The King was very happy at that time. He continually kissed and caressed me; he gave me valuable jewels. He sensed that I did not care for them a great deal and, as he liked everything I did, that seemed to please him. He was proving to be the most uxorious of husbands. I think he really did love me dearly.

I said to him one day: “There is to be a grand banquet in the great hall here. You are proposing to present me to them as your Queen.”

“That is so, sweetheart,” he said. “You are going to have the honor which you deserve.”

“There is something I would ask Your Majesty,” I said, a little hesitantly.

“Ask me, and I doubt not that it shall be yours.”

“It concerns your daughter, the little Elizabeth. She is but young. She has done no wrong. I would ask that she may be present at the banquet and seated in a place of honor … near me where I can see her.”

He hesitated for a few moments. Then he said: “Why do you wish this?”

“Because she is young. She is your daughter, yet she is shut away. I think she may be sad and wish to see her father now and then. And as she is your daughter—I would know her too.”

I saw that look of sentiment in his face. It was so often there for me.

“As you ask, sweetheart,” he said, “it shall be. The child has done no wrong. She could not be held responsible for her mother’s ill deeds.”

So Elizabeth was to come to the banquet.

In due course I was brought to the great hall where all the greatest in the land were assembled: and they came to kneel before me and pay homage to me as their Queen, while the King looked on benignly; and I could not help but be proud to have won so effortlessly that favor for which they were all striving.

Afterward we went to the royal chapel and I sat beside the King throughout the service.

In the banqueting hall, Elizabeth was seated opposite me. She was a striking-looking child; her reddish hair must have been very like the King’s, when he was her age, of course. She would be about seven years of age, but she looked more. There was a wariness, an alertness, about her. Poor child, she had been but three years old when her mother had gone to the block. How much did she know of that? I wondered.

I smiled at her to show her that I would be her friend, and she responded cautiously. I was very pleased though that I had arranged for her to be brought to Court.

It was a successful occasion.

When we retired, the King looked at me with that indulgent expression to which I had become accustomed.

“Well,” he said. “Did your presentation please Your Majesty?”

“It was wonderful. You are so good to me.”

I enjoyed bringing that soft, sentimental look to his face.

“You shall see, sweetheart, what I shall do for you.”

“You do too much.”

He laughed aloud. “The feeling of most around me is that not enough is done for them.” He added: “Were you disappointed not to have a coronation?”

I shook my head. “What do I care for a coronation when I have the King?”

He was so happy that, although I did think of Thomas now and then, I could be happy too.

“And I have something to show you,” he went on. “I was not going to let our marriage pass unnoticed.”

“Unnoticed? Oh come, my lord, that was not possibly what you wished. It is not every day the King marries.” I stopped myself in time. That seemed a rather tactless remark and might have provoked some merriment if any had been there to hear it—and dared show the flicker of a smile. Every day might be an exaggeration, but five in a lifetime was a goodly tally.

In his uxorious mood, he had not noticed. He drew a coin out of his pocket.

“What do you think of this?” he asked.

“It looks like a gold coin.”

“It is a gold coin. Look. Here are the royal arms of England.”

“With the initials H.R. I have a notion that might mean Your Majesty.”

“My Katherine is a saucy wench,” he said. “Turn it over.”

I did so. Then I saw what it meant. It was done to honor me.

“K.R.,” I read. “‘Henricus VIII Rutilans rosa sine spina.’” He had named me his rose without a thorn. I felt a faint shiver of uneasiness.

I hoped he would not ask too much of me.


* * *

I did not lose much time in visiting the nurseries, which at that time were situated at Hampton Court. I missed my own brothers and sisters and had always wished to be in the heart of a family. Now I had three stepchildren—one of them older than myself; but I did not think the Lady Mary would wish to see me. She was a sad creature; she had never recovered from the suffering her mother’s ill treatment and death had caused her. I had heard it said that when Catherine of Aragon’s heart was broken, Mary’s was too. I had seen her only once or twice, and she had seemed to be a very tragic figure.

It was the children I wanted to see—Henry’s daughter Elizabeth and his frail little boy, heir to the throne.

Lady Bryan, who had brought up Mary and was in the process of doing the same for Elizabeth, now held the office of Lady

Mistress in the Prince’s household. She was greatly loved by the children, I had heard, as was Lady Penn, who was now their chief nurse.

These ladies greeted me with the utmost respect, although they must have thought I was very young, quite inexperienced and quite unfit to hold the important office which the King had thrust upon me.

I had told them that I had come to see the Prince and that I believed the Lady Elizabeth was often in his company.

“ ’Tis so, Your Majesty,” said Lady Bryan. “It is a source of great pleasure to me that they are so happy together. The Lady Elizabeth is a very clever child, and the Prince dotes on her.”

“It would seem you have a very happy household.”

“I trust so, Your Majesty. Children should live in happy surroundings.”

“We are in agreement on that. Would you please conduct me to the Prince’s apartment?”

The Prince was sitting at a table, with Elizabeth beside him. She sprang to her feet at my approach and curtsied. The Prince scrambled down.

I did not wish for any formality, and I said: “Let us all sit down, shall we? I saw you, Lady Elizabeth, at the King’s banquet, and, my Lord Prince, I am very happy to make your acquaintance.”

Elizabeth said: “You must bow, Edward. This is the Queen.”

Edward studied me intently and said: “She does not look like a Queen.”

“You must not say that,” Elizabeth chided.

I laughed. “Please do not think you must show me ceremony. I am not merely the Queen, am I? We are closer than that.”

Edward looked at Elizabeth and waited for her to reply.

“Your Majesty is gracious,” she said with dignity.

I could see that she clung to ceremony, but when I asked her about her lessons she changed. She was really devoted to her books, and I realized that she was teaching Edward to be the same.

I felt I must not pursue the subject of learning too far, for I feared it was possible that, at seven years of age, Elizabeth would discover my lack of it.

I asked them about their outdoor activities. Elizabeth apparently rode well, as she did everything else; but Edward did not care so much for it.

“They are constantly telling him he must do this and that because one day he will be King,” she said. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “We should not speak of that time,” she added, “because my father would have to die before Edward became so.” Then she looked annoyed at herself for having made such a statement. “Edward likes me to be with him,” she went on. “Then I can look after him.”

“You must be a great help to him,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed coolly. “He relies on me, do you not, Edward?”

He nodded, smiling, and slipped his hand into hers.

She was very self-assured for one so young, I thought. And she was more like her father than the boy was. How perverse life was! If she had been a boy, how different everything might have been. How she would have delighted her father then; she looked so like him at times. I could see nothing of her mother in her. But perhaps there was a certain pride and that indomitable spirit.

And what was she thinking now? That I was her mother’s cousin. What did that make me? Her second cousin perhaps? I wondered if she was thinking, as I was, of that beautiful head on the block and the sword descending. Would she be thinking that I was one of the women who had taken her mother’s place?

I had heard that she had become friendly with Anne of Cleves. I could not believe that she had felt the same toward Jane Seymour. I wished I could stop thinking of my cousin’s coming upon Jane Seymour seated on the King’s knee while he smiled at her as he did so often at me. It was really such a short time ago, and since then Jane had become Queen and so had Anne of Cleves; and now it was my turn.

Feelings of doom descended on me. Oh no, he loved me. Indeed, all I had to do was smile and say what he wanted to hear. And I was fond of him. Who would not be fond of a husband who indulged one so? It was so easy to satisfy his demands. At last I had accepted that there must be no contact with Thomas Culpepper, and he had gone from my life forever. It was the only way—not only for me, but for him.

I was quite happy in my new life. I had never had perfection and perhaps I did not hope for it. Now I looked forward to having a share in that family which I had inherited. It amused me to realize I had stepchildren—that frail little boy and the intriguing Elizabeth.

I did not expect friendship from Mary. She would naturally turn from her father’s wives. But in time, who knew?