Shaking his head and making a tsking sound, Carver took the bracelet. He ran one finger over the scratch Nan had made with the knife. “Alas, mistress, this is only silver gilt. The piece is not nearly as valuable as your suitor would have you suppose.”

“Oh!” Nan cried in a distraught voice. “Oh, it is too cruel.”

She wished she could coax forth tears at will, but had to settle for hiding her eyes behind a handkerchief and choking out sobs. Constance fussed over her, wringing her hands and beseeching the shopkeeper to find a place for her mistress to lie down.

“I know her well, sir.” Constance’s whisper contained just the right amount of urgency. “She will work herself into a terrible state if she’s given half a chance. There’s nothing for it but to take her somewhere private, and quickly. And perhaps a sip of wine to restore her?”

Peeking through her fingers, Nan watched Carver panic. Her plan was working. Within moments, she had been transferred from the ground-floor shop to the first-floor living quarters. She was led to Mistress Carver’s very fine bed—in truth, it was better than Nan’s own—and urged to lie down. She did so, but only until she heard the unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“You have a child!” Abruptly, she sat up. Genuine tears threatened to undo her.

Regarding her warily, Mistress Carver nodded. “My son, Jamie.”

“May I see him?” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes. “I love children. It would calm me if I could spend a few moments with your little one.”

Mistress Carver looked as if she’d like to refuse, but since Nan was clearly a gentlewoman, not to mention a potential customer, she reluctantly agreed to fetch him and scurried out of the room.

Nan told herself she approved of the other woman’s caution. She wanted her son’s mother to feel protective toward him. Hastily, she got to her feet, smoothed her skirts, and righted her French hood. Her nervousness returned tenfold. She had little experience with babies.

Mistress Carver returned carrying a tightly swaddled child. Jamie was bigger than Nan expected and the tiny cap he wore completely covered his hair. She would not have known him for her own if she had not found him here.

Without giving Mistress Carver the chance to object, Nan tugged the baby out of the other woman’s arms and hugged him tight. Jamie blinked up at her with Ned Corbett’s eyes. Then he began to wail. Nan hastily handed him back to the silversmith’s wife.

The baby calmed as Mistress Carver crooned to him. “He is a good baby.”

“A healthy child with lusty lungs,” Nan agreed. “He is more precious than gold or silver. Guard him well.”

Her son would never lack for material things. More important, the little boy would have love and attention in abundance. Reassured, Nan knew she should make a clean break. Instead she heard herself asking Mistress Carver if she might call on her again and bring a small gift for Jamie.


The King’s Grace removed from Westminster Tuesday the nineteenth day of November, and thanked be to God was never merrier. And the Wednesday before he made a banquet to certain lords and ladies, which was first the Duke of Suffolk and my lady his wife, my lord my master and my lady, the Earl of Hertford and his wife, and my Lady Lisle, with others, maids, which were the Queen’s women. And there they lay all night in the Court, and their chambers gorgeously dressed, and everyone had banquets in their chambers and the King’s servants to wait upon them: and the next day they tarried their dinner, and after the King showed them all the pleasures of his house, which dured till it was four of the clock. And then they departed and were on their way.

—a servant of the Earl of Sussex to Sussex’s eldest son, 21 November 1538

7

I am back at court!

Jubilant, Nan wanted to whirl in a circle and sing, but she restrained her impulse. Her mother would surely not approve.

In retrospect, it seemed to Nan that her actions had been preordained. She had been meant to escape discovery. She’d had only to wait for a new opportunity to catch the king’s eye. How ironic that it should be her mother’s return visit to England, two months after the last one, that brought about that much-desired result. Honor Lisle had crossed again from Calais just a week earlier and taken a house in the Lothbury section of London.

It was a clear, cold November day when their party entered Whitehall Palace through the court gate, just to the north of the northern gatehouse on the east side of King Street. “His Grace has made improvements,” Honor Lisle remarked when they reached a courtyard. On one side was the great hall. Beyond that were the royal apartments, outer rooms leading into privy lodgings said to be more lavish than in any other royal residence.

“The changes are even more extensive on the western side of King Street,” the Earl of Sussex said. “There are four tennis plays, two bowling alleys, a cockpit, a pheasant yard, and a gallery for viewing tournaments in the tiltyard.”

King Street, which ran through Westminster to Charing Cross, neatly divided Whitehall, officially “the king’s palace at Westminster,” into two halves. They were linked by the northern gatehouse that stretched over the street. Nan craned her neck, trying to see everything at once. She had spent her brief stint as a maid of honor at Hampton Court, with a brief visit only to Windsor Castle. This was her first glimpse of Whitehall.

Together with her mother and the Earl and Countess of Sussex, Nan had been summoned to sup with the king. They would spend the night at the palace. Other noble couples made up the company, together with a few more former maids of honor.

Nan’s sense of anticipation grew as they neared the king’s presence chamber. She had not seen King Henry since she’d watched him ride away from Hampton Court following the queen’s death.

She heard his big, booming laugh first. Then she saw him. He was as gloriously attired as ever, although he did seem a little larger than she remembered. One of his gentlemen—the one standing next to him wearing green silk trimmed with black fur—had clearly just said something that amused him.

“Who is that fellow?” Nan asked her cousin Mary.

“Anthony Denny. He is a groom of the chamber and keeper of the king’s privy purse.”

“Close to the king, then.”

“And distantly related to us though his wife,” Nan’s mother whispered. “He may be of some help in the matter of Painswick.”

Nan grimaced at the reminder that Lady Lisle had her own agenda. She wished her mother luck holding on to Painswick Manor in Gloucestershire. According to Master Husee, Lord Cromwell had made Lord Lisle an offer for the property, a very low offer. To put pressure on Nan’s stepfather to sell, he was delaying payment of the annuity King Henry had promised Lisle when they’d met in Dover.

When it came time for Nan to approach the king and dip into her curtsy, she was pleased to see a look of delight on his florid face. “Mistress Bassett,” King Henry said. “It is a great pleasure to see you again and looking so hale and hearty, too. Rumor had it that you were ill.” He gestured for her to stand and face him.

Nan kept her smile firmly in place. “I suffered from nothing of any import, Your Grace, but I did not wish to bring any hint of sickness into your presence.”

“Very considerate of you, my dear. You are wise as well as beautiful.” Dismissing her with those pretty words, the king turned his attention to the next guest in line.

Among the glittering company already assembled were the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and the Earl and Countess of Hertford. Each of those noblemen had at one time been the king’s brother-in-law. Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, had been married to King Henry’s late sister, Mary, while Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, was one of Queen Jane’s brothers. Nan realized with a sense of pleasure that, as such things went at court, this could very nearly be called an intimate family gathering. After all, Nan’s stepfather was King Henry’s uncle.

After supper, Nan returned to the luxuriously furnished double lodging assigned to her and her mother. The king’s own servants waited upon them to serve a sumptuous banquet. The next day, they shared dinner with the king and afterward His Grace insisted upon showing off the wonders of Whitehall.

In the course of the tour, King Henry led them to a bank of windows that looked out across the Thames toward Lambeth. He deftly singled Nan out and maneuvered her into a deep embrasure. For a few moments, their privacy was absolute.

“I would have you back at court, Mistress Bassett,” the king said. “It is a dull and dreary place without the maids of honor.”

“Pray God we will soon have a new queen,” Nan answered. “I look forward to entering her service.”

“And what of my service, Nan?”

His voice was so low that for a moment Nan wondered if she’d imagined the invitation. Uncertain as to what she’d see there, she was afraid to meet the king’s eyes. She wondered, suddenly, what had become of Margaret Skipwith.

Before she could decide how to respond, a rustle of fabric heralded Lady Lisle’s intrusion. “Your Grace,” Honor Lisle gushed as she dropped into a perfunctory curtsy and bobbed back up again. “Is my daughter not the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen? Why, I vow, being here at court has put roses in her cheeks.”

Only by a slight stiffening of his shoulders did the king show his displeasure. Nan held her breath, fearing a display of the infamous Tudor temper, but he said only, courteously, “Mistress Nan takes after her mother.”

“Your Grace flatters me.” She sent a flirtatious smile his way. “I am emboldened to ask, on my husband’s behalf, about one or two small matters that Lord Lisle discussed with you in Dover.”

The king’s expression darkened and he cut her off before she could elaborate. “You must settle such details with Cromwell.” With a curt nod at Nan, His Grace abruptly left them.

Nan’s mother, rigid with fury, looked nearly as formidable as the king. “For all his graciousness,” she muttered, “for all his pretty compliments, we are no better off than before.”

“Perhaps Lord Cromwell can be persuaded—”

“Hah! We have sent that upstart enough French wine to last a year and still he thwarts us.”

“He is preoccupied with matters of state.”

This reminder had its effect. Nan’s mother subsided into brooding silence broken only when she informed Nan that she was to spend the night in Lothbury rather than return to Sussex House with Cousin Mary.

Lothbury was a largely residential section of the city and boasted spacious houses with fine gardens. But it was hard by the foundries that made chafing dishes, candles, spice mortars, and the like. During the day, the noise was appalling.

After a light supper, Nan was not surprised to find herself alone with her mother in a small private parlor. She curled her legs beneath her on the window seat, braced her back against the closed shutters, and waited. There was something on Lady Lisle’s mind. Until she’d unburdened herself, Nan would be a captive audience.

“Last week,” Lady Lisle began, “Lord Montagu, the Marquis of Exeter, and Sir Edward Neville were arrested. Do you know why they were taken to the Tower?”

“I’ve heard that they wrote letters to Cardinal Pole without the king’s permission.” Nan fought a yawn. “Montagu is the cardinal’s eldest brother. Neville is Lady Montagu’s brother. Exeter is also related to the Poles and to the king.” His mother, like King Henry’s, had been one of King Edward IV’s daughters.

“At the time of my last visit to England, Sir Geoffrey Pole was arrested for carrying on a similar correspondence and failing to make the king privy to the contents of his letters. It seems such a small thing.” Pacing, Nan’s mother began to twist one of the many rings that adorned her hands.

Nan kept her head down and studied her fingernails. One of them was broken. “The king is wary of plots against the realm, and Cardinal Pole did vow to usurp the throne and return Catholicism to England. That being so, anyone who writes to him is suspected of treason.”

“Such foolishness!” her mother said. With a glower for Nan, Lady Lisle launched into a rant on the difficulty of corresponding with friends when one had to think how every word might be misinterpreted.

Nan barely listened. Her thoughts had drifted to her son, as they often did. She had visited her baby again, this time taking him the gift of a rattle containing a toadstone. It was supposed to be a powerful charm, particularly effective in protecting infants from harm. She hoped to visit Cheapside again, but it was not that easy to escape Cousin Mary’s house without an escort.