The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr Read online

  What she sees in secret, she may not tell.

  MISTRESS JULIANA ST. JOHN is the lovely, forthright daughter of a prosperous knight’s family. Though all expect her to marry the son of her late father’s business partner, time and chance interrupt, sending her to the sumptuous but deceptive court of Henry VIII.

  Sir Thomas Seymour, brother of the late Queen Jane, returns to Wiltshire to conclude his affairs with Juliana’s father’s estate and chances upon her reading as lector in the local church. He sees instantly that she would fit into the household of the woman he loves and wants most to please, Kateryn Parr. Juliana’s mother agrees to have her placed with Parr for a season and Juliana goes, though reluctantly.

  For she keeps a secret.

  Juliana has been given the gift of prophecy, and in one vibrant vision she has seen Sir Thomas shredding the dress of a highly born young woman, while it was still on her body, to perilous consequence.

  As Juliana accompanies Kateryn Parr to court, Henry’s devout sixth queen raises the stakes for all reformers. Support of firebrand Anne Askew puts the queen and her ladies in life-threatening jeopardy, as does the queen’s desire to influence her husband’s—and the realm’s—direction and beliefs. Later, without Henry’s strong arm, the court devolves to competition, duplicity, and betrayal. The risks could not be higher as Juliana must choose between love and honor, personal fulfillment and sacrifice. Ultimately, her course is driven by a final kept secret, one that undoes everything she thought she knew.

  SANDRA BYRD has published more than three dozen books in the fiction and nonfiction markets, including the first book in her Tudor series, To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn. For more than a decade Sandra has shared her secrets with the many new writers she edits, mentors, and coaches. She lives in the Seattle, Washington, area with her husband and two children. For more Tudor tidbits, please visit www.sandrabyrd.com.

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  COVER DESIGN BY BRUCE GORE • COVER PHOTOGRAPH © STEVE GARDNER/PIXELWORKS STUDIO • AUTHOR PHOTO © STUDIO PORTRAITS

  Praise for Sandra Byrd

  The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr

  “Rich in historical detail, full of intrigue, and starring a memorable heroine who grows in both character and faith, Sandra Byrd’s The Secret Keeper kept me completely engrossed in the tumultuous court of Henry VIII. I felt a part of the times, thanks to the author’s skillful storytelling, vivid descriptions, and inspiring characters. Readers are in for a special treat with this remarkable novel.”

  —Francine Rivers, New York Times bestselling author

  “I love this story. Exquisite attention to detail of time, language, and place. A deft creation of voice that invites the reader in and never lets her go. A delicate suspense that keeps pages turning. And throughout, the evidence of a remarkable storyteller who moves emotions in ways that both inspire and satisfy. I fell in love with Juliana St. John and with her heart, and hope she and her secrets find the widest possible audience.”

  —Jane Kirkpatrick, New York Times bestselling author of Where Lilacs Still Bloom

  To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

  “This stunning novel … reexamines Boleyn’s life from her beginnings to her rise and eventual fall in the Tudor court…. Byrd’s novel adds a depth to the character of Anne Boleyn that is often missing in other novels, and she brings the history to life in exquisite detail. Highly recommended for fans of Philippa Gregory.”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “In To Die For, Sandra Byrd gifts the reader with a fresh look at Anne Boleyn through the eyes of her lifelong friend Meg Wyatt…. Readers will be drawn to the events, beautifully depicted, but also to the emotions, skillfully conveyed. A new Tudor historical to treasure.”

  —Karen Harper, author of The Queen’s Governess

  “Sandra Byrd’s first venture into historical fiction is nothing short of brilliant, giving readers a wider glimpse of history, a greater measure of hope, and an ending that satisfies at the deepest level. Simply put, To Die For is the best historical novel I’ve read in many a season.”

  —Liz Curtis Higgs, New York Times bestselling author of Mine Is the Night

  “Ms. Byrd seamlessly weaves sacred threads of history with those of captivating imagination to take us on an unforgettable journey of the heart.”

  —Tamera Alexander, bestselling author of Within My Heart and The Inheritance

  “In this moving story of a friendship that survives a queen’s rise and fall, Sandra Byrd reaches beyond the familiar stereotypes to give us the story of two remarkable women: A refreshingly three-dimensional Anne (Boleyn) and a Meg (Wyatt) of courage and integrity make this novel a must for your Tudor library.”

  —Susan Higginbotham, author of The Queen of Last Hopes

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Sandra Byrd

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Howard Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Howard Books trade paperback edition June 2012

  HOWARD and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Byrd, Sandra.

  The secret keeper : a novel of Kateryn Parr / Sandra Byrd.—1st Howard Books trade paperback ed.

  p. cm.

  I. Title.

  PS3552.Y678S43 2012

  813'.54—dc23 2011034743

  ISBN 978-1-4391-8314-4 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-4391-8315-1 (eBook)

  All Old Testament Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version. Public domain. All New Testament Scripture quotations are taken from Tyndale’s New Testament, a modern-spelling edition of the 1534 translation with an introduction by David Daniell. Translated by William Tyndale. Copyright © 1989 by Yale University Press. Used by permission.

  You women who are so complacent,

  rise up and listen to me;

  you daughters who feel secure,

  hear what I have to say!

  In little more than a year

  you who feel secure will tremble.

  —The Book of the Prophet Isaiah

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Principal Works of Reference

  Reading Group Guide

  PROLOGUE

  Her voice sounded by turns pleased and then pleading, her laughter scaled from bass enjoyment to treble fear. A highborn woman held fast the girl’s arms while the rougher hands of a man ran over the young woman’s jawline, her hairline, her hemline. I could not see his face, but on his left small finger he bore a costly gold and black onyx signet ring. With the other hand he took his dagger and began to slash.

  Pieces of her black gown fell to the ground, one by one, like the locks of a condemned woman shorn before execution, though he stayed himself from touching her bright red hair before sheathing his dagger again. Her woeful face betrayed that she knew this would be her utter undoing. The gown was ruined and the black clumps, which had plummeted to the ground, received the breath of life of a sudden and became a flock of beady-eyed ravens that took wing toward the Tower of London, whilst we watched in horror and dread.

  ONE

  Spring: Year of Our Lord 1542

  St. Peter’s Church, Marlborough

  Hungerford House, Marlborough

  Brighton Manor, Marlborough

  I entered the church on a May morn and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim light and my body to the chill of the stone-cooled air. I sought Father Gregory, who caught my glance and smiled. I tried to return it in kind but my lips quivered. I waited in the back till he
finished lighting the candles before the morning service.

  Once he joined me, he immediately asked, “Daughter, what ails you?”

  My face had betrayed my qualms. No others were around us so I answered him frankly as was my habit. “My mother believes I am a witch. And I fear that she is right.”

  Father Gregory reflexively drew back a little and for the first time I tasted dread. If this man, who knew me well and trusted me to read aloud in his church, might consider the possibility that I was a sorceress, all was lost. All would be lost, whether it were true or not, if my mother had whispered her accusation to any but myself.

  “’Tis not so,” he said soothingly, and then as he was about to say more the rough townsfolk began to pool in the church’s nave like motes on a ray of light. Father Gregory’s face registered surprise, and then humility, and then perhaps a tint of fear. I turned toward the door to look upon whom he’d fixed his gaze: a well-dressed man, the most finely dressed man I had ever seen. The man nodded and approached us.

  Who was he? Was I to curtsey? Cast down my gaze? Take my leave? Before I could decide, the man was upon us and introductions begun.

  Father Gregory bowed. “Sir Thomas Seymour, please allow me to present Mistress Juliana St. John.”

  I decided, quickly, on a short curtsey and a brief, modest dip of the head. This pleased Seymour, who held out his right hand toward me. I took it and he did not wait afore softly kissing my slightly bent knuckles before speaking.

  “I am well pleased to meet you, Mistress Juliana.” His deep brown eyes held my gaze with immoderate affection and I turned away from it. All knew that the Seymour family was the highest, richest, and most powerful family perhaps in the entire realm. Prince Edward, the long-awaited heir to King Henry, was also the son of their sister Jane, the lamented queen who had not lived long enough to enjoy the rewards of her greatest achievement. They flew high and we dared not offend.

  “Mistress Juliana is one of our lectors. Her father, Sir Hugh St. John, God rest his soul, was a great benefactor of the church and also ensured that his children were well educated.” Father Gregory turned toward me. “Sir Thomas was an occasional associate and, er, friend, of your father.” He pointed toward the front of the church. “You’d best prepare for this morning’s reading, Mistress Juliana.”

  I nodded toward Sir Thomas. “I am greatly pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Thomas.”

  “As am I,” he said, and then bowed toward me, a maiden not yet eighteen, who was well beneath his standing. I gathered my skirts and my courage and made my way to the front, where the chained Great Bible, which had been secured to the altar to forestall its being stolen, was already open.

  Once I began to read out the Acts of the Apostles, I quit, for the moment, of my fears and lost myself in the resonant words of Saint Paul and the upturned faces of the crofters, the millers, and the goodwives, breathing heavily in their mean woolen garb. Sir Thomas remained for the reading but left before the townsfolk did. Afterward, Father Gregory called me back to a quiet closet shut off from hungry eyes and thirsty ears.

  “And now, Juliana. Unburden yourself.”

  I spoke immediately. “You know of my dream.”

  He nodded. “I know a little. Would you like to share its entirety?”

  “About a year ago, shortly after my father died, I began to have a dream. ’Twas not an ordinary dream, but it was powerful and left me in a sweat and fever with my senses vexed,” I said. “My maid, Lucy, would calm me afterward, though she was frightened too.” I forced my hands from twisting ropes of my fine skirts and continued.

  “I saw a barn, a large barn, filled with wheat and livestock of all kinds. And of course the husbandmen and others who tended the flocks and fields. At night, something kindled within the barn and within minutes it was aflame. The livestock and grains were all burnt and the building was too.”

  “Yes?” His voice was gentle but prodded me to continue.

  “At first I had the dream only once, and then six months later it came back. Then after a month, and then a week. Each time the dream would grow more fervent. The heat peeled my skin like parchment and my ears could not refuse the desperate bleating of the animals and the screams of men. One night, I noticed that the doors to the barn looked exactly like the doors to my father’s warehouses. And then, ’twas pressed upon my heart, For this reason you have been shown the fire. After some nights I knew I must tell my mother. It was not a choice but a compulsion.”

  He grimaced, as though swallowing bitter ale. “And she …”

  “Disbelieved me at first. But I was insistent. As you know I am wont to be.”

  We smiled together at that.

  “At some point she said she would approach Sir Matthias about having the warehouses cleaned and sorted and the goods removed to temporary holdings for inventory. She did so. And then I came and told you that was her plan. Within weeks the goods in my father’s warehouses had been moved, and shortly thereafter those warehouses burnt down but the goods were saved.” I met his gaze. “She has had little to say to me since.”

  “She had little to say to you before,” Father Gregory pointed out kindly, but bluntly. “The townsfolk said the inventory came at the right time because your blessed father had been a good man and this was our Lord’s way of taking care of his family.” He cleared his throat. “Sir Matthias said what of it?”

  “He said nothing at all, which was disturbing. My lady mother has said no more. But lately, I … dreamt. And I know she heard me call out, though my maid sought to wake and still me as soon as she heard my unrest.”

  “Is this another of the same kind of dream?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you told your mother?”

  “I have told no one.” My voice made it clear that I would not be forthcoming, even to him, with the contents of this dream. “But she came to my chamber and saw my countenance. After my maid had left us she declared me a witch.” I swallowed roughly. “Is it true? Am I a witch?”

  I looked at my hands, not wanting to see his face, nor how he might now view me, afore I heard his answer. I desperately wanted to keep his good opinion of me.

  “No,” he said gently. “You are not a witch. Do not let that trouble you again.”

  I sighed with relief, perhaps too soon, and looked up as he spoke. “But others could claim that you are one if they hear of your dreams or do not like the content of them. The penalty for witchcraft is death and forfeiture of all material wealth, no matter how highly born. Wait here.” He rose and left the room, his long black clerical robes sweeping the fine dust beneath them whilst I tried to quiet the worries that beset me.

  When he returned, he handed me a book. “Tyndale,” I said, tracing my finger over the lettering.

  He nodded. “’Twas in the warehouse afore it burnt. Your father was a good, honest man, importing cloth and rugs and tapestries from the Orient and transporting them to England. He also smuggled books.”

  I looked agog at Father Gregory, as though he had suddenly started speaking a strange tongue. “My father? A smuggler?”

  “Not for earthly profit, mistress; he had plenty of that. And he had friends in high places to protect him.”

  My mind went to Thomas Seymour.

  Father Gregory nodded toward the book he’d just handed me. “I knew these were hidden in the warehouses, and after you shared your dream with me I had them removed to the church. A new law will soon make them illegal. It will also make it illegal for women to teach or read Scripture publicly.”

  I shook my head. “So the king reverses himself again?”

  Father Gregory nodded. “Alas, yes. ’Tis never safe to act on what he says today, for that may be heresy tomorrow. I have already distributed the rest of these. A few I’ve held back, and this one seems intended for you.”

  He took the book from me and opened it up to the Acts of the Apostles, just a few pages on from that morning’s reading. “It shall be in the last days, saith God: I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. And on my servants, and on my handmaidens I will pour out my spirit in those days and they shall prophesy.”