Chapter Twenty-Eight - Dereham and Culpepper
Syon Abbey
10th December 1541
Syon Abbey is a cold, gloomy place with dark marble floors and walls, and the windows, although long, seem hardly to let in any light. My room is small and basic, so different to what I am used to.
But the worst of it is the solitude. I have no friends here, nobody speaks to me, and I have received no word from anyone at court. If Henry wanted to isolate me, then he has certainly done a good job. I suppose I should be grateful, in a way, as even in this deafening silence and cold I am not in prison, not in the Tower. Perhaps the King has decided that the best thing to do is send me away, and that over time this whole affair will blow over and be forgotten. I hope so, at least.
It is late afternoon on the 10th December, or so I think, I am beginning to lose track of time. As with many a winter afternoon, the day is bleak and clouded grey, a snow storm just being born from the east. I used to love the snow: back at court I would often play out in it with my ladies, sometimes Henry would come and watch us. But now I do not like it so, for it reminds me of everything that I have lost, and covers the landscape with its blanket of white so that I cannot even use nature to take my mind off of things. All I can do is sit by the window, shiver in the draft, and look at where I cannot go.
Every day is the same monotony...until something breaks this routine with a knock on the door, and a letter is given to me without a word. I take it cautiously and return to my window seat before opening it. It was my belief that I was to receive no letters. Culpepper would not risk it, Jane cannot write, Henry would not, and neither would any of my backstabbing family. So...who? Unless, it is bad news.
Desperate to know, I rip open the seal and try to focus my panicking eyes enough to concentrate. The contents of the letter make my heart drop, and I am certain that I shall be sick...
No. I stand in panic, but in the shock my legs give way and I fall to my knees, my nerves shaking like crazy, blood rushing through my veins in hot surges, the prickly sensation of dread seething through my pores. As if in a daze, I drop the letter to the floor, my head spinning, my body numb, and sit there unable to move. The words stare back at me.
Syon Abbey
10th December 1541
Addressed to Catherine Howard.
I am writing to inform you, Catherine Howard, that my investigation is almost finished. After further questioning of Dereham, and thanks to your cooperation, he gave a full confession to the carnal relations you enjoyed together. Yesterday morning, at dawn, he was hung, drawn, and quartered as His Majesty Henry VIII demanded.
The second part of my investigation focused on your affair with the courtier Thomas Culpepper. After searching your chambers again, we found a discarded letter in the fireplace, which you had presumably intended to burn, from Culpepper. It proclaimed his love for you, and the desire that you may keep all of your secrets. I questioned him, and he too confessed to an affair.
It was fortunate for him that he was one of His Majesty's favourites, for he was spared the more gruesome execution that Dereham faced. Culpepper was beheaded, also at dawn yesterday.
I suggest that you repent your sins now, for that may save you in God's eyes.
Signed,
Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury
It takes minutes before I am able to open my eyes, to look at the letter lying on the floor, and to try and comprehend it.
Culpepper is...dead.
No, it cannot be true! Of all these awful things happening in my life, with everything that was going wrong, the one thing I could hold on to was that my Thomas was safe, alive and well. But now...nothing is left. And Dereham too, I feel no heartbreak for him, but still I would not wish that hideous form of execution on any person. What if Henry intends that for me?
If it wasn't bad enough that two people have just been killed, what makes it worse is that it was my own carelessness that gave it all away. That letter from Culpepper that I threw in the fire a month ago, that I forgot to check on, it mustn't have burnt, perhaps slipped through the grate and sat waiting to be found as evidence. How stupid! It would almost be comedic if it wasn't so dreadful.
And as for me...goodness knows what is going to happen now...my plan, my secrets, all revealed. Cranmer's words stand out on the page...I suggest that you repent your sins now... In fear, in panic, I do indeed drop to my knees and pray. My knuckles turn white as I grip my hands together in desperation.
Please help me, please help me, please help me...
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