Royal Inheritance (25 page)

“Did you convince Father of your reasoning?”

“I chose not to debate the matter with him. Besides, by then I had begun to realize that something else was bothering him. I’d sensed it throughout our journey to Windsor. I knew that furrow in his brow.”

Hester grinned. She was familiar with it, too, and with what its appearance betokened.

“When I tore myself away from my obsession with finding out who’d fathered me and considered Jack’s behavior, I realized that he’d been relieved to leave London behind for a few days. But most curiously, now that we were on our way back, he was passing anxious for the journey to end. It was as if he knew something of importance had happened while we were gone.”

Within moments of returning to the house in Watling Street, her suspicions had been confirmed. Bridget had already been by to report the latest news from court, relayed to her by Master Scutt.

“Father was on the verge of going to Sir Jerome Shelton’s house himself to fetch me home,” she told Hester. “The first words out of his mouth when I walked in were: ‘Has Lady Heveningham been questioned?’ My blank stare must have told him I had no notion what had happened. He looked relieved, but then he ordered me to stay away from Mary, and from anyone else I had
ever met through the Duchess of Richmond and her brother . . . with one exception.”

“Why was he so upset?” Hester asked.

“While I was at Windsor, the Earl of Surrey had been arrested on suspicion of treason. Sir Richard Southwell had laid evidence against him before the Privy Council.”

T
hat Sunday, I went with Edith and Bridget to watch the Earl of Surrey be led through London on his way to the Tower. I vow, every citizen, every apprentice, and every stranger in London turned out to witness his disgrace.

Jostled by the crowd, I soon became separated from the others. I kept one hand on the purse I’d acquired to replace the one I’d given Joanna. The pickpockets were also out in force.

It was not idle curiosity that made me want a close look at the earl. I wished to make certain he was not accompanied by other prisoners, perhaps his sister, perhaps even Mary Heveningham. And, irrational though it was, given that Jack Harington had long since shifted his allegiance to the Seymours, I worried that he might be among them. I’d not heard a word from him since returning to London.

The earl’s name was on everyone’s lips, along with ever more creative accounts of his arrest. I had heard the true story, thanks to Master Scutt. Ten days earlier, even as I was making my way to Windsor Castle and back, Surrey had dined at Whitehall Palace.
The captain of the king’s halberdiers, pretending he had a private matter to discuss with the earl—that he wanted Surrey to intercede with his father, the Duke of Norfolk—lured Surrey away from the crowded hall. Once the earl was separated from his own men, other halberdiers seized him and carried him away to the river stairs. A boat was waiting there to take him to Blackfriars landing and thence to Ely Place in Holborn and the Lord Chancellor, who informed him that he was to be held there, a prisoner, by the king’s command.

Now charged with treason, Surrey was being taken from Ely Place to the Tower. He had been stripped of all the trappings of his rank. All his possessions, even his bay jennet, had been seized by the Crown. Thus, even though he was nobly born, the son of a duke, he was being made to walk the mile-and-a-half distance—straight through London itself.

There was no fanfare as he approached the spot where I stood waiting. No silk banners waved. The only entourage accompanying him consisted of a contingent of burly guards.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that he was the only prisoner. If anyone else had been arrested, they had at least been spared the indignity of public humiliation.

Surrey himself was almost unrecognizable. In plain garments undecorated with jewels, he stared straight ahead, his countenance stoic. Onlookers, who had been noisy and boisterous as he approached, fell silent in his wake. It was usual to pelt prisoners conveyed through the city in carts with rotten produce and stones. No one threw anything at the earl.

Here and there, men removed their caps as a mark of respect. Others looked away from the sight of the once-proud nobleman brought low. This was not a day to remember Surrey’s drunken rioting and window-breaking. Men instead recalled his role in the French war—his heroism and military prowess. Only the presence
of the earl’s armed escort prevented them from attempting a rescue. As it was, some shouted out words of encouragement to the prisoner.

Beside me, an old woman began to wail. Others echoed the lamentation, until the entire city seemed to be in mourning for the Earl of Surrey. Suddenly nervous, the guards hustled their prisoner on his way. Around me, the cries died down, but they were taken up farther along the route. Inarticulate sounds close at hand were replaced by muttered words.

“He’s bound for the headsman’s ax,” one man said.

Public executions were a popular form of entertainment, but this fellow did not sound happy about the prospect.

It terrified me. In a panic, I broke free of the press of people and fought my way back through Cheapside. Surrey had been arrested before, but this time was different. This time the charge was treason and he was bound for the Tower, not the Fleet. I could not help but think of what had happened to two other prisoners in that terrible place—Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. They had died there, condemned by the same king who had once loved them both. Was Surrey truly about to join his kinswomen in facing the headsman?

I was nearly home, just turning from West Cheap into Friday Street, when Edith and Bridget rejoined me.

“Did you hear?” Bridget’s eyes were bright with excitement. “The Duke of Norfolk arrived in London from Kenninghall this morning and now he is also under arrest. He’s being taken to the Tower by water even as his son is marched there.”

I felt as if a cold hand clenched around my heart. Thinking about Surrey’s fate had been bad enough, but this was infinitely worse. “And the rest of the Howards? What of them?” The Duchess of Richmond had been at Kenninghall with her father.

“Mayhap they’ll be made prisoners, too. The king has sent troops
to seize all of the duke’s possessions. They belong to His Grace now, for traitors forfeit all they own.”

“The Countess of Surrey is at Kenninghall.” There was a tremor in Edith’s voice, reminding me that her mother would be there, too, in attendance on the countess’s children. “Lady Frances is expecting another child in February.”

I reached for Edith’s hand and squeezed it.

As is ever the case, no one knew exactly what the Privy Council heard from the many witnesses they deposed, but that did not stop the good citizens of London from speculating. Within hours of her arrival in Lambeth, word that the Duchess of Richmond had been summoned to testify against her brother had reached the marketplace. Rumors flew. She meant to have her revenge on Surrey for thwarting her marriage to Sir Thomas Seymour. She was bound for the Tower herself. She had tried to throw herself on the king’s mercy—he was her father-in-law, after all—and he had sent her away without an audience.

Edith received a more reliable report from her mother, who wrote from Norfolk to tell her that the Countess of Surrey had been allowed to leave Kenninghall for one of the duke’s smaller houses, although that one too now belonged to the king. Most cruelly, Lady Surrey’s children had been taken away from her. Surrey’s heir had been given into the keeping of Sir John Williams while the three girls and the younger boy had been placed with a loyal East Anglian landowner. Edith’s mother had been obliged to choose between her much-beloved Lady Frances and the young Howards. In the end, she’d remained with her youthful charges.

Throughout all this turmoil, I waited desperately for some word from Jack. He had to have known what was afoot. Why else had he been so tense during the journey to Windsor and back?

But no message came.

Then a new rumor began to circulate. The king was said to be ill, so sick that he might not have long to live. This was good news for the earl and the duke. If the king died, he could not sign their death warrants. But it was a report that distressed me greatly and made my own need more urgent.

When I heard that the king had returned to Whitehall, I lost no time hailing a wherry and going thither. If he
was
dying, I had little time left.

Once at the king’s palace in Westminster, I asked for Sir Anthony Denny. He had been knighted at the time of the invasion of France and more recently had been promoted to the post of groom of the stool, placing him in intimate contact with the king on a daily basis. It had occurred to me that if he did not know the truth of my parentage, he must surely suspect it.

I was made to wait in an antechamber, but after only a short delay, Sir Anthony came to me there, adding strength to my supposition.

“I must speak with the king, Sir Anthony.”

“If you have evidence to lay against the Earl of Surrey, you must take your information to the Lord Chancellor.”

“Why should you think such a thing?” I was thunderstruck by his assumption. “It is a private matter I wish to discuss—a question I must ask His Grace. I . . . I beg you, Sir Anthony. Help me if you can.”

He responded to my plea with a cold look. The temperature in the small chamber, already chilly, seemed to plummet. “Your association with the Howard faction is well-known.”

“I have naught to do with factions.”

Thawing a trifle, he said, not unkindly, “That is wise of you. You would be wiser still to avoid anyone who might carry the taint of the earl’s treason.”

Something in his manner alarmed me. “You must speak plainly, Sir Anthony, for I do not understand you.”

“You are a known associate of the Duchess of Richmond.”

“She has been kind to me in the past. We share a love of poetry.”

“And Lady Heveningham?”

Although I knew defiance was unwise, I could not stop myself from blurting out, “She is my friend.”

“Sir Richard Southwell is a dangerous man to thwart.” Sir Anthony sounded more exasperated than condemning. I thought I detected a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

“I will not be forced into marriage out of fear.” I spoke quietly, but with as much firmness as I could muster.

“Not even fear for those you care for? Southwell has already suggested that Lady Heveningham be questioned. It would be a simple matter to add your name to that list. Or even someone who has long since entered the service of the Seymours.”

Jack. Sir Anthony knew it had been through Jack Harington that I’d been introduced to the Earl of Surrey’s literary circle.

“There must first be evidence of wrongdoing, must there not? If a man—or a woman—is innocent, how can they have anything to fear?”

When Sir Anthony gave a derisive snort, my heart sank. I knew better, too. If the king wished to rid himself of someone, be it wife or courtier, innocence or guilt mattered little. His Grace had always been kind to me. He had saved my life. He had given me Pocket. He had sent Jack to me.

And he had ordered me to marry Sir Richard Southwell’s son. I had heard stories of King Henry’s cruelty. Of his temper. I knew them to be true, even if I had never witnessed either for myself.

I wondered, for just a moment, if I
did
want to know who had fathered me. But once the king died, I would have no choice but to
spend the rest of my life uncertain of my heritage. I had to find a way to ask him before I lost my chance.

“Is His Grace truly ill? Is the king dying?”

Sir Anthony shushed me, his eyes darting from side to side to make sure no one had overheard. “Above all others, that is the question you must not ask.”

“Then let me ask another. Who am I, Sir Anthony? Who is my father? If you do not know, then I
must
speak to the king in private.”

“That is an extraordinary request from a young woman who has no official standing at court.” He tried to sound officious and failed.

My determination did not falter. I waited, holding his gaze, letting him see that I would not be swayed.

He cleared his throat. “His Grace will see no one at present but a few favored courtiers and his doctors. He will admit no petitioners. He has even banned his wife and his daughters from his presence.”

“But Yuletide is fast approaching. Surely—”

“Not this year. The queen and the rest of the court have been ordered to spend the season at Greenwich. His Grace means to go to Hampton Court, taking with him only a few trusted gentlemen. Go home, Audrey. There is no place for you here.”

T
he king did not return to Whitehall until the tenth of January. Although His Grace did not attend it, the Earl of Surrey’s trial was held at the Guildhall on the thirteenth. The proceedings lasted eight hours. When he was sentenced to death, the earl was beside himself. He jumped up and shouted, “The king wants to get rid of the noble blood around him and employ none but low people!”

No one had any doubt that he meant the Seymours, but his words did not help his case. Only a royal pardon would save him, and King Henry continued to keep to himself, still refusing to see anyone but a few select courtiers and his physicians. Even the Privy Council no longer met at court. Instead they convened at the Earl of Hertford’s London house.

As no females were allowed into the king’s lodgings, not even the queen, I had little hope of seeing His Grace, but that did not stop me from trying. I could scarce haunt the court, although petitioners did flock there every day. A young woman, even one with a maidservant for company, would attract too much attention. I managed an
occasional foray, but feared that if Father discovered where I’d been, he would lock me in my chamber. He would be within his rights to beat me for disobedience, although he never would.

Distressing Father was something I wished to avoid. Although he worked every day in his shop with his apprentices, he tired easily. The racking cough that had plagued him a few months earlier had never entirely gone away. And more than once I’d seen him stagger and grasp a table or a chair for support, clinging to it until he felt steady again. I could not tell if he was dizzy or nauseous or both. He would not admit to either.