Виктория Холт - The Rose Without a Thorn

“You are what! Oh, what pain you cause me! What have I done, I ask God and all his saints, what have I done to deserve this?”

“There is nothing wrong, Your Grace,” I began.

“Be silent, you little whore! How long has this been going on? Under the sheets …” she moaned. “After midnight … with Derham. Are you with child?”

“Your Grace, you do not understand.”

“I understand. I understand too well. Do not deny this … harlotry. Derham has been your lover, has he not? He will die for this. When the Duke hears …”

“Oh, I pray, do not tell the Duke.” I thought of that cold-eyed man who had condemned Anne Boleyn. We should have been better without such a kinsman. And now his anger would be turned on Francis and on me. What would become of us? And there had been nothing wrong. We were husband and wife. How often had we said that?

“Stop muttering to yourself, girl. You cannot tell me they have lied. If that were so …” She was almost pleading to me. She wanted me to say that what they had told her was a lie. She wanted to continue to delude herself into believing that. But she knew it was true. Had she not seen us in the Maids’ Chamber, and that was a clear indication of how it was between us.

I said nothing. I knew it would be no good.

“How could you?” she cried. “Have you no regard for your virtue … for your family?”

I persisted: “Your Grace does not understand. Francis Derham and I love each other.”

“Love!” she sneered. “Rolling about under the sheets. You could not even wait for nightfall to hide your shame. You must try it on the floor.”

“It was not so.”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

“It was just … fun … as you say … a little romp.”

“Romp! Fun! Is that what you call it when the name of a noble house is desecrated! Holy Mother of God, this is too much to be borne.”

“I will explain. Francis and I are troth-plighted. That is enough. We are married. We did nothing wrong.”

“You are even more stupid than I thought you. I had hopes for you. A place at Court. It might well be. The King will marry again. There is no doubt of that. The new Queen will need ladies-in-waiting. There was a chance there might be a place for you. What do you think will become of you, you stupid child? What hopes have you if it is known what you have been about? These girls know … the men too. By all the saints, it will go ill with them if they whisper it abroad. And you, addle-pate, talk of troth-plight. Derham will suffer for this. As for you … you deserve to be turned out of this household.”

I said nothing. I could only think of what might happen to Francis.

She tired of railing against me at last, and when I begged leave to go, she granted it.

My body was sore and bruised, but my heart more so. This was what we had always feared. What would they do to Francis? That was the fear which dominated my mind. If only he had made that fortune! If only we could have been married.

It would not be so now. That was clear. My grandmother might well tell the Duke, and then what would they do to poor Francis?

* * *

The women were all subdued. They had been discovered. One of them had betrayed, not only me, but all of them. There would be no more deception about the unlocked door, no more nightly revels. And who knew what other secrets would be revealed?

One of the pages, whom I knew to be a friend of Francis, sought me out. He looked frightened and afraid to speak. I fervently hoped he had brought me news of Francis.

He said: “Mistress, I have a message for you. Will you go to a spot you know well in the gardens?”

I understood that what was meant was that spot secluded by bushes and trees not far from the water’s edge which Francis and I had called our own little garden. So I knew, of course, that this was a message from Francis. I hurried to the spot and within a few seconds he appeared. He was dressed as for a journey.

He held me tightly in his arms and we both wept.

Then he said: “I must go, Katherine. They will kill me if I stay. They will say that I have brought disgrace on the Howard name. Oh, my love, how can I leave you?”

“I have been beaten and reviled,” I said. “I do not think more will be done to me. They will not want it known.”

“I thank God for that,” he said. “But I must go … or they will find some way of killing me.”

“Then you must go quickly …”

“Some day I shall come back,” he said.

“Where shall you go?”

“I shall go to Ireland. There I shall make that fortune and return.”

“You will come back to me … ?”

“I swear it. And you, Katherine … ?”

I said fervently: “You shall never live to say to me, you have swerved.”

We clung together. I wanted to beg him not to go, but I knew he must. He wanted to beg me to go with him, but we knew that would be the final ruin of us both. This bitter parting had to be. But in my heart I knew that one day he would return.

LIFE WAS VERY DULL after that. I missed Francis sadly, but I knew I must be grateful that he had escaped with his life. When I considered that, I realized the importance of what I had done.

There was strict surveillance throughout the household. One of the Duchess’s attendants—nearly as old as herself, on whom she could entirely rely—had the duty of locking and unlocking the door of the Long Room. The nights of revelry were at an end. We were given tasks to do and long hours were spent at needlework of some kind. A musical instrument might be played while we worked, or one of us would read aloud. While this was in progress, one of the Duchess’s older ladies would inspect us at any moment to make sure orders were being carried out.

The Duchess had had a shock which had aroused her to action, and she was determined to put an end to the careless manner in which her household had previously been conducted.

The new way of life had its effect on me. I listened to the music and surprised myself by becoming interested in the readings. My longing for Francis faded a little. I was thinking of other things than what I called to myself “romping.” That was a pleasant comfortable word, suggesting innocence.

One letter was smuggled into me from Francis. Dorothy Barwike brought it to me with a sly smile, so I knew she was aware whence it came.

“How did you get it?” I asked.

Dorothy could only say that it had been given to her by someone to whom it had in turn been given. It was not possible to say how it had arrived in Lambeth.

It was full of protestations of undying love. He was in Ireland and would soon be sailing off on a great adventure which he knew would be profitable: and when he returned, he would come to claim his wife. None should gainsay him then. He lived for that day.

I read it through again and again and thought of his coming home. Then we would marry.

My grandmother, who, immediately after that scene when she had beaten me so severely, had treated me with coldness and disgust, now relented a little.

She said to me one day: “My child, we will not talk of what happened. ’Tis best forgot.” Then she immediately began to talk of it. “It must be hushed up. Your uncle, the Duke, must never hear of it. No one must know.”

I thought of all those who did know. All those women who slept in the Long Room … and doubtless others.

“It would disturb the family,” she went on. “Your father would be distressed. It could prevent your sisters making good marriages. Your uncle would never forgive you.”

I tried to explain again that Francis and I were as husband and wife, and we only did what married people were entitled to do.

“Be silent,” she snapped. “You do not know what you say. You are a child. You know nothing of these matters. It was but child’s play.”

“Your Grace, Francis was my husband in very truth.”

I saw exasperation and fear in her expression. I was sure that, if I had been near enough, she would have struck me.

“Did I not say that we were not to speak of the matter?”

I nodded, not reminding her that it was she who had brought up the topic. But I knew how very deeply alarmed she was, for I too was understanding that what I had fallen into in a light-hearted way was, after all, a serious matter.

This was continually brought home to me in my conversations with my grandmother. I was once more rubbing her legs, and at such times she would continually stress the importance of the Howard family.

It was the old theme. “Oh, it is a wondrous thing to belong to a family such as ours. We have always been so close to the King, except on one or two occasions in our history, for we are by no means fools … except on those occasions when we seek to gratify our foolish desires and plunge near to disaster.” A significant look at me followed this remark. “But that is when we are young and too stupid to know better. And remember this, Katherine Howard, it behooves us all not to demean ourselves with those of low standing. We must always remember that we owe the utmost respect to the noble family to which we belong.”

I did not speak, but bent low over her leg, rubbing soothingly. I had always thought Francis so courtly, so handsome, comparable with the highest in the land, but all this insistence on the family’s greatness was making me think, well, he is, after all, only a pensioner of the Duke. I remembered him cringing before the Duchess when she slapped his face.

“I could see a good life for you, Katherine Howard,” went on my grandmother. “That is, if you are sensible. There might be a place at Court. Would you like that?”

I thought of the Court. Dancing, music, grand balls, beautiful gowns and money with which to buy them—not having to rely on a friend, or a lover. Mercy me! How much did I owe Francis Derham? How many ells of velvet and fine silks had he brought to me? That beautiful French fennel from the crooked old woman who made flowers for the Court ladies could not have been cheap, for she knew her worth. There had been other ornaments which Francis had delighted in giving me, and I had always said, “I will pay you when I have some money.” And he would laugh and kiss me and tell me how this or that became me. I should not have allowed it. A proud Howard should not have taken money from anyone—especially someone so far below her.

Almost immediately, I chided myself for thinking so of Francis, but the fact remained that he was not considered to be one of us although he claimed to have some remote connection with the family.

My grandmother was saying: “Eh, eh? Do you hear me? How would you like to go to Court?”

“It would be very interesting.”

“Very interesting! Is that all you have to say? Listen to me. I tell you this, Mistress Howard, it would be something for which you would bless your family. Marry, and so it would. There could be a great marriage for you.”

“I am married to …”

“Don’t dare let me hear such nonsense, or I shall beat you till you scream for mercy.” She reached for her stick and shook it at me. “Are you mad? Never let me hear you talk such nonsense. You would bring down the wrath of your uncle the Duke … and that would mean more than a slap or two from me, I can tell you. Much, much more. You may have been taken advantage of by a stupid young man as careless as yourself, but I was at hand to protect you and put an end to your folly before it was too late. Did you hear that? Before it was too late.”

“Yes … yes, Your Grace,” I murmured.

“Well, rub a little harder. Oh … that’s a relief. You have good hands, child. Well, of a surety the King will marry again … soon.” She laughed. “He is a man who cannot do without a wife. There are some like that.”

I thought, he must be getting old now. I had thought he was old when I saw him beside my cousin. She had looked so dazzlingly beautiful. But I did not say this, as any mention of Anne always depressed the Duchess.

“I hear he is making inquiries on the Continent,” went on the Duchess. “And he is deeply desirous of making Marie of Lorraine his wife. She is said to be of unsurpassed beauty, but she is betrothed to the King of Scotland. But His Majesty would thrust that aside. What is the King of Scots compared with the King of England? Yet, I do not think the lady is so eager to take our King. Some are saying that it is unlucky to be the wife of the King of England. One wife put from him after years of marriage, the next …”—her voice broke—“… sent to the block … the third dying in childbirth. It might indeed seem that Heaven is set against a happy marriage for him. That is what they say.”