Page 7 of The Cardinal's Daughter
I did. I prayed constantly. I strove, how I strove, to conquer myself. I mortified my flesh by using the discipline, a small whip with knotted ends. We were supposed to use it only symbolically, flinging it lightly over our shoulder before bed, and not reallyhurt ourselves, but I made it bite every time I felt lusty, hoping thereby to quell my instincts. I practised denial, forcing myself to eat raw vegetables or gruel, abstaining from food I enjoyed. I longed to be God’s completely and spiritually detached from the world of the senses, but I knew that it would be a difficult journey. I put off making my vows for another year, to give myself time.
Whatever people say now about the religious houses, deeming them all to have been corrupt, I saw nothing amiss at Shaftesbury. The sisters were devout and dedicated. I’m sure that there were monasteries and convents where fornication and extravagance went unchecked, or where the Rule was relaxed or wealth was considered more important than piety, but I do not believe that the canker was as widespread as we were led to believe. Undoubtedly there were small houses that were too poor to be viable – I have heard say that my real father dissolved several many years before the King cast his greedy eye on the monasteries.
We had news of the outside world from the many visitors who stayed at the abbey. Dame Bridget, the guest mistress, was a great gossip, and the Abbess often entertained the more important guests to dinner, so we were kept well informed.
It seemed that the King was not satisfied with the oaths that had been sworn. In the spring of 1535, one of the visiting dignitaries told the Abbess that his chief minister, Master Secretary Cromwell – clearly one of the most villainous men who ever lived – had promised to make him the richest monarch ever to rule in England and intended to achieve this by plundering the riches of the monasteries. The news flashed around the convent like wildfire. But was it true?
We soon found out, when the Abbess announced that royal commissioners were to visit Shaftesbury to compile a reporton its wealth and the spiritual competence of the nuns. When she announced this in Chapter, we all looked at one another in dismay, custody of the eyes having been abandoned. What was the purpose of this report? Would we be plundered for our treasures, or cast out if we were not deemed to have vocations? And who were the King’s commissioners to decide that? I thought angrily. It was for the Church, in the person of Mother Abbess, to pronounce on such matters.
‘Hush!’ Mother Elizabeth reproved us, as we fell to speculating. ‘If we show ourselves honest and devout, and above all co-operative, we will have nothing to fear.’ But her voice lacked conviction, and no wonder, for Shaftesbury was now the second richest abbey in England, and if the King cast his greedy eye on it, who knew what might happen, for there was no pope now to curb his desires.
The commissioners arrived in the summer of 1535. They were courteous and deferential, and they interviewed us all. I doubt that they uncovered any scandal. Had there been any, we would surely have known about it. In a community of fifty-five nuns, nothing can be kept secret for long.
When it was my turn, I stood before the chief commissioner, who introduced himself as Master Tregonwell, and two of his fellows, keeping my eyes downcast, even while noticing that one of them was outstandingly handsome, like one of the angels on the choir roof. I could feel myself blushing and hoped they would take it for shyness.
‘Sister Dorothy, we have heard about you,’ Master Tregonwell said, startling me and making me shiver. What had I done, that they should know about me?
‘You should be aware that under new regulations, any young unprofessed sister may leave the convent freely. As you are onlytwenty-three, you can do so. Some of your fellow novices have chosen to go.’
‘But Sir, I wish to stay,’ I protested. ‘I desire to serve God, and I have been told that I have a true vocation.’
‘Is that the real reason?’ he asked. ‘You have not been pressured to stay? His Majesty does not want anyone to be forced into the religious life.’
‘No one has pressed me to stay,’ I declared.
‘But Master Secretary Cromwell has received a letter from Master John Clausey, in which he states that, although you were entered here as his own daughter, you are in fact the baseborn daughter of the late Cardinal Wolsey. Do you know that to be true?’
‘It is true,’ I said.
‘Then know that Master Clausey asks that you be allowed to be professed and not obliged to leave the convent. Is that truly your will and desire?’
‘Yes,’ I said, understanding sadly why my father did not want me back home.
‘Then we will grant his request. You may stay.’
No word was said of my dowry and it was with a sense of relief that I left the room.
That augured well, I said to myself, as I hurried back to my duties. They would not be permitting me to stay and be professed if they were planning to close the abbey, surely?
The next day, I went to see the Abbess and asked if I could join the sisterhood.
‘I am delighted that you have reached this decision, Sister Dorothy,’ she said, beaming. ‘I will make the arrangements.’
When the Bishop made his next visitation, I took my final vows along with three other novices. I felt only a sense of elation as the nuns placed over my wimple the black veil of a professed religious. I was now Dame Dorothy.
In the following year, 1536, our fears were confirmed. The King was to dissolve the smaller monasteries, those that were poor or corrupt. Great abbeys like Shaftesbury would not be touched.
The effect of the closures was soon seen, for many monks and nuns were turned out to fend for themselves in a world from which some had long been cut off. They were given pensions, true, but some had nowhere to go, while others desperately wished to continue serving God in the religious life. Mother Abbess took in the Prioress of Cannington and two of her nuns, but could not accommodate the many other needy sisters who turned up at our gate begging for places. We hated turning them away; all we could do was send them off with food and warm cloaks.
‘I hope,’ the Abbess said, addressing us all in Chapter, ‘to do pleasure to the King and Master Cromwell, so that they will look kindly on our house. Master Cromwell recently expressed a desire to acquire the right to present a vicar to the parsonage of Tarrant, which is a right I myself have hitherto exercised, so I have told him he should have it and that I am right glad to do him pleasure.’
Evidently, Master Cromwell was suitably grateful, for the next two years were tranquil and we were left undisturbed. But towards the Christmas of 1538, we learned that the King had begun to dissolve the larger monasteries, which struck fear into our hearts.
I was serving Abbess Elizabeth by then, visiting her house daily and acting as her clerk.
‘They are being surrendered without a protest,’ she told me, sitting tall in her chair, white-faced. ‘I pray God that the King will leave us alone. We must keep our nerve and try to hold out.’
‘Do you think they will close us down, Mother?’ I asked.
