Unlike Henry’s other daughter, Mary, who had impudently refused to recognize Elizabeth’s title. From Hertford, where she was lodging with her household, she wrote to the Council that she would call Elizabeth “sister,” nothing more.
Henry was seething. “She shall be stripped of the title and trappings of princess!” he shouted. “She is not my lawful daughter, and therefore she cannot be my heir. She is my bastard, nothing more. From henceforth she must be called the Lady Mary.” Without hesitation, he sent a deputation of the Council to inform her of her demotion. Anne inwardly applauded him for being firm with Mary at long last.
The councillors returned to Greenwich grim-faced. Mary had insisted that she alone was the King’s true daughter, born in lawful matrimony. She’d said she would say nothing to the slander of her mother, the Holy Church, and the Pope, and declared she would dishonor her parents if she falsely confessed herself a bastard. She had written a letter to her father, beseeching his blessing.
“I will curse her rather!” he snapped, reading it. “She trusts I was not privy to the Council’s message. She doubts not that I take her for my lawful daughter, born in true matrimony.”
“You will not let this pass?” Anne challenged. He could not. Mary was popular, while her own child was seen by many as a bastard. With Katherine out of sight at Buckden, she could see Mary becoming a focus for those who opposed the King. Mary’s resolve must therefore be broken, by fair means or foul.
“I will write to her, never fear,” Henry growled. “I will leave her in no doubt that it was my will that she was deprived of the title of princess. And I will tell her that I’m giving her palace of Beaulieu to your brother Rochford.”
“That is most bountiful of Your Grace,” Anne said, lowering her eyes so he would not see the triumph in them. “I would like her jewels for Elizabeth.”
“You shall have them. A bastard cannot be permitted to wear what rightfully belongs to the lawful heir.”
An idea occurred to Anne. “Would it not be a good thing to have Mary in Elizabeth’s household, where she can be under the eye of people loyal to us?”
Henry was still simmering. “An excellent solution. Her household shall be disbanded. That troublemaker, Lady Salisbury, can go to the Devil, and Mary can go to Hatfield and serve Elizabeth. That’ll teach her to defy me. I’ll force her to bend the knee to my true heir.”
Jubilation mingled with relief. “And who shall be her lady mistress in place of Lady Salisbury?”
“Who in Elizabeth’s household would be most suitable?”
“My aunt, Lady Shelton. She is utterly loyal.”
“So be it. I will give the order.”
—
Anne was happily nursing her triumph over Mary when a message arrived from Katherine asking if the King would let her move to a healthier house, as her lodging at Buckden was damp and cold, winter was descending, and her health was beginning to suffer.
She had brought it on herself. If she had seen sense, she could have been living in luxury with her daughter at her side. But maybe Henry’s harsh measures were beginning to achieve results. No doubt the ever-industrious Chapuys had informed Katherine of what was planned for Mary. It was one thing to suffer yourself, another to see a loved child suffer unnecessarily. And if the mother broke, the daughter would too.
Anne did not want to hound Katherine to her death, although she kept thinking that Katherine dying would solve everything. But a little more of the same medicine might teach the stubborn woman what was good for her.
Cromwell was the man to ask. He seemed to know everything. She summoned him to her privy chamber.
“Tell me,” she said, “do you know of any great houses that are in poor order yet habitable?”
“Is this for the Princess Dowager?” he asked.
“You must have read my mind,” she smiled.
“No, madam, I read her letter to the King.” Nothing, it seemed, escaped him.
She explained her strategy, and Cromwell thought for a bit.
“The Bishop’s Palace at Somersham near Ely is surrounded by deep water and marshes,” he said. “Your Grace might like to suggest that to the King.”
Anne went straight to Henry and told him that Cromwell had suggested a house for Katherine.
“How long she stays there is up to her,” she said. “When she arrives at Somersham and sees that her situation is not going to improve unless she obeys your orders, she may capitulate.”
“Darling, I fear you want hope to triumph over experience,” Henry observed. “I think she would go into the fire rather than admit she is wrong.”
“It’s insane, when she could be having a good life in retirement.”
“If she remains obstinate, I’ll have her declared as insane as her sister Juana,” Henry said. “There’s madness in that family. People will believe it.”
Chapuys, unusually well informed, protested of course.
“He complains that Somersham is the most unhealthy and pestilential house in England,” Henry huffed. “He’ll be telling tales to the Emperor if I don’t send Katherine somewhere else. I thought of her castle of Fotheringhay. It was a royal palace fifty, sixty years ago, and after I granted it to her she tried to restore it. But it was already decaying, and despite the works she had carried out, it’s now in an even worse condition than Somersham.”
“Send her to Fotheringhay,” Anne urged.
But Katherine, it seemed, was well apprised of the state of Fotheringhay. Back came the answer from Buckden: she would not go there.
“Then she must go to Somersham,” Anne decreed, and Henry issued the order.
Again Katherine refused to go.
“I’ll teach her to defy me!” Henry stormed, and ordered the dismissal of all but the most necessary of her servants, insisting that those remaining must not address her as Queen, but as Princess Dowager. To enforce her obedience to these commands, and escort her to Somersham, the Duke of Suffolk was sent to Buckden with a detachment of the King’s guards. He was reluctant to go. Anne guessed he would infinitely have preferred to spend Christmas at court with his young bride. But north he marched, and she held her breath, hoping that this show of armed force might persuade Katherine to give in.
—
“Sir John Seymour begs that you will accept his daughter into your service.” Henry handed Anne a letter. “She served the Princess Dowager at court, and was with her at Buckden until Sir John summoned her home.”
“I remember Jane Seymour,” Anne said, recalling a quiet-spoken, fair girl with a pale complexion, watchful eyes, and a prim mouth.
“Her father clearly regrets sending her to Katherine, and is worried about losing my favor because of it—and about not finding her a husband. But, as he explains, it’s not been easy to obtain another place for her. No one wants someone who was associated with Katherine.”
“Is Jane Seymour a friend to her?”
“As I remember, she’s a little mouse who wouldn’t say boo to a gnat. Sir John is loyal. He has served me well. She’ll do as he bids her.”