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  Accidents? Bess thought. She wondered if God viewed the fate of the king’s marriages as accidents, and then felt guilty, though whether for having critical thoughts about the king or for thinking of the Almighty in such glib terms she wasn’t sure.

  “Amen,” intoned the assembled court.

  The king turned to Cat, raising her small dimpled hand to his lips with a meaty paw, and she tilted her head to smile at him. Bess was uncomfortably warm and longed to scratch her leg, and found it hard to concentrate on the rest of the service. She noticed Archbishop Cranmer enter the gallery and genuflect before he made his way to the king’s side. King Henry glanced at him, and the archbishop held up what appeared to be a letter and laid it beside the king before departing as silently as he had come. It was odd, Bess mused, that whatever business he had could not wait.

  When the service was finished, the congregation rose as the king struggled to his feet and departed the chapel with a flock of gentlemen in tow. The fullness of his robes, standing out from his shoulders, made his legs look even more spindly than they really were. The contrast with the grossness of his body made Bess think of a swollen tick.

  As she passed through the hall with Lady Zouche, she saw that Cat had not followed the king, but stood listening to an old woman in shabby clothes who was speaking and gesticulating urgently, though Bess could not hear the words. Lizzie hovered by Cat’s side.

  “Alas, what ill happenings!” Cat cried, and clasped the old woman’s hands in hers. “I will see that something is done, I promise you. Send to me tomorrow.”

  She prevented the supplicant from falling to her knees on the stone floor, and gestured to two of her ladies to help the old woman to her feet.

  “Make sure that she is fed,” Cat directed, “and given somewhere to sleep if she has nowhere to go.” Turning, she caught sight of Bess.

  “Bess Hardwick!” she cried, smiling. “Lizzie told me much about you during our travels, and I long for your better acquaintance. Come to my chambers—there is just arrived a dancing master with the newest steps from France!”

  “Gladly, Your Majesty,” Bess stammered, looking to Lady Zouche for consent and relieved to find that her mistress was nodding and shooing her toward Cat. Bess felt a pang of sorrow at Doll’s envious expression but could only throw her a look of apology as Cat took her arm.

  “Come, walk with me and tell me all your news,” Cat said, and Bess, astonished, obeyed, trying to think of what to say as they walked.

  “My mother writes that my sister Moll—Mary, that is—is to be wed to Robert Wingfield.” That had been good news, indeed, as the Wingfields were wealthy and well connected.

  “Excellent! I will have to send her a suitable gift,” Cat said, drawing Bess along with her as they mounted a grand staircase.

  “That would be exceeding kind of you, Your Majesty,” Bess murmured, wondering why the queen showed her such favor. She had thought she had met a kindred spirit in Cat when they had first spoken at Hampton Court, but it surprised her that Cat’s liking for her remained so strong. What had Lizzie said about her? Or perhaps the queen just wished to have more friends of near her own age, surrounded as she was by so many older women.

  The queen’s apartments had been newly decorated, Bess recalled as she and Cat swept into a great chamber, followed by Cat’s chattering retinue. The walls were hung with glowing tapestries and the paneling of the walls gleamed in the firelight. The dancing lesson had apparently been planned, for half a dozen musicians arrived in moments, along with a sprightly young man in blue hose and an extravagantly feathered hat.

  There were about forty ladies in the queen’s entourage, enough to form three long sets of dancers, and they twittered and giggled as the dancing master strode among them, correcting posture here, pinching a cheek there, rapping his staff on the floor to silence the noise when he wished to make himself heard.

  There was a pause after the first dance had been learned, and the queen’s guests partook of spiced wine and little cakes. Bess was feeling giddy with the drink and the warmth of the room, and she hung back against the wall, wishing she could get some fresh air. She was in awe at the company surrounding her, recognizing some of the most noble ladies of the land, some of whom had been in the service of Anne of Cleves only a few months earlier. The dancing master pounded his staff on the floor and the dancers formed into two rings, one inside the other.

  Clack, clack, smack, smack went the tambourine and the dancers’ hands as they clapped high, then low, turning, jumping, circling. The noise in the room rose so that it seemed deafening. Bess caught sight of Cat across the circle, shrieking with laughter, tossing her curls, now freed from their headdress, and twirling and stamping.

  And then suddenly everything was wrong. There were guards in the room, many of them, armed with halberds, their faces stern, surrounding the dancers. The musicians faltered to a stop, a flute giving a last flat little bleat.

  “Why, what is this?” Cat demanded, turning a pouting face upon the captain at the head of the guards. “Why have you interrupted us?”

  “Now is no more the time to dance, Your Grace,” he said. He didn’t bow, and Bess’s stomach went cold.

  “You must all be gone,” the captain ordered, turning to the queen’s ladies, now silent and fearful. “And you, madam, must remain here, with but Lady Rochford to attend you.”

  “What . . .” Cat stared up at him, her eyes dark pools.

  “It is so ordered by His Majesty.”

  There was an instant of stunned silence. Cat looked to her ladies as if for help. Her eyes met Bess’s, and Bess’s guts lurched to see her terror. She wanted desperately to help Cat, but what could she do? If the king had ordered whatever was happening, there was no one to turn to for help.

  “Ladies, you must be gone,” the captain barked.

  Lizzie grabbed Bess’s hand and pulled her toward the door, and Bess nearly tripped. When she glanced back Cat’s eyes were closed, as if to shut out what was happening.

  Cat’s attendants fled in a flurry of skirts. It seemed to Bess that they moved in silence. She made not a sound until she and Lizzie burst into Lady Zouche’s room. Lady Zouche, Audrey, and Doll were sewing by the fire, but started to their feet in alarm.

  “The queen . . .” Bess began. She didn’t know how to say what had happened, didn’t know, even, what had happened or was about to happen.

  Lady Zouche hastened to her and shook her by the shoulders, fear in her eyes.

  “What? What’s amiss?”

  “Guards came,” Lizzie said. “The queen is confined to her room with only Lady Rochford.”

  Bess suddenly recalled Lizzie’s strained awkwardness when she had spoken to Bess and Doll the day before, and wondered if Lizzie knew something that she had not wanted to speak of.

  “For what reason?” Lady Zouche pressed as the other girls crowded around them. Lizzie remained silent, so Bess spoke.

  “I don’t know.” Bess felt colder than she had ever felt in her life. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAYS SEEMED LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A NIGHTMARE TO Bess. Lizzie, suddenly without a queen to serve and terrified about where to turn, begged Lady Zouche to let her stay in their lodgings, and she and Bess and Doll huddled together in one bed.

  “I heard,” Lizzie whispered, “that Bishop Cranmer told the king that before Cat married him, she lay with Francis Dereham.”

  “What, her secretary!” Bess gasped.

  “Yes, and he says that’s why she took Dereham on, so she could play the strumpet with him more easily. The bishop is investigating, I hear, but I’m sure he’ll only find what he wants to learn.” She looked at Bess with haunted eyes. “What if he calls me to be questioned?”

  Bess recalled again Lizzie’s odd evasiveness when she had returned from progress. “You don’t know anything,” she whispered. “Do you?”

  Lizzie didn’t answer, but her fearful look shook Bess.

&
nbsp; * * *

  A PALL OF DREAD SETTLED OVER HAMPTON COURT. BESS COULD NOT keep from thinking about Cat, confined to her rooms, and how frightened she must be. Several times, Bess found Lizzie weeping and trembling, and her attempts to comfort Lizzie failed. She was sure now that Lizzie knew something that preyed on her mind, and gave up trying to get her to talk.

  * * *

  ON A GRAY AFTERNOON, BESS WAS SITTING WITH LIZZIE AND DOLL in Lady Zouche’s room, sewing and trying not to think about what dreadful things might happen, when shrieks of sheer animal terror rose from somewhere outside.

  Bess felt as though her heart had stopped beating. She looked to Lizzie and Doll. Both were sitting motionless, their needlework in their hands, their eyes wide with fear.

  “That sounds like Cat,” Bess whispered.

  “It didn’t even sound like a person,” Doll said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Lizzie said nothing, but clutched her needlework with fingers white with tension.

  That night, bundled in bed between Lizzie and Doll, Bess listened as Sir George told Lady Zouche what had happened.

  “The queen managed to escape from her chambers and ran down the long gallery, trying to reach the king, who was in the chapel. She got as far as the door and beat upon it, but the guards seized her and dragged her back, shrieking for mercy.”

  “Dear God. It’s worse than with Queen Anne. Poor girl, she knows what is like to happen to her.”

  Bess shuddered, and prayed for Cat’s salvation as she and Lizzie and Doll clung to each other, trying to stifle the sounds of their weeping.

  A few days later, Bess again listened to Sir George and Lady Zouche talking quietly late at night.

  “Cranmer told His Majesty that he believed the allegations against the queen. The king broke down and wept before his council.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought he pitied her so,” Lady Zouche said.

  Sir George snorted. “I think it’s himself he pities, not the queen. He doted on her, and now she’s made a cuckold of him and made him to look like a foolish old man. He went staggering out of the chamber and rode off to Oatlands with a few cronies.”

  “And how does the queen?” Lady Zouche asked anxiously.

  “She’s in a pitiable state, I hear. She weeps incessantly and neither eats nor sleeps.”

  “Alas, poor creature.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY, LIZZIE SOUGHT OUT SOME OF THE QUEEN’S OTHER ladies and reported back to Bess and Doll what she had learned.

  “They say that Bishop Cranmer told the queen that His Majesty would be merciful if she would confess her guilt.”

  The hairs rose on the back of Bess’s neck. She wouldn’t trust the king’s word for anything, she thought. Certainly not to be merciful or to keep such a promise.

  “And did she confess?” Doll asked.

  “First she told him that she and Dereham had been sweethearts and they had dallied, but she had only done so because she expected they would be wed. But then she called him back and said that Dereham had forced himself on her.”

  Which accusation would surely cost Dereham his life, Bess thought. But would it save Cat’s?

  “If it were found she had a precontract with him,” Sir George said to Lady Zouche that evening, “her life might be spared, for if she was never truly married to the king, she could not commit adultery.”

  “Adultery?” Lady Zouche cried. “What she did when a girl in her grandmother’s house was not adultery.”

  “No. But what she has done since is. For there are most vile rumors of suspicious doings during the progress. One night the king went to her chamber and found it locked. He was kept waiting for a few minutes before the door was opened, and heard scuttlings within. The queen passed it off at the time with some excuse, but now the incident looks much blacker.”

  “Oh, no, the little fool,” Lady Zouche moaned.

  Bess was in anguish. She wanted to beg Lizzie to tell her that the rumors were lies, but Lizzie had slipped out and Bess didn’t know where she had gone. And she recalled how frightened Lizzie had been at the thought that she might be summoned to tell what she knew.

  How could it be true? Bess wondered. How could any woman who knew of Anne Boleyn’s death after being charged with adultery risk her life by playing the king false? Cat’s face rose to her mind, Cat as she had been the evening when they met—those merry laughing eyes, the impish and provocative grace with which she moved. Oh, Cat, Cat, you’ve dug your own grave.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING LIZZIE CREPT OUT TO SEE IF SHE COULD LEARN any news and soon dashed back into the lodgings, her face white with terror.

  “Oh, dear God, Bess! Dereham has been arrested, and many of the household of the Duchess of Norfolk.”

  The dowager duchess was Cat’s step-grandmother, Bess knew.

  “They’ve been taken to the Tower,” Lizzie cried. “What will I do if they come for me?”

  She threw herself onto the bed and pulled the curtains shut.

  What could Lizzie do? Bess thought with horror, as she climbed onto the bed next to Lizzie. There was no one to turn to if the king’s guards came. No one could protect Lizzie or hide her without endangering his own life.

  “Her own family have turned their backs upon her!” Lizzie wept, clutching a pillow to her chest.

  Of course they had. The Duke of Norfolk had survived the fall of one niece, Anne Boleyn. He must feel the shadow of the axe, and would do whatever he could to save his neck.

  * * *

  “THE QUEEN HAS CONFESSED THAT SHE LAY WITH FRANCIS DEREHAM,” Lady Zouche told Bess and the other girls a few days later. “And Bishop Cranmer judges that they had a precontract of marriage.”

  Bess’s hopes rose. “So the king can annul the marriage, and let Cat live!”

  “Pray God that it may be so,” Lady Zouche said.

  * * *

  THE KING RETURNED TO LONDON, AND THE COURT FOLLOWED. AS the barge rounded the bend in the river and Hampton Court disappeared from sight, Bess stared behind her, thinking of Cat locked within her chamber, and prayed that she would see Cat safe and happy again. A few days later, Lady Zouche told her ladies that Cat had been sent from Hampton Court to Syon Abbey, where she would be kept under house arrest, still considered a queen, but with only a few ladies.

  “But she had to leave all her clothes, all her jewelry, everything that denoted her a queen,” Lady Zouche whispered. “She was provided only a few gowns, of plain design.”

  Bess pictured the blood-red garnets she had seen trembling at Cat’s earlobes, the pearl-encrusted sleeves, the jeweled hoods. All gone. What would happen to them, she wondered? But what did the loss of clothes and jewels matter, if Cat could live?

  * * *

  AS THE WINTRY COLD SEIZED LONDON, THE NEWS GREW WORSE.

  “I hear that Catherine Tylney and Margaret Morton have been questioned,” Lizzie whispered. Bess thought Lizzie looked a year older since the queen’s arrest. Her beautiful face was gaunt, her usually merry brown eyes shadowed and dull.

  “Who are they?” Bess asked.

  “Two of the queen’s chamberers who were with us on progress. Surely I will be next.”

  No guards arrived for Lizzie, but Sir George Zouche came home that night with a face even grimmer than it had been over the past weeks.

  “The queen’s maids said that during the summer’s progress, she lay with her cousin Thomas Culpepper at Lincoln. His rooms were searched, and a letter found in the queen’s own hand that leaves no doubt of her guilt, for she signed it ‘yours as long as life endures.’”

  And now that life would be short indeed, Bess thought. Cat, Cat, would that I could help you somehow.

  “What will happen now?” Lady Zouche asked.

  “It has already happened. It is proclaimed that she is queen no longer, and will be proceeded against by law.”

  Please, God, Bess prayed, let the king be merciful and grant that Cat may be only beheaded. She kne
w that for a woman, a traitor’s death was to be burned alive.

  “She’s wounded his vanity and pride,” Rachel told Bess later, shaking her head as she rocked little Edmund’s cradle. “And a wounded lion is a most dangerous beast.”

  * * *

  “THERE ARE HORRORS GOING ON AT THE TOWER,” BESS HEARD SIR George say. “Torture, betrayals, all doing and saying anything they can to save their own skins. Dereham and Culpepper have been found guilty and the queen declared a common harlot.”

  Lizzie was summoned to court, not to be arrested, but to bear company with the king.

  “The king is acting like a young swain in springtime,” she told Bess. “He goes out hunting daily, and when he returns he surrounds himself with the prettiest ladies of the court, and flirts and jests. He chucked me under the chin and asked what gift I would most value.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Oh, Bess, I’m so afraid. If I hang back I may offend him. And if I behave as though I welcome his attentions . . .”

  The consequences could be just as bad, Bess thought.

  * * *

  ON THE TENTH OF DECEMBER, DEREHAM AND CULPEPPER MET their deaths. As Culpepper was a gentleman, he was mercifully beheaded after being pulled through the streets to Tyburn lashed to a hurdle. Dereham was spared nothing, but suffered a traitor’s death, being hanged only to be cut down from the scaffold to be disemboweled and have his heart cut out before he was beheaded and his body chopped into quarters.

  Numerous Howards escaped the headsman but were clapped into the Tower and sentenced to life imprisonment and the loss of their lands.

  Bess shivered in the Zouches’ London house, feeling like an animal at bay. No place was safe. The king could do what he pleased, and no one could stop him. She prayed for Cat to be reprieved somehow, and for the king to turn his attentions away from Lizzie. And she prayed for the king’s death, knowing it was a black sin to do it.