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

The house at Horsham was indeed grand. It was built round the great hall; it had its ballroom, its many bedrooms, numerous small chambers and unpredictable corridors; from its mullioned windows there were views of gracious parklands; there was comfort in its padded window seats; there was luxury in its elegant furniture. One could lose oneself with ease in this house, and so many servants and attendants waited on her grandmother that in the first weeks she spent there, Catherine was constantly meeting strangers.

On her arrival she was taken to her grandmother, whom she found in her bed, not yet having risen though the afternoon was advancing.

“Ah!” said the Dowager Duchess. “So here you are, little Catherine Howard! Let me look at you. Have you fulfilled the promise of your babyhood that you would be a very pretty girl?”

Catherine must climb onto the bed and kiss one of the plump hands, and be inspected.

“Marry!” said the Duchess. “You are a big girl for your years! Well, well, there is time yet before we must find a husband for you.” Catherine would have told her of her contract with Thomas Culpepper, but the Duchess was not listening. “How neat you look! That is my Lady Culpepper, I’ll swear. Catherine Howard and such neatness appear to me as though they do not belong one to the other. Give me a kiss, child, and you must go away. Jenny!” she called, and a maid appeared suddenly from a closet. “Call Mistress Isabel to me. I would talk with her of my granddaughter.” She turned to Catherine. “Now, Granddaughter, tell me, what did you learn at Hollingbourne?”

“I learned to play the virginals and to sing.”

“Ah! That is well. We must look to your education. I will not have you forget that, though your father is a poor man, you are a Howard. Ah! Here is Mistress Isabel.”

A tall, pale young woman came into the room. She had small eyes and a thin mouth; her eyes darted at once to Catherine Howard, sitting on the bed.

“This is my little granddaughter, Isabel. You knew of her coming.”

“Your Grace mentioned it to me.”

“Well, the child has arrived. Take her, Isabel...and see that she lacks nothing.”

Isabel curtseyed, and the Duchess gave Catherine a little push to indicate that she was to get off the bed and follow Isabel. Together they left the Duchess’s apartment.

Isabel led the way upstairs and along corridors, occasionally turning, as though to make sure that Catherine followed. Catherine began to feel afraid, for this old house was full of shadows, and in unexpected places were doors and sudden passages; all her old fear of ghosts came back to her, and her longing for Thomas brought tears to her eyes. What if they should put her in a bedroom by herself, remote from other rooms! If Hollingbourne might have contained a ghost, this house assuredly would! Isabel, looking over her shoulder at her, alone stopped her from bursting into tears, for there was something about Isabel which frightened Catherine more than she cared to admit to herself.

Isabel had thrown open a door, and they were in a large room which contained many beds; this dormitory was richly furnished, as was every room in this house, but it was an untidy room; across its chairs and beds were flung various garments; shoes and hose littered the floor. There was perfume in the air.

“This room,” said Isabel, “is where Her Grace’s ladies sleep; she has told me that temporarily you are to share it with us.”

Relief flooded Catherine’s heart; there was now nothing to fear; her pale face became animated, flushed with pleasure.

“That pleases you?” asked Isabel.

Catherine said it did, adding: “I like not solitude.”

Another girl had come into the room, big bosomed, wide hipped and saucy of eye.

“Isabel...”

Isabel held up a warning hand.

“Her Grace’s granddaughter has arrived.”

“Oh...the little girl?”

The girl came forward, saw Catherine, and bowed.

“Her Grace has said,” began Isabel, “that she is to share our room.”

The girl sat down upon a bed, drew her skirts up to her knees, and lifted her eyes to the ornate ceiling.

“It delights her, does it not...Catherine?”

“Yes,” said Catherine.

The girl, whose name it seemed was Nan, threw a troubled glance at Isabel, which Catherine intercepted but did not understand.

Nan said: “You are very pretty, Catherine.”

Catherine smiled.

“But very young,” said Isabel.

“Marry!” said Nan, crossing shapely legs and looking down at them in an excess of admiration. “We must all be young at some time, must we not?”

Catherine smiled again, liking Nan’s friendly ways better than the quiet ones of Isabel.

“And you will soon grow up,” said Nan.

“I hope to,” said Catherine.

“Indeed you do!” Nan giggled, and rose from the bed. From a cabinet she took a box of sweetmeats, ate one herself and gave one to Isabel and one to Catherine.

Isabel examined Catherine’s clothes, lifting her skirts and feeling the material between thumb and finger.

“She has lately come from her uncle, Sir John Culpepper of Hollingbourne in Kent.”

“Did they keep grand style in Kent?” asked Nan, munching.

“Not such as in this house.”

“Then you are right glad to be here where you will find life amusing?”

“Life was very good at Hollingbourne.”

“Isabel,” laughed Nan, “the child looks full of knowledge....I believe you had a lover there, Catherine Howard!”

Catherine blushed scarlet.

“She did! She did! I swear she did!”

Isabel dropped Catherine’s skirt, and exchanged a glance with Nan. Questions trembled on their lips, but these questions went unasked, for at that moment the door opened and a young man put his head round the door.

“Nan!” he said.

Nan waved her hand to dismiss him, but he ignored the signal, and came into the room.

Catherine considered this a peculiar state of affairs, for at Hollingbourne gentlemen did not enter the private apartments of ladies thus unceremoniously.

“A new arrival!” said the young man.

“Get you gone!” said Isabel. “She is not for you. She is Catherine Howard, Her Grace’s own granddaughter.”

The young man was handsomely dressed. He bowed low to Catherine, and would have taken her hand to kiss it, had not Isabel snatched her up and put her from him. Nan pouted on the bed, and the young man said: “How is my fair Nan this day?” But Nan turned her face to the wall and would not speak to him; then the young man sat on the bed and put his arms round Nan, so that his left hand was on her right breast, and his right hand on her left breast; and he kissed her neck hard, so that there was a red mark there. Then she arose and slapped him lightly on the face, laughing the while, and she leaped across the bed, he after her and so gave chase, till Isabel shooed him from the room.

Catherine witnessed this scene with much astonishment, thinking Isabel to be very angry indeed, expecting her to castigate the laughing Nan; but she did nothing but smile, when, after the young man had left, Nan threw herself onto the bed laughing.

Nan sat up suddenly and, now that the youth was no longer there to claim her interest, once more bestowed it on Catherine Howard.

“You had a lover at Hollingbourne, Catherine Howard! Did you not see how her cheeks were on fire, Isabel, and still are, I’ll warrant! I believe you to be a sly wench, Catherine Howard.”

Isabel put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders.

“Tell us about him, Catherine.”

Catherine said: “It was my cousin, Thomas Culpepper.”

“He who is son of Sir John?”

Catherine nodded. “We shall marry when that is possible.”