An Afterlife at Hampton Court
© Heather Gustavsson
"I missed so many while I was living," he mused to himself. The sun was just beginning to set, and Henry's ''penance'' for having been a less than stellar husband, was about to begin. Every night since 1547 he sat alone with his wives, discussing anything and everything. He didn't really want to; in fact they didn't really want to. However, the powers that be decided this was the best way for Henry to make up for what he had done in life. Every night, sunset to sunrise, Henry, Catherine, Anne, Jane, Anne, Catherine, and Catherine would talk it out. Sometimes it could be about perfectly harmless things, such as the weather, or the amounts of strangers wandering in and about Hampton Court. But usually it turned into a lively discussion between the wives, or worse, the wives and Henry. To Henry's dismay, death had caused the ladies to lose their subservience and obedience towards him, and their thoughts and words towards Henry had been less than kind. Even sweet little Jane Seymour had once made a joke about his weight, much to the delight of Catherine Howard. Silly women.
It hadn't been so bad in the beginning; there were only four wives to handle then. Catherine and Anne usually sat across the room from each other exchanging menacing looks, while Jane sat by Henry and Kathryn Howard played cards with Anne. Henry could amuse himself with his astronomy books, with usually only the slightest remark from the women.
Once Anne of Cleves and Catherine Parr joined however, the entire dynamic changed. Henry was forced to deal with 3 groups of 2 women, each woman still very sore at what she had undergone at the hands of Henry. As night fell the group assembled as Henry tried to concentrate on something other than wives. He wandered about, wondering where that bookshelf had gone, the one that had once been in the corner. It was only with a gentle nudge from Catherine of Aragon that he remembered it had been taken away in 1645.
"Take a man's books away, its preposterous'' Henry thundered.
"It's not preposterous Henry things such as those are for the living". Even in death Catherine of Aragon had retained her simple honesty. Henry sometimes almost felt as if she forgave him, but she had never said it, and whenever the subject of their daughter Mary and her disastrous reign came up, Henry was once again certain that she hadn't.
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