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

by Martin A. S. Hume

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.