The Marriages of Katherine Howard

 

Katherine Howard was executed for presumptive treason on 13 February 1542. It was thought that she would cheat on her husband, King Henry VIII, if given the chance - but was she ever legally married to the king?

Unknown woman formerly known as Catherine Howard

Katherine was the daughter of Sir Edmund Howard, younger brother of the powerful Thomas Howard, third duke of Norfolk. Her mother, Jocasta, belonged to the large Culpeper family, branches of which could be found in various locations across the southeast of England. Jocasta died when Katherine was still very young and, although Sir Edmund married again, he was widowed for the second time shortly afterwards. Impoverished and unable to care for his children, he took up the post of comptroller at Calais, at which point Katherine was sent to live with her step-grandmother, Agnes, dowager duchess of Norfolk, at Chesworth Park, near Horsham in Suffolk.

Katherine received an education in exchange for certain duties in Agnes’s household. She was merely one of several young gentlewomen to do so. Many of them, like Katherine, were related to the dowager duchess in some way.

Life at Chesworth was pleasant, and Katherine’s duties were light. When her studies and chores were done, she and her companions would stay in the maidens’ chamber. This comprised a sitting room and a dormitory, with the young ladies sleeping two to a bed. Male and female servants were kept strictly apart.

On occasion, Agnes would visit London to attend court. Eventually, she moved to her town house, Norfolk House in Lambeth, across the Thames from Whitehall. Katherine and other members of the household went with Agnes, and life carried on much as it had done at Chesworth.

At Lambeth, as at Chesworth, the living arrangements ensured that male and female servants occupied separate quarters. However, it was perhaps inevitable that some gentlemen would find a means of entering the maidens’ chamber after hours. One of those who came to entertain the young ladies was Francis Dereham.

Dereham, who could trace his ancestry at least as far back as the thirteenth century, was a retainer of the duke of Norfolk. In 1538, he had accompanied his master on a visit to Lambeth but, when Norfolk returned to his estates, Dereham remained behind, taking up the post of gentleman usher in Agnes’s household. This was not necessarily unexpected, since Dereham was related to Agnes, being her first cousin once removed. He was also related to Katherine, although more distantly. Dereham was aged between 29 and 32 when Katherine first met him. She was about thirteen years old.

The post of gentleman usher placed Dereham in a position of authority over the other servants in Agnes’s household, including Katherine. It was part of his job to summon servants as and when Agnes wished to see them. This could be to accompany her to the chapel, eat with her, or simply to be present if she had guests.

Another of Dereham’s tasks was to sort the mealtime leftovers. Food that could be served again, such as bread and meats, was placed into cold storage; that which could not was disposed of. This was usually given to the servants to share among themselves. When Dereham went to the maidens’ chamber after hours, he would often bring with him wine, strawberries and apples to make ‘good cheer.’ Among those who shared in this good cheer was Katherine Howard.

Initially, Dereham courted another lady, Joan Bulmer, who was separated from her husband and had come to live in Agnes’s housegold. However, Dereham soon gave up Joan and turned his attention instead to Katherine. For her part, Katherine had no interest in the much older Dereham, but her protests were ignored, and he made her his mistress in every sense of the word.

Dereham would pester Katherine for sex at any time of the day of night. As Katherine would later state, Dereham, ‘by many persuasions’ procured her to his ‘vicious purpose,’ using her ‘in such sort as a man doth his wife many and sundry times.’

Dereham was indiscreet, and Katherine’s companions were often forced to bear witness as he took Katherine in various beds and even in the privy. There would be no risk of an unwanted child, however, for Dereham boasted that he knew ways to prevent this from happening. Similarly, Katherine was reported to have said that ‘a woman might meddle with a man and yet conceive no child unless she would for herself.’ Whether Katherine was referring to contraception or the widely held belief that it was necessary for a woman to enjoy sex in order to conceive may be debated.

While many within the household were aware of what was going on, few took it seriously. Even Agnes paid lip service, telling the young people of her household to behave and dealing the occasional cuffing. Other than that, the aged dowager duchess simply left it to them to regulate their own actions.

Katherine often needed, or wanted, things she could not afford to buy. In such cases, Dereham would purchase the items for her. He considered them gifts, while Katherine always insisted that she would pay back the money when she had some of her own. This was significant because gift-giving was a recognised part of courtship, and it appeared that Katherine wanted to avoid Dereham, or anyone else, thinking that their relationship was anything other than friendship.

In a new development, however, Katherine and Dereham began to call each other husband and wife. Dereham had asked her if they could address each other in this way because some of the servants gossiped that he and Katherine would marry. Dereham attributed this gossip to jealousy among his enemies, and Katherine, by giving her consent, would show that their malice was misplaced.

Notwithstanding the traditional and legal particulars of aristocratic matches, Katherine, for whatever reason, agreed to Dereham’s demands. Although she almost certainly did not understand the implications of her decision, she agreed that she and Dereham could call each other husband and wife.

The consequences of Katherine’s decision were profound. It was not her place to choose a husband; that privilege belonged to her father, and his choice required the king’s approval. Failing his involvement, the matter would almost certainly be placed into the hands of Katherine’s uncle, the duke of Norfolk.

Shortly after this, Dereham made arrangements to go to Ireland to make his fortune. Before his departure, he left an indenture and obligation of £100 with Katherine. Dereham told her that, if he failed to return from Ireland, she was to keep the money. This was a significant sum, the equivalent of almost £43,000 in today’s values; clearly Dereham thought of Katherine as more than just another sexual conquest. His actions indicate that he considered her to be his wife, or at least his betrothed.

Marital status was established by contracts. These were variously worded according to whether the couple concerned was betrothed or legally bound in marriage. Betrothal was covered by a contract per verba de futuro, which is best described as a promise to marry at some point in the future. A de futuro contract could be dissolved if both partners wished to do so or by ruling of canon law if they could not agree. On the other hand, a couple could be contracted per verba de praesenti, meaning that their marriage existed in the present rather than being a future event. A de praesenti contract was legally binding, meaning it was indissoluble and could not be dispensed should either party wish to leave the relationship and take a new partner.

That Katherine and Dereham had begun to address each other as husband and wife, and that they did so in front of others, meant that they had entered into a contract together, but which sort? According to Katherine’s later testimony, others in the household

 

‘trowed [trusted] that he would never have kissed me enough.’ Whereto he answered, ‘who should let [prevent] him to kiss his own wife?’ Then said one of them, ‘I trowe the matter will come to pass as the common saying is.’ ‘What is that’, quoth he. ‘Marry’, said the other, ‘that Mr Dereham shall have Mrs [Mistress] Katherine Howard.’ ‘By St John,’ said Dereham, ‘you may guess twice and guess worse.’  

 

Assuming Katherine quoted Dereham accurately, the nature of their relationship was ambiguous. At first, Dereham seemed to have referred to Katherine as his ‘own wife.’ One of the servants, however, suggested that no marriage had yet taken place, although it is anticipated. Dereham did not deny this, accepting instead that the servant had correctly guessed that he and Katherine would go on to marry. Indeed, as Katherine would later explain, Dereham had raised the question of matrimony.

This implies that the pair had entered into a contract per verba de futuro because, although marriage was spoken of, it was still a future event. Had the couple left matters there, their relationship could have been dissolved if either of them decided to move on or, especially in Katherine’s case, her family decided to marry her into a family of their choosing. However, Katherine and Dereham had engaged in sex; that is, they had consummated their relationship. This automatically converted the de futuro contract into a de praesenti one. According to the law as it then stood, this fact changed the nature of their relationship from a betrothal into a legally binding, indissoluble marriage.

The relationship between Katherine Howard and Francis Dereham was, therefore, a contract per verba de praesenti. It also bound Katherine into a precontract. This term simply meant a previous marriage, but it presented an impediment to any subsequent marriage.

Events overtook the couple when King Henry VIII began to show an interest in Katherine not long after she had joined the court as a lady in waiting to Anne of Cleves. Having just returned from Ireland, Dereham heard rumours that Katherine had become close to her distant cousin, Thomas Culpeper. Dereham confronted Katherine, but he was forced to retreat when he learned that he had another rival – Henry.

In the summer of 1540, Henry began drawing up legislation designed to clear the way for him to marry Katherine. An Act passed in the House of Commons on 5 July stated that all marriages contracted and consummated after 1 July would be considered valid even if a previous contract had been made, provided that the contract had not been consummated. The purpose of the Act was to render invalid any contract Katherine might have entered into in the past.

Unfortunately for both Henry and Katherine, her contract with Francis Dereham had been consummated. She and Dereham were legally married in an indissoluble union, meaning that she was not free to marry Henry. Nothing was said of it, however, and Katherine married Henry bigamously in July 1540. She was presented to the court as Henry’s new queen on 8 August.

Later, when the details of her past were revealed, coupled with what was interpreted as evidence of her continued indiscretions, Katherine, would continue to deny her contract with Dereham because she had never consented to her relationship with him. This, unfortunately, did not invalidate their contract. Katherine was possibly too young, or not sufficiently knowledgeable of the law, to understand that a contract de futuro automatically became de praesenti upon consummation.

The knowledge that Katherine had not been pure when he married her destroyed his love for her. The belief that she had gone on to betray him made him want to kill her. However, as a result of Katherine’s denials, Henry was unable to prove that she had committed adultery. Instead, he rested his case on presumption, resulting from the fact that Katherine had taken Dereham into her service after her marriage to Henry. However, further evidence came not from Dereham, but from Culpeper, who claimed that he ‘intended and meant to do ill with the queen and that in like wise, the queen so minded to do with him.’

Culpeper’s damning testimony was enough to give the king what he wanted, and Katherine – despite never having been legally married to Henry - was executed for presumptive treason on 13 February 1542.

Read more about Katherine in my Book: Katherine Howard. The Tragic Story of Henry VIII's Fifth Queen

Marrying Lucy Percy

On a cold day in February 1617, two young ladies walked through the gates of the Tower of London. They were Lucy Percy and her older sister, Dorothy, and they had come to visit their father, the earl of Northumberland.

Lucy Hay, née Percy by Anthony van Dyck 

The two young women, both still in their teens, made their way through the Tower complex to the Martin Tower and went inside. Their father greeted them warmly and exchanged pleasantries. After a while, though, his demeanour changed. Suddenly, he ordered Dorothy to go back home to her husband. As she was leaving, he gave her another order: to send Lucy’s maids to the Tower so they could attend her. Lucy was to become a prisoner in the Tower. Her gaoler was not the state, but her own father.

Lucy Percy was the second and youngest daughter of Henry Percy, ninth earl of Northumberland. Born at Michaelmas in 1599, she was only six years old when her father was detained in the Tower after being implicated in the Gunpowder Plot. Her mother was Dorothy Devereux, sister of the fallen favourite of Elizabeth I, Robert Devereux, earl of Essex. Her court connections, however, did not end there. Through the Devereux line, Lucy could trace her descent back to Mary Boleyn, sister of Anne Boleyn. Possibly, as a result of Mary’s affair with Henry VIII, Lucy could count the king as one of her ancestors.

Lucy’s mother had ambitions for her, and in 1614, when Lucy was in her fourteenth year, she introduced her daughter at court. The young lady’s beauty - it was agreed that she was ‘the most lovely damsel in all England’ – her accomplishments and her sparkling personality were such that her success in court circles was guaranteed.

For her part, Lucy embraced life at court. She loved the ceremony, the masques, the feasting and the society. Not unnaturally, she soon attracted a string of admirers. Young, handsome men paid court to her and, in theory at least, she could have had her pick of them. However, while she enjoyed the attention, her heart would be captured by a much older man: Sir James Hay.

James Hay, artist unknown

Born c.1580 in Pitcorthie in Fife, Sir James Hay had spent considerable time in France in his youth gaining an education and acquiring good taste and refinement. It is believed by some that he had later served in the Gardes Écossaises of Henri IV of France and that he was introduced to King James by one of Henri’s ambassadors.

Hay was graceful, with strong, handsome features. Nevertheless, the overall shape of his face would later inspire the Electress Elizabeth to call him ‘Camel-face’ and address him as such in her letters to him. It is an indication of his character that he took this in good humour.

Hay had come to England in late 1603. He had served King James prior to his accession to the English throne, and now Hay hoped that his career would escalate still further. His presence at court and his status as someone who enjoyed royal favour would not be overlooked. ‘Notice was taken of a rising favourite,’ writes the courtier and politician, Anthony Weldon, ‘the first meteor of that nature appearing in our climate.’

King James recognised Hay’s abilities and showered him with various marks of his favour. Hay was created Lord Hay, although without a seat in the House of Lords. Later, he was appointed Gentleman of the Robes and, from 1613-1618, would hold the post of Master of the Wardrobe. During this time, he was elevated to the peerage as Lord Hay of Sawley in Yorkshire.

As Master of the Wardrobe, Hay was given a house on Upper Thames Street in Blackfriars. Here, he would host the lavish entertainments for which he would become famous. Highly fashionable, it was said of him that he always had to be ‘set out after the last edition.’

Lord Hay was politically ambitious and desired to be a significant figure at the English court. He had observed that James favoured English courtiers over the Scots, and Hay became a naturalised Englishman in 1604. This was a natural progression, for he was fond of all things English and he made it his study to become the quintessential English gentleman. Hay, therefore, formed close links with the English rather than the Scottish members of James’s court, a move that very much pleased the king.

Another means by which Hay could become more ‘English’ was to take an English wife, and this was also in accordance with the king’s own preferences. In 1607, Hay married Honora Denny, daughter of Lord Edward Denny, a match made ‘by royal mediation.’ Honora give birth to two children, James and Anne, no doubt named after the king and queen. She died tragically after suffering a miscarriage in 1614, the same year Lucy made her debut at court.

Exactly when Hay began courting Lucy is not known, but they were recognised as a couple by early 1617. In an age when marriage within the nobility was seen as a matter of state, with families and fortunes, estates and titles marrying, rather than individuals, the marriage of Lucy Percy and Sir James Hay would, nevertheless, be a love match.

It is easy to see why Hay fell for Lucy, and why she was the perfect bride him. She had youth and beauty, with a clear ivory complexion, large and expressive brown eyes, and an oval face framed by luxurious brown curls. She was also accomplished. As an excellent horsewoman and dancer, she possessed two of the most important qualities a courtier could possess. Lucy was also intelligent despite her rudimentary education, which had covered only those subjects deemed appropriate for a young lady of her status. She was alert and, even at this early age, was wise to the ways of the world around her. Observant, she learned everything she needed to know by carefully watching others at court. In addition to these qualities, her most valuable asset, as far as Hay was concerned, was that she was English.

Lucy Russell, née Harington, countess of Bedford
by William Larkin

For his part, Sir James Hay also had his attractions. Although a widower several years older than Lucy, he was a successful courtier, who could facilitate Lucy’s own court career. He was well-connected, with a wide network of friends and associates. Hay was attractive, and he possessed a quality that most women find irresistible: charm. He was good humoured, affable and sophisticated. 

As it was, the lovers had a powerful ally in the form of Lucy Russell, countess of Bedford. Lady Bedford, who was related to the Bruces, understood the merits of accepting the Scots into English court circles. She served in the household of Queen Anna as Lady of the Bedchamber. This was an important post, one that brought her into intimate contact with the queen. Moreover, she was a friend of both Sir James Hay and Lady Northumberland. Indeed, Lucy’s mother had probably named her daughter after her. Now Lady Bedford was running Hay’s campaign to marry Lucy. With such a powerful person on his side, Hay had no trouble winning over Lady Northumberland so that she was as eager for the match as Lucy.

There was one major problem, however. Despite his imprisonment, the earl of Northumberland insisted upon exercising his fatherly duty of selecting suitable husbands for his daughters. Dorothy and Lucy had other ideas. Dorothy had recently married a man of her own choice, Lord Sidney, the future earl of Leicester. Knowing her father’s antipathy towards the Sidneys, the wedding had taken place in secret the previous year. They announced their union only when Dorothy’s pregnancy could no longer be concealed. Northumberland angrily expressed his disapproval, but he could do nothing about it. The marriage had taken place and that was the end of the matter. Now it was Lucy’s turn. When Northumberland found out who Lucy wished to marry, his fury knew no bounds.

Northumberland hated the Scottish courtiers who had come to England with King James. He regarded them as upstarts and resented their taking the places, as he saw it, of the established English aristocracy. Thinking he wanted Lucy for her inheritance, he wrote to Hay, telling him that Lucy would get none of his money if she married against his will. This protest, however, was of no avail. Hay’s love for Lucy was disinterested. He loved her for herself, not for her money.

Henry Percy, 9th earl of Northumberland
by  Anthony van Dyck

Nevertheless, Northumberland forbade Lucy to marry Hay, declaring that he ‘could not endure that his daughter should dance any Scottish jigs.’ He thought he could break Lucy’s will if he applied the right tactic. He tried persuasion in the form of an astonishingly large dowry of £20,000 – almost £3 million in today’s money - if she would allow him to choose her husband for her. He then used intimidation: he threatened to keep her in the Tower if she would not give in to his demands.

Lucy, however, was headstrong. She knew her own mind and she wanted Hay. When she refused to relent, Northumberland resolved to carry out his threat. When Lucy and Dorothy came to visit him on that February day in 1617, he received them well enough but ‘after some caresses he dismissed his daughter Sidney [Dorothy] to go home to her husband, and to send her sister’s maids to attend her.’ Imprisoning his intractable daughter in the Tower, he thought, would be the only way to break her. He ‘meant not to part with her but that she should keep him company.’

As it happened, Hay was hosting one of his famous events that evening. He had laid on an extravagant supper and masque for visiting French ambassadors. However, ‘the chief and most desired guest’ was missing. Lucy was to have been the real guest of honour, and her absence was noted.

 The young lady was now housed in the Brick Tower. This was adjoined to the Martin Tower in which her father lived by a section of the battlements that acquired the name Northumberland’s Walk because the earl was fond of taking walks there.

That April, King James went on progress to Scotland. Hay, who was expected to accompany him, lingered in London, ‘his vain hope of obtaining my L[ord] of Northumberland’s daughter, being the chief cause of his stay.’

This was not to be, at least not yet. Northumberland continued his attempts to bend Lucy to his will, but he had seriously underestimated her resolve. At some point it occurred to him that gentler persuasion might be of more use.

Lodged nearby in the Bloody Tower for the murder of Thomas Overbury, the earl and countess of Somerset were nevertheless allowed to receive guests. The earl of Northumberland was among those whose company Lady Somerset very much enjoyed. Indeed, his attentions to this lady so much affronted Lady Northumberland that she eventually refused to visit him and sent their daughters instead.

That May, Northumberland allowed Lucy the freedom to make daily visits to the Somersets. This concession was partly in the hope that they would persuade Lucy to see reason, and partly so that he had an excuse to see Lady Somerset.

What Northumberland had not taken into account was that Lady Somerset would understand exactly Lucy’s predicament and be sympathetic. She, too, had risked much to marry the man she wanted, and her chosen husband was also a Scot. In the event, Lady Somerset encouraged Lucy to marry whom she pleased, much to Northumberland’s chagrin. She even enabled secret trysts between Lucy and James Hay. The ‘matter was so plotted, that where he [Northumberland] thought he her safest, there he lost her.’

At this point, Northumberland gave up. He severed all relations with Lady Somerset, calling her a bawd. Then, seeing that ‘he could prevail no more’ with Lucy, he sent her away. However, if Lucy thought she could go home to her mother, she was mistaken. Although Lady Northumberland was usually more than a match for her husband, this time she was alarmed by his anger with Lucy and Lady Somerset. She was afraid to take in her daughter. Instead, Lucy took up residence at the home of her beloved sister, who was staying at Baynard’s Castle at the time.

This was only a temporary measure, however. Shortly after Lucy’s release, Hay travelled to Scotland to join the king. Before he left, he settled Lucy into his house at the Wardrobe, with £2,000 for her maintenance until his return.

In July, Lady Northumberland moved to Syon House, her home on the banks of the Thames that she had inherited through her first marriage. By this time she had overcome her fear of her husband’s anger and she took Lucy with her. Here, the two women could escape the worst of the summer heat, but they would not be alone for long.

The king’s progress had drawn to a close and the courtiers were beginning to make their way back to England. Among the first of them was Sir James Hay. He lost no time in attempting to win over the earl of Northumberland and, if possible, to have the £20,000 Lucy had been promised. In the end, he was unsuccessful in securing the money. This, however, was of little consequence to him, for he insisted that his ‘affection was above money,’ and he set ‘only a valuation upon his much-admired bride.’

At this point, the wedding was a certainty. It would take place without the blessing of the bride’s father, who continued to fume and seethe in his Tower apartment. The bride, of course, required someone to give her away, and King James was more than happy to oblige. Since he was still in Scotland, the happy couple had no option but to wait as patiently as possible for his return. As Chamberlain wrote, the impatient Lord Hay ‘thinks it long till the king’s coming that he may consummate his marriage.’

As it was, Hay sought to mitigate some of the frustration by taking a house in nearby Richmond Park. He would visit Lucy and her mother on a regular basis. Lady Northumberland, however, took her duties as chaperone very seriously and refused to allow Hay to dine with them. As such, he would be ‘commonly in her house from morning till dinner, from dinner till supper, and after supper till late in the night.’ Soon, his barge became a regular feature on the Thames. Still, 1617 was a good summer for venison and salmon, so it can be imagined that the fare was very good at both Richmond and at Syon House.

Lucy on the far left, looking over the
 shoulder of Henrietta Maria by Honthorst

Finally the long-awaited day dawned. The wedding took place on 6 November 1617 at the Wardrobe. That night, the wedding supper was attended by Prince Charles and the king’s new favourite, George Villiers, the future duke of Buckingham. The king, who had fulfilled his promise to give away the bride, was also ‘exceeding merry all supper time.’ Lucy ‘knelt while the king drank her health, and she drank his.’  

Throughout their long and eventful journey to the altar, Lucy and Sir James had never given up on their love or lost sight of their goal to marry. Although a love match, both partners also gained materially from their union. For Sir James, it was another important step on his journey to find his place as an Englishman at a court where two very distinct nationalities strived to co-exist. As for Lucy, the new Lady Hay, who was still only eighteen years old, her marriage to Sir James allowed her to make further progress towards a glittering and intriguing court career.

 

All quotations taken from The Letters of John Chamberlain, volume 2.

Katherine Howard, Thomas Culpeper and the ‘Master Culpeper’ Letter

The relationship between Katherine Howard and Thomas Culpeper has intrigued historians for many years, but what was its true nature ? The infamour 'Master Culpeper' letter might offer a hint.

The following is an extract from my 2016 biography, Katherine Howard (John Murray)...

The story of their supposed intimacy, as related by Thomas Culpeper in his own words, began when Katherine’s servant, Henry Webb, brought him to the entrance between her privy chamber and the chamber of presence. Here, she ‘gave him by her own hands a fair cap of velvet garnished with a brooch and three dozen pairs of aglets and a chain’. She then said to him, ‘put this under your cloak that nobody see it.’ Culpeper replied, ‘alas, madam, why did not you this when you were a maid?’ Katherine said nothing and the two parted.

A short while later, they met again; this time, Katherine was clearly put out. Piqued at Culpeper’s response to her gift, she asked him, ‘is this all the thanks you give me for the cap, if I had known you would have spoken these words you should never have had it.’ Katherine was angry because Culpeper’s response made it clear that he had wrongly taken it as a love token. At the most, she would have expected him to thank her, not to remind her of their past relationship. That she told him to hide the cap under his cloak shows that she feared that others might misconstrue its purpose, as Culpeper had done, and spread dangerous gossip about his apparent favour with the queen. Katherine herself had been very wary of letting others catch her with items that might be inter-preted as courting gifts, as the business of the French fennel clearly showed. 

However Katherine was incapable of remaining angry with anyone for very long. As with Henry Mannock before him, she soon forgave Culpeper his transgression. Shortly after their second meeting, Culpeper became ill. That Katherine sent him ‘at diverse times flesh or the fish dinner by Morris the page’, suggests that his illness lasted for at least two days. After that, the meetings ceased and Katherine, if not Culpeper, promptly forgot about them. The timeframe of these events can roughly be determined from Culpeper’s statement. They were initiated on Maundy Thursday, 14 April, and continued only while the court remained at Greenwich. Since the court left that palace on 27 May, it is evident that the three recorded incidences of contact between Katherine and Culpeper took place during a period of just over six weeks. By any standards, these encounters were sporadic to say the least and can hardly be taken as indication that Katherine was betraying Henry. 

What had prompted Katherine to arrange the reunion with Culpeper? Although he remembered their meetings vividly and could recount them in some detail, Culpeper never said why the queen had sent for him in the first place. The answer can be found in a letter written by Katherine to Culpeper at the time.

Master Culpeper, I heartily recommend me unto you, praying you to send me word how that you do. It was showed me that you were sick, the which thing troubled me very much till such time that I hear from you, praying you to send me word how that you do. For I never longed so much for [a] thing as I do to see you and to speak with you, the which I trust shall be shortly now, the which does comfort me very much when I think of it, and when I think again that you shall depart from me again it makes my heart to die to think what fortune I have that I cannot be always in your company, yet my trust is always in you that you will be as you have promised me and in that hope I trust upon still, praying then that you will come when my Lady Rochford is here, for then I shall be best at leisure to be at your commandment. Thanking you for that you have promised me to be so good unto that poor fellow my man which is one of the griefs that I do feel to depart from him, for then I do know no-one that I dare trust to send to you and therefore, I pray you take him to be with you that I may sometimes hear from you one thing. I pray you to give me a horse for my man for I had much ado to get one and therefore I pray send me one by him and in so doing I am as I said afore and thus I take my leave of you, trusting to see you shortly again and I would you was with me now that you might see what pain I take in writing to you. 

Yours as long as life endures, Katheryn 

One thing I had forgotten and that is to instruct my man to tarry here with me still, for he says whatsoever you behove14 him he will do it and… 

Intriguingly, Katherine breaks off at this point. It is possible that she added the postscript after she had summoned her messenger; then, he or she having arrived before she had finished, Katherine ended the letter anyway because she had said all that she wanted to say. Differences in handwriting and the colour of the ink show that this letter is written in two hands. The first eight words (in bold) are in the hand of an amanuensis. Katherine then took over and finished the letter herself. 

What, then, was Katherine trying to say to Culpeper? Lady Rochford once remarked that Katherine ‘trusted Culpeper above her own brother’, that is Charles Howard, who, like Culpeper, was a gentleman of the privy chamber. But Lady Jane did not elaborate upon in what regard Katherine trusted Culpeper. The answer lies in his position in the royal household. Culpeper was one of the king’s favourites and was known to have ‘succeeded Master Nourriz, who was in like favour with his master’. Henry Norris had occupied the senior position in the privy chamber until he was implicated in the downfall of Anne Boleyn and executed. Culpeper had intimate access to the king and was well placed to provide Katherine with information about her husband’s health and his ever fluctuating moods. More importantly, Culpeper could warn her of any indication that Henry was angry, perhaps because she was not yet with child; he could also listen out for any gossip about her, and report on speculation that her husband was considering repudiating her in favour of Anne of Cleves. Throughout Katherine’s queenship, this topic would surface time and again, to her consternation and grief. 

Katherine, therefore, cultivated Culpeper’s friendship. He was, in many ways, a good choice. Their previous relationship made him well-disposed towards her, he was related to her, albeit distantly, and was one of her husband’s favourites; more importantly, he was in the king’s confidence. For Culpeper, too, the arrangement had its uses. Considering that his master was ageing and increasingly infirm, it was prudent to look to the future. Although Prince Edward was a Seymour, and his family would play a major part in the regency, Katherine, as dowager queen, would still be in a powerful position. She was someone whose favour was worth cultivating.