On this occasion at Lincoln, Katharine Tylney and Margaret Morton had been loitering on the stairs outside the Queen’s apartment in a fever of excitement lest the King should come unexpectedly, and they be involved.
“Jesus!” whispered Katharine Tylney as Margaret came gliding into the corridor, “is not the Queen abed yet?”
Margaret, who a moment before had seen Culpepper emerge, answered: “Yes, even now.” And the two exchanged glances of relief, shrugging their shoulders smiling over the Queen’s recklessness and frivolity, reminding each other of her behavior at Lambeth.
Many such dangerous meetings took place, with Lady Rochford always at hand, the Queen’s attendant, always ready with suggestions and hints. Catherine had been indiscreet enough to write to Culpepper before this journey began. This was an indication of the great anxiety she felt for him, because Catherine never did feel happy with a pen, and to write even a few lines was a great effort to her. She had written this letter before the beginning of the tour when she and the King were moving about close to London and Culpepper was not with them. It was folly to write; and greater folly on Culpepper’s part to keep the letter; but being in love and inspired by danger rather than deterred by it, they had done many foolish things and this was but one of them.
And such like sentences all written out laboriously in Catherine’s untrained hand.
She lived through the days, waiting for a glimpse of Culpepper, recklessly, dangerously, while the foolish Lady Rochford sympathized and arranged meetings.
The King noticed nothing. He felt pleased; once more he was showing rebels what happened to those who went against their king. He could turn from the flattery of those who sought his good graces to the sweet, youthful charm of Catherine Howard.
“Never was man so happy in his wife!” he said; and he thought that when he returned he would have the nation sing a Te Deum, for at last the Almighty had seen fit to reward his servant with a perfect jewel of womanhood.
Cranmer was so excited he could scarcely make his plans. At last his chance had come. This was too much even for the King to ignore.
There was a man at court who was of little importance, but towards whom Cranmer had always had a kindly feeling. This man was a Protestant, stern and cold, a man who never laughed because he considered laughter sinful, a man who had the makings of a martyr, one who could find more joy in a hair-shirt than in a flagon of good wine. This man’s name was John Lassells, a protege of Cromwell’s who had remained faithful to him; he preached eternal damnation for all those who did not accept the teachings of Martin Luther.
This John Lassells came to Cranmer with a story which set Cranmer’s hopes soaring, that made him feel he could embrace the man.
“My lord,” said Lassells most humbly, “there is on my conscience that which troubles me sorely.”
Cranmer listened halfheartedly, feeling this was doubtless some religious point the man wished explained.
“I tremble for what this may mean,” said Lassells, “for it concerns Her Grace the Queen.”
Gone was Cranmer’s lethargy; there was a flicker of fire in his eyes.
“My lord Archbishop, I have a sister, Mary, and Mary being nurse to Lord William Howard’s first wife, was after her death taken into the service of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk.”
“Where the Queen was brought up,” said Cranmer eagerly.
“I asked my sister Mary why she did not sue for service with the Queen, for I saw that many who had been in the Dowager Duchess’s household now held places at court. My sister’s answer was most disturbing. ‘I will not,’ she said: ‘But I am very sorry for the Queen.’ I asked why, and she answered, ‘Marry, for she is both light in living and behavior.’ I asked how so, and she did tell me a most alarming story.”
“Yes, yes?”
“There was one Francis Derham who had slept in bed with her for many nights, and another, Manox, had known her.”
“Derham!” cried Cranmer. “Manox! They are both in the Queen’s household.”
He questioned Lassells further, and when he had learned all the man had to tell, he dismissed him after telling him he had indeed done the King a great service.
Cranmer was busy, glad of the absence of the King to give him a free hand. He sent Southampton to question Mary Lassells. Manox was arrested and brought before him and Wriothesley. Derham went to the Tower. Cranmer was going to garner each grain he gleaned, and when they were laid side by side he doubted not he would have good harvest. He waited impatiently for the return of the royal pair.
Henry was filled with satisfaction when he returned to Hampton Court. He was full of plans which he would lay before his confessor. A public thanksgiving should be prepared that the whole country might know, and thank God, that he had been blessed with a loving, dutiful and virtuous wife.
But Henry’s satisfaction was shortlived. He was in the chapel at Hampton Court when Cranmer came to him; Cranmer’s eyes were averted and in his hand he carried a paper.
“Most Gracious King,” said Cranmer, “I fear to place this grave matter set out herein in your hands, and yet the matter being so grave I dare do naught else. I pray that Your Grace will read it when you are alone.”
Henry read the report on Catherine; his anger was terrible, but it was not directed against Catherine but those who had given evidence against her. He sent for Cranmer.
“This is forged!” he cried. “This is not truthful! I have conceived such a constant opinion of her honesty that I know this!”
He paced up and down so that Cranmer’s chicken heart was filled with fear. It was too soon. The King would not give up the Queen; rather he would destroy those who sought to destroy her.
