And so it is over.

And so it begins for little Kitty Howard.

I wish her joy of him. I wish him joy of her. A more ill-matched, ill-conceived, ill-starred marriage could hardly be imagined. I cannot envy her. From the bottom of my heart, even tonight, when I have so much to complain of, when I have so much to blame her for: even now I do not envy her. I can only fear for her, poor child, poor, silly child.

I may have been alone, without friends, before the indifference of the king, but God knows the same will be true of her. I was poor and humble when he chose me and the same is true of her. I was part of a faction of his court (though I did not know it) and the same is even more true of her. When another pretty girl comes to court and takes his eye, how shall she make him cleave to her? (And be very sure they will send their pretty girls by the dozen.) When the king’s health fails him and he cannot get a child on her, will he tell her that it is the failing of an old man, and ask her forgiveness? No, he will not. And when he blames her, who will defend her? When Lady Rochford asks her, who can she call on as a friend?, what will she answer? Who will be Katherine Howard’s friend and protector when the king turns against her?

QUEEN KATHERINE, OATLANDS PALACE,

28 JULY 1540

Well, I must say that it is all well and good to be married but I have not had half the wedding that she had. There was no great reception for me at Greenwich, and no riding out on a beautiful horse and being greeted by him with all the nobles of England behind him. There was no sailing in barges down the river while the City of London went mad with joy either, so those who think that to marry the king is a very merry thing should note my wedding, which was—to be blunt—a hole-in-the corner business. There! I’ve said it, and anyone who thinks different can’t have been here. And actually, that would be most people in the world—for next to no-one was here.

I said to Lady Rochford, the day before: ‘Please find out from the groom of the chamber or the Lord Chamberlain or somebody what it is we are to do. Where I am to stand, and what I am to say and what to do.’ I wanted to practise. I like to practise if I am going to appear before people and everyone will watch me. I should have been warned by her response.

‘Nothing much to practise,’ she said dourly. ‘Your bridegroom is well-rehearsed at least. You will just have to repeat the vows. And there will be hardly any audience for you at all.’

And how right she was! There was the Bishop of London officiating (thank you so much, not even a real archbishop for me), there was the king, not even wearing a special waistcoat, in an old coat—isn’t that next to insulting?—there was me in the finest gown that I could order; but what could I do in little more than a fortnight? And not even a crown on my head!