. She has been questioned about her ties to the queen’s household. Some of the queen’s ladies sent her aid, as they are wont to do for many unfortunate prisoners. Because of that, they fear they will be questioned, too. And because they are close to Her Grace, the queen may also be in danger.”

“Of accusations of heresy?” I whispered, horrified. “But she is the queen.”

Mary hushed me, glancing over her shoulder to be certain no one was near enough to overhear. We were in the presence chamber, where anyone could enter. “The queen has a copy of Coverdale’s English translation of the New Testament.”

My expression must have betrayed my bewilderment. I did not understand why that fact should worry me.

“The king has just issued a proclamation ordering that heretical books be searched out and destroyed,” Mary explained. “Henceforth, any man or woman, of whatever estate, condition, or degree, is forbidden to receive, have, take, or keep in their possession the text of the New Testament in either Tyndale’s or Coverdale’s translation. This royal decree goes into effect on the first day of August.”

I had no strong feelings about my faith. I did everything that was expected of me when it came to attending church and prayer services, but I only pretended to pay attention when members of the queen’s household read aloud from the Bible.

As soon as I could after Mary returned to her duties in the queen’s bedchamber, I sought Will out and repeated all that Mary had said. We sat on a stone bench atop a knoll under an arbor in the gardens at Whitehall. It was a fine day in mid-July and we had an excellent view of our surroundings. We were in plain sight, but no one else was near enough to trouble us.

Will’s shoulders slumped. “This is worrisome news, Bess. That royal decree means that my sister must either confess to her ownership of heretical books or conceal them and risk having them found by searchers. And if any member of her household is caught with such books he, or she, can be tortured into confessing that they were obtained from the queen.”

“Tortured? But surely no one would dare harm one of the queen’s ladies.”

But the queen was afraid. Why else would she hide some of her books and send others to her uncle? Jane Lisle and the other ladies read the queen’s books and held avid, even heated, discussions about them. I’d paid little attention, having far more interest in frivolous things. But I had been present. Was I in danger, too?

“Anne Askew,” Will said, “was put upon the rack to make her confess her heresy, and to persuade her to name other people who share her beliefs.”

“But she’s a gentlewoman.” It was unheard of to torture women of gentle or noble birth.

“That did not save her. What was done to Anne Askew broke the law, but no one dared go against Stephen Gardiner, bishop of Winchester.” Will swiped a hand over his face, as if he would rub away a horrible image. “You know that Gardiner has hated my sister for a long time, Bess. He believes she influences the king in religious matters, making him more inclined to be lenient toward reformers, and it is true that His Grace often indulges Kathryn, allowing her to debate matters of religion with him. But lately, with His Grace so often ill and out of sorts, he’s had little patience with her harping on reform. Gardiner uses that, making His Grace feel ill used and put upon.”

“King Henry thinks himself henpecked,” I murmured.

My choice of words provoked a brief, rueful smile but did not lighten Will’s black mood. “If only His Grace would remonstrate with Kathryn directly, all would be well, but it has always been his way to let his huntsmen shoot for him.”

“So he will allow Bishop Gardiner to take aim at the queen?”

“I fear so. It will not be the first time he has used a minister to bring down a queen. Cardinal Wolsey arranged the king’s divorce from Catherine of Aragon. Lord Cromwell conspired to destroy Anne Boleyn. Archbishop Cranmer found proof to use against Catherine Howard. Kathryn could well end up in the Tower, just like Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. Or worse, just like Anne Askew.” His voice broke. “I have never seen anything so terrible as what they did to her.”

“You saw her?” I reached for his hand, instinctively offering comfort.

His expression bleak, he met my eyes. “Gardiner chose two members of the Privy Council to conduct a further round of questioning—myself and Lord Lisle—but since Gardiner was there with us, we could not speak freely. We both urged her to recant and save herself, but she would have none of it. Then Gardiner tried to persuade her to name the Countess of Hertford and Lady Denny as fellow heretics. He hoped for other names. He wanted her to name the queen, but she stood fast, even on the rack.”

I sat so close to him that I felt him shudder. I wanted to fling my arms around him and soothe him, but there were eyes everywhere at court. I dared do no more than keep one hand over his.

“You must warn your sister.”

“She is already well aware of the danger.” He squeezed my fingers, then stood, tugged me to my feet, and released me. We had spent long enough “alone.”

“There must be something I can do to help the queen.”

“Look to your own safety first. I do not want to lose both of you.”

“I am sworn to serve the queen, Will.”

He sent me a sweet, swift smile that melted both my resistance and my heart. “But are you not my wife, too, sworn to obey your husband in all things?”

I dropped into a quick, saucy curtsy, forcing away dark thoughts of heresy, treason, and torture. My fingers sought the gimmal ring pinned to the inside of my bodice. “I do not believe we included the words ‘love, honor, and obey’ in our vows.”

“An oversight we must be sure to correct when we repeat them. My part, I believe, is to promise you love, honor, and protection.”

24

Anne Askew was burned at the stake for heresy on the sixteenth day of July in 1546. A week passed, then two. No one came to arrest any member of the queen’s household. Then we moved to Hampton Court for the month of August.

I was on my way to the stair turret that led to the queen’s apartments when I noticed a gentleman in the king’s livery loitering in the shadows. His hood kept me from recognizing him, even when he looked directly at me, but I could not help but notice when he dropped an official-looking document, rolled and tied with ribbon. Instead of retrieving it, he left it lying on the cobbles and hurried away.

I did not call out to him. It had been no accident that he’d let that roll of parchment fall directly in my path. The move had been made with deliberate precision, and only after he was sure that I’d seen him. I stopped beside the tightly rolled document, regarding it as if it were a snake coiled to strike. It took all my courage to pick it up. I glanced around to be sure no one else had seen. When I was satisfied that I was alone in the southeast corner of the courtyard, I hastily removed the ribbon, unrolled the parchment, and read its contents.

For a moment I fought to breathe. This was as bad as could be. It was a copy of a warrant for the queen’s arrest.

The roll rustled as I hid it in my sleeve. Feeling unsteady on my feet as a newborn foal, I entered the stair turret.

To escape the cooking smells that had invaded the apartments used by Jane Seymour, Anna of Cleves, and Catherine Howard, Queen Kathryn had asked the king for new lodgings. Within a year of her marriage, she had been installed in newly renovated, sweet-smelling chambers. She’d chosen rooms facing south, so that she had a view of the pond gardens with their flower beds surrounded by low walls and flanked by neat rows of striped poles supporting a variety of heraldic beasts.

When I reached the queen’s privy chamber, where ceilings had been raised and new partitions and wainscoting installed, creating a spacious, luxurious living space, I did not attempt speak to Her Grace directly. Instead, I sought out Jane Lisle and passed the document to her. “Do not let anyone see you read this,” I whispered.

Jane left the chamber, using the excuse of a visit to the privy. When she returned a few minutes later, her face was pale as whey. A determined gleam in her eyes, she moved purposefully among the queen’s ladies, speaking briefly to a select few. Less than a quarter of an hour later, I was summoned to the queen’s private withdrawing room. Jane Lisle, Anne Hertford, Joan Denny, and Elizabeth Tyrwhitt were there already. The queen entered through another door a moment later, attended by her sister, Anne Herbert.

When Queen Kathryn held out her hand, Jane placed the warrant in it. Disbelief warred with shock in the queen’s expression as she read the words. “Lord be merciful! His Grace means to have my head.”

The warrant passed from hand to hand to be read and exclaimed over while Queen Kathryn regained her composure. Her Grace was too strong minded to let fear paralyze her, and too intelligent to give up without trying to find a way out of her plight. She began to pace, her fingers toying with the small clock suspended from a gold chain at her waist.