Jean Plaidy - Murder Most Royal - The Story of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard

“I should intercede for him with my father.”

“I would that I were brave as you are!”

“Bah! You are just a girl...and frightened that you might see a ghost.”

“I am not now. It is only when I am alone.”

“Will you be afraid when I have gone?”

“Very much afraid,” she said.

He surveyed her in kingly fashion. She was such a little girl, and she paid such pleasant tribute to his masculine superiority. Yes, assuredly he was glad his cousin had come to Hollingbourne.

“I shall be here to protect you,” he said.

“Oh, will you? Cousin Thomas, I know not how to thank you.”

“You surely do not think I could be afraid of a ghost!”

“I know it to be impossible.”

“Then you are safe, Catherine.”

“But if, when I am alone...”

“Listen!” He put his head close to hers conspiratorially. “There”—he pointed over his shoulder—“is my room. Only one wall dividing me from you, little Cousin. I am ever alert for danger, and very lightly do I sleep. Now listen very attentively, Catherine. Should a ghost come, all you must do is tap on this wall, and depend upon it you will have me here before you can bat an eyelid. I shall sleep with my sword close at hand.”

“Oh, Thomas! You have a sword too?”

“It is my father’s, but as good as mine because one day it will be so.”

“Oh, Thomas!” Sweet was her adulation to the little braggart.

“None dare harm you when I am by,” he assured her. “Dead or living will have to deal with me.”

“You would make yourself my knight then, Thomas,” she said softly.

“You could not have a braver...”

“Oh, I know it. I do not think I shall cry very much now.”

“Why should you cry?”

“For my mother, who is dead.”

“No, Catherine, you need not cry; for in place of your mother you have your brave cousin, Thomas Culpepper.”

“Shall I then tap on the wall if...?”

He wrinkled his brows. “For tonight, yes. Tomorrow we shall find a stick for you...a good, stout stick I think; that will make a good banging on the wall, and you could, in an emergency, hit the ghost should it be necessary before I arrive.”

“Oh, no, I could not! I should die of fear. Besides, might a ghost not do terrible things to one who made so bold as to hit it?”

“That may be so. The safest plan, my cousin, is to wait for me.”

“I do not know how to thank you.”

“Thank me by putting your trust in me.”

He stood back from the bed, bowing deeply.

“Good night, Cousin.”

“Good night, dear, brave Thomas.”

He went, and she hugged her pillow in an ecstasy of delight. Never had one of her own age been so kind to her; never had she felt of such consequence.

As for ghosts, what of them! What harm could they do to Catherine Howard, with Thomas Culpepper only the other side of her bedroom wall, ready to fly to her rescue!

There was delight in the hours spent at Hollingbourne. Far away in a hazy and unhappy past were the Lambeth days; and the sweetest thing she had known was the ripening of her friendship with her cousin Thomas. Catherine, whose nature was an excessively affectionate one, asked nothing more than that she should be allowed to love him. Her affection he most graciously accepted, and returned it in some smaller measure. It was a happy friendship, and he grew more fond of her than his dignity would allow him to make known; she, so sweet already, though so young, so clingingly feminine, touched something in his manhood. He found great pleasure in protecting her, and thus love grew between them. He taught her to ride, to climb trees, to share his adventures, though he never took her out at night; nor did he himself adventure much this way after her coming, wishing to be at hand lest in the lonely hours of evening she might need his help.

Her education was neglected. Sir John did not believe overmuch in the education of girls; and who was she but a dependant, though the child of his sister! She was a girl, and doubtless a match would be made for her; and bearing such a name as Howard, that match could be made without the unnecessary adornment of a good education. Consider the case of his kinsman, Thomas Boleyn. He had been, so Sir John had heard, at great pains to educate his two younger children who, in the family, had acquired the reputation of possessing some brilliance. Even the girl had been educated, and what had education done for her? There was some talk of a disaster at court; the girl had aspired to marry herself to a very highly born nobleman—doubtless due to her education. And had her education helped her? Not at all! Banishment and disgrace had been her lot. Let girls remain docile; let them cultivate charming manners; let them learn how to dress themselves prettily and submit to their husbands. That was all a girl needed from life. And did she want to construe Latin verse to do these things; did she want to give voice to her frivolous thoughts in six different languages! No, the education of young Catherine Howard was well taken care of.

Thomas tried to teach his cousin a little, but he quickly gave up the idea. She had no aptitude for it; rather she preferred to listen to the tales of his imaginary adventures, to sing and dance and play musical instruments. She was a frivolous little creature, and having been born into poverty, well pleased to have stepped out of it, happy to have for her friend surely the most handsome and the dearest cousin in the world. What more could she want?

And so the days passed pleasantly—riding with Thomas, listening to Thomas’s stories, admiring him, playing games in which he took the glorious part of knight and rescuer, she the role of helpless lady and rescued; now and then taking a lesson at the virginals, which was not like a lesson at all because she had been born with a love of music; she had singing lessons too which she loved, for her voice was pretty and promised to be good. But life could not go on in this even tenor for ever. A young man such as Thomas Culpepper could not be left to the care of a private tutor indefinitely.

He came to the music room one day while Catherine sat over the virginals with her teacher, and threw himself into a window seat and watched her as she played. Her auburn hair fell about her flushed face; she was very young, but there was always in Catherine Howard, even when a baby, a certain womanliness. Now she was aware of Thomas there, she was playing with especial pains to please him. That, thought Thomas, was so typical of her; she would always care deeply about pleasing those she loved. He was going to miss her very much; he found that watching her brought a foolish lump into his throat, and he contemplated running from the room for fear his sentimental tears should betray him. It was really but a short time ago that she had come to Hollingbourne, and yet she had made a marked difference to his life. Strange it was that that should be so; she was meek and self-effacing, and yet her very wish to please made her important to him; and he, who had longed for this childish stage of his education to be completed, was now sorry that it was over.

The teacher had stood up; the lesson was ended.

Catherine turned a flushed face to her cousin.

“Thomas, do you think I have improved?”

“Indeed yes,” he said, realizing that he had hardly heard what she had played. “Catherine,” he said quickly, “let us ride together. There is something I would say to you.”

They galloped round the paddock, he leading, she trying to catch up but never succeeding—which made her so enchanting. She was the perfect female, forever stressing her subservience to the male, soft and helpless, meek, her eyes ever ready to fill with tears at a rebuke.