The Secret Keeper: A Novel of Kateryn Parr Page 2

  We sat there, time marked by a hundred quiet breaths. Then he took the book from me and slipped threads that he pulled from his vestments between various of the pages before handing it back to me.

  “My dreams … they are prophecy?” I whispered, suddenly understanding why he’d chosen that passage.

  “’Tis your gift.” His drawn face showed me that he knew it to be a heavy burden.

  I stood up. “An unsolicited gift! An unwarranted trouble!” I pushed my hair back from my head and when I took my hand away it was wet with the evidence of fear and despair.

  “Woe to the pot who tells the potter how she should be fashioned,” he rebuked me.

  I sat down again, shamed. “I know it well. I am afraid.”

  “God has specially chosen you, and He will be with you, Juliana.”

  “And you, too? You will advise me?” I asked.

  “I am returning to Ireland. ’Tis not difficult to disappear back into the fens, where we are free to minister as we like, well out of the reach and even the sight of His Majesty, whom I cannot refer to as Defender of the Faith. God loves no false oath. I shall serve the simple people I’ve come from and serve in the manner I long have.”

  “What of me?” Cold seeped from the church walls and into my bones, which now felt very like those buried in the plot outside must feel.

  “You must take care. There are laws against prophecies, too, if those who are in power or are noble or highborn are not pleased with the predicted outcome. The prophet or prophetess may be thrown into the Tower for such—and worse.”

  He took my hand in his own again and I readily yielded it. “God Himself has opened your eyes. Many of the things you foresee shall be difficult and unwelcome, and the temptation will be to remain silent or run away. Some you must act upon in faith but may not learn the reason why during this lifetime. I shall pray for you,” he said gravely, “that you may be able to resist in the evil days that will surely come. And to stand.”

  My servant waited for me outside of St. Peter’s, horses ready to transport us to Sir Matthias’s home to sup. Our estate was at one end of the town, and Sir Matthias, who had been my father’s business partner, lived at the other. On the way I grieved over the forthcoming departure of Father Gregory, who had been a comfort and guide to me all of my life. I then ruminated in fear over my gift. When shall it next appear? To whom will I be compelled to speak, and of what? I’d drawn near to our Lord as I’d read from the Great Bible and had felt that naught could come between Him and me. Now I rather shamefully felt as if, given the right circumstance, I could easily imitate Saint Peter and deny Him thrice if it meant saving my life.

  I urged my horse on, as I did not want Matthias’s family to delay the meal on my behalf. Lady Hurworth was always quick to find fault with me, though why she was I knew not, as I was always overly solicitous to her. I suspected she took her cues from my mother.

  I urged my horse through the town, trying to ignore the stench and slick and muck, the smooth bits of bladder and spleen that had spilled into the roadway outside of the butcher’s as we passed. Children and adults alike stood aside as we rode through. “Godspeed, mistress,” they called out. We were not lords, but my father had been knighted and gentrified, and in our town that counted for much. His business employed many folk and they then had a bit more coin to spend on better bread and cloth because of his generosity. I smiled with true affection at those who caught my eye, knowing their goodwill was not based only on position but upon genuine fondness.

  We arrived at Hungerford House, and while the horses were stabled I made my way up the set of smoothly polished stone steps toward the doors. My father had been the merchant traveler, sailing to foreign lands to barter for and buy tapestries, rugs, and other Eastern treasures coveted in the West. Sir Matthias had stayed in England and taken care of financial matters. As the great wooden doors opened up toward a grand and fine hall, paneled with oak and floored with marble, I wondered not for the first time if the accounts had been balanced in Sir Matthias’s favor.

  “Juliana.” Sir Matthias’s son, also named Matthias, came into the hall to greet me. He was a fine man, soft as a cushion, but mostly kindly. He took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm before leading me into the dining chamber. “You look lovely,” he said. “As you always do.”

  I ducked my head to hide a grin as a picture came, unbidden, from a story my father had told me before his untimely death. The franklin, a good man who ate well and constantly, was a lavish host who berated his cooks if the sauces were not fine enough or the fowl not fat enough. This franklin was a rich landowner who was well thought of in his town but had little desire to venture beyond it. Perhaps this franklin had been named Matthias?

  “You are amused?” Matthias asked with a smile, but behind the smile, a sheathed demand that an answer should be forthcoming.

  “Nay,” I said. “I am glad of your company.” Which was partially true. I took his arm and smiled sweetly, which allowed me to conceal my amusement and please him at the same time.

  That appeased him and we sat at a table laden with everything that the franklin could have imagined and some foodstuffs I was certain he could not, like eels baked in pies and custard dishes spiced four or five ways. We then discussed the town.

  “Sir Thomas Seymour is in Marlborough,” I stated. “He was at church this morning whilst I read as lector.”

  All set down their knives. Matthias looked at me disapprovingly and his father cleared his throat before glaring. I sighed deeply. I should have waited for Sir Matthias to bring up important news, after which I could comment approvingly.

  Matthias grunted and threw another greasy bone under the table upon one of the fine carpets my father had conveyed back from Constantinople. “’Tis not proper for a woman to read aloud in church.”

  “Father Gregory told me that the king will be changing the law soon. Mayhap next time Parliament sits. Women will no longer be allowed to lector nor teach Scripture even to their servants.”

  “Good King Harry.” Sir Matthias tucked some partridge roasted with herbs into his mouth. “That is how it should have been all along.” He was either unaware that he had reprimanded me or had meant to. Young Matthias said nothing, but sat with a self-satisfied smile. He had oft voiced to me that he did not like my reading, or overeducating my mind, or speaking it. Poor qualities in a mother, he’d said. Mother of his children, he’d meant, though we’d never spoken of it, but that had softened me some because I loved children. My own mother would like as not begin negotiations soon, as Sir Matthias was now aware of the great dowry my father had left for me. My father had wanted different for me and had resisted that arrangement whilst he lived, but there were no other matches of consequence in our town and my mother rarely ventured out from Marlborough.

  “Sir Thomas has already been to see me to check on our mutual accounts,” Sir Matthias said with a superior look in my direction. “We established some business together this year with his shipping interests now that, well …”

  Now that my father was dead, he meant. I lost my hunger. I’d not yet recovered completely from the loss.

  Lady Martha stopped chewing and spoke up with unexpected and unnerving news. “I too knew that Sir Thomas was about. Your lady mother sent a servant earlier, for fruit, which she knows my confectioner prepares to perfection. She will be entertaining Sir Thomas and his retinue at Brighton Manor tonight upon his request.”

  “Here, then, mistress. Some of the kohl tha’ your father had brought back from the far lands,” Lucy said, and brought to me a stick of kohl from a cupboard on the far side of my chamber.

  I took it and then edged the tiniest amount of it round the frame of my eyes and at the base of my lashes. I had not worn kohl before, being young, and also because I knew Matthias would not approve. In any case, we rarely entertained.

  Lucy helped me into a gown of deep green that set off my dark hair and eyes. She laced up the back and helped me into my slippers afore assisting with my hair. She had not been trained to be a lady maid but she had learned as I’d grown; her own mother had served my mother for many years—and my mother’s standards were exacting. At the last minute, Lucy fastened a small gold bracelet with an emerald around my wrist. It had been a New Year’s gift the year before my father died.

  “You look beautiful,” Lucy said.

  I grinned at her faithfulness in spite of the fact that my mother had made it very clear that I was nothing special to look upon. “I shall not have a maid who speaks untruths. Even one who is well regarded.”

  She grinned with me, curtseyed, and left my chambers. A few minutes later I arrived at the sitting hall that was ablaze with beeswax candles—no stench of tallow in this household. My younger brother, Hugh, sat, uneasy in his finery, in an overstuffed chair covered with damask, driving his boots into the floor to avoid slipping off of it. “I’d rather be jousting or hunting or even cleaning stables,” he muttered. “Rather than be sitting here trussed up like a partridge.” A beard of the finest blond hairs was beginning to poke through his cleft chin, which was losing its padding.

  “What are those?” I asked, gently running my finger along his chin.

  “Those are my beard! Have you not seen a beard before, mistress?” he blustered.

  “I have indeed, young sir, but not upon your face.” I squeezed his shoulders and he warmed beneath my touch. Our mother was not given to physical affection, though Hugh and I had both thirsted for it since our father’s demise.

  “I’m sure we can arrange for some stable cleaning,” I teased. “If that’s your pleasure.” We continued talking for a moment and then walked over to where my mother stood conversing with Sir Thomas and several of his men. I was shocked to find her face in
high pink and her manner almost flirtatious. “Sir Thomas, my daughter, Juliana,” she said. She looked worried. Had my mother finally found someone who daunted even her?

  “We are acquainted.” Sir Thomas took my hand in his again and explained to all how he’d listened to me read in church that morning. He introduced me to the other courtiers around him, all finely garbed, and I had the opportunity to show, by my manners, my learning, and my use of language, that my mother had brought me up well. One or two gazed upon me admiringly and that pleased my mother not at all, but it made me feel young and desirable and hopeful for the first time in many years. Within a few minutes the musicians stopped playing and my mother’s chamberlain led us into the dining hall.

  After a fine meal of roast chicken with honey and almonds, several of Sir Thomas’s retinue begged their leave, and we four—my mother; Sir Thomas; my brother, Hugh; and myself—were left at table. I kept waiting for my mother to dismiss my brother and me but she did not. And then, Sir Thomas made an announcement.

  “Mistress Juliana,” he said, looking at me. “I have a proposal for Lady Frances’s consideration.”

  I felt a flush up the back of my neck and my mother looked alarmingly from Sir Thomas to me and back again. ’Twas clear she had not anticipated this.

  “Indeed, Sir Thomas?” I asked demurely.

  “My friend Lord Latimer’s lady, Kateryn Parr, is a fine woman who loves reading, and Scripture, and cultivating young women of good birth in her household. It is seemly for every maiden to spend some time in a good household, besides her own, of course, to further her education and polish.”

  I could sense that my mother was about to object when he said, “You were a companion to my sister Jane, were you not, Lady Frances?”

  “I was indeed,” my mother admitted. “Afore I married Sir Hugh.” There were familiar shards in the tone of her voice at his rebuke, so I did not voice my incredulity that my mother had once known a queen. The servants, recognizing her tone, too, melted into the background. “But, Sir Thomas, it had been my husband’s understanding that you were going to take our son, Hugh, and place him with a household, so that he may learn better the ways of the world. And make connections that will help him when he assumes his father’s business.”

  “All in good time, lady,” Sir Thomas said. “He is young.” I looked at Hugh, who seemed crestfallen that he would not be leaving Marlborough immediately. “After hearing Mistress Juliana read today, I knew that Lady Latimer would immediately take her to heart and it is now my wish to see her placed there. Unless you object?”

  His voice was a challenge and the room grew quiet. I thought it bold that Sir Thomas could speak so confidently about placing me in another man’s household and wondered exactly what his ties were with Lord and Lady Latimer.

  My mother did not answer directly. She preferred Hugh above all others, and I suspected she was unwilling to let him leave yet anyway.

  “Not at all … if Juliana wishes it,” my mother said, forfeiting.

  “Good!” Sir Thomas grew jovial again. “I have reason to believe that soon enough there will be a place for Master Hugh in one or another fine household. And now, young Hugh, whilst I get my horses from your stable, shall I teach you a sea song that we sailors sing when no ladies are present?”

  Hugh broke out in delighted laughter and Sir Thomas thanked my mother profusely for her hospitality.

  I had noticed something alarming about Sir Thomas, though, and I knew I had to ask my mother one question before I could consider Sir Thomas’s offer. I knocked gently on her chamber door.

  “Yes?” she called out as she sat at her dressing table while Lucy’s mother unwound my mother’s hair. I went in and stood next to her.

  “If I leave with Sir Thomas, will I be safe? I mean, is he safe? With me?”

  My mother barked out a laugh. “Even Sir Thomas would not stoop that low,” she said, waving me away with nary a glance in my direction. “He has the pick of the realm.”

  “Thank you, lady,” I said as I withdrew, crushed, but keeping a steady look upon my face so she wouldn’t realize my pain, if she looked up to glance at me, that was. If I hadn’t suspected already that she found me unlovely, I knew it now.

  Late that night, I visited Hugh in his chamber. “Will you go to London with Sir Thomas?” he asked.

  “Yes I will. I will miss you greatly, Hugh, and home. Truth be told, I am a bit afraid of what I may find in London, especially as I shall be alone but for Lucy in a household that is mighty and grand and well beyond what we’ve ever experienced.” I thought back upon my vision, and the timing of my discussion with Father Gregory, who had urged me to be faithful to my gift, and Sir Thomas’s appearance in Marlborough. “But I believe that going is the right thing to do.” I smoothed the coverlet at the foot of his bed. “And so I must.”

  “Sir Thomas liked our wolfhounds,” Hugh said approvingly. Then he asked, “Will you come back to marry Matthias? You do not wish it, do you?”

  “Nay,” I said, my heart and voice resigned. “But I believe that is what our lady mother wants and therefore that is what I shall do. But there is time.” Time for our Lord to fulfill this prophecy and bring no more, I thought hopefully.

  “I shall miss you,” Hugh said. “We’ve not ever been apart.”

  “God forbid that we be apart for long,” I quietly replied. Hugh was all I had. “Shall I tell you about the knight Saint George?” He was really too old for such fooleries. But he nodded and I began to recount a story our father had oft told us when we were children because it comforted us both, then and now.

  “Now this knight was heroic, and chivalrous; he lived by truth and honor and justice, having won great esteem in his lord’s wars, and was well liked in both Christian and heathen lands,” I began.

  “Like our father,” Hugh said sleepily, half-man, half-boy. I agreed and continued the story.

  Later, I returned to my chambers in darkness, after Lucy had also retired to her own room nearby. I lay in bed stark awake. It was not in fear of another dream but of something yet more dreadful in the present reality, the knowledge of which I wrestled with.

  At dinner I had noted, with apprehension, that Sir Thomas wore a gold and black onyx signet ring on his left small finger. He was, without a doubt, the man with the dagger, slashing the maiden’s black dress, in my prophetic dream.

  TWO

  Summer, Autumn, and Winter: Year of Our Lord 1542

  Charterhouse

  My father had settled us in Marlborough because it was between Bath and London, which made it convenient for shipping and selling. He’d brought our family to London once and we’d seen the Thames and the fearsome Tower perched upon it. Some of his seafaring friends had taken us in a rich skiff to view the royal palaces of Greenwich and Whitehall; from the water Hugh and I had marveled at them while my mother was a guest at the London home of a friend. So it was not as if I had never been to London.

  But I had never been to London to stay. My thrill near spilled beyond containment.

  Several months after his visit to our home, Sir Thomas had sent a fine litter and several of his men from Wulf Hall, his family seat nearby, to convey my belongings, myself, and Lucy to Lady Latimer’s home in London. ’Twas near fifty miles along the Great Road, so by leaving early in the morn we would arrive while there was still light. I rolled up the rug at my feet along with several boxes of gifts for Lady Latimer. Lucy sat behind me. She chattered and I chattered back, though my mother had warned me not to mix with her overmuch.

  “You are a knight’s daughter, and Lucy is your maid, not your friend,” she’d said.

  “Yes, my lady,” I’d answered. “I will obey you and bring you honor while in the Latimers’ household.” But I knew, too, that my mother confided in Lucy’s mother as much as any other so there was some margin to the rule.

  If one were to put Hungerford House and Brighton Manor side by side and then copy them by three, one would not end up with a building as large or magnificent as the Charterhouse in Charterhouse Square. When the litter finally stopped, Lucy gasped, and I remembered just in time not to do so myself. The heart of the building was both stout and high, with turrets and towers and long arms that stretched to either side. I was awestruck and delighted to be in such fine surroundings and on such a delectable adventure! The stable was as big as my home. One of Lord Latimer’s servants was there to greet us as we arrived. He showed us to a chamber with a small servant’s room on the left arm of the building.