The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

without—so it seemed to Jane—demanding to know whether he admired her. She was even thus with her tutors. And it was clear that Mistress Katharine Ashley, who thought her the most wonderful person in the world, now found her a difficult charge.

Everyone, even Elizabeth, looked sad because of Anne Askew. Elizabeth liked the new learning as much as Jane did—but differently. Elizabeth appreciated it, but would be ready to abandon it. Jane thought: I would not. I would be like Anne Askew.

“Something must be done to save her!” said Jane.

Edward looked expectantly at his sister, for she was the one who was always full of plans. If something could be done, Elizabeth would invariably suggest the means.

But now she shook her head.

“There is nothing to be done. Those with good sense will keep quiet.”

“We cannot let them send her to the stake!” insisted Jane.

“It is no affair of ours. We have no say in the matter.”

“We could plead, could we not?”

“With whom could we plead?”

“With the King.”

“Would you dare? Edward, would you dare?”

“With those near the King perhaps?” suggested Edward.

“With Gardiner?” cried the Princess ironically. “With the Chancellor?”

“No, indeed.”

“Then with Cranmer? Ha! He is too wise. He does not forget how, recently, he himself came near to disaster. He will say nothing. He will allow this affair to pass away and be forgotten—as we all must.”

“But it is Anne—our dearest Mistress Askew!”

“Our foolish Mistress Askew. She dared to stand up and say that the holy bread was not the body of Christ.”

“But that is what we know to be true.”

“We know?” Elizabeth opened her eyes very wide. “We read of these things, but we do not talk of them.”

“But if she believes…”

“I tell you she is a fool. There is no place in this court …nor in this world, I trow, for fools.”

“But you…no less than ourselves….”

“You know not what you say.”

“Then you are against Anne, against our stepmother? You are with Gardiner?”

“I am with none and against none,” answered the Princess. “I am … with myself.”

“Perhaps Uncle Thomas could put a plea before my father,” said Edward. “He is clever with words, and my father is amused by him. Uncle Thomas will know what to do.”

“’ Tis true,” said Elizabeth. “He will know what to do, and he will do what I shall do.”

She smiled and her face flushed suddenly; it was clear to Jane that Elizabeth was thinking, not of wretched Anne Askew, but of jaunty Thomas Seymour.

THE KING WAS in a merry mood. He sat, with a few of his courtiers about him, while a young musician—a beautiful boy— played his lute and sang with such sweetness that the King’s thoughts were carried away from the apartment. The song was of love; so were the King’s thoughts.

It should be my lady of Suffolk, he decided. She would bear him sons. He pictured her white body and her hair, touched with the bright yellow powder which so many used to give that pleasant golden touch. She was a fine, buxom woman.

Her glances had told him that she found him attractive. He liked her the better because she was the widow of Charles Brandon. There had always been friendship between himself and Charles. How readily he had forgiven the fellow when he had so hastily married Henry’s own sister, Mary Tudor, after old Louis’ death. Henry chuckled at the recollection of the old days, and a great longing for them swept over him.

He was not an old man. Fiftyfive. Was that so old? He decided angrily that he felt old because he no longer had a wife who pleased him.

Why is it, he pondered, that she cannot give me sons?

He had the answer to that. God was displeased with her. And why should God be displeased with her? She was no harlot—he would admit that—as the others had been. No. But she was a heretic. She was another such as that friend of hers, this Anne Askew. And that woman had been found guilty and condemned to the flames. Henry licked his lips. Was this wife of his any less guilty than the woman they had condemned to die?

I would not wish her to die such a death, he thought. I am a merciful man. But was it right that one woman should die for her sins while another, equally guilty, should go free?

There was an unpleasant rumor that the Duchess of Suffolk was one of those ladies who had dabbled in heresy. He did not want to examine that now. He refused to believe it. It was the sort of thing her enemies would say against her, knowing his interest. No! There was no need to occupy his thoughts with that matter…at this time.

She was a fascinating creature—aye, and not a little fascinated by her King. Feeling perhaps just a little afraid