Katherine was therefore seemingly at peace with the world when, on 30 August 1548, her child was born at Sudeley Castle. It turned out to be no 'little knave', but a daughter, who was afterwards christened Mary, in honour of her stepsister, the Lady Mary. It was a difficult birth, and Katherine was very weak afterwards, although her physicians and the midwife, Mary Odell, were optimistic about her recovery.
The Admiral was naturally disappointed that the child was a girl, but it was not long before he was doting upon the baby, and sending the news of her birth by fast courier to the Protector. Somerset was right glad to understand by your letters that the Queen, your bedfellow, hath a happy hour, and, escaping all danger, hath made you the father of so pretty a daughter; and although (if it had pleased God) it would have been both to us and (we suppose) also to you more joy and comfort if it had, this first-born, been a son, yet the escape of the danger, and the prophecy of this to a great sort of happy sons is no small joy and comfort to us, as we are sure it is to you and her Grace also, to whom you shall make again our hearty commendations, with no less congratulation of such good success. From Syon, the 1st of Sept., 1548. Your loving brother, E. Somerset.
Of course, the Duchess of Somerset was delighted that Katherine Parr had borne a daughter; had not she herself presented her husband with a fine son, triumphing where Katherine had failed?
There was no thought of failure, or even of success, in the mind of the Queen by then. Hours after the birth, she was laid low with puerperal fever, that scourge of medieval and Tudor childbeds, and remained delirious for almost a week. With each passing day, it became more obvious that she was not going to recover. In her delirium, she spoke of her anguish over her husband's faithlessness and betrayal, which was to trouble her to the end, and which she no longer had the strength or wit to conceal. On 5 September, Lady Tyrwhitt went into the Queen's bedchamber to bid her good morning and see if there was any improvement in her condition. Katherine was half lucid, and asked Lady Tyrwhitt where she had been for so long, saying 'that she did fear such things in herself that she was sure she could not live'. Lady Tyrwhitt replied, with feigned confidence, 'that I saw no likelihood of death in her.' But Katherine was not listening; she was back at Chelsea, reliving the moment when she had found her husband and Elizabeth in an embrace. The Admiral was by the bed, and she grasped his hand, saying, 'My Lady Tyrwhitt, I am not well handled, for those that are about me care not for me, but stand laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me.'
There was shocked silence, then the Admiral hastened to reassure her, saying, 'Why, sweetheart! I would you no hurt!' To which Katherine replied, with heavy irony, 'No, my lord, I think so.' Then, as he leaned over her, she whispered, 'But, my lord, you have given me many shrewd taunts.' Lady Tyrwhitt remembered afterwards that she said these words 'with good memory, and very sharply and earnestly, for her mind was sore disquieted'. The Admiral pretended not to hear, and, taking Lady Tyrwhitt aside, asked her what his wife had said; 'I declared plainly to him,' she recalled. He asked if she thought he should lie down on the bed with the Queen 'and pacify her unhappiness with gentle communication'. Lady Tyrwhitt agreed this might be a good thing, whereupon the Admiral lay down and put his arms around his wife, soothing her with words of love, without regard to the presence of her ladies. He had not, however, said more than three or four words when Katherine burst out, 'My lord, I would have given a thousand marks to have had my full talk with [Dr Robert] Huicke [her physician] the first day I was delivered, but I durst not, for displeasing you.' What she actually wanted to discuss with Huicke we shall never know, but Lady Tyrwhitt guessed that it was something of a very personal nature, possibly about the resumption or otherwise of sexual relations after the difficult confinement, and because of this, and her realisation that Katherine's agony of mind was very great, Lady Tyrwhitt tactfully withdrew out of earshot: 'My heart would serve me to hear no more.' The Queen's tirade against the Admiral continued for more than an hour, and was heard by the ladies about her bedside, though they did not leave accounts of it for posterity. Later that day, Katherine's fever subsided, leaving her with no recollection of what she had said. She was very weak, and realised, with her usual common sense, that she was dying, and that it would be best to make her will now, while she was in possession of her senses. Writing materials were brought by her secretary, and the Queen dictated:
I, Katherine Parr, etc., lying on my death-bed, sick of body but of good mind and perfect memory and discretion, being persuaded and perceiving the extremity of death to approach me, give all to my married spouse and husband, wishing them to be a thousand times more in value than they are or been.
The will was then signed by the Queen and witnessed by Dr Huicke and her chaplain, John Parkhurst, who gave her the last rites soon afterwards. We do not know if the Queen asked to see her baby daughter before the end, nor are her last words recorded, nor any details of her death, which occurred the following day, 7 September 1548, between two and three in the morning.
The Admiral was genuinely grieved at her passing, and gave orders for her body to be buried in the castle chapel. The corpse was embalmed, dressed in rich clothes, and wrapped in cerecloth, then placed in a lead coffin and left in the Queen's privy chamber until arrangements for the funeral had been completed. Young Jane Grey shed bitter tears over it, not only for the woman who had been a better mother to her than her own, but also because Katherine's death meant she would have to return home, a prospect that appalled her.
On the morning of 8 September, Katherine Parr was laid to rest. The chapel was hung with black cloth embroidered with the Queen's escutcheons; the altar rails were covered in black cloth, and stools and cushions provided for the mourners. The coffin was preceded into the chapel by two conductors in black carrying black staves, gentlemen, squires, knights, officers of the household carrying white staves, gentlemen ushers, and Somerset Herald in a tabard. Six gentlemen in black gowns and hoods bore the body, with torchbearers at either side, hooded knights walking at each corner. The Lady Jane Grey, acting as chief mourner, came next, her train borne by a young lady, then six other ladies, and other ladies and gentlemen, walking in pairs, then yeomen and lesser folk. Etiquette prevented the bereaved husband from attending.
When the coffin had been set down between the altar rails, psalms were sung in English and three lessons read; after the third, the mourners placed their offerings in the almsbox. Then Dr Miles Coverdale, the Queen's confessor, preached the sermon and led the prayers. When he was finished, the coffin was lowered into a vault beneath the altar pavement while the choir sang theTe Deum.After the service, the mourners went back to the castle for dinner, and then departed, leaving the Admiral to his memories in the great house that now seemed so empty. His servant Edward informed the Lady Elizabeth that 'my lord is a heavy man for the loss of the Queen his wife', but if the Admiral had hoped to find her willing to console him, he was quickly to be disappointed for there was no reply from her. For all this, his thoughts were very much with the woman who lay not far from him in her tomb, and he was heard to vow that 'no one should speak ill of the Queen, or if he knew it, he would take his fist to the ears of those who did, from the highest to the lowest.' At length, he returned to the world of men and affairs, and early in 1549 joined the English army at Musselburgh to do battle against the Scots. Yet not even his valorous performance in combat could dispel the whispers about his lack of scruples, nor the rumour, spread by Thomas Parry, 'that he had treated the late Queen cruelly, dishonestly, and jealously'.
As time passed his grief- which was undoubtedly sincere - faded. Memories grew dim. The Duchess of Somerset told him that if any grudge were borne by her to him, it was all for the late Queen's sake, and now she was taken by death, it would undoubtedly follow that she, the Duchess, would bear as good will to him as ever before.
With Katherine's memory daily receding, the Admiral patched up the feud and returned again to court, taking the fi
rst of many ill- considered steps that would, in 1549, lead him to the block for having schemed to gain control of the young King. When news was brought to her of his death, the Lady Elizabeth merely commented, 'This day died a man of much wit, and very little judgement.'
Lady Jane Grey mourned her benefactress most sincerely, and when she had returned to her parents' house, she wrote to thank the Admiral for 'all such good behaviour as she learned by the Queen's most virtuous instruction'. She, too, was fated to die violently, at only sixteen years of age, and her months with Katherine Parr were undoubtedly the happiest time in her short life.
Mary and Elizabeth grieved also for the loss of a stepmother who had been unfailingly kind and protective towards them. Mary could never forget what her father owed to Katherine Parr, and often spoke of 'the great love and affection that [he] did bear unto her Grace'. Her death would herald the beginning of a great divide between the sisters, who had once been close but would now gradually grow ever more suspicious of each other and end as formidable rivals in the dangerous arena of politics and religion.
When, on 20 March 1549, the Lord Admiral was executed for high treason, his seven-month-old daughter, Lady Mary Seymour, was left an orphan. Nor was this the only calamity that befell her, for later that month Parliament passed an Act disinheriting the child. The dispossessed baby was taken in by her late mother's friend, the Duchess of Suffolk, to be brought up with twelve other orphans in her care at her house at Grimsthorpe. Mary's uncle, Lord Northampton, hinted that he would be willing to have the child, but only if the Duchess of Somerset paid him the allowance she and the Duke had promised him for the infant's upkeep. The tight-fisted Duchess, however, would not pay up, and thus the burden of Lady Mary's keep fell upon the Duchess of Suffolk. Within a month, the good woman was finding it too onerous a burden, as, being the daughter of a queen, the child had to be provided with all the trappings suitable to her rank, and these were expensive. The Duchess of Suffolk wrote to William Cecil, who had been a great admirer of Katherine Parr, and asked him to use his influence with the Duchess of Somerset in persuading her to agree to paying the allowance she had promised for the Lady Mary; Lady Suffolk knew that Northampton would never take her without it, for he 'hath as weak a back for such a burden as I have'.
Despite Cecil's pleas, the allowance was not forthcoming. Anne Somerset did send her servant, Richard Bertie (who later married the Duchess of Suffolk) with a message to say that she would be forwarding some nursery plate for her niece; in turn, she wished to see an inventory of all the valuables in use in the child's nursery, so that she could decide for herself what pension was needful. Lady Suffolk was furious when she received this message, and in exasperation wrote to Cecil to say:
The Queen's child hath lain, and doth lie, at my house, with her company [i.e. servants] about her, wholly at my charge. I have written to my Lady Somerset at large; there may be some pension allotted to her, according to my lord's Grace's [Somerset's] promise. Now, good Cecil, help at a pinch all that you may help.
Enclosed was a parcel containing the requested inventory of all the valuables that had been set aside for the Lady Mary's use when she left Sudeley Castle, as well as a letter from the child's nurse, Mistress Eglonby, demanding wages for herself and her maids, 'so that ye may the better understand that I cry not before I am pricked', wrote the Duchess, whose coffers were emptying fast.
The inventory of Lady Mary Seymour's effects survives, and provides us with a fascinating account of what a well-born baby was provided with in those days. There were silver pots and goblets in her nursery, a silver salt cellar, eleven silver spoons, a porringer banded in silver, a quilt for the cradle, three pillows and one pair of sheets, three feather beds, three more quilts and sets of sheets, a tester of scarlet, embroidered, with a counterpane of silk serge, and bed- curtains of crimson taffeta, two counterpanes with embroidered pictures for the nurse's bed, six wall-hangings, four carpets to hang over the windows in cold weather, ten more hangings depicting the months of the year, two cushions of cloth of gold and a chair of the same, two stools and a gilded bedstead with tester, counterpanes and curtains (presumably for when the child was too big for a cradle), two 'milk beasts' - probably pewter jugs fashioned like animals which were earmarked as gifts for the two maids looking after the child as and when they married, and a lute. This last may once have belonged to Katherine Parr, and was perhaps used to lull her little daughter to sleep.
The inventory was forwarded by Cecil to the Duchess of Somerset in the summer of 1549. However, not long afterwards her husband the Lord Protector was overthrown by the Duke of Northumberland - formerly John Dudley, Earl of Warwick - and she was no longer able to fulfil any of her promises, even had she wished to, for the Seymours were now in disgrace. Somerset would end his days as his brother had done, on the block, accused of high treason, in 1552. However, a few months after Somerset's fall, Parliament passed an Act restoring to Mary all her father's lands and property, though not his titles. After that, Lady Suffolk's financial troubles were at an end.
Nothing more is recorded in contemporary sources of Katherine Parr's daughter, and it is likely that she died young while still at Grimsthorpe. In the eighteenth century, most of the papers relating to Katherine Parr were destroyed in a fire at Wilton House, where they were stored, a sad loss for historians since they may have held clues to the fate of Katherine's daughter. In the nineteenth century, the historian Agnes Strickland was shown a genealogy belonging to the Lawson family of north-west England, showing that they were descended from a Lady Mary Seymour, who had grown up and married a knight called Sir Edward Bushel, who is known to have been in the household of Anne of Denmark, wife of James I. The evidence for this marriage, however, was based only on a family legend and is unsubstantiated by sixteenth-century sources; it may therefore be discounted. The sad reality was probably that Lady Mary followed her mother to the grave within a few years.
In time, a beautiful tomb was raised by the Admiral over Katherine Parr's remains within the chapel at Sudeley Castle. A marble effigy resembling the Queen was placed on it, and around the sepulchre was written an epitaph composed by her chaplain, Dr Parkhurst, who described her as 'the flower of her sex, renowned, great and wise, a wife by every nuptial virtue known'. Within a hundred years of Katherine's death, the chapel fell into decay, and the tomb was broken up by vandals. In 1782, her coffin was found amid the ruins, and opened. The body was seen to be in a good state of preservation, being clothed in costly burial garments - not a shroud, but a dress. There were shoes on the feet, which were very small. The Queen, it was noted, had been tall - the coffin measured 5' 10" in length - but of delicate build, with long auburn hair. There were traces of beauty in the dead face, the features being perfect on first exposure to the air; however, the process of decomposition began almost immediately, and the vicar insisted that the body be reinterred. This was done, but inebriated workmen buried it upside down. However, two years later, the body was to be seen outside the chapel, in the remains of the original coffin, and another vicar, Mr Tredway Nash, lamented that he wished 'more respect was paid to the remains of this amiable queen'. He wanted them put into a new coffin and buried elsewhere, so that 'at last her body might rest in peace'. The chapel was by then used for the keeping of rabbits, and was not a suitable place, as the rabbits 'scratch very irreverently about the royal corpse'. It seems, however, that the vicar's plans came to nothing, and that the coffin was merely covered with rubble.
By 1817, when the chapel was being restored, local opinion favoured a search being made for the Queen's remains, and the owner of the castle, Lord Chandos, gave his permission. Eventually, the coffin was found: it was badly damaged and found to contain only a skeleton. It was repaired, however, and finally reburied in the Chandos vault within the Chapel. During the reign of Queen Victoria the restoration of the chapel was completed, and Sir George Gilbert Scott was commissioned to design a fine new tomb in the medieval style for Katherine Parr. He made a
marble effigy, copied from lost engravings of the original, which was placed on the finished monument in 1862, and this is the tomb we see there today, along with some vivid Victorian stained-glass windows, depicting Katherine Parr with her last two husbands, Henry VIII and Thomas Seymour. It is a fitting memorial to this most charming of queens.
After the death of Katherine, only one of Henry VIII's wives still lived, Anne of Cleves, who was perhaps the most fortunate, for after her divorce she had lived on in England in peace and contentment, enjoying the respect and affection of her former husband's family. Until the King died in 1547, she knew prosperity also, for her annual allowance of 3,000 was paid regularly, though after Henry's death the payments fell into arrears, and in 1550 so much was owed that Anne was driven to petitioning Edward VI about it; she was curtly informed, however, that 'the King's Highness, being on his progress, could not be troubled at that time about payments.' Nevertheless, he did authorise some of the debt to be paid soon afterwards, although Anne never received the full balance due to her for those years. In 1552 she complained again, and was granted various lands and manors, the rent from these being intended to supplement her income. Yet, as Anne pointed out, in a letter to her close friend, the Lady Mary, 'I was well contented to have continued without exchange,' to which end she had 'travailed to my great cost and charge almost this twelve months'.