* * *

The Duke of Norfolk was begging an audience with me. I liked that. The mighty one humbly begging to see me! Graciously I agreed to see him.

He was looking embarrassed and uneasy as he bowed, which I supposed was because he must show the necessary respect due to the Queen, who was, after all, only the silly little niece whom he had hitherto despised.

His first words were: “Your Majesty, I trust this is a time when you will remember that I am your uncle, who wishes you nothing but good fortune.”

“Your Grace is kind,” I said, rather flippantly.

“I would serve you well.”

“Your Grace has something to say to me?”

“That is so. We have just been made aware of the discord in the North.”

“I was of the opinion that the King had settled that matter.”

“Praise God, he has put down the revolt and punished those who have been responsible. But the King is uneasy.”

I looked surprised. “He has not told me.”

The faintly contemptuous lift of his lips was hardly perceptible, but it was there.

“The King, I know, is very concerned for your comfort. He would not wish you to be worried with such matters.”

“The King does confide his troubles to me, I should tell you.”

“Indeed he does. He often speaks to me of his growing love for our family, and he is grateful to the Howards for having given you to him.”

I did not like this reference to the magnanimity of the Howards. Previously they had always considered me unworthy of them. But I was the one who had captured the heart of the King. They seemed to forget that I had, without effort, done that which they had all spent their lives striving to do.

The Duke went on: “I was referring to this trouble in Yorkshire which, as Your Majesty says, the King has settled. The King fears there may be other insurrections, and that is something he greatly wishes to avoid.”

“Indeed he does. It is a most disturbing matter, with so many men going to their deaths.”

“Traitors,” said the Duke. “The King will not have traitors in his realm. There was the Countess of Salisbury.” He coughed slightly. “It came to my ears that Your Majesty had supplied the lady with garments—furred garments.”

“The nightdress was furred. She needed it against the cold. And there were hose and boots.”

“The Countess was the King’s prisoner.”

“She was a lady unused to the hardships of prison.”

“As she had been in the Tower for a year or more, it is to be presumed she was accustomed to them by that time.”

“My lord, such hardships are something to which one never grows accustomed.”

“It is the fate of prisoners. And this, Your Majesty, was the King’s prisoner. I must stress that point. Now, if you had consulted me …”

“Your Grace was not one I would consult regarding an errand of mercy.”

He flinched a little. I fancied he was growing angry. Oh, I had undoubtedly changed since I had become the Queen, beloved of the King.

He went on: “I should have warned you that it is a little unwise to … er … show friendship toward the King’s enemies.”

“The King has not mentioned this.”

“The King is indulgent … to some. Your Majesty has not, I dare swear, discussed the matter with him.”

“I had not thought it of any great importance.”

He forgot then that he was talking to the Queen, for he said sharply: “Then ’twas a pity you did not give the matter more thought.”

“I believe the Countess derived much pleasure from the gifts.”

“I doubt not that she did … in more ways than one. There is much trouble in the country. I would speak to you of that.”

“Pray do,” I said. We were indeed changing. It was the first time he had ever thought it necessary to talk to me of the country’s affairs.

“When the King removed the Church from Rome, there were many in the country who were deeply disturbed, and it is their intention to take it back. This the King will never allow.”

“I am aware of that.”

“It causes strife. There will be others like Neville. There is a division in the country. Times are dangerous. You are a great comfort to the King, and I rejoice in that, but do not try him too far. You must strive to remain as you are now. That brings good to the King … and our family. Your task is to soothe him. Never attempt to try his patience.”

“Do you suggest that this is what I have done?”

“Your Majesty,” he said, remembering who I was once more. “I am your uncle. I have always had your well-being and that of our family in mind. For the good of the family and the country, you must keep the King’s favor. I hope you will allow me to speak my mind.”

“I was under the impression, my Lord Duke, that you always did.”

“If, when Your Majesty decides to take some action … something which might be misconstrued by some as being a little rash … if you came to me, I could advise you as to its wisdom. Believe me, there are some matters so intricate … so open to misconstruction by one’s enemies, that they need the utmost care in handling.” He meant, of course, that they were beyond the understanding of simple people like myself. “For instance, the clothes you sent to the Tower.” He shook his head slowly. “If you had asked me, I should have advised against that.”

“It is a matter long forgotten, my lord. The lady is now dead … hacked to pieces, I hear.”

He held up his hand just like the uncle of old. I knew what it cost him to treat me with respect, and I was beginning to feel impatient with him. Did he intend to play the wise uncle of a stupid girl all my life?

“The King believed her to be a traitor,” he went on. “She was aiding her son, who was aiding Neville. She died for that reason. That is enough. I would ask you … I would pray you … to consider before you take such an action again. A word from you will bring me immediately to your side.”

“I suppose I might send for anyone if I needed them,” I retorted with a laugh which, to my annoyance, seemed to border on a giggle.

“This is a serious matter. You could very easily do that which would prove unseemly. You are not in your grandmother’s home now. You are in a dangerous place, niece. I am here … ready to help you. I will advise you on all occasions.”

“I have no doubt that you would do that, but let me tell you, Uncle, that I have done very well so far without your help, and I propose to go on doing so.”

He was really angry then. It was only because he was so accustomed to protocol that he could restrain himself from striking me, I was sure.

He stepped back a few paces and muttered: “I have done my best. I ask Your Majesty’s leave to retire.”

I gave it readily, fury raging within me.

It was some time after before I asked myself what I had done.


* * *

When I received the letter from Joan Bulmer, I read it with great concern: it was only after a closer perusal that I began to feel a qualm of uneasiness. It brought back memories I would rather suppress.

I had believed I had loved Francis Derham until I had met Thomas, then I had realized I had been overwhelmed until I came to know true love. I had indeed loved Thomas, and if events had turned out as we had hoped they would, I should have been very happy with him. But the King had seen me, and I had had no alternative but to go to him.

I was happy now. The King’s devotion was wonderful. I enjoyed seeing his face soften when he looked at me. It was easy to keep him happy. Love-making was so much a part of my life. I think it had been meant to be since the day when Manox had begun to initiate me. I can only believe that there are some people like that.

And now Joan Bulmer. She had married and acquired the name Bulmer since our acquaintance. I really did not want those people whom I had known in the past to be near me now. I had been a little uneasy when I had heard that Katherine Tylney was in the household. It was not important, I told myself. It was just that I would rather they were not there.

I looked back over parts of her letter. It was quite a long one.

If I could wish you all the honor and good fortune you could desire, you would never lack health, wealth, long life, nor yet prosperity.

There was nothing wrong with that. It appeared that her marriage was not a happy one, and she went on to ask for a place in my household, for she desperately needed to get away from her present circumstances.

I know no remedy without your goodness. You could find the means to get me to London. If you could write to my husband and command him to bring me to you, he would not dare disobey. I beseech you to find a place for me. The nearer I were to you, the gladder I would be of it. I would write more unto you, but I would not be so bold for considering the great honor you are toward, it did not become me to put myself in presence: but the remembrance of the perfect honesty that I have always known in you hath encouraged me to do this.

I know the Queen of Britain will not forget her secretary, and favor you will show.

Your humble servant with heart unfeigned,


Joan Bulmer

No, I did not like it. The reference to my honesty, my humble servant. I tried to thrust my misgivings aside.

I did not reply to the letter for a few days, and then I found myself watching for another letter from Joan Bulmer.

This was foolish. Joan and I had been on fairly friendly terms. She was now in dire straits, poor girl. Had I not always been ready to listen to the trials of others and help if I could? Not that I had had much chance of doing so in those days, but they had always known I was sympathetic and would help if I were able.

No, this was just the letter of a woman in distress. She was unhappy. She wanted to be away from her husband, and at Court. I could understand that.

I was not quite sure of my feelings. Perhaps I was too uneasy to look clearly at how I felt. I kept wondering what the King’s attitude would be if he knew that the Duchess had come into that room and had seen me rolling on the floor with Francis Derham. I pictured those little eyes sinking into his fleshy face with fury. I was wise enough to realize that by no stretch of the imagination could he picture himself in a similar position. His obesity … his bad leg … and I knew that thought would irritate him beyond control.

There was another matter which disturbed me, but only faintly.

I knew he longed for me to announce my pregnancy. There seemed no reason why I should not. But it was the familiar story. So far, there was no sign.

He was so enamoured of my youth and loving nature that he had not yet complained. But would he in time? My poor cousin had gone to the scaffold, many said, because she had only produced one child and that of the wrong sex; and when she might have given birth to a son, she had miscarried and he had lost his patience by that time.

I shut out all thoughts of such a thing happening to me. He adored me. But then he had adored Anne. He was an extraordinary mixture of ruthlessness and sentimentality. He always had a reason for his actions which made them right in his opinion. One could be in high office one day and in disgrace and disfavor the next.

Being light-hearted by nature, I did not dwell on these matters. The King loved me dearly. I was the wife for whom he had been searching all his life. I was safe.

Then I wrote to Joan Bulmer, offering her a place in my household.


* * *

When Joan arrived, I sent for her. She had changed a little. Her attitude toward me was different. But then, so was that of everyone—the outstanding example being that of my uncle, the Duke. I had seen little of him since my outburst, about which I was pleased. He must understand that he could not control my life.

Joan knelt and expressed her undying gratitude. I made her rise and told her that I hoped she would be happy at Court.

“I knew Your Majesty would help me,” she said. “You were always so kind … to everyone.”

There was a slight smile about her face as she said those words. I knew she was looking back, remembering.

“And now you are the Queen herself… and as kind as you ever were. Your Majesty, I shall always remember. I shall never forget.”

Why did it occur to me that it was not only my kindness she was remembering, but incidents from the past?

“I look forward to serving Your Majesty … in whatever capacity you wish … as I always tried to do.”