Jane had been very eager to ingratiate herself with Catherine; she had not liked the last Queen; Jane had decided to adhere to the Catholic cause and support Catherine Howard against Anne of Cleves.
Catherine handed her the letter.
“It is from a Jane Bulmer,” said Jane, “and it comes from York.”
“I remember. It is from Jane Acworth who went to York to marry Mr. Bulmer. Tell me what she says.”
Jane Bulmer’s letter was carefully worded. She wished Catherine all honor, wealth and good fortune. Her motive in writing was to ask a favor of Catherine, and this was that she should be found a place at court. Jane was unhappy in the country; she was desolate. A command from the future Queen to Jane’s husband to bring his wife to court would make Jane Bulmer very happy, and she begged for Catherine’s help.
The threat was in the last sentence.
Her secretary! Jane Bulmer it was who had written those revealing, those intimate and passionate letters to Derham; Jane Bulmer knew everything that had happened.
Catherine sat very still as Jane Rochford read to her; her face was rosy with shame.
Jane Rochford was not one to let such signs pass unnoticed. She, as well as Catherine, read into those words a hint of blackmail.
On a hot July day Cromwell made the journey from the Tower to Tyburn. Tyburn it was because it was not forgotten that he was a man of lowly origins; he could smile at this, though a short while ago it would have angered him; but what does a man care when his head is to be cut off, whether it be done at Tower Hill or Tyburn?
He had obeyed his master to the last; he had been more than the King’s servant; he had been the King’s slave. But to his cry for mercy, had his most gracious Prince been deaf. He had done with Cromwell. He had not allowed Cromwell to speak in his own defense. Cromwell’s fall would help to bring back Henry’s popularity, for the people of England hated Cromwell.
His friends? Where were they? Cranmer? He could laugh at the thought of Cranmer’s being his friend. Only a fool would expect loyalty in the face of danger from weak-kneed Cranmer. He knew that the Archbishop had declared himself smitten with grief; he had told the King that he had loved Cromwell, and the more for the love he had believed him to bear His Grace the King; he had added that although he was glad Cromwell’s treason was discovered, he was very sorrowful, for whom should the King trust in future?
He had said almost the same words when Anne Boleyn had been taken to the Tower. Poor Cranmer! How fearful he was. He must have faced death a thousand times in his imagination. There was never a man quicker to dissociate himself from a fallen friend!
Crowds had gathered to see Cromwell’s last moments. He recognized many enemies. He thought of Wolsey, who would have faced this, had he lived long enough. He had walked in the shadow of Wolsey, had profited by his example, by his brilliance and his mistakes; he had followed the road to power and had found it led to Tyburn.
There was one in the crowd who shed a tear for him. It was Thomas Wyatt, who had been as eager as Cromwell himself that the Lutheran doctrines should be more widely understood. Their eyes met. Cromwell knew that Wyatt was trying to reassure him, to tell him that cruelties he had inflicted on so many had been done at Henry’s command and that Cromwell was not entirely responsible for them. This young man did not know of the part Cromwell had played in the destruction of Anne Boleyn. Cromwell hoped then that he never would. His heart warmed to Wyatt.
“Weep not, Wyatt,” he said, “for if I were not more guilty than thou wert when they took thee, I should not be in this pass.”
It was time for him to make his last speech, to lay his head upon the block. He thought of all the blood he had caused to be shed, and tried to pray, but he could think of nothing but blood, and the scream of men in agony and the creaking of the rack.
Onto his thick neck, the axe descended; his head rolled away from his body as four years before, had Anne Boleyn’s.
The King was enchanted with his bride. In the great hall at Hampton Court, he proclaimed her Queen. None had known the King in such humor for years; he was rejuvenated.
A few days after the proclamation, he took her from Hampton Court to Windsor, and astonished everyone by cutting himself off from the court that he might enjoy the company of his bride in private. Catherine seemed doubly pleasing in the King’s eyes, coming after Anne of Cleves; she was gentle yet ever ready to laugh; she had no disconcerting wit to confound him; her conversation held not a trace of cleverness, only kindness. She was a passionate creature, a little afraid of him, but not too much so; she was responsive and womanly; and never had the King felt such drowsy and delicious peace. If she had a fault it was her generosity, her kindness to others. She would give away her clothes and jewels, explaining, her head a little on one side, her dewy lips parted, “But it becomes her so, and she had so little....” Or, “She is poor, if we could but do something for her, how happy I should be!” She was irresistible and he could not bring himself to reprimand her for this overlavishness; he liked it; for he too came in for his share of her generosity. He would kiss her and stroke her and tickle her; and have her shrieking with laughter. Never had he dreamed of such blessedness.
Anne of Cleves was ordered to come to court to pay homage to the new Queen. There was a good deal of speculation in the court as to how the displaced queen would feel when kneeling to one who had but a short time ago been her maid of honor. It was expected that Catherine would demand great homage from Anne of Cleves to prove to herself and to the court that she was safely seated on the throne and had command of the King’s affection. But when Anne came and knelt before the new Queen, Catherine impulsively declared that there should be no ceremony.
“You must not kneel to me!” she cried, and the two Queens embraced each other with tears of affection in their eyes, and it was Anne of Cleves who was moved to pity, not Catherine Howard.
Catherine would do honor to her cousin’s daughter, Elizabeth, partly because she was her cousin’s daughter, and partly because, of all her step-children, she loved Elizabeth best.
Mary was disposed to be friendly, but only because Catherine came from a family which adhered to the old Catholic faith, and Mary’s friendship for people depended entirely on whether or not they were what she called true Catholics. Mary was six years older than her father’s wife, and she thought the girl over-frivolous. Catherine accepted Mary’s disapproval of her at first because she knew the Princess had suffered so much, but eventually she was goaded into complaining that Mary showed her little respect; she added that if only Mary would remember that although she was young she was the Queen, she would be ready to be friendly. This resulted in a sharp reprimand
