To Catch A King

Chapter 6: Cromwell

Chapter Six - Cromwell

Greenwich Palace
February 1540

A month has now passed since my first meeting with King Henry, and progress is sure but tedious.

I meet with him once a fortnight in his chambers, to talk or play cards - but nothing more. Every now and then I think that he drops hints, and I respond accordingly, but then nothing else happens and I begin to wonder whether they really were hints, as such. I can be certain of one thing though: as of yet I am not his mistress.

Tonight, there is a ball being held to celebrate over a month of marriage between Henry and Anne. It will feature music, dancing, plays, feasts, and whatever else the King desires. Of course, everyone will act as if the marriage is successful and happy and everyone will keep pretending to expect a pregnancy announcement soon, although it is effectively common knowledge that the King does not visit Anne's bed chamber.

That definite frostiness I could feel after my first summoning from the King still lingers in the air whenever I am around Anne and the ladies-in-waiting. A sense of distaste, of disgust, of cold, blunt betrayal.

I help Anne to dress before the ball, and am midway through arranging her headdress when the silence stops.
"Lady Catherine." Anne's voice is still soft and kind, but lacking warmth. I feel a pang of guilt knowing that I am part of the cause of her distress, of her lost joy. "Are you the King's mistress?"
"My Lady, please, I am sorry if I -"
"Please just answer." She interrupts.
"No. On my heart I am being honest!" I try desperately to convince her. For a few minutes neither of us say anything.
"So, what do you do then?"
"We just...talk...play cards...really nothing interesting."
"But will it become anything, Catherine?" She asks.
I bow my head, unsure of what to say. "I...I don't know."
"I see."
"I am sorry, Anne."
"Yes." She sighs. "I am sure, Catherine."
I cannot tell whether she is being cold or sincere. I feel sorry for Anne, but I must try and put that aside.

As always with a court event, the ball is beautifully designed, prepared and thought out, with nothing left unattended or forgotten. Anne appears distracted from her worries as she watches the festivities with the King, and I am able to dance amongst the crowds.

Circling my way through the different partners, I finally make it to the front of the hall, right beneath where the King is sitting. I do not make eye contact with him, I do not even look at him - I owe Anne that much. All I do is smile, laugh and dance, just like all the other young, happy girls at court. I feel King Henry looking at me, but I continue to dance as if I do not notice. I must continue to be subtle and humble in my act.

All seems well until a new dance begins, a new set of dancers join, and I begin to hear my name. Not openly, probably not even intended for me, but little whispers of "Catherine Howard" float between the mouths of the gossipers. I catch only a few words, but they are enough to make me want to know more. I swore to myself, when I first arrived at court, that I would take no notice of petty gossip; but here, now, when it is about me, I feel a surge of irritation and a desperate need to hear the rest.

I edge closer to the gossipers, but keep smiling, laughing and dancing as to appear oblivious. My irritation increases as I can only hear little snippets of their conversation.
"...well, that's what I heard..."
"...mistress..."
"...apparently...the King...."
"...quick...how could she?..."
"And the Queen..."
"...a month...so soon..."
"...just like the Boleyn..."
"...same blood..."
"...that family..."
"...bad for him..."
I turn my head sharply in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the gossiping ladies, but by the time I do so they have disappeared into the crowd. I must try and put it behind me, forget about it, they will be nothing at all once I am in favour.

That night I decide to take matters into my own hands. Stealthily, I slip through the stone corridors under the cover of darkness to deliver a message, but not to the King, to Cromwell. It would be too ambitious and risky to deliver a message straight to Henry himself; although he may enjoy it now, if he ever were to turn against me he could use that as evidence that I was too pushy in my advances with him. If there is any man closer to Henry than the late Wolsey, it is Cromwell.

The said Cromwell is sitting at his large wooden desk by the fire. Burdened by piles of papers, agreements and accounts, and restricted to flickering candlelight, he looks tired and stressed. I feel no sympathy for him, he is my enemy, but it is difficult to hate a man when he seems about on the edge of despair. He looks up when I clear my throat.
"I would like to see the King." I state.
"His Majesty is busy." Cromwell brushes off my request and continues with his paperwork. "Besides, I believe you see him regularly anyways."
"There is something in particular that I need to discuss with him."
"It will have to wait."

A small surge of annoyance rises in my chest. Who is he to say that to me so bluntly? I open my mouth to protest, but cannot think of what to say. Without thinking, I blurt out something I may later come to regret.

"You only think you can treat me badly, Sir, because you detest my family and always have done!"
"That is not true, Lady Catherine." He stands. "If you remember correctly, I was the one who fought to get your cousin on the throne."
"Oh yes, your Reformation, which was entirely for your own benefit, so that you would become more powerful."
"And yet Anne Boleyn was announced as Queen of England, and your families fell back into favour."
"Do not pretend that she was your main priority - you have no right even to mention her - how quickly you backed away when she was accused wrongly of those heinous crimes!"
"I serve the King, no other."
"You serve only yourself!"
"You should watch your tongue, Lady Catherine."
"I do not take orders from you, a commoner, at least I have noble blood."
"Yes, noble indeed, but this has never helped any of the nobility that His Majesty has had executed."
"It will always help me above you." I glare at him.
"Lady Catherine, your desire for power is no less distinct and pertinent that my own. Corruption runs freely in the court like water in a river: those who embrace it get to survive."
"Well, I intend to avoid all such nonsense."
"Then you will never succeed." He states.

For a moment I am overcome with shock and fear. The way he said that - "succeed" - with such certainty, such clarity, it is as if he can read my entire plan like one of his papers. He cannot know, it would be impossible. But then I remember that this is the man who has witnessed the impossible separation from the Catholic Church, a complete rejection of papal power, who has helped Henry through three wives, arranged his fourth marriage and will no doubt be charged with arranging the divorce. To Thomas Cromwell, nothing is impossible, and nothing is certain.

I must be careful around him, for I will never know how much he can see what I'm doing.

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