KATHERINE, KING’S MANOR, YORK,

SEPTEMBER 1541

Well, it is as I could have predicted, an utter disappointment. King James of Scotland is not coming and there is to be no jousting and no rival courts, and I am queen only of the little English court and nothing special is happening at all. I shall not see my darling Thomas joust, and he will not see me in the royal box with my new curtains. The king swears that James is too afraid to show his face this far south of the border, and if that is true, then it can only be because he does not trust the king’s own honourable word of truce. And, though nobody dare say it, he is quite right to be cautious. For the king promised a truce to the leaders of the northern revolt and his friendship, and all manner of changes that they wanted, he swore it on his royal name; and then, when they trusted him, he caught them and hanged them. Their dead heads are still stuck on the walls all around York, and I must say it is most disagreeable. I remark to Henry that perhaps James fears being hanged too and he laughs a lot and says that I am a clever little kitten and that James might well be afraid. But actually, I don’t think it’s very good if people can’t trust you. Because if James had been able to trust the king’s word then he would have come and we would all have had a merry time.

Also, this is a very fine house and newly done for us, and yet I can’t help but notice that it was a beautiful abbey before it was the King’s Manor, and I should think that since the people of York are great sympathisers for the old faith (if not secret Papists) that they would very much resent us dancing about where the monks used to pray. I don’t say this of course, I am not quite an idiot. But I can imagine how I might feel if I had come here for help and prayer and now find the place quite changed and a great fat greedy king sitting in the middle of it all, and calling for his dinner.

Anyway, what matters most is that the king is happy, and even I, amazingly enough, don’t mind about missing the joust nearly as much as I should. I am a little disappointed by the lack of handsome Scotsmen, and being so far from the London goldsmiths; but I cannot really be troubled about it. Astoundingly, it doesn’t even seem that important. For I am in love. For the first time in my life, utterly and completely, I have fallen in love, and I cannot believe it myself.

Thomas Culpepper is my lover, he is my heart’s desire, he is the only man I have ever loved, he is the only man I ever will love. I am his and he is mine, heart and soul. All the complaints I have ever made about having to bed a man old enough to be my father are now forgotten. I do my duty by the king as a form of tax, a fine I have to pay; and then the moment he is asleep I am free to be with my love. Better even than that, and far less risky, is that the king is so wearied by the celebrations on this progress that he often does not come to my rooms at all. I wait until the court is quiet and then Lady Rochford creeps down the stairs, or opens the side door, or unlocks a hidden door to the gallery and in steps my Thomas and we can have hours together.