27
BAYNARD’S CASTLE, LONDON – JANUARY 1513
The great hall shimmered with splendour; candlelight gleamed on polished silver, jewels glowed with mysterious fire. Above the murmur of voices, lutes played softly, each laugh measured, every glance assessed. At the centre of this carefully staged grandeur sat Thomas Howard the Younger with his new bride, Lady Elizabeth Stafford, daughter of Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham, and Eleanor Percy, daughter of the Earl of Northumberland. This was Younger’s second marriage: his first, the celebrated match with the princess Anne of York – sister to Henry VIII’s mother – had produced a son, Thomas, who had died at twelve, three years before Anne’s own death in 1511. Now, Younger had taken another wealthy and well-connected wife, a union that signalled his ambition and growing influence at Henry’s dazzling, unnerving court.
Elizabeth watched her new sister-in-law, Bess. She was sixteen years old, twenty-four years the junior of Younger, and was the perfect combination of demure bride and elegant courtier. Her gable hood shimmered with threads of gold and her gown glowed with the lustre of expensive velvet, but to Elizabeth she looked like a child dressed in her mother’s clothes,lost, frightened and overwhelmed. Her hands were clenched in her lap and her face was pale, her expression as tight as a drawn bow. When each guest stepped forward to offer their congratulations, her smile was a brief tightening of the lips that never reached her eyes.
Poor girlthought Elizabeth from her place at the table to the right of the dais.I hope Younger is kind to her.
Her husband’s laugh drew her attention away from her brother and his new wife. She sought Thomas in the crowd and a secret smile stole across her lips. Even after all these years married, Elizabeth’s breath caught whenever she saw Thomas. His handsome features were as potent to her today as they had been all those years ago in her father’s mews. As though he felt the weight of her stare upon him, Thomas turned and mirrored her complicit smile before blowing her a kiss and returning to his conversation with his brother James and her brother Edward.
Thomas’s career was booming: a talented linguist, Henry relied on his skills during diplomatic and ambassadorial missions. In recognition of his status at court, the previous year Thomas had been granted the manors of Walkerfare and Wykmere in Norfolk. The licence from the crown to convert Cerensthorpe Abbey had also been granted. In the past few years, the abbey had seen many changes and the thirteenth-century monastic core had been converted into a manor. Elizabeth had recruited a full staff and created a sanctuary for the old nuns, as well as providing a modern hall and private solars for the rare occasions she and Thomas visited.
Thomas had also been made joint Keeper and Constable of Norwich Castle and Gaol with Sir Henry Wyatt, and granted the wardships of John, son of Sir George Hastings and Elizabeth Grey, daughter of Viscount Lisle. His negotiating skills had been much in evidence, too, and he was currently enjoying the post of special envoy of the king to Margaret of Austria, daughter of Maximillian, the Holy Roman Emperor, in order to conclude a military alliance between Henry and Maximillian.
‘A special envoy?’ Elizabeth had said, amused when Thomas had announced the title. ‘Is ambassador no longer enough for you, Sir Thomas?’
He had drawn her into his arms and kissed her.
‘I’ll have you know, Lady Lizzie, there is a difference between an ambassador and a special envoy: an ambassador is sent to a role where he remains until recalled. A special envoy is sent to work on a specific treaty as the representative of the sovereign, then they return.’
‘Good, you must come home, we would miss you like the flower misses the rain and the moon misses the tide should you be away too long.’
The treaty was nearing completion and Elizabeth was delighted Thomas had been able to travel home for the Yuletide festivities and her brother’s wedding. Other events had also shaped their lives. In the summer of 1512, Thomas’s maternal grandfather, Thomas Butler, had died. Thomas had been left a family heirloom and relic: a white ivory horn with gold tips and covered with gold-barred white silk. A gold terret ring meant it could be used as a pendant on a chain and it was a token of the Ormond earldom. Family legend claimed the Butlers had owned it since the reign of Henry II and it had come to them via Agnes Becket, the sister of St Thomas Becket. Thomas’s mother believed this was a sign that her father intended Thomas to inherit the earldom.
However, Thomas Butler, 7th Earl of Ormond, had died without a male heir. His extensive estate had been divided between his two daughters and co-heiresses: Anne, who was married to James St Leger and Lady Margaret Boleyn, Thomas’s mother. Among the properties inherited by Margaret was the lordship of Rochford in Essex, which included the impressive, Rochford Hall. The matter of the earldom, however, remained in abeyance.
Thomas continued to divide his time between his duties at court and their home, Hever Castle, where Elizabeth lived, guiding their children towards adulthood and caring for Thomas’s mother, Lady Margaret. On the rare occasions she visited the court, she was welcomed by the queen and would spend time in her chambers as a lady-in-waiting. It was always a pleasure to catch up with Katherine, but it came at a high price – the king loomed like a spectre, always in the corner of her eye, his gaze haunting her every move.
The golden whistle remained in her jewel chest, unused, abandoned but not forgotten. If ever Elizabeth accidentally dislodged its protective velvet pouch, she felt a rush of dread. She did not dare throw it away, in case the king asked for its return.
Two for joy.The expression made her shudder, as did the king. She leaned back in her chair, relieved, that despite Younger’s boasts, the king had chosen not to attend his wedding.
The music changed and she watched Thomas bow and move away from the conversation, his eyes seeking her. She waved and her husband began to thread his way towards her through the crowd. James turned to speak to Sir Francis Bryan, Elizabeth’shalf-nephew, while Edward returned to his wife, Alice Lovell. There were fewer couples dancing and Elizabeth wondered whether she and Thomas might be able to leave.
Suddenly, a wave of anticipation rippled through the guests. Elizabeth turned to look at her brother, Younger. His narrow face had broken into a gratified smile and he was on his feet, walking towards the entrance. Laughter and booming voices echoed around the room, and she saw Charles Brandon, the tallest, most dashing man at court, enter. Beside him was the king. Elizabeth’s mood changed in a heartbeat from happy and relaxed, to tense, her nerves taut with apprehension and revulsion at the sight of Henry.
All around, guests dropped into obeisance. Chairs scraped as those seated scrambled to follow. Elizabeth sank into a low, practised curtsy, head bowed, waiting for Henry to release them. His gaze swept the hall, eyes narrowing until he was satisfied the company had shown due respect. Then he laughed, clapped his hands, and declared such formality absurd – he was here as a wedding guest.
Younger and her father hurried forward to greet him. As Elizabeth rose, she saw Henry’s sharp eyes flick around the room. When they found her, his face lit up and colour surged into his already flushed cheeks. He raised a hand in greeting. She offered a polite smile in return. As he was ushered to the dais and seated, she could feel his gaze lingering on her.
‘Your brother will be delighted,’ said Thomas, sliding into the chair beside Elizabeth and taking her hand.
‘It will be Midsummer before we hear the end of it,’ she murmured and Thomas laughed.
‘Perhaps even Christmas,’ suggested Thomas. He waved for a page to bring them wine. ‘Although, if the rumours are true, all gloating might soon be forgotten.’
‘What rumours?’
‘War with France,’ said Thomas in a low voice. ‘Word is, your brother Edward will be named Admiral of the Fleet. Younger will no doubt be enlisted, possibly your father as well. They both have extensive military experience.’
‘And you, Tom?’ asked Elizabeth, her calm voice belying the fear she felt at the thought of all the men she cared about going off to fight.
‘If the king requires my sword, it shall be his, although my role is usually as advisor and negotiator.’
‘Why is he so obsessed with war?’ said Elizabeth angrily. ‘We have peace, there is no need to fight.’
‘He’s untested, he wishes to prove himself on the battlefield,’ replied Thomas. ‘Excuse me, my dear, your brother Edmund is beckoning to me.’
