His sister, Mary, needed to work, and he asked her why did she not try for a place at Court. Had she not once been acquainted with me when I was in a far less exalted position—just a young girl in the care of my grandmother?

Mary, in a state of great virtue, explained that nothing would induce her to take a place in my service. In fact, she was very sorry for me. Naturally her brother wished to know why.

“Because she is light in her behavior,” was Mary’s reply.

Such an accusation needed explanation, and John demanded one. I felt sure that Mary gave it with relish. She told her brother that Francis Derham had declared we were as good as married and behaved accordingly. Moreover, she added, Henry Manox had boasted that he knew of a private mark on my body.

The righteous John Lassells would have immediately persuaded himself that this knowledge must not remain solely in the Lassells’ household, and he went to his priest and told him what he had heard. The priest immediately communicated the information to Audley and Hertford. This must have seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to these men, who decided to lay the information before Archbishop Cranmer, with the suggestion that he should be the one to pass it on to the King.

As a result, John Lassells was brought to the Archbishop and a paper was produced and presented to the King for his private reading.

I tried to imagine what Henry would have said when he received this incriminating document. I believed it was true that he had been deeply shocked and refused to believe it, and that he had berated the Archbishop for daring to write such slander against his Queen. I believed he would, in his love for me, have accused the Archbishop of listening to the evil slander of rogues.

But, of course, doubts would beset him. It was only natural that they should. He might recall that I was no shrinking bride. I had thought then that my ready responses had surprised him, even though he was delighted with them. He must have convinced himself that they were due to my admiration for the glorious personage who had become my husband. After all, I had been raised up from a very lowly position.

So, when he read that account of my past, brought to him through the courtesy of the Archbishop and John and Mary Lassells, he might not believe it, but he would have to make sure.

I could see clearly how it had happened. He had ordered that John and Mary Lassells be held in London, and Sir Thomas Wriothesley be sent to question me.

Almost immediately, Derham was arrested, not in connection with me, but on a charge of piracy committed in Ireland. I suppose there were grounds for this, and I wondered whether the fortune of which he had talked so much was to be acquired in this way.

At this time, I was in a sorry state. I was kept confined to my apartments where I alternated between fits of terror and anguish and moods of optimism. These last were very brief, for I could not really believe in them. I had been very indiscreet with Derham, but that was before my marriage. That was not really criminal, was it? I had deceived no one. Most of the women knew what was happening.

I tried to shut out of my mind all thoughts about Thomas. Thomas must never be mentioned. It must seem as though I knew him only as some vague figure in the King’s household.

If only I could get to the King, talk to him! I promised myself that I would find some way of doing this. I would explain to him those misdemeanors of the days before I had married him. I would remind him how young I had been. I would explain how I had wanted to confess everything right from the beginning.

I saw very little of my ladies with the exception of Jane Rochford. She kept me from sinking into utter melancholy.

I was afraid to sleep, for sometimes dreams could be more frightening than reality. When I was awake I could persuade myself that the King would come to see me soon. I could imagine myself sitting on his knee, cajoling. I believed he must be hating this situation as much as I was. He would want to return to those comforting pleasures of the old days. I would force myself to picture the reconciliation. I would plan what I would say. I would delude myself into believing that it was real. And then I would see the utter absurdity of it and be plunged into despair.

Jane told me what had happened to my grandmother, which added to my misery.

“Poor lady! It all happened under her roof. They have visited her.”

“Who?”

“Those who came to you—the Duke, her stepson, among them. She knew they would come. Derham had left some coffers in her house and she was afraid they might find in them something concerning you … letters or goods. She had the coffers opened. That is against her. And there was Damport. Do you remember Damport?”

“No.”

“He was a close friend of Derham’s.”

“Was he the young man with the beautiful teeth?”

“That is he.” Everyone knew Damport by his teeth. He was very proud of them and he smiled perpetually so that everyone could see them.

“Yes, I do remember now. I have seen him with Derham.”

“The Duchess gave him money.”

“Why?”

“Mayhap because she thought he might tell something which Derham had confided in him.”

“Tell me what you know about my grandmother.”

“It is only a rumor, but everyone is talking of it. They are amazed that the Duke should work against his own family. Some say he aims to show the King that he is his most loyal servant … even if it means working against his own flesh and blood.”

“He does not care for any but himself, I believe.”

Jane nodded. “Your uncle Lord William Howard has been arrested with his wife … and … I know how you will feel about this … and I hesitated before telling you … but the Duchess, she too has been arrested. She is in the Tower.”

“Oh no! That cannot be. Not the Duchess … oh, my poor, poor grandmother. And why Lord William?”

“Mayhap because he was at the Duchess’s house often when you were there. They are saying that he could not be unaware of what was going on … as the Duchess could not have been.”

“I cannot bear this. It is too much.”

“I can but tell you what I heard. It could be that it is only gossip.”

“I fear this is true. And Norfolk does nothing to help them.”

“All he does is hold up his hands in horror and distance himself from those who are in deep trouble.”

“My poor grandmother. She is old … she will die.”

“They say she is frantic with fear. She talked of the old Countess of Salisbury. She believes that what happened to the Countess will happen to her.”

“Oh, Jane, what will happen to us all?”

Jane could not answer that. There was fear in her own eyes. How far was she involved? They had arrested my grandmother and Damport. What of Jane Rochford?

There were some matters of which even she could not trust herself to speak. Thomas! That had happened after the marriage. That was the greatest sin of all. For that there could be no excuses.

We were both caught up in a terrible fear.


* * *

Derham was brave. They put him to the torture. They would be ruthless, I knew. The torture would not stop until they had the answers they wanted.

He had told the truth. He had admitted that he and I had regarded ourselves as husband and wife, and that we had lived as such. What they wanted him to admit also was that our relationship had been continued after the marriage.

Derham was indeed a brave man. He had lived an adventurous life. He would be fully aware that these men were bent on destroying me and wanted to bring a charge of treason against me.

Treason! I thought. Little Katherine Howard, who knew nothing of such things—a traitor! If I had been unfaithful to the King and there was a child, that child could be heir to the throne. It was the first time this thought had occurred to me.

I was horrified. I thought of those meetings with Thomas. What had I done?

This was the unforgivable crime. This was indeed treason.

I had not thought of it in that connection before. When did I ever think before I acted? Thomas had not thought either. Our emotions were too strong for us.

Of one thing I was more certain than ever: no one must ever know what happened during those nights on that journey. And now they were trying to force Derham to confess.

The rack was one of the most excruciating instruments ever devised by man; and Derham was its victim. He was in the hands of ruthless men who cared nothing for human suffering, human dignity and human life. All they wanted was to gain their own ends. What were they doing to Derham? He was jaunty, carefree, a pirate who had loved me. He still loved me. But surely even he could not stand out against the torture of the rack.

But when they took his poor broken body from that cruel instrument, he had said no more than that he had already told them. He regarded me as his wife and had acted accordingly. After he had returned from Ireland and I was the King’s wife, there had been no communication between us other than that which involved his work.

Damport was less brave. I saw him as a victim caught up with something with which he was not in any way concerned. He had merely had the misfortune to be a close friend of Derham. All they wanted him to do was betray some confidence which Derham had given him. I was sure there was nothing to betray, for Derham would only tell him what he had already confessed. Derham did not tell lies.

Damport thought he was safe. He had done nothing wrong. But they insisted that there must be something Derham had confided in him, and if he would not tell them willingly, they must force him to do so.

I wondered what the poor young man felt when he heard those sinister words. They had noticed his beautiful teeth, and he had betrayed his pride in them.

He had remarkable teeth, they told him. He was naturally very proud of them. It would be a pity if anything happened to spoil them. Now they must ask him what it was that Derham had confided in him.

There was nothing, he insisted.

Did not Derham say that the King was an old man and, when he died, he, Derham, would marry Katherine Howard?

No, Derham had said no such thing. Would he think again? It was very important. Derham had said that, had he not? No, no. I could imagine his voice—high-pitched, insistent—Damport would not lie on such a matter.

I could picture those cruel men admiring his teeth. Such a great pity. How often did one see such teeth?

I was horrified when I heard what they did to Damport. They took out those beautiful teeth with an ugly instrument and reduced his mouth to a bleeding mass.

I could imagine his agony.

“Yes, yes!” he cried. “He said that to me. When the King, who was an old man, died, he would marry Katherine Howard.”

It was too late. He had lied to them for no purpose. And it had not saved his beautiful teeth—for they were already ruined.

They had taken Manox too. Merely a humble musician, he had not been seen in my presence since he arrived at Court. He immediately admitted to a certain intimacy a long time ago. There was no evidence that he had even spoken to me since.

He was not a man of good character. They questioned him and did not feel that it was necessary to apply the torture.

All their hopes were fixed on Derham.


* * *

My Uncle Norfolk came to see me. My hopes rose slightly. It was true I had known little kindness from the Duke, but I deluded myself into thinking that he might help me—for he was, after all, my uncle. I was of his blood. He must in all reasonableness do what he could to save me. He had some influence with the King. He was one of the foremost men in the land. I was in such an abject state of misery that I clung to any hope.

That was soon dispelled when he stood regarding me with scorn and obvious dislike. There was no trace of pity.

He began by upbraiding me.

“You wicked creature! Do you realize how the King is suffering because of your lewd conduct?”

I began to stammer that I knew he would be grieved, and I was sorry for it. I had wanted to tell the King what had happened right at the beginning, but had been prevented from doing so.

He waved an impatient hand.

“Have done with your babbling. You have brought shame on your family. You have disgraced us all. A curse on the day you were born.”