The Curse of the Hungerfords Read online

  Master Husee wrote excitedly from the court. He had spoken of my beauty and accomplishments to Sir John Wallop, who had mentioned them to the King himself – and the King had promised to speak to the Queen for me. You may imagine the excitement in the Staple Inn when that letter arrived!

  Maybe the King did speak for me; or maybe it was the quails. But one day, having eaten some of the birds at dinner, Queen Jane summoned Master Husee and said that, as a token of her gratitude to Lady Lisle, she would accept one of her daughters as a maid-of-honour. However, she wished to see two of us before deciding who it should be. Mother was commanded to ship us over from Calais, suitably dressed for court. Above all, we were to show ourselves sober, wise, discreet, and lowly above all things. We must be obedient, and willing to be governed and ruled by my Lady Rutland and my Lady Sussex, our cousin, and serve God and be virtuous, and be sober of tongue, for that was much regarded at court. The sister not chosen by the Queen would be offered a place in the household of the Duchess of Suffolk. Once the choice was made, the Queen would provide wages and food only, not apparel.

  Mother was ecstatic. I have never seen her so happy and triumphant. As Mary was still at Bours, it was decided that Kat and I should go to court. Kat had not had the benefit of being brought up in a noble French household, yet she had benefited from our mother’s vigorous training; even so, it was drilled into us, hourly, how we were to behave. Tiresome as that was, we both so quaked at the prospect of not being chosen that we were ready to become nuns if need be, to satisfy our mother.

  No expense was spared in decking us out for royal service. Arthur was not a poor man, but even he shook his head at the enormous cost. We were to bring two changes of clothes, one of satin, the other of damask. Mother thought that two gowns were not enough, so we both had six, all in the French fashion, which, she told us, was all the rage at court.

  It was September when, our stomachs knotted with apprehension, we arrived at Hampton Court, a place of such magnificence that I could never have even dreamed it up. Two of the Queen’s ladies-of-honour received us, Lady Sussex, whose mother was my mother’s sister, and Lady Rutland. They were most welcoming to us, and very kind.

  ‘Her Grace has taken to her chamber to await the birth of her child,’ Lady Sussex told us, ‘but she will receive you tomorrow.’

  That night, we were much gratified to be feasted by three officers of the court, as well as Lady Dudley (who was married to Arthur’s stepson) and another lady. Afterwards, I slept on a pallet bed in Lady Sussex’s chamber, while Kat was accommodated with Lady Rutland.

  Before I retired, I stared at myself in her ladyship’s mirror. A pretty young creature stared back at me, fair and well-made; there was nothing here to complain of, or put the Queen off. I did so want to be chosen, even though I knew that Kat was as eager as I, and would be crushingly disappointed to be rejected.

  The next day, we were brought before Queen Jane, who sat in a cushioned chair in a stuffy room; the weather was unseasonably hot, yet a fire burned and the windows were tightly shut. She looked pale; she was no beauty, but pleasing enough. By the size of her belly, it was clear that the birth of her child was imminent.

  She talked amiably with us for a short while, asking after our mother and Lord Lisle, and if our crossing had been calm, all the while looking us up and down appraisingly, giving nothing away. Then she asked us to wait outside. We stood in the antechamber, barely daring to hope, with our hearts in our mouths.

  ‘Truly, I won’t mind if you are chosen,’ Kat whispered.

  ‘I hope you are,’ I said, trying to mean it. ‘Maybe she will choose us both.’

  At last, after a seemingly endless interval, Lady Rutland emerged, smiling at me. ‘Mistress Anne, the Queen has chosen you. You will be sworn to her service this afternoon.’

  I hardly dared look at Kat, but when I did, she was smiling bravely at me.

  Lady Rutland spoke kindly. ‘You must write to your mother, Mistress Anne, and ask her to look to your wardrobe. Your attire does not meet the Queen’s standards. She has graciously agreed that you can wear out your French gowns, but that French hood will have to go. Her Grace has banned them at court, so we all wear the gable, and English gowns.’

  All that expense! And all for nothing!

  Lady Rutland put an arm around Kat’s shoulders. ‘You can stay with me, child. The Duchess of Suffolk is in the country, soon to be confined. You may remain with me until she returns to court.’ Kat looked immensely relieved. She might not be serving the Queen, but it was still an honour to serve the Countess of Rutland – and Mother would see it that way too.

  The Queen smiled at me. ‘Welcome to my service, Mistress Bassett.’ She extended her hand for me to kiss.

  ‘Oh, your Grace, thank you!’ I breathed. ‘I will do my utmost to please you.’

  ‘I am sure you will,’ she said, ‘but you must obtain two new gable hoods and two good gowns of black velvet and black satin. Lift your skirt a little. No, that linen shift is too coarse. You need fine lawn. In the meantime, suitable clothing will be lent to you.’ She indicated my girdle. ‘How many pearls does that have?’

  ‘A hundred and twenty, I think, Madam,’ I faltered, much dismayed.

  The Queen sighed. ‘Not enough, I fear. Write to your mother and ask for another girdle. And tell her that, if you do not appear at court in the proper clothes, you will not be allowed to attend the christening.’

  ‘Yes, Madam.’ I could just imagine Mother’s reaction – and the cost!

  Suddenly, the Queen smiled again, and it was as if the sun had come out. ‘I hope you will be very happy at court,’ she said.

  I had only been in waiting for one day when her Grace looked at me and frowned.

  ‘Mistress Anne,’ she said, ‘you may not wear your French gown here.’

  I did not like to remind her that she had said yesterday that I might wear it out.

  The previous evening, I had dashed off a letter to Mother, begging her to send me the correct attire, dreading to think of the cost, and what she and Arthur might say. Now I had to write to her again, informing her that I must have English gowns. Fortunately, for now, Lady Sussex came to my rescue and lent me a suitable one of crimson damask and a gable hood of velvet to wear in the Queen’s presence. The gable hood did not become me nearly as well as the French hood.

  Lady Sussex was very good and loving to me and Kat, as was Lady Rutland. In my next letter to Mother, I told her I was sure I had them to thank for my position.

  Lady Rutland had long been married to the King’s cousin, and was therefore a veteran of the court, and highly respected, but Lady Sussex had only been there for a year. The Earl of Sussex had married her back in January, and now she was expecting their first child.

  I got on well with the Queen’s other ladies and maids, and soon began to feel at home at court. There was a great sense of privilege in being there. Queen Jane was not as waspish as she had at first seemed, but proved to be an essentially gentle and devout lady who, I soon realised, felt obliged to be on her dignity. Like me, she was but a knight’s daughter, and I imagined how I would feel were I to be raised, with little notice, to a throne, and had to wield authority over ladies of much higher birth.

  I saw the King almost daily. The Queen was not supposed to receive men in her chamber during her confinement, but evidently that rule did not apply to her husband. He came often to cheer and hearten her, for she was a timid soul, afraid of the plague that was abroad in London, and of the coming birth.

  When I was first presented to this huge, glittering, god-like man, he raised me to my feet and looked piercingly into my eyes. ‘Mistress Anne, I have been told that you behave yourself so well that everybody praises you!’

  I felt myself blushing. ‘My lady mother would be pleased to hear that, Sir,’ I murmured. ‘You will know what she is like.’

  He roared wi
th laughter. ‘I see you are witty too,’ he grinned, and passed on, leaving me aghast that I had dared to joke familiarly with the King. Looking back, though, I do think that the high regard he always showed me stemmed from that moment.

  I knew he liked me in another way too, for Mistress Astley, another of the Queen’s maids, told me that the King had said that I was the fairest of my mother’s daughters. But that he had any feelings other than liking for me at that time I would refute, for it was plain that he was devoted to Queen Jane.

  Mother, meanwhile, having concluded that the Duchess of Suffolk was no longer interested in employing Kat, was doing her best to have Kat preferred to the service of the Lady Mary, the King’s daughter by Queen Katherine. But the Lady Mary had her full complement of maids, so Kat stayed with Lady Rutland, of whom she had grown fond, and was often at Belvoir Castle, the Earl of Rutland’s country seat. It was an arrangement that suited Kat very well, and she was contented with her lot.

  So was I, especially when the Queen bore a son that October. Everyone went wild with joy, and we saw the King cradling the babe with tears streaming down his face, so overjoyed was he to have a son at last. It was a wonderful time to be at court, with all the celebrations going on.

  Mother had sent me the clothing I needed, not without a few tart remarks about having to provide twice for me, and I wore one of the new gowns to Prince Edward’s christening in the Chapel Royal. With my first quarter’s wages, I ordered another for the Queen’s churching. But I never wore it. A little over a week after the christening, my good mistress died.

  All rejoicing ceased. The court was plunged into black, and I found myself kneeling and weeping with the other maids and ladies, keeping vigil beside the Queen’s bier. For two weeks, we took turns to keep watch over her, and then we rode, in four chariots, in a great procession to Windsor, behind her coffin. When she was lowered into the vault in the chapel, my service came to an end.

  What would I do now?

  Agnes, 1522

  Agnes had been married to Edward for nearly three years when she began seriously to worry about his health. Since the summer, he had lost weight, and by December, he was as weak as a kitten, with an alarming pallor. Unable to eat without pain, he called for his lawyer, while Agnes wrung her hands and sobbed uncontrollably in her bedchamber.

  An hour later, Edward summoned her to his bedside and reached for her hand. His was skeletal. ‘My love,’ he said, looking at her with those dreadful, sunken eyes, ‘I think it is God’s will that we should part. I have made a new will, leaving my estates and houses to Walter, and everything else to you. I have also named you my sole executrix.’

  Agnes threw herself over his wasted body, weeping and wailing. ‘Don’t leave me!’ she cried piteously.

  He stroked her hair. ‘If my prayers are heard, I will not, my darling.’

  Six weeks later, Agnes stood at her window, dressed in the deepest mourning, watching through a blur of tears as the funeral cortege wended its way to the chapel, where her dear love was to be entombed for all eternity. Walking behind it was Walter – Sir Walter now. He had been icily civil to her since his father’s death, when he wasn’t angrily complaining about his father’s will, and she trembled when it occurred to her that he might turn her out. But she was a wealthy woman now; all the movables in this castle and Edward’s other houses were hers, and could be sold to provide her with a roof over her head. She did not think that Walter would like that. If she stayed here, they stayed.

  Before the week was out, the fear of Walter throwing her out became the least of her worries. It was nowhere near as terrifying as the summons from Westminster that arrived just as she had plucked up courage to read the letters of condolence that had been piling up.

  She saw, from the expression on Walter’s face, when he took evident pleasure in telling her there was a summons for her, and that soldiers were waiting below, that he knew what it was about.

  Trembling, she stood before the justices in the Court of the King’s Bench in Westminster Hall, a guard on either side – the same guards who had ridden beside her litter all the way from Wiltshire.

  ‘Agnes Hungerford, you are accused of procuring the death of your husband, John Cotell. What say you, guilty, or not guilty?’

  ‘Who has accused me?’ she cried. ‘Is it my stepson? He hates me . . .’

  ‘Just make your plea, Madam,’ she was told.

  ‘Not guilty,’ she faltered. There was no way anyone could testify to what she had done. Even so, the order was given for her to be imprisoned in the Tower of London, pending an investigation. Had she been of lesser rank, she would have been cast into the common jail.

  She was not badly housed in the Tower. She was allowed to keep her maid with her. It was explained to her that prisoners could send out for choice food and comforts, if they could afford it, and for possessions to ease their confinement. She wrote to Walter, asking, then begging, him to send what was hers, but there was no reply. She sold the jewels she had on her, entrusting them to the Constable, only to learn that he had obtained a poor price for them. As the months went by, the food served to her and her maid deteriorated in both quality and quantity, and their gowns became frayed and stinking.

  She had a lot of leisure to think. She was sure it was Walter who was responsible for her ordeal. Whoever it was had waited until she no longer had Edward’s protection to lay accusations against her. And who had a better motive than Walter? He stood to gain handsomely if she was convicted. Why would Mathew and Inges have talked? They had too much to lose.

  Obsessively, she kept going over the events of July, four years ago. There could be no evidence against her. She had been too careful, had not been anywhere in the vicinity when the murder was carried out. She didn’t even know how it had been carried out – and there was no body. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that a body had to be found before someone could be hanged for murder?

  And hadn’t she heard also that women who murdered their husbands were guilty of petty treason, a far worse crime than murder. Hanging was too good for them. Their punishment was to be burned alive.

  She felt faint at the thought. Terror gripped her. No! There could be nothing to connect her to John’s death.

  But what if Walter, or anyone else, gave false testimony against her? And what if the two Williams were tortured to extract confessions?

  Wait! she admonished herself. As far as she knew, no one had accused them of anything; and if someone had been keeping their knowledge of her role in the murder to themselves all these years, they would have known who actually carried it out.

  So she was safe – she prayed. All she had to do was sit it out here, and wait to be released. Because they had nothing on her. Nothing at all.

  Anne, 1537–1539

  As the other maids were packing, ready to leave for their homes, and I was standing there forlorn, wondering when Master Husee would next be at court, so that I could ask him to arrange my passage to Calais, Lady Sussex came to my rescue.

  ‘Anne, don’t leave!’ she said. ‘I can find you a place in my household until your mother decides what is to be done with you.’

  Gratitude filled my heart. I could not have wished for a kinder offer. Thus it was that I found myself at Woodham Walter Hall in Essex, where life resumed in a grand, but quieter, manner.

  We heard that the King had taken his loss grievously and shut himself away at Windsor. Nevertheless, as Christmas approached, I had a surprise, in the form of a letter from Lord Cromwell. The King had granted me a stipend at court. I could visit at any time, and lodgings would be provided for me; and I should have a place with the new Queen, when the time came. So the rumours were true: his Grace was thinking of marrying again.

  Lady Sussex raised her eyebrows when she read the letter. ‘This is a signal mark of favour, Anne. The King’s Grace is a good lord to you. Your mother will be pleased to hear that y
our future is assured.’

  I was pleased too, if not a trifle amazed, that the King should be so kind to me.

  In the new year of 1538, my brother John, now twenty and a qualified man of law, married Frances Plantagenet, Arthur’s daughter, and my mother rejoiced that royal blood would be mingled with Bassett and Grenville blood. Soon afterwards, she had even more cause for celebration, when John found a place in the household of Lord Cromwell. It would be – so we all hoped – a stepping stone to royal service itself.

  I did not attend John’s wedding, for the winter weather was rough and the Channel perilous. I was itching to go to court, but stayed at Woodham Walter until my good mistress bore her child in March. It was a puny boy who survived just long enough to be baptised. My lady was in great grief, so I stayed on until April to comfort her, and then she firmly commanded me to go to court. At Easter, I made my way to Whitehall, and was glad to see my sister Kat there, in the train of Lady Rutland.

  The King had put off his mourning garments, and seemed quite cheerful whenever I saw him. Once, he tipped my chin up and told me it was good to see me back at court, and I thanked him for granting me a place there, and for my stipend. But there was no familiarity between us then.

  I whiled away that April playing cards with Kat and Lady Rutland. Once or twice, the Lady Mary joined us. There was much gossip about a new marriage for the King, and speculation as to which princess he would choose, but Lady Rutland had her own opinion. ‘I think his Grace will wed closer to home,’ she said one day, when the Lady Mary wasn’t present. ‘Have you seen how merrily he keeps company with Mistress Skipwith?’

  ‘But I saw him flirting with Mistress Shelton,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘He has flirted with her for years,’ my lady said, shaking her head, ‘and bedded her too, in Queen Anne’s time. They are old friends. Mark my words, Mistress Skipwith will be the one.’

  After that, I watched the King whenever I could, to see if Lady Rutland spoke truth. I had never taken much notice of Margaret Skipwith before, but now I did, and when I learned that she too had a stipend and a lodging at court, I felt a slight pang of jealousy, for I’d thought the King had favoured me alone. I also wondered why his affections had lighted on her, rather than me, for – though it sounds vain – I knew myself to be the more beautiful.