The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

Dr. London’s plot to forge documents implicating Katharine as a heretic is foiled when Katharine takes a hand in her own fate, sending a message to those who would destroy her that this queen will not easily be put away. Does this bold and intelligent image ring true throughout Katharine’s reign as queen consort?

The author often takes us inside Henry’s head to witness the suspicions, longings, and justifications that lead him to act so unpredictably. Does this narrative device work to make him more sympathetic as a character, or more dangerous? Do his feelings about conscience and fraternity with God sound like insanity, or are they understandable as the musings of a man accustomed to great power?

Elizabeth has many of the characteristics that made her father a strong and respected ruler. Does she also have qualities that could lead her to repeat Henry’s cruelty? What do you see as weaknesses?

Anne Askew is in many ways a dangerous friend for Katharine to have. Why does Katharine risk so much to help her? Does Katharine relate to her friend’s religious zeal, or is she just trying to help a friend in need? Is she in any way responsible for Anne’s fate?

Henry VIII is described as a man of many moods and a fierce will. Henry himself repeatedly declares, “A king is still a man.” Amid his many personas—sensualist, sovereign, diplomat, conqueror, husband, patient, father—can you identify one “real” Henry? How would he describe himself? What might Henry the man have been like if he were not king?

After reading Wriothesley’s warrant for her arrest, Katharine despairs until Thomas Seymour urges her to fight for her life. Why does she not fight before this? Does she realize her advantage in having found the lost scroll, or could she have made more of the opportunity?

What does Thomas find so alluring about Elizabeth? How big a part of the appeal is her place in line for the throne? Without her political stature, would Thomas have risked so much to seduce her? How do Katharine and Elizabeth compare in his eyes?

Why does Surrey deliberately provoke the king with his words and actions? Is he motivated by the same kind of reckless delirium that Katharine sometimes feels—or is something else driving him? Does he harbor a real desire to take power from Henry, or does he court danger out of restlessness?

By her fourth marriage, Katharine is an experienced wife—but naïve in the ways of romance. Why does she not see hints of Thomas’ indiscretions earlier? Is she foolish to trust him? If she had known about his proposal to Elizabeth, do you think she would have married Thomas? How could she have saved herself?

About the Author

JEAN PLAIDY is the pen name of the late English author E. A. Hibbert, who also wrote under the names Philippa Carr and Victoria Holt.

Born in London in 1906, Hibbert began writing in 1947 and eventually published over 200 novels under her three pseudonyms. The Jean Plaidy books—about 90 in all—are works of historical fiction about the famous and infamous women of English and European history, from medieval times to the Victorian era. Many were bestsellers in the United States and abroad, although they are currently out of print. At the time of Hibbert’s death in 1993, the Jean Plaidy novels had sold over 14 million copies worldwide.

Prologue

I WAS QUITE YOUNG WHEN I STARTED TO KEEP A JOURNAL. Mama said it would be good for me. She would read it, and that made it like a lesson; then she and Baroness Lehzen could put their heads together and say: The child is too exuberant, too emotional, and lacking in dignity. She is too impulsive and there are too many storms. All true, of course; but during the time of what I called my captivity I was never free from them; and it continued from the day of my birth to that glorious moment on the 20th of June in the year 1837 when the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain came to the Palace of Kensington to tell me I was the Queen.

I do not remember ever being alone. I even had to sleep in Mama’s room, and Lehzen used to sit with me until Mama came to bed so that I should not be left to myself. How significant it was that one of the first things that occurred to me on that memorable day was: Now I can be alone.

So in my journal I would write that which would win their approval and that was sometimes not in accordance with my true feelings. I have always found great pleasure in writing, in music and painting; and I truly believe that I could have excelled at any of these occupations if destiny had not had other plans for me.

When I was a child and beginning to be aware of the frustrations of being watched and forbidden to do so many things which I wanted to, I longed to have a secret diary in which I could write down the daily happenings, for one is apt to forget important details if one does not record them at the time. I wanted to write of my life in Kensington Palace, of Lehzen, Spath, of my beautiful lifelike dolls and my scandalous uncles; I wanted to write of sinister Sir John Conroy and his influence on Mama and his determination to ensnare me when I was too young and inexperienced to resist him; I wanted never to forget the shivers he sent down my spine, for I do believe he seemed to me as menacing as my wicked oneeyed Uncle Cumberland. I wanted to be quite frank about the growing change in my feelings towards Mama. Naturally one must love one’s mother; it is a duty; but I used to wish I could stop my eyes from seeing so much and my mind from coming to such conclusions. But that is no way for anyone to act—certainly not one who may become a queen.

If I could have had my secret diary, I could have confided in it. I could have recorded the sudden changes in my feelings. I could have found a reason for those sudden outbursts which Mama referred to as the “storms”. I might have come to a better understanding of myself as well as others.

But now, at this time, I am my own mistress, and in my lonely years when the one who was all the world to me has been taken away, I can indulge my whim. I like to spend long hours remembering the past, re-reading my journals and setting it down as I should have done had it been for my eyes alone. There are differences now from what I wrote then, and in the writing I seem to see myself more clearly, to know myself—and the task absorbs me. I recall days of childhood in Kensington Palace—the prison, as I called it. I like to think back to that time when I first realized that I was not as other children about me, that I was Victoria who was destined for a crown.

That destiny dominated my childhood; it was the reason for Mama’s concern. How she longed for the crown to be mine—far more than I ever did—preferably before I was of age so that she could reign in my stead. How she hated poor old Uncle William because he refused to die! How she hated all my paternal uncles! She was protecting me from them, she would say. I must never forget how much I owed her. Poor Mama, she did not know that one cannot wholeheartedly love, however much one wants to, just because it is one’s duty. There were times when Mama could become quite wearisome.

Now I can write for my eyes alone without consideration of what may be construed by my words, without the probing eyes of Mama or Lehzen finding in my simple observations characteristics which must be suppressed. Poor Mama! Dear Lehzen! They are beyond passing judgement on me now. And I am a lonely widow, with only memories of happier days left to me and the hope of finding comfort in the memory of time past.