The Wives of Henry the Eighth and the Parts They Played in History

CHAPTER VIII

She was a woman, however, and could not fail to know that her repudiation in some form was in the air. It was one of the accusations against Cromwell that he had divulged to her what the King had said about the marriage; but, so far from doing so, he had steadily avoided compliance with her oft-repeated requests for an interview with him. Shortly before Cromwell’s fall, Henry had complained to him that Anne’s temper was becoming tart; and then Cromwell thought well to warn her through her Chamberlain that she should try to please the King more. The poor woman, desirous of doing right, tactlessly flew to the other extreme, and her cloying fondness aroused Henry’s suspicion that Cromwell had informed her of his intention to get rid of her. Anne’s Lutheranism, moreover, had begun to grate upon the tender conscience of her husband under the prompting of the Catholic party; although she scrupulously followed the English ritual, and later became a professed Catholic; and to all these reasons which now made Henry doubly anxious for prompt release, was added another more powerful than any. One of Anne’s maids of honour was a very beautiful girl of about eighteen, Katharine, the orphan daughter of Lord Edmund Howard, brother of the Duke of Norfolk, and consequently first cousin of Anne Boleyn. During the first months of his unsatisfying union with Anne, Henry’s eyes must have been cast covetously upon Katharine; for in April 1540 she received a grant from him of a certain felon’s property, and in the following month twenty-three quilts of quilted sarsnet were given to her out of the royal wardrobe. When Cromwell was still awaiting his fate in the Tower, and whispers were rife of what was intended against the Queen, Marillac the observant French ambassador wrote in cipher to his master, telling him that there was another lady in the case; and a week afterwards (6th July) he amplified his hints by saying that, either for that reason or some other, Anne had been sent to Richmond, on the false pretence that plague had appeared in London, and that Henry, very far from joining her there, as he had promised, had not left London, and was about to make a progress in another direction. Marillac rightly says that “if there had been any suspicion of plague, the King would not stay for any affair, however great, as he is the most timid person that could be in such a case.”

The true reason why Anne was sent away was Henry’s invariable cowardice, that made him afraid to face a person whom he was wronging. Gardiner had promptly done what Cromwell had been ruined for not doing, and had submitted to the King within a few days of the arrest of his rival a complete plan by which Anne might be repudiated.[208] First certain ecclesiastics, under oath of secrecy, were to be asked for their opinion as to the best way to proceed, and the Council was thereupon to discuss and settle the procedure in accordance: the question of the previous contract and its repudiation was to be examined; the manner in which the Queen herself was to be approached was to be arranged, and evidence from every one to whom the King had spoken at the time as to his lack of consent and consummation was to be collected. All this had been done by the 7th July, when the clergy met at Westminster, summoned by writ under the great seal, dated the 6th, to decide whether the King’s marriage was valid or not in the circumstances detailed. The obedient Parliament, sitting with closed doors, a few days previously had, by Norfolk’s orders, petitioned the King to solve certain doubts that had been raised about the marriage, and Henry, ever desirous of pleasing his faithful lieges, and to set at rest conscientious scruples, referred the question to his prelates in Synod for decision.

Anne, two days before this, summoned to Richmond the ambassador of her brother, who came to her at four o’clock in the morning; and she then sent for the Earl of Rutland, the chief of her household, to be present at the interview. The King, she said, had sent her a message and asked for a reply. The effect of the message was to express doubts as to the validity of their marriage, and to ask her if she was content to leave the decision of it to the English clergy. The poor woman, much perturbed, had refused to send an answer without consideration, and she had then desired that her brother’s envoy should give, or at all events carry, the answer to the King, but this he refused to do; and she in her trouble could only appeal to Rutland for advice. He prated about the “graciousness and virtue” of the King, and assured her that he would “do nothing but that should stand by the law of God, and for the discharge of his conscience and hers, and the quietness of the realm, and at the suit of all his lords and commons.” The King was content to refer the question to the learned and virtuous bishops, so that she had cause to be glad rather than sorry. Anne was confused and doubtful; for she did not know what was intended towards her. But, considering the helplessness of her position and the danger of resistance, she met the deputation of the Council that came to her next day (6th July) in a spirit of complete surrender. She was, she said in German, always content to obey the King, and would abide by the decision of the prelates; and with this answer Gardiner posted back to London that night, to appear at the Synod the next morning.

Neither Anne, nor any one for her, appeared. The whole evidence, which was that already mentioned, was to show the existence of a prior contract, of the annulling of which no sufficient proofs had been produced, the avowals of the King and the Queen to their confidants that the marriage had never been consummated, and never would be; and, lastly, the absence of “inner consent” on the part of the King from the first. Under the pressure of Gardiner—for Cranmer, overshadowed by a cloud and in hourly fear of Cromwell’s fate, was ready to sign anything—the union was declared to be invalid, and both parties were pronounced capable of remarriage. A Bill was then hurriedly rushed through Parliament confirming the decision of Convocation, and Cranmer, for the third time, as Primate, annulled his master’s marriage. Anne was still profoundly disturbed at the fate that might be in store for her; and when Suffolk, Southampton, and Wriothesley went to Richmond on the 10th July to obtain her acceptance of the decision, she fainted at the sight of them. They did their best to reassure her, giving her from the King a large present of money and a specially affectionate letter. She was assured that if she would acquiesce and remain in the realm she should be the King’s adopted sister, with precedence before all other ladies but the King’s wife and daughters; a large appanage should be secured to her, and jewels, furniture, and the household of a royal princess provided for her. She was still doubtful; and some persuasion had to be used before she would consent to sign the letter dictated to her as the King’s “sister”; but at last she did so, and was made to say that “though the case was hard and sorrowful, for the great love she bears to his noble person, yet, having more regard for God and His truth than for any worldly affection, she accepts the judgment, praying that the King will take her as one of his most humble servants, and so determine of her that she may sometimes enjoy his presence.”

This seemed almost too good to be true when Henry read it, and he insisted upon its being written and signed again in German, that Anne might not subsequently profess ignorance of its wording. When Anne, however, was asked to write to her brother, saying that she was fully satisfied, she at first refused. Why should she write to him before he wrote to her? she asked. If he sent a complaint, she would answer it as the King wished; but after a few days she gave way on this point when further pressed.[209] So delighted was Henry at so much submission to his will, that he was kindness and generosity itself. On the 14th July he sent the Councillors again to Richmond, with another handsome present and a letter to his “Right dear, and right entirely beloved sister,” thanking her gratefully for her “wise and honourable proceedings.” “As it is done in respect of God and His truth; and, continuing your conformity, you shall find us a perfect friend content to repute you as our dearest sister.” He promised her £4000 a year, with the two royal residences of Richmond and Bletchingly, and a welcome at Court when she pleased to come. In return she sent him another amiable letter, and the wedding-ring; expressing herself fully satisfied. She certainly carried out her part of the arrangement to perfection, whether from fear or complaisance; assuring the envoys of her brother the Duke that she was well treated, as in a material sense indeed she was, and thenceforward made the best of her life in England.

Her brother and the German Protestants were of course furiously indignant; but, as the injured lady expressed herself not only satisfied but delighted with her position, no ground could be found for open quarrel. She was probably a person of little refinement of feeling, and highly appreciated the luxury and abundance with which she thenceforward was surrounded, enjoying, as she always did, recreation and fine dress, in which she was distinguished above any of Henry’s wives. On the day after the Synod had met in Westminster to decide the invalidity of the marriage (7th July), Pate, the English ambassador, saw the Emperor at Bruges, with a message from Henry which foreshadowed an entire change in the foreign policy of England. Charles received Pate at midnight, and was agreeably surprised to learn that conscientious scruples had made Henry doubt the validity of his union with Anne. The Emperor’s stiff demeanour changed at once, and, as the news came day by day of the progress of the separation of Henry from his Protestant wife, the cordiality of the Emperor grew towards him,[210] whilst England itself was in full Catholic reaction.

The fall of Cromwell had, as it was intended to do, provided Henry with a scapegoat. The spoliation and destruction of the religious houses, by which the King and many of the Catholic nobles had profited enormously, was laid to the dead man’s door; the policy of plundering the Church, of union with Lutherans, and the favouring of heresy, had been the work of the wicked minister, and not of the good King—that ill-served and ungratefully-used King, who was always innocent, and never in the wrong, who simply differed from other good Catholics in his independence of the Bishop of Rome: merely a domestic disagreement. With such suave hypocrisy as this difficulties were soon smoothed over; and to prove the perfect sincerity with which Henry proceeded, Protestants like Barnes, Garrard, and Jerome were burnt impartially side by side with Catholics who did not accept the spiritual supremacy of Henry over the Church in England, such as Abell, Powell, Fetherstone, and Cook. The Catholic and aristocratic party in England had thus triumphed all along the line, by the aid of anti-Protestant Churchmen like Gardiner and Tunstal. Their heavy-handed enemy, Cromwell, had gone, bearing the whole responsibility for the past; the King had been flattered by exoneration from blame, and pleased by the release from his wife, so deftly and pleasantly effected. No one but Cromwell was to blame for anything: they were all good Catholics, whom the other Catholic powers surely could not attack for a paltry quarrel with the Pope; and, best of all, the ecclesiastical spoil was secured to them and their heirs for ever, for they all maintained the supremacy of the King in England, good Catholics though they were.

But, withal, they knew that Henry must have some one close to him to keep him in the straight way.[211] The nobles were not afraid of Cranmer, for he kept in the background, and was a man of poor spirit; and, moreover, for the moment the danger was hardly from the reformers. The nobles had triumphed by the aid of Gardiner, and Gardiner was now the strong spirit near the King; but the aims of the nobles were somewhat different from those of Churchmen; and a Catholic bishop as the sole director of the national policy might carry them farther than they wished to go. Henry’s concupiscence must therefore once more be utilised, and the woman upon whom he cast his eyes, if possible, made into a political instrument to forward the faction that favoured her. Gardiner was nothing loath, for he was sure of himself; but how eager Norfolk and his party were to take advantage of Henry’s fancy for Katharine Howard, to effect her lodgment by his side as Queen, is seen by the almost indecent haste with which they began to spread the news of her rise, even before the final decision was given as to the validity of the marriage with Anne. On the 12th July a humble dependant of the Howards, Mistress Joan Bulmer (of whom more will be heard), wrote to Katharine, congratulating her upon her coming greatness, and begging for an office about her person: “for I trost the Quyne of Bretane wyll not forget her secretary.”

Less than a fortnight later (21st July) the French ambassador gives as a piece of gossip that Katharine Howard was already pregnant by the King, and that the marriage was therefore being hurried on. Exactly when or where the wedding took place is not known, but it was a private one, and by the 11th August Katharine was called Queen, and acknowledged as such by all the Court. On the 15th Marillac wrote that her name had been added to the prayers in the Church service, and that the King had gone on a hunting expedition, presumably accompanied by his new wife; whilst “Madame de Cleves, so far from claiming to be married, is more joyous than ever, and wears new dresses every day.” Everybody thus was well satisfied except the Protestants.[212] Henry, indeed, was delighted with his tiny, sparkling girl-wife, and did his best to be a gallant bridegroom to her, though there was none of the pomp and splendour that accompanied his previous nuptials.[213] The autumn of 1540 was passed in a leisurely progress through the shires to Grafton, where most of the honeymoon was spent. The rose crowned was chosen by Henry as his bride’s personal cognisance, and the most was made of her royal descent and connections by the enamoured King. “The King is so amorous of her,” wrote Marillac in September, “that he cannot treat her well enough, and caresses her more than he did the others.” Even thus early, however, whispers were heard of the King’s fickleness. Once it was said that Anne of Cleves was pregnant by him, and he would cast aside Katharine in her favour, and shortly afterwards he refrained from seeing his new wife for ten days together, because of something she had done to offend him.

The moral deterioration of Henry’s character, which had progressed in proportion with the growing conviction of his own infallibility and immunity, had now reached its lowest depth. He was rapidly becoming more and more bulky; and his temper, never angelic, was now irascible in the extreme. His health was bad, and increasing age had made him more than ever impatient of contradiction or restraint, and no consideration but that of his own interest and safety influenced him. The policy which he adopted under the guidance of Gardiner and Norfolk was one of rigorous enforcement of the Six Articles, and, at the same time, of his own spiritual supremacy in England. All chance of a coalition of Henry with the Lutherans was now out of the question (“Squire Harry means to be God, and to do as pleases himself,” said Luther at the time); and the Emperor, freed from that danger, and faced with the greater peril of a coalition of the French and Turks, industriously endeavoured to come to some modus vivendi with his German electors. The rift between Charles and Francis was daily widening; and Henry himself was aiding the process to his full ability; for he knew that whilst they were disunited he was safe. But for the first time in his reign, except when he defied the Pope, he adopted a policy—probably his own and not that of his ministers—calculated to offend both the Catholic powers, whilst he was alienated from the reforming element on the Continent.

By an Act of Parliament the ancient penal laws against foreign denizens were re-enacted, and all foreigners but established merchants were to be expelled the country; whilst alien merchants resident were to pay double taxation. The taxation of Englishmen, enormous under Cromwell, was now recklessly increased, with the set purpose of keeping the lieges poor, just as the atrocious religious executions were mainly to keep them submissive, and incapable of questioning the despot’s will. But, though Englishmen might be stricken dumb by persecution, the expulsion or oppression of foreigners led to much acrimony and reprisals on the part both of the Emperor and Francis. An entirely gratuitous policy of irritation towards France on the frontier of Calais and elsewhere was also adopted, apparently to impress the Emperor, and for the satisfaction of Henry’s arrogance, when he thought it might be safe to exercise it. The general drift of English policy at the time was undoubtedly to draw closer to the Emperor, not entirely to the satisfaction of the Duke of Norfolk, who was usually pro-French; but even here the oppressive Act against foreigners by which Henry hoped to show Charles that his friendship was worth buying made cordiality in the interim extremely difficult. When Chapuys in the Emperor’s name remonstrated with the Council about the new decree forbidding the export of goods from England except in English bottoms, the English ministers rudely said that the King could pass what laws he liked in his own country, just as the Emperor could in his. Charles and his sister, the Regent of the Netherlands, took the hint, and utterly astounded Henry by forbidding goods being shipped in the Netherlands in English vessels.

The danger was understood at once. Not only did this strike a heavy blow at English trade, but it upset the laboriously constructed pretence of close communion with the Emperor which had been used to hoodwink the French. Henry himself bullied and hectored, as if he was the first injured party; and then took Chapuys aside in a window-bay and hinted at an alliance. He said that the French were plotting against the Emperor, and trying to gain his (Henry’s) support, which, however, he would prefer to give to the Emperor if he wished for it. Henry saw, indeed, that he had drawn the bow too tight, and was ready to shuffle out of the position into which his own arrogance had led him. So Gardiner was sent in the winter to see the Emperor with the King’s friend Knyvett, who was to be the new resident ambassador; the object of the visit being partly to impress the French, and partly to persuade Charles of Henry’s strict Catholicism, and so to render more difficult any such agreement being made as that aimed at by the meeting at Worms between the Lutheran princes and their suzerain. Gardiner’s mission was not very successful, for Charles understood the move perfectly; but it was not his policy then to alienate Henry, for he was slowly maturing his plans for crushing France utterly, and hoped whilst Catholic influence was paramount in England to obtain the help or at least the neutrality of Henry.

The fall of Cromwell had been hailed by Catholics in England as the salvation of their faith, and high hopes had attended the elevation of Gardiner. But the crushing taxation, the arbitrary measures, and, above all, the cruel persecution of those who, however slightly, questioned the King’s spiritual supremacy, caused renewed discontent amongst the extreme Catholics, who still looked yearningly towards Cardinal Pole and his house. It is not probable that any Yorkist conspiracy existed in England at the time; the people were too much terrified for that; but Henry’s ambassadors and agents in Catholic countries had been forced sometimes to dally with the foreign view of the King’s supremacy, and Gardiner, whose methods were even more unscrupulous than those of Cromwell, suddenly pounced upon those of Henry’s ministers who might be supposed to have come into contact with the friends of the House of York. Pate, the English ambassador with the Emperor, was suspicious, and escaped to Rome; but Sir Thomas Wyatt, who had been the ambassador in Spain, was led to the Tower handcuffed with ignominy; Dr. Mason, another ambassador, was also lodged in the fortress, at the suggestion of Bonner. Even Sir Ralph Sadler, one of the Secretaries of State, was imprisoned for a short time, whilst Sir John Wallop, the ambassador in France, was recalled and consigned to a dungeon, as was Sir Thomas Palmer, Knight Porter of Calais, and others; though most of them were soon afterwards pardoned at the instance of Katharine Howard. In the early spring of 1541 an unsuccessful attempt was made at a Catholic rising in Yorkshire, where the feeling was very bitter; and though the revolt was quickly suppressed, it was considered a good opportunity for striking terror into those who still doubted the spiritual supremacy of Henry, and resented the plunder of the monasteries. The atrocious crime was perpetrated of bringing out the mother of Pole, the aged Countess of Salisbury, last of the Plantagenets, from her prison in the Tower to the headsman’s block. Lord Leonard Gray was a another blameless victim, whilst Lord Dacre of the South was, on a trumped-up charge of murder, hanged like a common malefactor at Tyburn. Lord Lisle, Henry’s illegitimate uncle, was also kept in the Tower till his death.

When the reign of terror had humbled all men to the dust, the King could venture to travel northward with the purpose of provoking and subjecting his nephew, the King of Scots, the ally of France. All this seems to point to the probability that at this time (1541) Henry had decided to take a share on the side of the Emperor in the war which was evidently looming between Charles and Francis. He was broken and fretful, but his vanity and ambition were still boundless; and Gardiner, whose policy, and not Norfolk’s, it undoubtedly was, would easily persuade him that an alliance in war with Charles could not fail to secure for him increased consideration and readmission into the circle of Catholic nations, whilst retaining his own supremacy unimpaired. Henry’s pompous progress in the North, accompanied by Katharine, occupied nearly five months, till the end of October. How far the young wife was influential in keeping Henry to the policy just described it is impossible to say, but beyond acquiescence in an occasional petition or hint, it is difficult to believe that the elderly, self-willed man would be moved by the thoughtless, giddy girl whom he had married. If the opposite had been the case, Norfolk’s traditions and leanings would have been more conspicuous than they are in Henry’s actions at the time. It is true that, during the whole period, a pretence of cordial negotiation was made for a marriage between Princess Mary and a French prince, but it is certain now, whatever Norfolk may have thought at the time, that the negotiation was solely in order to stimulate Charles to nearer approach, and to mislead Francis whilst the English preparations for war and the strengthening of the garrisons towards France and Scotland went steadily on.

An alliance with the Emperor in a war with France was evidently the policy upon which Henry, instigated by his new adviser, now depended to bring him back with flying colours into the comity of Catholic sovereigns, whilst bating no jot of his claims to do as he chose in his own realm. Such a policy was one after Henry’s own heart. It was showy and tricky, and might, if successful, cover him with glory, as well as redound greatly to his profit in the case of the dismemberment of France. But it would have been impossible whilst the union symbolised by the Cleves marriage existed; and, seen by this light, the eagerness of Gardiner to find a way for the King to dismiss the wife who had personally repelled him is easily understood, as well as Cromwell’s disinclination to do so. The encouragement of the marriage with Katharine Howard, part of the same intrigue, was still further to attach the King to its promoters, and the match was doubtless intended at the same time to conciliate Norfolk and the nobles whilst Gardiner carried through his policy. We shall see that, either by strange chance or deep design, those who were opposed to this policy were the men who were instrumental in shattering the marriage that was its concomitant.

Henry and his consort arrived at Hampton Court from the North on the 30th October 1541, and to his distress he found his only son, Edward, seriously ill of quartan fever. All the physicians within reach were summoned, and reported to the anxious father that the child was so fat and unhealthy as to be unlikely to live long. The King had now been married to Katharine for fifteen months, and there were no signs of probable issue. Strange whispers were going about on back stairs and ante-chambers with regard to the Queen’s proceedings. She was known to have been a giddy, neglected girl before her marriage, having been brought up by her grandmother, the Dowager-Duchess of Norfolk, without the slightest regard for her welfare or the high rank of her family; and her confidants in a particularly dissolute Court were many and untrustworthy. The King, naturally, was the last person to hear the malicious tittle-tattle of jealous waiting-maids and idle pages about the Queen; and though his wife’s want of reserve and dignity often displeased him, he lived usually upon affectionate terms with her. There was other loose talk, also, going on to the effect that on one of the visits of Anne of Cleves to Hampton Court after Henry’s marriage with Katharine, the King and his repudiated wife had made up their differences, with the consequence that Anne was pregnant by him. It was not true; though later it gave much trouble both to Henry and Anne, but it lent further support to the suggestions that were already being made that the King would dismiss Katharine and take Anne back again. The air was full of such rumours, some prompted, as we shall see, by personal malice, others evidently by the opponents of Gardiner’s policy, which was leading England to a war with France and a close alliance with the imperial champion of Catholicism.

On the 2nd November, Henry, still in distress about the health of his son, attended Mass, as usual, in the chapel at Hampton Court,[214] and as he came out Cranmer prayed for a private interview with him. The archbishop had for many months been in the background, for Gardiner would brook no competition; but Cranmer was personally a favourite with the King,—Cromwell said once that Henry would forgive him anything,—and when they were alone Cranmer put him in possession of a shameful story that a few days before had been told to him, which he had carefully put into writing; and, after grave discussion with the Earl of Hertford (Seymour) and the Lord Chancellor (Audley), had determined to hand to the King. The conjunction of Cranmer, Seymour, and Audley, as the trio that thought it their duty to open Henry’s eyes to the suspicions cast upon his wife, is significant. They were all of them in sympathy with the reformed religion, and against the Norfolk and Gardiner policy; and it is difficult to escape from the conclusion that, however true may have been the statements as to Katharine’s behaviour, and there is no doubt that she was guilty of much that was laid to her charge, the enlightenment of Henry as to her life before and after marriage was intended to serve the political and religious ends of those who were instrumental in it.

The story as set forth by Cranmer was a dreadful one. It appears that a man named John Lascelles, who was a strong Protestant, and had already foretold the overthrow of Norfolk and Gardiner,[215] went to Cranmer and said that he had been visiting in Sussex a sister of his, whose married name was Hall. She had formerly been in the service of the Howard family and of the Dowager-Duchess of Norfolk, in whose houses Katharine Howard had passed her neglected childhood; and Lascelles, recalling the fact, had, he said, recommended his sister to apply to the young Queen, whom she had known so intimately as a girl, for a place in the household. “No,” replied the sister, “I will not do that; but I am very sorry for her.” “Why are you sorry for her?” asked Lascelles. “Marry,” quoth she, “because she is light, both in living and conditions” (i.e. behaviour). The brother asked for further particulars, and, thus pressed, Mary Hall related that “one Francis Derham had lain in bed with her, and between the sheets in his doublet and hose, a hundred nights; and a maid in the house had said that she would lie no longer with her (Katharine) because she knew not what matrimony was. Moreover, one Mannock, a servant of the Dowager-Duchess, knew and spoke of a private mark upon the Queen’s body.” This was the document which Cranmer handed to the King, “not having the heart to say it by word of mouth”: and it must be admitted that as it was only a bit of second-hand scandal, without corroboration, and could not refer to any period subsequent to Katharine’s marriage, it did not amount to much. Henry is represented as having been inclined to make light of it, which was natural, but he nevertheless summoned Fitzwilliam (Southampton), Lord Russell (Lord Admiral), Sir Anthony Browne, and Wriothesley, and deputed to them the inquiry into the whole matter. Fitzwilliam hurried to London and then to Sussex to examine Lascelles and his sister, whilst the others were sent to take the depositions of Derham, who was now in Katharine’s service, and was ordered to be apprehended on a charge of piracy in Ireland sometime previously, and Mannock, who was a musician in the household of the Duchess.

On the 5th November the ministers came to Hampton Court with the shocking admissions which they had extracted from the persons examined. Up to that time Henry had been gay, and had thought little of the affair, but now, when he heard the statements presented to him, he was overcome with grief: “his heart was pierced with pensiveness,” we are told, “so that it was long before he could utter his sorrow, and finally with copious tears, which was strange in his courage, opened the same.” The next day, Sunday, he met Norfolk and the Lord Chancellor secretly in the fields, and then with the closest privacy took boat to London without bidding farewell to Katharine, leaving in the hands of his Council the unravelling of the disgraceful business.

The story, pieced together from the many different depositions,[216] and divested of its repetitions and grossness of phraseology, may be summarised as follows. Katharine, whose mother had died early, had grown up uncared for in the house of her grandmother at Horsham in Norfolk, and later at Lambeth; apparently living her life in common with the women-servants. Whilst she was yet quite a child, certainly not more than thirteen, probably younger, Henry Mannock, one of the Duchess’s musicians, had taught her to play the virginals; and, as he himself professed, had fallen in love with her. The age was a licentious one; and the maids, probably to disguise their own amours, appear to have taken a sport in promoting immoral liberties between the orphan girl and the musician, carrying backwards and forwards between the ill-matched pair tokens and messages, and facilitating secret meetings at untimely hours: and Mannock deposed unblushingly to have corrupted the girl systematically and shamefully, though not criminally. On one occasion the old Duchess found this scamp hugging her granddaughter, and in great anger she beat the girl, upbraided the musician, and forbade such meetings for the future. Mary Hall, who first gave the information, represents herself as having remonstrated indignantly with Mannock for his presumption in pledging his troth, as one of the other women told her he had, with Katharine. He replied impudently that all he wanted of the girl was to seduce her, and he had no doubt he should succeed in doing so, seeing the liberties she had already permitted him to take with her. Mary Hall said that she had warned him that the Howards would kill or ruin him if he did not take care. Katharine, according to Mary Hall’s tale, when told of Mannock’s impudent speech, had angrily said that she cared nothing for him; but he managed the next time he saw her, by her own contrivance, to persuade her that he was so much in love as not to know what he said.

Before long, however, a more dangerous lover, because one of better rank, appeared in the field, and spoilt Mannock’s game. This was Francis Derham, a young gentleman of some means in the household of the Duke of Norfolk, of whom he seems to have been a distant connection. In his own confession he boldly admitted that he was in love with Katharine, and had promised her marriage. The old Duchess always had the keys of the maids’ dormitory, where Katharine also slept, brought to her chamber after the doors were locked; but means were found by the women to laugh at locksmiths, and the most unbridled licence prevailed amongst them. Derham, with the lovers of two of the women, used to obtain access almost nightly to the dormitory, where they remained feasting and rioting until two or three in the morning: and there can remain little doubt that, on the promise of marriage, Derham practically lived with Katharine as his wife thus clandestinely, for a considerable period, whilst she was yet very young. Mannock, who found himself supplanted, thereupon wrote an anonymous letter to the Duchess and left it in her pew at chapel, saying that if her Grace would rise again an hour after she had retired and visit the gentlewomen’s chamber she would see something that would surprise her. The old lady, who was not free from reproach in the matter herself, railed and stormed at the women; and Katharine, who was deeply in love with Derham, stole the anonymous letter from her grandmother’s room and showed it to him, charging Mannock with having written it. The result, of course, was a quarrel, and the further enlightenment of the Duchess with regard to her granddaughter’s connection with Derham. The old lady herself was afterwards accused of having introduced Derham into her own household for the purpose of forwarding a match between him and Katharine; and finally got into great trouble and danger by seizing and destroying Derham’s papers before the King’s Council could impound them: but when she learnt the lengths to which the immoral connection had been carried, and the shameful licentiousness that had accompanied it, she made a clean sweep of the servants inculpated, and brought her granddaughter to live in Lambeth amongst a fresh set of people.

There is no doubt that Katharine and Derham were secretly engaged to be married, and, apart from the immoral features of the engagement, no very great objection could have been taken to it. She was a member of a very large family, an orphan with no dower or prospects, and her marriage with Derham, who was a sort of relative, would have been not a glaringly unequal one. With lover-like alacrity he provided her with the feminine treasures which she coveted, but which her lack of means prevented her from buying. Artificial flowers, articles of dress, or materials for them, trinkets and adornments, not to speak of the delicacies which he brought to furnish forth the tables during the nightly orgy. He had made no great secret of his engagement to, and intention of marrying Katharine, and had shown various little tokens of her troth that she had given him. On one of his piratical raids, moreover, he had handed to her the whole of his money, as to his affianced wife, and told her she might keep it if he came not back, whilst on other occasions he had exercised his authority, as her betrothed, to chide her for her attentions to others. When at last the old Duchess learnt fully of the immoral proceedings that had been going on, Katharine got another severe beating, and Derham fled from the vengeance of the Howards. After the matter had blown over, and Katharine was living usually at Lambeth, Derham found his way back, and attempted clandestinely to renew the connection. But Katharine by this time was older and more experienced, as beseemed a lady at Court. It was said that she was affianced to her cousin, Thomas Culpeper; but in any case she indignantly refused to have anything to do with Derham, and hotly resented his claim to interfere in her affairs.

So far the disclosures referred solely to misconduct previous to Katharine’s marriage with the King, and, however reprehensible this may have been, it only constructively became treason post facto, by reason of the concealment from the King of his wife’s previous immoral life; whereby the royal blood was “tainted,” and he himself injured. Cranmer was therefore sent to visit Katharine with orders to set before her the iniquity of her conduct and the penalty prescribed by the law; and then to promise her the King’s mercy on certain conditions. The poor girl was frantic with grief and fear when the Primate entered; and he in compassion spared her the first parts of his mission, and began by telling her of her husband’s pity and clemency. The reaction from her deadly fear sent her into greater paroxysms than ever of remorse and regret. “This sudden mercy made her offences seem the more heinous.” “This was about the hour” (6 o’clock), she sobbed, “that Master Heneage was wont to bring me knowledge of his Grace.” The promise of mercy may or may not have been sincere; but it is evident that the real object of Cranmer’s visit was to learn from Katharine whether the betrothal with Derham was a binding contract. If that were alleged in her defence the marriage with the King was voidable, as that of Anne of Cleves was for a similar cause; and if, by reason of such prior contract, Katharine had never legally been Henry’s wife, her guilt was much attenuated, and she and her accomplices could only be punished for concealment of fact to the King’s detriment, a sufficiently grave crime, it is true, in those days, but much less grave if Katharine was never legally Henry’s wife. It may therefore have seemed good policy to offer her clemency on such conditions as would have relieved him of her presence for ever, with as little obloquy as possible, but other counsels eventually prevailed. Orders were given that she was to be sent to Sion House, with a small suite and no canopy of state, pending further inquiry; whilst the Lord Chancellor, Councillors, peers, bishops, and judges were convened on the 12th November, and the evidence touching the Queen laid before them. It was decided, however, that Derham should not be called, and that all reference to a previous contract of marriage should be suppressed. On the following Sunday the whole of the Queen’s household was to be similarly informed of the offences and their gravity, and to them also no reference to a prior engagement that might serve to lighten the accusations or their own responsibility was to be made.

Katharine Howard’s fate if the matter had ended here would probably have been divorce on the ground of her previous immorality “tainting the royal blood,” and lifelong seclusion; but in their confessions the men and women involved had mentioned other names; and on the 13th November, the day before Katharine was to be taken to Sion, the scope of the inquiry widened. Mannock in his first examination on the 5th November had said that Mistress Katharine Tylney, the Queen’s chamberwoman, a relative of the old Duchess, could speak as to Katharine’s early immoral life; and when this lady found herself in the hands of Wriothesley she told some startling tales. “Did the Queen leave her chamber any night at Lincoln or elsewhere during her recent progress with the King?” “Yes, her Majesty had gone on two occasions to Lady Rochford’s[217] room, which could be reached by a little pair of back stairs near the Queen’s apartment.” Mrs. Tylney and the Queen’s other attendant, Margery Morton, had attempted to accompany their mistress, but had been sent back. Mrs. Tylney had obeyed, and had gone to bed; but Margery had crept back up the stairs again to Lady Rochford’s room. About two o’clock in the morning Margery came to bed in the same dormitory as the other maids. “Jesu! is not the Queen abed yet?” asked the surprised Tylney, as she awoke. “Yes,” in effect, replied Margery, “she has just retired.” On the second occasion Katharine sent the rest of her attendants to bed and took Tylney with her to Lady Rochford’s room, but the maid, with Lady Rochford’s servant, were shut up in a small closet, and not allowed to see who came into the principal apartments. But, nevertheless, her suspicions were aroused by the strange messages with which she was sent by Katharine to Lady Rochford: “so strange that she knew not how to utter them.” Even at Hampton Court lately, as well as at Grimsthorpe during the progress, she had been bidden by the Queen to ask Lady Rochford “when she should have the thing she promised her,” the answer being that she (Lady Rochford) was sitting up for it, and would bring the Queen word herself.

Then Margery Morton was tackled by Sir Anthony Browne. She had never mistrusted the Queen until the other day, at Hatfield, “when she saw her Majesty look out of the window to Mr. Culpeper in such sort that she thought there was love between them.” Whilst at Hatfield the Queen had given orders that none of her attendants were to enter her bedroom unless they were summoned. Margery, too, had been sent on mysterious secret errands to Lady Rochford, which she could not understand, and, with others of the maids, had considered herself slighted by the Queen’s preference for Katharine Tylney and for those who owed their position to Lady Rochford; which lady, she said, she considered the principal cause of the Queen’s folly. Thus far there was nothing beyond the suspicions of jealous women, but Lady Rochford was frightened into telling a much more damning story, though she tried to make her own share in it as light as possible. The Queen, she confessed, had had many interviews in her rooms with Culpeper—at Greenwich, Lincoln, Pontefract, York, and elsewhere—for many months past; but as Culpeper stood at the farther end of the room with his foot upon the top of the back stairs, so as to be ready to slip down in case of alarm, and the Queen talked to him at the door, Lady Rochford professed to be ignorant of what passed between them. One night, she recalled, the Queen and herself were standing at the back door at eleven at night, when a watchman came with a lantern and locked the door. Shortly afterwards, however, Culpeper entered the room, saying that he and his servant had picked the lock. Since the first suspicion had been cast upon the Queen by Lascelles, Katharine, according to Lady Rochford, had continually asked after Culpeper. “If that matter came not out she feared nothing,” and finally, Lady Rochford, although professing to have been asleep during some of Culpeper’s compromising visits, declared her belief that criminal relations had existed between him and the Queen:

Culpeper, according to the depositions,[218] made quite a clean breast of it, though what means were adopted for making him so frank is not clear. Probably torture, or the threat of it, was resorted to, since Hertford, Riche, and Audley had much to do with the examinations;[219] whilst even the Duke of Norfolk and Wriothesley, not to appear backward in the King’s service, were as anxious as their rivals to make the case complete. Culpeper was a gentleman of great estate in Kent and elsewhere, holding many houses and offices; a gentleman of the chamber, clerk of the armoury, steward and keeper of several royal manors; and he had received many favours from the King, with whom he ordinarily slept. He deposed to and described many stolen interviews with Katharine, all apparently after the previous Passion Week (1541), when the Queen, he said, had sent for him and given him a velvet cap. Lady Rochford, according to his statement, was the go-between, and arranged all the assignations in her apartments, whilst the Queen, whenever she reached a house during the progress, would make herself acquainted with the back doors and back stairs, in order to facilitate the meetings. At Pontefract she thought the back door was being watched by the King’s orders, and Lady Rochford caused her servant to keep a counter watch. On one occasion, he said, the Queen had hinted that she could favour him as a certain lady of the Court had favoured Lord Parr; and when Culpeper said he did not think that the Queen was such a lady as the one mentioned, she had replied, “Well, if I had tarried still in the maidens’ chamber I would have tried you;” and on another occasion she had warned him that if he confessed, even when he was shriven, what had passed between them, the King would be sure to know, as he was the head of the Church. Culpeper’s animus against Lady Rochford is evident. She had provoked him much, he said, to love the Queen, and he intended to do ill with her. Evidence began to grow, too, that not only was Derham admittedly guilty with the Queen before marriage, but that suspicious familiarity had been resumed afterwards. He himself confessed that he had been more than once in the Queen’s private apartment, and she had given him various sums of money, warning him to heed what he said; which, truth to tell, he had not done, according to other deponents.

Everybody implicated in the scandals was imprisoned, mostly in the Tower, several members of the house of Howard being put under guard; and Norfolk, trembling for his own position, showed as much zeal as any one to condemn his unfortunate niece. He knew, indeed, at this time that he had been used simply as a catspaw in the advances towards France, and complained bitterly that the match he had secretly suggested between the Princess Mary and the Duke of Orleans was now common talk, which gave ground for his enemies who were jealous of him to denounce him to the King as wishing to embrace all great affairs of State. It is clear that at this period it was not only the Protestants who were against Norfolk, but his own colleagues who were planning the alliance with the Emperor; which to some extent explains why such men as Wriothesley, Fitzwilliam, and Browne were so anxious to make the case of Katharine and her family look as black as possible, and why Norfolk aided them so as not to be left behind. When, on the 15th December, the old Dowager-Duchess of Norfolk, his stepmother, his half-brother, Lord William Howard and his wife, and his sister, Lady Bridgewater, were imprisoned on the charge of having been privy to Katharine’s doings before marriage, the Duke wrote as follows to the King: “I learnt yesterday that mine ungracious mother-in-law, mine unhappy brother and his wife, and my lewd sister of Bridgewater were committed to the Tower; and am sure it was not done but for some false proceeding against your Majesty. Weighing this with the abominable deeds done by my two nieces (i.e. Katharine Howard and Anne Boleyn), and the repeated treasons of many of my kin, I fear your Majesty will abhor to hear speak of me or my kin again. Prostrate at your Majesty’s feet, I remind your Majesty that much of this has come to light through my own report of my mother-in-law’s words to me, when I was sent to Lambeth to search Derham’s coffers. My own truth, and the small love my mother-in-law and nieces bear me, make me hope; and I pray your Majesty for some comfortable assurance of your royal favour, without which I will never desire to live. Kenninghall Lodge, 15th December 1541.”[220]

On the 1st December, Culpeper and Derham had been arraigned before a special Commission in Guildhall, accused of treason.[221] The indictment set forth that before her marriage Katharine had “led an abominable, base, carnal, voluptuous, and vicious life, like a common harlot ... whilst, at other times, maintaining an appearance of chastity and honesty. That she led the King to love her, believing her to be pure, and arrogantly coupled with him in marriage.” That upon her and Derham being charged with their former vicious life, they had excused themselves by saying that they were betrothed before the marriage with the King; which betrothal they falsely and traitorously concealed from the King when he married her. After the marriage they attempted to renew their former vicious courses at Pontefract and elsewhere, the Queen having procured Derham’s admission into her service, and entrusted secret affairs to him. Against Culpeper it was alleged that he had held secret and illicit meetings with the Queen, who had “incited him to have intercourse with her, and insinuated to him that she loved him better than the King and all others. Similarly Culpeper incited the Queen, and they had retained Lady Rochford as their go-between, she having traitorously aided and abetted them.”

It will be noticed that actual adultery is not alleged, and the indictment follows very closely the deposition of the witnesses. The liaison with Derham before the marriage was not denied; nor were the meetings with Culpeper after the marriage. This and the concealment were sufficient for the King’s purpose, without adding to his ignominy by labouring to prove the charge of adultery.[222] After pleading not guilty, the two men, in face of the evidence and their own admissions, changed their plea to guilty, and were promptly condemned to be drawn through London to Tyburn, “and there hanged, cut down alive, disembowelled, and, they still living, their bowels burnt, the bodies then to be beheaded and quartered:” a brutal sentence that was carried out to the letter in Derham’s case only, on the 10th December, Culpeper being beheaded.