“Oh, that will delight him! And does Queen Jane have particular requirements as to color and fabric?”

She made a face at him. “Does that not go without saying? We are all to wear satin at the churching, and gowns of lion tawny velvet for Yuletide.”

“You will look well in lion tawny. The color will bring out the gold in your hair.”

“That scarcely matters when no one can see it. The queen requires us to wear these cumbersome, all-concealing headdresses.”

That one restriction still irked her more than all the others combined. Nan knew how well she looked in a French hood, especially with her unbound hair flowing freely down her back. It reached nearly to her hips and was of an excellent texture.

“I return to Calais tomorrow,” Ned said. “Have you any message for Lady Lisle?”

“Tell Mother to send more quails if she would keep Her Majesty sweet.”

Chuckling, Ned left her and bowed his way out of the chamber. He walked backward, as protocol demanded. The sight amused Nan until the door opened and she caught sight of her sister waiting in the chamber beyond. Ned turned, smiled at Cat, then went straight to her side. Cat greeted him with obvious pleasure and considerable familiarity. As the guards eased the portal closed again, Nan was left to wonder just how often the two of them had met during the weeks she had been sequestered.

CAT SMILED SHYLY at Ned Corbett. Truly he was a lovely man. He was under no obligation to spend time with her when he delivered messages to personages at court from her mother and stepfather, and yet he did. They’d gone for long walks in the royal gardens and now he was escorting her to witness Prince Edward’s christening.

“We’d best hurry,” he said, taking her arm. “There will be hundreds of people all trying to crowd into the Chapel Royal at once. If we want to be able to see everything, we need to get there early and claim the best spot.”

“Lady Rutland says they’ll progress two by two, just like the animals going to Noah’s ark.” She’d also warned Cat that the pageantry and ceremony combined would last five or six hours.

Ned chuckled as he swept her along. She had to trot to keep pace with him as they passed through corridors illuminated as bright as day by men-at-arms holding torches.

“Did you speak with Nan? Is she well?” Lady Rutland had said she was, but Cat worried about her younger sister. Nan was not accustomed to being shut in. Cat knew that physicians said the air, especially the night air, carried all manner of contagions, but she also knew from firsthand experience that she felt better when she could indulge in a daily constitutional out of doors. Cat had been very grateful these last few weeks that she was not the one Queen Jane had chosen as a maid of honor.

“She seems in excellent health and spirits,” Ned said.

Cat heard the admiration in his voice and had to stifle a sigh. She should be accustomed to this by now. Gentlemen always preferred Nan. They were drawn to her vivaciousness as well as her beauty.

Ned found a place for them near the entrance to the chapel. They had scarcely settled themselves when the first gentlemen of the household appeared carrying torches—two by two, just as Lady Rutland had predicted. The members of the chapel choir followed, then the dean, abbots, chaplains, and bishops.

Members of the privy council came next, followed by assorted noblemen, the lord treasurer and the controller of the household, a group of foreign ambassadors, the lord chamberlain, the Lord Privy Seal, and the lord chancellor. Ned whispered names as they passed, identifying them for Cat, but she paid little attention. Their identities were unimportant to her. The spectacle was all.

The baby’s godfathers and the archbishop of Canterbury, who was to officiate at the christening, were followed by two earls carrying silver basins and two more bearing a wax taper and a gold saltcellar. The Lady Elizabeth, only four years old, came next, carrying the heavily embroidered and bejeweled chrisom-cloth. No one seeing her could ever doubt that she was King Henry’s child. She had the Tudor red hair and something of the king’s petulance, as well. Clearly she wanted to fulfill her role in the ceremony unaided, but the chrisom-cloth was too bulky for her to manage alone. When she faltered, the queen’s brother, Lord Beauchamp, picked her up. He carried both child and chrisom-cloth into the chapel.

At last the baby Prince Edward appeared in the arms of the Marchioness of Exeter. She walked under a canopy supported by three other noblewomen. The baby prince was dressed in a long, white gown with a train so long that it had to be carried by two noblemen. The Lady Mary followed with her ladies. Bringing up the rear were the baby’s wet nurse and the midwife. They walked under a canopy, too, this one held by six gentlemen.

Tears began to flow down Cat’s cheeks. Ned produced a square of linen and gently patted them dry. “Why are you sad?” he asked.

“I am not,” she said, sniffling. “I am crying because it is all so beautiful. Truly, the royal court is full of wonders!”


My Lady of Rutland has commanded me to tarry and to come back again to Hampton Court, and so to wait upon Mistress Katherine and to bring her to her house, because she hath but a few servants there. My lady herself and all the ladies must ride to Windsor to the burial, and so from thence for to come to London. She would have taken Mistress Katherine with her, but that she had no mourning gown.

—Edward Corbett to Lady Lisle, 10 November 1537

3

Had Anne Parr not elbowed Nan in the ribs, the queen would have caught her woolgathering. Nan barely managed not to cry out. She had no idea how much time had passed. Ned and all the rest had long since departed for the Chapel Royal. Only the king, the queen, the maids of honor, and a few yeomen of the guard had remained behind.

By tradition, a baby’s parents did not attend their child’s christening. Their Graces awaited the return of all and sundry at the end of the ceremony, when refreshments would be served—hippocras and wafers to the nobility and bread and sweet wine to the gentry. It would be close to midnight by then.

The king and queen had been engaged in quiet conversation when Nan’s mind wandered. Now the king rose and stretched.

“My dear,” he said to Queen Jane, “I fear I grow stiff with all this sitting. I must move about a bit.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. With your leave, I will remain as I am. My strength has not yet fully returned.” She reached for another comfit from the silver dish beside her.

After kissing his wife’s hand, His Majesty turned to the maids of honor. “Scatter, my pretties. There is no need for you to stand at attention. My guards do enough of that for everyone.”

Obediently, they all laughed at his quip. Five of the six maids were equally quick to comply with the royal command. Even the most limber person soon tired of staying in one position for too long. Only Mary Zouche elected to remain with the queen.

Anne Parr caught Nan’s arm and tugged her toward a window embrasure. Her wide-spaced gray eyes were alight with pleasure. “Well? Is he not wonderful?”

“The king? Why, that goes without saying.”

Anne rapped Nan lightly on the shoulder. “I mean Will Herbert, and well you know it.”

It took Nan a moment to connect the name to the tall redhead Anne had been admiring earlier. “He is somewhat bony for my taste,” she remarked.

“He is stronger than he looks.” Anne blushed becomingly.

“Why, Anne!” Nan pretended to be shocked.

In truth, she was a trifle surprised. It was abundantly clear from the way Anne had leapt to Will Herbert’s defense, and the dreamy look that came into her eyes when she said his name, that she was in love with Master William Herbert. Nan remembered then that Cat had told her Anne was likely to be the next maid of honor to wed.

“Tell me about him,” Nan prompted. “Who is he? What are his prospects?”

“He is Welsh. His father was an earl’s bastard, but that does not mean much in Wales.”

“Still—”

“Will has made a career for himself here at court. But that is not important, either. Oh, Nan—he cares for me as deeply as I do for him. We plan to marry.”

Nan opened her mouth to point out that if neither of them had any money, they would have nothing upon which to live. At the last moment, she held her tongue. Of all the maids of honor, Anne had been the only one to go out of her way to show kindness to a newcomer. Romantic love always made people do stupid things. That was why Nan was determined to avoid its pitfalls in her own life. But voicing that opinion would only annoy Anne and do nothing to change her mind about marrying Will Herbert.

Linking arms with her friend, Nan commenced to stroll. They made one circuit of the room, then another, as Anne continued to laud Will’s virtues. On the third, their paths crossed that of the king.

“Mistress Bassett,” King Henry said as both women sank into deep curtsies. “I trust you have settled into your new position without difficulty.”

Her head almost touching the floor, Nan murmured, “I have, Your Grace. Your Grace is most kind to ask.”

Ignoring Anne Parr, the king tugged Nan to her feet and kept hold of her hand once she was standing. Smiling down at her, he tucked her arm through his and began a slow promenade. Everyone they passed bowed low. To Nan, it seemed almost as if they were bowing to her. Was this what it was like for Queen Jane? Nan took particular delight in seeing Mary Zouche and Jane Arundell dip their heads.

“We are most indebted to your lady mother,” the king said as he began a second circuit of the chamber. “Her gifts are always a delight.”

“She is pleased to be of service, Your Majesty.”

“She would have liked to place both you and your sister with the queen, I think.”

“She wishes to see all of us well provided for,” Nan temporized.

“Tell me, Nan, did you leave many suitors behind in Calais?”

“None, Your Majesty. And even if I had, how could they compare to the lords at Your Grace’s court?” The king’s genial manner had dispelled Nan’s nervousness but this question set off warning bells. Did he have some personal reason for asking? That His Grace seemed extraordinarily pleased by this answer caused a frisson of alarm to snake through her. She was flattered by the king’s attention, but by custom he would not return to his wife’s bed for some weeks yet, not until after she was churched—purified by a special church service. If His Grace’s interest was amorous in nature, Nan had no idea how to respond. She had come to court to find a husband, not a lover. She’d not set out to seduce the king, either, but only to charm him into looking favorably on any request she might make on her mother’s behalf.

Nan’s heart speeded up, beating far too loudly. She was certain the king could hear it. She felt heat creep into her cheeks and her palms began to sweat. She did not know if her reaction came from attraction or trepidation but suspected it was a little of both.

When they passed the queen’s daybed, Nan darted a glance that way. At once, she wished she had not. Queen Jane’s glare did not bode well, nor did the suspicious expression on Mary Zouche’s square-jawed face.

THROUGHOUT ENGLAND, AND even as far away as Calais, bells pealed and bonfires blazed in honor of the new prince. But on the afternoon of the day after the christening, Queen Jane fell ill. By Wednesday morning, her ladies were deeply concerned.

“What ails Her Grace?” Nan asked, waylaying her cousin Mary, the Countess of Sussex, as Mary passed through the privy chamber.

“Is it childbed fever?” Mary Zouche voiced the question all of them had already asked themselves.

“It may be.” The countess’s tear-ravaged features and bleak expression made her look a decade older. “I am sent to fetch the king’s personal physicians.”

Queen Jane rallied on Thursday. The king went ahead with the investiture ceremony that created Edward Seymour, Queen Jane’s elder brother, Earl of Hertford, and knighted the younger, Thomas Seymour.

On Friday evening, while celebrations of Prince Edward’s birth continued throughout the realm, the queen became feverish once again. Delirium followed, growing steadily worse on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Nan did not hold out much hope that the queen would recover. She knew full well how often women died after childbirth. And if Queen Jane died, her household would be disbanded. Without a queen, there was no need for maids of honor. Nan would be obliged to leave the court before she’d had the opportunity to enjoy any of its pleasures.