Chapter 11536Kate was at the palace of Greenwich, returning from the gardens with the Princess Elizabeth trying to wriggle out of her hand when she saw Lady Bryan hastening in her direction. The child should have gone back to her household at Hatfield days ago, after celebrating Easter with her royal parents, but no instructions had been received.
“Kate! Kate,” Lady Bryan cried. “You have been summoned to London!”
“London?” Kate echoed.
“Yes, child.” Elizabeth’s plump lady mistress paused to catch her breath, squinting in the May sunshine. “A messenger from the King has arrived with an escort. You are to be conveyed to the Tower.”
Kate felt faint. “The Tower? What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing, my dear. I’m sorry, I did not mean to alarm you. You are to attend on the Queen, your aunt.”
Their eyes met. Everyone except the little Princess knew that Kate’s aunt, Queen Anne, had been arrested and imprisoned in that grim fortress. Just a few days ago, when walking in the gardens at Greenwich, Kate herself had looked up and witnessed a terrible scene between the King and Queen. They had been standing in a window, she with her daughter in her arms, and quarrelling bitterly. It had been the talk of the court, and soon afterward the Queen had been taken away.
No one, however, had any idea of what might happen to Anne now, for never before had a queen been accused of treason. The royal household was holding its collective breath and there had been much gossip and speculation, although Lady Bryan had sternly ensured that none of it was in Elizabeth’s hearing. Not yet three, the child was as sharp as nails and little escaped her.
Kate was astonished. “Did my aunt ask for me?”
“I have no idea,” Lady Bryan said, picking up Elizabeth and steering Kate back toward the palace. Elizabeth struggled in her arms, shaking her long red curls, her pointed face screwed up in protest. “Hush, my Lady Princess. You shall have a sugar comfit when we get back.” The child quietened instantly, but all conversation had to cease.
The King’s groom, very smart in his green and white, was courtesy personified as he greeted Kate and bade her gather her livery things.
“How long will I be staying at the Tower?” she asked, an eye on Elizabeth’s retreating back as she was borne away to the nursery.
“I do not know, Mistress Kate, so I advise taking enough clothes for a week or so. Please be quick. We can still catch the tide upriver.”
No one seemed to know anything, Kate thought, frowning as she sped upstairs to her chamber. She opened her traveling chest, packed her three best gowns and several changes of body linen, two books—would she have leisure for reading?—and the little silver casket containing her few jewels. She would have taken her lute, yet feared that music, which she loved, might not be appropriate in the circumstances. Then she threw her cloak over her arm and ran downstairs.
“My chest is ready,” she told the groom.
When it had been loaded, she followed him to the palace jetty, climbed into the barge, and was carried away, waving back at Lady Bryan, who had watched her departure with a worried countenance. What awaited her at the end of her journey? And when would she be back?
As the barge glided along the Thames, Kate had time to reflect on this strange summons. Had it come from her aunt? It was Queen Anne who, two and a half years ago, had appointed her as a companion for the newborn Princess Elizabeth, a young cousin to keep her daily company in her large household of servants. Kate had been nine then, and she had been glad to leave the tense atmosphere of Hever Castle for the palace at Hatfield where the royal nursery had been established. Hever was Grandfather’s house, where Mother, Kate, and her little brother, Henry, had lived since Father’s death from the sweating sickness when Kate was four. But Grandfather and Mother had not got on for as long as Kate could remember. She hated seeing her plump, comely, sweet-natured mother being bullied by Grandfather, who made it plain that he didn’t want them under his roof. And Grandmother, who was daughter to the Duke of Norfolk, had held aloof. The grandparents didn’t get on well, and Grandmother was often at court, leaving the steward to run the household.
Kate had shed many tears for the loss of her father—or rather, its consequences. She had rarely seen him, for he had spent most of his time at court serving the King, and she could not remember him well, yet his death had rocked her world. Until then, she and Harry, who was just a year her junior, had been living with their mother at the beautiful royal palace of Beaulieu in Essex, of which Father had been appointed keeper. It was a paradise for children, a place to play boisterous games in the gardens or hide-and-seek in the vast chambers. She had a treasured memory of her father, resplendent in a doublet with yellow satin sleeves, picking her up and spinning her around in his arms as she shrieked with delight. She remembered him sitting her on his knee and showing her the pictures in an exquisitely illuminated book. Those had been happy times; she had felt loved and cherished. And then everything had come to an end.
Even now, as a great girl of twelve, Kate sometimes found herself weeping at the memory of what she had lost. For after Father’s death, Mother had been left destitute and they had had no roof over their heads, so they had sought refuge at Hever Castle, the Boleyn family’s home in Kent. Shifting in her cushioned seat, as the barge continued its journey along the Thames, Kate shuddered, remembering Grandfather shouting and Mother crying wildly. He had said that there was no place for them at Hever and that they must leave at once.
“I’ll not have you under my roof!” he had spat at Mother, as if she had done something terrible.
Mother had dragged Kate and Harry up to the court to collect Father’s belongings, then she had sought out her sister, Anne, and begged for her help. At that time, Aunt Anne had been the King’s sweetheart, and he was doing his best to put away his old wife, Queen Katherine (for whom Kate was named), so that he could marry her. It was a source of great pride to the whole Boleyn family, especially Grandfather and Uncle George, that the King wanted to make Anne his queen. Anne had always been eager to advance or assist her kinsfolk. She had gone to the King, as Mother later told Kate, and he had ordered Grandfather to take them in and support them. And horrid Grandfather had had no choice!
But their lives at Hever had been miserable, for it was constantly being made clear to them that they were there on sufferance. Grandfather was often away at court, where he was a very important man, but his servants followed his lead and treated Mother with contempt. Kate could not understand why, for surely a father should love his daughter, as her father had loved her. What had Mother done to deserve such treatment?
“Why is Grandfather so horrible to you?” she had asked one day, when they were making daisy chains in the meadow and Harry was rampaging about on his hobby horse.
Mother’s face had grown pink. She seemed to be struggling to find something to say. “I am not like your aunt Anne and your uncle George,” she said. “They are ambitious to get on in the world. I am a disappointment to him.”
Kate was rather glad that Mother was not like Uncle George, who was loud and full of himself; she could sense a dark streak in him. She didn’t much like his wife, Aunt Jane, who seemed sly and calculating.
She sought to comfort her mother. “But you were married to Father, and he was close to the King.”
“Indeed, I was, but he left me in a poor case. All his wealth is being held in trust until Harry comes of age.”
“But that’s not your fault?” Kate had been indignant.
“No.” Mother sighed. “But Grandfather feels that I have let the family down and am not deserving of his love.”
It had made no sense. Kate had refrained from pressing further, yet she’d been left with the feeling that Mother had done something wrong and that there was some dark secret in her past. Being widowed and poor did not explain Grandfather’s cruelty. She had hoped that one day she would find out the truth. But even now, she was no wiser.
Kate remembered the wild elation that had swept through the Boleyns when Aunt Anne finally became queen. They had all gone to London to play prominent parts in her coronation—all except for Mother. She had never been summoned to court and had never been present at state occasions or involved in her sister’s life. This continued to puzzle Kate. Yet she had not let it bother her too much, for without Mother, she and Harry would have been left at Hever to the tender mercies of Grandfather and, when he was away at court, Great-Grandmother Butler, who was inclined to be a little strange.
Kate had long wished that Mother would marry again, but she was old enough to know that men wanted rich brides, and Mother had nothing. Suitors would not be beating a path to the castle drawbridge. Yet that did not stop her from dreaming. She could see her mother at the church door with a handsome man who looked very much like Father, and herself as bridesmaid, wearing a gorgeous gown.
Copyright © 2026 by Alison Weir. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
