Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England (12 page)

Sir Henry smiled weakly in response and bowed to the queen. “Naturally, madam,” he said. “It is mere mockery. Tell me, is Mistress Shelton in the next chamber? I would speak with her.” Anne nodded and Norris escaped into the next room.

As soon as he left, the door to the presence chamber opened and Thomas Cromwell was admitted. Bridget immediately noticed that Will was behind him, waiting just outside. Their eyes locked and a spark jumped across the room before the door was closed.

Cromwell bowed low and greeted the queen and her brother in turn. His acute gaze drifted to Bridget and his dark eyes warmed just a shade. Bridget felt her stomach tighten. “Good afternoon, Master Secretary,” Anne said, in a formal tone, all traces of mischief gone from her voice. “How nice to see you. You may leave us,” she continued, indicating to Rochford and Smeaton, who had been standing, previously unnoticed, by the door.

Cromwell watched them both depart and muttered to himself, “He is uncommonly well dressed for a musician.”

Bridget made to leave as well, but Anne stopped her. “Do not go. I like to keep one of my maids with me. I hope you do not mind.”

“Of course not, Majesty,” Cromwell answered in a smooth tone, his manner all charm and ease. Anne seated herself, and Bridget retreated into a corner as far from the two protagonists as she could get. Cromwell remained standing.

“Thomas,” Anne began familiarly, “you have been a good friend to me and to my family for many years, and you have profited from that friendship, as have I. I have always thought of you as ‘my man’ and have even described you thus to others. Why, even Bridget here has heard me do that.” Bridget nodded quickly and avoided looking at Cromwell.

“So you can imagine,” Anne went on, “how much recent events have both grieved and puzzled me. You and I seem to have parted company. For instance, the issue of what to do about the religious houses. I want them to be converted for a better purpose, specifically educational uses, and some need not be closed down at all. You look at them and see only their monetary value. Quite apart from that, I now hear tell that you have surrendered your living quarters to that strumpet Seymour’s brother and his wife! These are not the actions of someone who is ‘my’ man!”

The queen got up from her seat and walked across to the window. She was agitated and clearly angry. Cromwell looked largely unmoved, except for a tic that had developed in his right eyelid. It was the only sign that he was feeling some stress.

“Majesty,” Cromwell said, “the decision regarding my quarters was not mine; it was the king’s. I am at his command.”

Anne turned to him abruptly. “You did not even raise an objection, Cromwell! Not one word! You merely acquiesced quietly and gave up your rooms to my enemies! That leads me to wonder,” she said, moving towards him, “just whose side you are on?”

She was barely three feet from Cromwell and his unease was now quite obvious. “Truly, Your Majesty, it was not my—”

“I do not want excuses, they are meaningless.” Anne regarded him for a while, a look of deep concentration upon her face.

“You think I am weak, don’t you?” she said at last, her voice just above a whisper. Cromwell met her gaze and shook his head once. Anne took no notice. “Yes, you do. You and your new friend Chapuys, and the accursed Seymours, and Carew and his cronies—you all think the same thing. That I am finished. That my influence is at an end and, with that in mind, you all seek to find new places upon the chessboard. You think I am to follow in Catherine’s footsteps, cast aside and forgotten in some ghastly hole in the Fens. Well, you are all very much mistaken. I am still queen, and I did not get to hold that position through being weak. I have strength and I have perseverance. In fact, I once played the part of Perseverance in a masque. Did you know that, Bridget?”

“No, Majesty,” Bridget answered from her place in the corner, her throat dry. Anne barely heard her. Her focus was still very much on the now thoroughly discomfited Master Secretary. “It would be wise for you, sir, to cease treating with those who wish me ill and to realise where your best interests still lie. I am the king’s true wedded wife and the mother of his heir and I
still
have his heart. I intend to keep it. If you intend to keep your head, you will remember that.”

Bridget’s mouth fell open in astonishment, and Cromwell paled at the ominous words. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his dark forehead. Bridget had never seen him this unnerved before, this rattled. The queen had just threatened to have him executed unless he changed his ways. That prospect was enough to alarm anyone, even the normally unflappable Thomas Cromwell.

It took him a few moments to gather himself and arrange his face into a smile, albeit one that did not reach his eyes. He bowed low and said, “As always, Majesty, I am at your service. I desire only your happiness and that of the king.”

Anne nodded and held out her hand for him to kiss, which he duly did. “You may go,” she said, turning away in dismissal. As soon as her back was turned, Cromwell’s smile vanished and his expression changed from studied deference to stormy anger. He swept from the room as fast as he could, for once paying no attention to Bridget. As soon as he was gone, Anne broke into laughter.

“That has given him something to think about! I thought he was going to die of fright at one point and the headsman would not be needed after all! He will not be so eager to make common cause with my adversaries now, or to speak against me to the king. Not now he can feel the axe against his neck. I think he looked thoroughly chastened. Do you not think so, Mistress Manning?”

Bridget obediently agreed, but she did not share the queen’s opinion. She thought that rather than accepting his reprimand, Cromwell had been in a state of furious indignation when he had left, although he had hidden it rather well. Only Bridget had seen the flash of anger in his midnight eyes, after the initial burst of fear, underscored by a spark of ruthless determination. Thomas Cromwell was not the kind of man you made an enemy of. But with dread rising in her chest, Bridget feared that the queen had just done that.

April 1536

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and the ladies of the queen’s household were entertaining the Princess Elizabeth in the gardens at Greenwich. The little girl, who was the image of her father the king, was spending some time at court, much to her mother’s delight. Anne adored the child, whom she always made sure was well cared for and gorgeously attired. She revelled in ordering her daughter’s wardrobe and made certain that everything was of the finest quality. Today, the little Princess was wearing a beautiful red velvet dress that flew behind her as she tore across the grass. Upon her coppery head she wore a dainty cap exquisitely trimmed with gold lace. It barely contained her wild, auburn curls.

The presence of Anne and Henry’s lively heiress improved everyone’s spirits, especially the queen’s. Although Elizabeth had her own household and spent most of her time at Eltham with Margaret Bryan, her Lady Governess, she was present often enough at court to keep Anne happy. The queen derived great enjoyment from playing with Elizabeth and observing how much she had grown and how bright she was. Her intelligence was certainly in no doubt. She spoke very well for a child who was not yet three years old and she noticed everything. She had immediately singled Bridget out as a new face and demanded to know her name.

“I am Bridget Manning, my lady Princess, and I am at your command,” she answered with a smile in her voice, bobbing a deep curtsey to the small child. Elizabeth had solemn eyes, dark like Anne’s, and she took a moment to assess this stranger.

Finding her to her liking, Elizabeth had taken her hand and said, “I like you, Bridget. I want you to play with me.”

Everyone had laughed and Bridget, along with the other maids, had spent the last few days obliging the princess. She had abundant energy and ran everyone ragged, including the queen, who had joined in the fun. It had been refreshing to see some the worry lines disappear from Anne’s brow, even if it was only for a short time.

But today, Anne was absent. She was closeted with her almoner, John Skip, who was supposed to preach the sermon in the King’s Chapel tomorrow for Passion Sunday. Skip was a great favourite of the queen’s, as they were both church reformers. Or heretics, as some would have it.

“Bridget, catch me!” Elizabeth shouted, laughing as she ran up to the maid and then sprinted away, her legs working furiously.

“My lady, be careful!” Lady Bryan, Elizabeth’s governess, called after her charge.

“Do not fear, Lady Bryan, I will soon catch her!” Bridget assured the older woman before setting off after the princess. Elizabeth was giggling madly when Bridget swiftly apprehended her, swinging her off the ground, which greatly increased the child’s amusement. The princess put her arms around Bridget’s neck and held on tight. She smelled of apples and sunshine.

Through her own laughter, Bridget noticed a man across the park leaning against a tree. She recognised him immediately. It was Will. He smiled in greeting and beckoned to her. The young maid placed Elizabeth gently on the ground and said, “Go back to your governess now, my lady. Quick, she is waiting for you.”

The little girl trotted off to Lady Bryan, and Bridget made her way across to Will. Her mind was full of two things: what had happened, or almost happened, between them on that night, and what had occurred between the queen and his master Cromwell much more recently. The conflicting thoughts caused a frisson of excitement and dread to run through her.

“Good afternoon, Bridget,” Will said, his deep green eyes sparkling. “I am sorry it has taken so long for us to meet again. I want to apologise properly for what happened that night.”

Bridget held up her hand. “Will, no apology is necessary. We both got a little carried away and—”

“No,” Will interrupted. “You must not take the responsibility. I am older and more experienced in the ways of the world. I should not have . . . touched you in the way I did. You are of the queen’s household, and of her blood, and not meant for the likes of me.” His mouth curved upwards sardonically.

Bridget sighed deeply at his words. Although she realised that what he said was basically true, that things had gone too far, she could not deny what she felt when he looked at her or touched her. It made her feel alive as nothing else ever had and, in her heart, she wanted more, despite what her sensible head told her. Quite simply, she wanted Will Redcliff and did not like the prospect that he was out of bounds.

“Do not misunderstand me, Bridget, I feel the same,” Will said, startling Bridget with his ability to read her mind. “But we must exercise caution. Maintaining your honour is important, and right now, I do not have much to offer you. However, I anticipate that that may soon change. My master is the coming man at court, his influence grows every day, and he is an excellent master to me. Sooner rather than later, I hope to be able to support a wife. Even one who is maid of honour to the queen.”

Bridget’s face clouded over at the mention of Cromwell. Will tilted his head and studied her countenance. “You do not agree?” he asked.

“It is not that, but it is complicated, Will. Relations between your master and the queen are not so friendly at the moment. I am not sure if they can be repaired.”

“Is that any surprise?” Will said shortly. “She threatened to have him executed.” Bridget started a little, and Will laughed at her reaction. “Oh yes, I know about it. Everyone knows. The breach between them is the talk of the court. My master told me that you were in the room when the, shall we say, discussion took place, so you know exactly what was said.”

“Yes, I do,” Bridget replied, “but the queen did have her reasons for behaving as she did. Mr Cromwell has given up his rooms to the Seymours, who hate my mistress, and he does not support the queen’s stance on the religious houses. Perhaps she did speak a little recklessly—”

“She does that,” Will commented flatly, “and it is most unwise of her.” His voice was hard and Bridget was slightly taken aback.

She came to Anne’s defence. “The queen may speak a little unguardedly at times, but she means no harm. I am sure that she does not really intend to send your master to the scaffold. She merely wanted to remind him of where his loyalties should lie.”

Will rolled his eyes and sighed. “It is fortunate that you are so pretty and charming, otherwise your naivety would be positively dangerous. But let us talk no more about the queen and Cromwell. Time is short, and I see that our meeting has attracted interest.”

Bridget followed Will’s eyes and saw that all the ladies, as well as the young princess, were observing them keenly. “Oh no, I must get back,” Bridget said hurriedly.

Will nodded and took a small step forwards, planting a quick kiss on Bridget’s cheek. “We are constantly interrupted! Till next time, when we will have a greater opportunity to talk properly to each other.”

Bridget took a deep breath before turning around and walking back to the group. “I hope we are not keeping you from anything,” Lady Rochford said archly, causing Madge Shelton to titter in response.

“Not at all Lady Rochford, the young man is merely an acquaintance,” Bridget replied breezily. Joanna and Catherine avoided her eyes and the others looked frankly incredulous. Lady Rochford opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by the arrival of a messenger.

The young fellow made a beeline for Jane Seymour and presented her with a letter and a purse, which appeared to be bulging with coins. Bridget saw a brief look of calculation cross her features before she arranged them into an expression of modesty. Jane pressed the letter to her lips and kissed it tenderly, but she refrained from opening it. She did however open the purse and proceeded to empty a few of the coins into her small palm. They were gold sovereigns.

Lady Rochford and Lady Worcester gazed in wide-eyed wonderment at the gleaming coins, and Joanna gasped before quickly clapping her hand over her mouth. Jane Seymour regarded the money with perfect equanimity before returning the sovereigns to the purse and handing it back to the messenger, along with the unopened letter. She then, to everyone’s astonishment, fell to her knees.